Stiletto Dolls

By C. L. Black

Copyright

This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, events, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and shall not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or not, is entirely coincidental.

STILETTO DOLLS. Copyright © 2011 by C. L. Black. All rights reserved under international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

E-Book: By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to, store, access, and read the text of the e-book by electronic means. No part of this e-book shall be reproduced, transferred, downloaded, uploaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in any information storage and retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of Blachmann Press.

First edition print. © December 2011

For Christine and the kittens

The Cast

Presented in order of appearance

Our Protagonist, Dame Jane Sterling: A former CIA spy code-named Cougar73. Jane, age 36, believes she is a pediatric psychologist. Jane moonlights as a freelance operative under the cover of a professional dominatrix.

Katrina GoodKnight Blachmann: aka Tiger69, age 40. A KGB trained child assassin, she became a “Hushgirl” at age 6.

The Countess Kristin von Krump: aka KK, age 25. KK is the “special” pain in Jane’s side.

Miss Christi: aka Mum, age 68, is Cougar73’s Stiletto Control. She plays a grandmotherly role, but is nobody’s Granny!

Miss Catherine Katrina Black: aka MK, age 15. Catherine may be the daughter of Katrina GoodKnight. One fact is certain—she’s trouble!

Heinrich von Krump the sixth: aka Papa, age uncertain. Papa is the billionaire mystery man that Jane is in pursuit of throughout the story.

The K-A-T, Katerina: aka Boris, aka Tiger66, age 43. This ex-KGB assassin is Katrina’s half-sister and Jane’s mentor. Given a new identity, she is now Ms. Kate Smith.

Elsa Weiss: Miss Weiss, age 33, is KK’s girl of many hats.

The DC Client: Work name Peter, (Pete) Long, age 47. Pete was Jane’s CIA case officer.

The DC bargirl: Nina, age 23, provides Miss Jane with unhealthy drink and distraction.

Natasha White: aka Snow White, age 28. Miss White is the beautiful blonde damsel-in-distress honey-pot whose mission is to garner Jane’s affections.

The Lady Jacqueline Churchill: age uncertain. A member of MI6, Lady Jacqueline is a prickly thorn from Jane’s past life.

The kittens, Danielle, and Giselle Wright: Twin sisters, age 20. They live at the Blachmann Castle with Miss Christi and make life interesting for Catherine and MK.

Dr. Samantha (Sam) Resnik: aka the Temptress, age 30. Sam also lives at the Castle and helps Miss Christi with the kittens.

Senator Winter: age 37, is the subject prompting Jane’s return to DC.

Secret Service Agent Carol Daniels: age 29, and Jane have a past.

Part I

The Old Game

Bloody Hell

Aéroport de Cannes—Mandelieu (LFMD) Cannes France, Tuesday, 26 May 2009, 11:22 local

Dark windows of a lightly armored white BMW 750 glistened in the hot sun. The distinct odor of burnt jet fuel seeped in through the ventilation. The stretched sedan was parked, its engine running, by a gleaming white Gulfstream G550 luxury jet. The world traveler still seated in back didn’t dare kill the air. She was done with killing, and she was way too hot. She’d have plenty of time to cool off once on board—if she ever made it on board.

Bloody hell. Grow up, will you?

“Nein!” shouted the doll.

Like the BMW, the Gulfstream was owned by Krump Industries GmbH. Four armed guards—Krump security, standing watch, appeared concerned by the gathering crowd. The year-old jet was scheduled to leave yesterday for an expected nine-hour transatlantic flight. Even from a distance, the Countess, Kristin von Krump’s jet, was easy to spot. Its neon pink stripe grew wider as it ran along the fuselage, ending in a big bold K that filled its tail feathers.

Plans change. One day later, the pink jet and its flight crew were again ready to go. The whole scene was taking place outside a large and very private hanger also owned by Krump Industries. Captain Schumacher checked the manifest—Miss Smith, Jane?—then huffed, Miss Smith should have gotten off an hour ago. At least their VIP was finally at the airport. Now, if Miss Smith would just get her sweet ass off that back seat. They’ve been making good-bye for ten minutes already. So involved with the other, neither woman noticed their driver remove Jane’s luggage and load it and the special farewell gifts on board the spotless aircraft.

The burly captain appeared uneasy as he neared the car. The BMW’s doors stayed shut. Once more, he checked the time. He tickled his thick black beard, waiting for their driver to return. The captain dared not open that door. The high-pitched whine emanating from the luxury jet’s APU was deafening. Inside the car, the muffled sound provided their tardy passenger a pleasant distraction from the little problem confronting her as she too checked the hour.

Bloody hell…

The captain yelled, beckoning the BMW’s driver. His brow perspired heavily as he pointed to his watch then shouted in her ear. She must have understood. Satisfied, the overheated pilot headed for the cockpit. The driver spoke only German and Russian. She too was getting hot, waiting in the Mediterranean sun. Their wealthy employer, Herr Krump himself, had instructed her in German. Tie the little bitch up if you must! My daughter shall not get on that plane! Only the mistress, Sterling, and the parting gift. Be certain you leave it where she will see it.

 “KK! Must—oui—you?…Stop that…”Oui. Jane Sterling looked down at the tangled mop of blonde JBF hair occupying the space between her long booted legs. Bloody hell, oui … She pushed against the attractive young woman’s well-tanned slender shoulders, forcing her hungered tongue away. “KK!…oui… You promised Miss—oui!” Jane caught her breath as KK did her best to get her to stay. Knew it was a mistake…oui, oui… “I must get off soon.”

The twenty-six year-old countess, on her knees since leaving the marina, pleaded for her Miss Jane to stay. Head dipped, she lifted her way-too-slender sun bronzed torso. Bare silicone proudly on display, she said, “Promised?” The tangled mop slowly lifted, revealing a childish grin. “What?” Though glazed with Jane, KK’s face was beautiful. Jane’s grip eased.

Along with Papa—the mysterious, secretive, and always reclusive Heinrich von Krump the sixth—KK owned the Hush-Hush Lingerie and Fragrance empire. Hush-Hush was the fastest-growing woman’s specialty retailer in what was once called the Eastern Bloc. KK’s Hush-Hush empire spanned from Eastern Europe to the Middle East and into Central Asia. Last year KK convinced Papa they should expand Hush-Hush west into all of Europe and then on to North America. These days, KK lived aboard her sixty-nine meter superyacht, the Knotty Girl. Home port for both knotty girls was Cannes.

Papa gave her the sixty-million-dollar yacht, a hand-me-down, as a birthday gift last September eleventh. The same day she gained sole control of her trust fund, estimated then to be worth in excess of five hundred million euros. It was only days later when Wall Street’s latest bubble burst, triggering the Great Recession of 2008–9. Today, while many struggled and the recession dragged on, KK was worth considerably more.

It was May 2001 when Papa, the sole trustee of the Krump Empire, sold or mortgaged everything they owned, converting their entire wealth to gold. At the time, gold was selling at $250 per troy ounce. Today, that same ounce of gold sold for more than one thousand dollars. On matters of finance, KK always insisted that Papa make the decisions. On matters of love, KK insisted, there was no decision.

One hour earlier, KK stepped off the Knotty Girl, already thirty minutes late, and dressed in her usual beach attire. She had on a short pink silk wrap, a pink string bikini bottom, and five-inch beach wedgies with matching hand bag—both Prada. At only five-four, the East German–born Countess wouldn’t be caught dead in public without at least a four-inch lift, five when accompanied by one or more of her long-legged Hushgirl lingerie models. KK didn’t look up to anyone, except for her Miss Jane.

That’s how KK addressed her latest conquest. She loved that her Miss Jane towered over her. Always insisted Jane wear her tallest heels. Her Miss Jane was everything poor KK wasn’t: Six foot tall, surefooted, confident, independent, sophisticated yet still feminine. But most important to KK, Jane possessed an intense, assertive, dominant nature. All the qualities she found so attractive in her women yet felt so incapable of achieving within her own true self.

“Your lipstick.” Jane offered a tissue. Lately, Miss Jane felt more like a babysitter than KK’s lover.

To most everyone, KK not only looked, she acted like a life-size version of a Barbie doll. Maybe with a bit more jiggle, wiggle, and giggle. Like the world-famous talking doll, if you pressed her button just right, she was capable of a few phrases. Unlike the still popular child’s proxy into an adult fantasy world, KK was much more twistable. Some even said she was bent. Certain aspects of the comparison held true. Both dolls were engineered to be played with by girls of all ages. Both came wrapped in pink packaging. Both shared a love for synthetics. And neither was shy about showing it.

Even as a little girl in East Germany, KK loved inventing fashion, both elegant and, especially, fetish. There was something about those shiny PVC fabrics that gave her joy. Twenty years later, Papa's Hush-Hush brand was on the verge of going global. Like her Miss Jane, KK had a lot on her plate. Too bad none of it was very nutritious.

This was an important day for the German fetish fashion doll. After bidding farewell, she was to be on her way to meet the hottest new face in Europe. KK had only recently “discovered” Petra, at one of her after-hour LGBT costume parties. She held them nightly on board her Knotty Girl during the annual Cannes film festival. All proceeds went to benefit Papa’s foundation. Papa was dedicated to the eradication of toylike landmines and to the care of their child victims.

KK surfaced, a little more lightheaded. She took in some much-needed air and huffed, “So.”

She really didn’t care. Licking her glistening lips, and without clearance, she descended for more. She could repair her face on the way to the beach. She planned on enjoying some sun before meeting Petra for lunch. She was determined to prove to Papa she could get Petra signed to an exclusive modeling contract with Hush-Hush. She knew just how, too.

“Now KK! Be a good girl,” scolded Jane, returning some sharp-edged pressure to KK’s shoulders. “Never should have let you see me off at the airport. I’ve already broken a very important—” Oui.

KK wasn’t listening.

“KK! Stop!” Her tone firm, Jane pushed her undernourished oversexed doll away, this time maintaining a defensive grip. She extended her long bloodred nails a bit too deep.

“Ouch! Okay!” Her resistance waned. Her mop drooped. “Sorry Miss Jane.”

She began kissing Jane’s silk stocking top. Her lips worked down over Jane’s knee-high stiletto black boot. She licked at its toe then began an advance back up the other boot. Traces of pink lipstick marked a telltale path to Jane’s still-hidden gift.

“KK! Oui! You must let Miss Jane…oui…go…at…oui…at once…oui—more.” Having regained herself, she scolded sounding like a schoolteacher. “Miss Jane really must, oui, be in DC by twenty-one-hundred local.” She worked against those persistent little hands, only partially succeeding in pulling her white leather pencil skirt back into place.

Lifting her head from between the two attractively long and well marked legs, KK began, “Oh Miss Jane! You have time for one more orgasm.” Two sets of well-chewed pink nails crawled back under the leather. Playfully, they tickled the inner thighs, just above the stocking tops. Delicately, she teased with Jane’s garters, “Papa’s little plane will get you there in plenty of time. Ja. I just wanted to give you a goodbye present.” Down she went.

Here we go again. Oui…

KK surfaced, licked her drippy-drooly lips then said, “Besides, Miss Jane said!”  She deepened her voice then repeated Jane’s words, spoken not much more than an hour before. “KK could see that Miss Jane got off, alright, at the airport.” She waited. “Well?” She didn’t wait long.

Eyes rolled. “Yes, love. However—” Oui. Never should have taken this bloody assignment.

KK popped up. “We’re at the airport, aren’t we?” With that explained, she pushed the buttery soft, ridiculously expensive, slightly snug designer skirt back up against Jane’s twenty-five inch waist. KK had purchased it and the matching fitted blazer for her lover only last week. Jane was now nicely exposed. Eight black garters hugged her not-so-firm white thighs.

“Ja. Very wet!” KK snickered as she studied the very expensive, bloodred silk panties. She glared at Jane then shook her head in utter disapproval. “Not Hush-Hush, I see.” Neither eye came off the sweetly scented treasure as her delicate right hand reached into Jane’s left boot.

“They were a gift."

She casually withdrew a fancy-handled, chrome-bladed stiletto dagger and growled, “Don’t move.”

Jane rolled her eyes then yawned. “Right then. Mind the garters sweetie.”

Using the thin shiny blade, KK sliced through the offensive moist silk with little effort. A quick cut at each hip. “Told you not to wear them,” giggled KK, taking one eye off the treasure just long enough to return the razor-sharp chrome stiletto to the safety of its scarab inside the boot. Her eyes returned to meet Jane’s. She grinned slyly then descended.

Employing only perfect white teeth, KK lifted the damp silky fabric and rocked back, just far enough. Unlocking her jaw, she smiled like a cat—more like a kitten. The sweet scent of truth still playing tricks with her head, her eyes beckoned Jane’s to follow. Together each viewed the results. The red silk wrapping was felled, hanging limp off the seat. She had succeeded in exposing Jane’s loveliest gift.

A true submissive, KK’s jollies were aroused only by pleasing a dominant mistress. None had ever before, or after, proved more skilled in meeting her naughtiest of needs. As KK licked on, Jane reached into her bag to retrieve her mobile.

Bloody hell. “Right then. Be bloody quick about it.” No point arguing with this lovesick kitten. Finding it best to comply with lovesick logic, she acquiesced. A master of the greatest strategy games—chess, NFL football, and sex—the Mistress Sterling settled back and made herself comfortable. Jane found they possessed much in common. After five months of playing KK, she knew the little sweetie’s tactics well. She’d just received a text:

You’re late! Last chance Cougar.

Bloody hell. She slipped her right hand through KK’s soft blonde mop and twitched, oui, oui as the rough tongue ventured lower, “No; lower,” oui. “KK! You’re a very naughty girl. We’ll have none of that today.”

The text was from the client. Cougar had already missed two confirmed appointments. Her DC-based client wasn’t impressed. Jane tapped, shredding the text, then dropped her new iPhone, a gift from KK, back into her bag. She should have arrived there last night. His little DC slut could wait one bloody day longer. The other reason, also cooling its heels in DC—Can’t. Oui! She tapped, opening the photo.

The image was received from Mum late last night. The girl in the boots. Those bloody boots. How in the bloody hell did that kid get them? The better question was, from whom? Was it—No! Jane wouldn’t, couldn’t say her ex-lover’s name. But it couldn’t be. She’s dead. “Oui.” The boots were with her. There was no way they could have survived. “Oui.” Not under all that rubble. Have to get on that bloody plane. “Oui.” She killed the image and noted the time. Perhaps—“Oui!”

KK’s tongue had pressed, doing its devilish best to dissuade Jane from her departure. Those fingers were busy again, having found their way under the silk blouse. Its snaps gave way. “Oops.” Stroking, pinching, encouraging the unnaturally large nipples to further stiffen. Both enjoyed the nipple play. Her tongue ventured further south. All too soon, powerful hands aggressively clawed KK’s jumbled hair. Sharp nails dug in, demanding that tongue get back north, where it was most sorely needed.

KK knew it was time. She had to let go. Her wonderful mistress commanded. She licked her way back. Jane’s gift, now swollen thick and pulsing in lust. The kitten pounced, sucking it in with hungry lips. She sucked it hard, like on a straw stuck in a thick creamy float. KK sure loved her ice cream, so long as it wasn’t plain vanilla.

Jane too knew her little Krump doll, all too well. She pushed the captive’s blonde mop then squeezed her thighs tight. She had the love doll trapped in her most happy place, cut off from all distraction. Now with KK occupied, she took a moment to think. How had the boots found their way to the feet of that girl? Had Kat—No! She wouldn’t say that name. The daughter—she was supposed to be dead too. They were all supposed to be bloody dead. She hadn’t slept a quiet night in the eight years since. There was only one answer that made any sense. The boots were a fake and so was that bloody girl. She tapped the picture. Bloody hell. That arse looks just like her mum’s. Have to get on that bloody pink jet.

Determined, KK sucked harder. Chewed fingernails pinched at the alert nipples, doing their best to encourage Miss Jane to give her a gift she’d always remember. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. A gray mist descended, fogging her thoughts. She wondered, was it a mistake to forgo having my nails done yesterday? Her fingers went numb. Ja, I think it was.

Jane’s pained nipples swelled. The excruciating pleasure building down below intensified. She couldn’t get “Katrina” from her mind. Her fingers lost their sharpness and slipped away. They fell to rest lifeless on Jane’s still-clenched tummy. Katrina was gone. Fuck! What if she didn’t die? She bit her lip. Too late. She lurched then bucked. “Oui.” She had sacrificed her queen, flooding KK with the rewards of conquest. She held those long powerful legs clamped tight, maybe a bit longer than was safe. KK struggled to stay with her. Jane’s nipples were throbbing wildly and so was her heart. “You win, you naughty little slut.”

“Oui!” With the shout, Jane released again, this time rocking the car and freeing her crafty opponent from the potentially murderess vice. The thoughts of Katrina fled. She fell back, took a minute, and then checked her rag doll for a pulse. Bloody fabulous. She stroked the little one’s boney spine, gently coaxing her departed lover back to consciousness. “Wake up my little princess.” Today’s game would end in a draw.

With a choking cough, KK came back. Dizzy and devoid of reason, she gasped then coughed violently as intelligent life slowly reentered her mind. It took a minute before she regained the strength needed to lift her head. Finally, a blue face emerged from the darkness, soaked with wet passion. KK sighed, and tugged Jane’s skirt into place.

“That was heaven! Oui. Thank you Miss Jane.” The still lightheaded girl licked her pouty lips, pleased that her mistress had come too and so powerfully this time. For those few brief moments, KK did visit her nirvana. “Are you not happy you let me come now?”

Jane couldn’t respond. Seeking repair, she reached for the box of tissue.

KK begged, “Please don’t go. What will I do without you?”

Jane offered several tissues.

KK grudgingly accepted her fate and retook the seat next to her very wet mistress. She took hold of the tissues and slipped them under Jane’s leather. “Not enough.”

“Here!” She held out more. “You’re acting like you’re losing me forever.” She opened her arms. They sat back, Miss Jane holding her doll in a long embrace until she violently pulled away. “What’s wrong with you? You said that Papa told you… I have to go.”

“But I’ll—I’ll have no one to play with,” said KK, pouting as Jane wiped the last taste along with her smeared lipstick from her face.

“Bloody hell you won’t! Forgetting the pretty new Petra doll are we?”

“Why can’t you just phone it in?”

Like her father, KK rarely attended her own corporate meetings, just phoned in, often while she lay naked in bed or on the sundeck of her yacht, no doubt with one of her many Hushgirl lingerie model playmates by her side. You could get away with that behavior when you owned the controlling interest in a corporation worth a billion euros. Yes, KK had it all. At least until her lover stepped on that plane.

“But Miss Jane, you’re really good on the phone. Ja.”

“Not this time love.” Jane straightened her skirt and tucked in her blouse. “Too bloody important. Promised me mum.”

KK wasn’t listening. Her voice rose in protest. “What’s so bloody important you can’t stay?” She dipped her head. “Sorry Miss Jane.” She knew better. She had no true claim on Jane’s love. She had only rented it. And at twenty thousand euros a day, plus travel, Miss Jane’s love didn’t come cheap.

“No pouting sweetie. Chin up! I promise to see you, directly upon my return. England.” She pulled another tissue from the dispenser. “Hold still for Miss Jane.” Gently, she wiped the little bit of Katrina’s love that remained on KK’s somber chin. “That’s my good little princess. Now, let’s get you put back together.” Jane picked up the pink silk beach wrap, placing it over boney shoulders. “Lovely. Shall we—”

“But that’s three weeks!” whined the now fully restored KK, turning on the waterworks. “I think I shall die. England?”

“Yes, my sweet.” Offering another tissue, this time for the tears, Jane said, “We should attend the Grand Prix together?” She kissed away a lone tear. “Will your Papa be there?” She paused, waiting for reaction. Thirty seconds later, she got it.

KK roared, “Always Papa!” Her face aflame, she lost it. “Why do you fucking care so much if my Papa is there?”

Unfazed, Jane stayed her course. Her voice calm, a new tissue in hand, she attempted to tame her little kitten. “You said Papa would be hosting a reception at his new country estate, Saturday evening.”

Blotting her eyes, KK wiped her sniffling nose, caught her breath, and changed her tune. She cooed, “Will you let me show you off?”

“Miss Jane would love for you to show her off, especially to your papa.” She got all British and said, “He will be there, this time?”

KK locked arms, slammed her eyes shut, and shook herself stiff. Her cheeks swelled, their redness signaling a tsunami was fast approaching. “Yes!”

One-word answer?  “Now-now, my sweet little kitten.” Jane took her little princess in arm and kissed those trembling lips tenderly. “But I must go, before—” She was interrupted by a knock on the bullet-resistant window. About bloody time.

KK leaned across a relieved Jane and cracked the door. Heat and noise raced in. “Ja, Karla?”

“Pardon the intrusion ladies.” Karla shouted in heavily accented German. “Captain Schumacher has asked me to inform you; strong headwinds expected. The captain requires you must get off immediately; if you wish to arrive at Dulles on time.”

“Thank you Karla,” KK shouted, adding a demure giggle. “We’re just coming now.” She fell over Jane, pushing the door fully open. “You put everything in the plane?” As she rose to step out, her silk wrap slid down her bony spine and over her skinny bottom to find the BMW’s pink carpet. She glanced at Jane and said, “Oops.”

“Ja, Miss Kristin. Miss Sterling’s luggage is aboard.” Careful not to disturb them, Karla had left the boot lid up. Nor was either aware of the very special parting gift Herr Krump had personally instructed be placed on board.

Ten Bloody Days

The Principality of Monaco, two weeks earlier

It was race week in the tiny principality by the sea. Dame Jane was looking forward to enjoying her one true passion. She would test her abilities against men and machine, motor racing. She had also hoped to enjoy the annual Grand Prix without distraction. The weeklong festivities preceding the race always provided an opportunity to catch up with old friends. Maybe meet a new one, or two, while attending the many parties, and of course there would be the royal reception. Of course, that was all before returning to find the vinyl doll on her doorstep, crying, and wearing a bank draft for two hundred thousand euros, and little else.

 “Ten bloody days!” Jane knew it was bad business. “No pouting.” Spending more than a few days with any one subject was a rookie mistake. “Where’s your top?”  She was due in DC that evening and was well behind schedule. Mum had insisted: Get on with it. “Right then, do come in, sweetie.”

She had maintained the unassuming one-bedroom apartment overlooking the harbor since returning last fall. KK, crying, sat topless on the sofa.  She had lent “Miss Jane,” her Gulfstream for the three days she was in the UAE on a brief assignment for the prince—a monthly client.

So you could return home one day sooner, before you go to DC Miss Jane. No strings. Ja.

Right.

“I couldn’t wait till next week, Miss Jane. Please.”

The next morning, Miss Jane canceled her appointments for that week and the next, and then shut off her mobile. She promised to spend a few days aboard the Knotty Girl. KK’s superyacht was already docked in the harbor, in perfect view of Jane’s apartment. Papa ordered it be there for the race weekend and that KK should entertain some influential friends of his: three men, all from Turkmenistan. “Something to do with business,” Papa said. KK knew what it really meant. Her after-hours parties in Cannes would have to be cut short. So sad.

KK or no KK, Dame Jane was determined to drive in the Porsche SuperCup race on Sunday morning. Although KK had paid for ten days, she took eleven. Still, it didn’t satisfy her. She wanted more. She wanted Jane and only Jane. Miss Jane? She just wanted a few days off to go racing.

When Dame Jane Sterling signed on to drive for Black Stallion Racing last fall, she committed to competing in all the scheduled races. Dame Jane always kept her commitments. Except for a handful of old clients, she was done with the sex spy business. At least that’s what she thought at the time. More and more, this babysitting assignment was making it increasingly difficult to keep her other commitments, racing and otherwise.

KK repeated what Papa had instructed. “Make sure to have plenty of your best Hushgirls around, shaking their assets.” She did as Papa said, sort of. Twelve beautiful girls would be on board the Knotty Girl to greet the three gluttonous men; six of them, would-be Hushgirl models she’d discovered the week before in Cannes. One was her pretty Petra. The other six—all pros—top-notch girls from the Czech Republic, flown in that Thursday on her Gulfstream. KK had sent it with her personal assistant to fetch them. After all, Papa always insisted, “Only the best.” They returned with the best whores Papa’s gold could rent. The three pigs weren’t due until Friday, around noon.

Thursday evening: Hush-Hush Lingerie hosted an invitation-only charity event aboard the Knotty Girl. All proceeds were to benefit the HALO Trust. As usual, it was to be a fetish-themed costume party. Also as usual, KK made sure to tip off the paparazzi. To end the event, each of the Hushgirls were to be auctioned off. She capped the glorious evening by putting her Miss Jane on the block. KK waited until the bidding was nearly at its end before stealing her Miss Jane away from one sad, crumpled old Brit in his wheelchair. Feeling bad for the poor old bugger, KK offered him her assistant, Miss Elsa. “For free, as a consolation,” she said, plopping in his lap and draping her arms around his neck. “You will like her, ja.” Her infectious goodwill brought a crooked smile back to his already drooling lips. She sealed the deal with a very wet kiss.

Friday morning: KK left her yacht with a killer hangover, three shiny new PVC evening dresses, two sore ankles, one well-worn Miss Jane, and nothing else. She would stay away from her beloved Knotty Girl that weekend, preferring instead to go party-hopping with her hired lover. She left her personal assistant and girl-of-one-too-many-hats, Elsa, behind with her yacht’s new captain to safeguard her interests.

“Ja, evil business, Miss Jane.” KK stayed away from Papa’s evil business. These days she stayed away from her father too. In fact, they hadn’t been face to face in nearly six months.

Friday midday: The three pigs from Turkmenistan arrived on board with Karla. They were gone that Sunday morning as Jane raced. Elsa said they left with their yellow teeth aglow, and a Czech party favor under each arm. “All three left drunk as skunks. They didn’t smell much better either.” Each had also taken two handfuls of her best vodka. Those were her last six bottles of Jean-Marc XO. Papa had sent his other Gulfstream, the black one, along with Karla to ensure they were safely on their way before Jane’s race finished. They were Papa’s friends, not hers. They were there to meet one of Papa’s old associates.

 “The girls too? Fucking bastards!” KK vented her anger, shouting past Elsa in a mix of English and German as she picked up one of the empty bottles. Her English was good, her French even better, but anger encouraged the wild German in her to reveal itself. “They didn’t even stay for your race. Fuck them!” That really made her mad. “Fucking shithead assholes.” She threw the empty XO bottle at the Krump corporate logo inlaid into the sundeck and stomped off to check the rest of her bar. She knew they weren’t race fans. No, they were “Fucking cocksucking motherfuckers!” Showing no sign of cooling down, she took another empty bottle and waved it wildly as she amped up the tirade.

“KK! Enough!” Miss Jane had seen and heard about all she could take.

“No! I promised the girls we would conduct a seminar.” She stomped her five-inch wedgies all over the Krump logo. Frustrated they did no harm, she bent over, picked up the unbroken bottle, and proceeded to hammer away. What had taken the Italian stonecutters two months to create, began to crumble in seconds. “Fuck him!” She swung the bottle again. “Ass—” and broke it. She looked to Jane. “Oops.”

“Come here young lady.” Jane beckoned with her finger.

KK’s head shook.

“Now!”

She lifted herself from the deck and dragging her feet, she inched toward Jane, sitting sideways on a pool chair.

“On you go. Bum up!” Jane patted the landing pad.

“I’m sorry. Please Miss Jane.”

“You will be. Let’s go. Skirt up. Smashing, planned ahead I see.”

KK did plan ahead, selecting a flashy neon pink thong to go with her bright pink cotton mini-sundress. Jane commenced with the seminar even though the only ones present to witness it were Elsa, Karla, and the yacht’s captain. New to the Knotty Girl, Captain Hessler had been advised to stay clear of the sundeck.

Whack!…whack!…whack!

The Special Package

The BMW’s backseat, 11:36 local

Jane reached down to retrieve the fallen wrap. KK used the distraction to whisper in her native German to Karla. “The special package?” She wanted her gift to be a surprise.

“Yes, Miss Krump; everything, just as you instructed.”

Karla, a most trusted member of Krump’s inner security circle, never lowered her eyes. She’d served as Papa’s personal driver and errand girl for as long as KK could remember. She owed her very life to Papa. Krump’s personal security force numbered forty strong. Most were ex–Soviet Security Service or ex-paramilitary forces, all handpicked by Papa. After receiving word Jane hadn’t left yesterday as expected, Papa ordered Karla to stay behind to personally make sure Jane Sterling made it on the plane and KK didn’t.

Jane could never before remember headwinds being helpful in keeping an engagement. Standing at the top step of the retractable stairway, she peeked inside the intercontinental range luxury jet. Its cabin had become all too familiar. KrumpAir, a wholly owned division of Krump Industries GmbH, owned two. Except for the trim, they were virtually identical. The second, with black trim and with no K on its tail, arrived in Berlin only last week. Since having the pink trim and big K added to the first in January, KK monopolized its use, insisting it fly her Miss Jane to and from her all-too-many far-flung assignments. Jane was racking up the miles on KrumpAir, all at Papa’s expense, of course. Who could blame her? Beats going bloody commercial.

KrumpAir & KrumpJet

Founded in 1993, KrumpAir began operations providing contract airfreight services with a single twenty-year-old 747-200 purchased with government assistance from Lufthansa. Today, KrumpAir also owned four Boeing 747-400ERFs air-freighters and a massive BBJ. That’s what the Boeing people call any business jet version of their airliners. Most BBJs were built using the midsized twin-engine 737. Krump’s BBJ was a converted 747-200, the same basic version that was used to build the two aircraft everyone knows as Air Force One. Herr Krump’s personal 747 used the call sign “Krump One” (Aircraft Registration ID: EZ-699K).

Krump One was previously owned by a Saudi prince. He’d traded it in on a new 777. The prince desired a more fuel efficient aircraft. What did he know? Krump’s very private 747 incorporated the same self-defense capabilities that were developed for the Air Force One jets. The Saudi prince insisted. The Saudi prince got that and the latest in encrypted satellite communication technologies too. Now it was Krump’s jet. Papa used it just like the U.S. president did: to impress would-be friends and intimidate potential foes, often on the same flight.

The flight crews all worked for KrumpJet, Krump’s corporate aircraft management and services provider. They didn’t own the planes. They kept them flying, supplying pilots, flight attendants, and logistics. KrumpJet was yet another one of the many Krump-owned companies that appeared out of nowhere following the fall of the Iron Curtain. Funny how many ex-Stasi big wheels and ex-KGB fat-cats are billionaires these days? They all had jets and needed them crewed and managed. Jane wasn’t laughing. These people gave new meaning to organized evil. Krump capitalized on it.

KK not-so-jokingly referred to the Krump BBJ as “Papa’s Big Blow Job.” Inside, Krump’s private staterooms gave one the impression that they were in a Vegas whorehouse. Its mid cabin was outfitted with three staterooms. One, complete with a king-size bed and full-size marble bathroom with bidet and glass shower. There was also a fully equipped “playroom” for those with certain other needs. It came stocked with all the erotica, etched and mirrored glass, gold trim, red velvet, black rubber, and leather; not to mention the hundreds of BDSM implements and drawers stuffed full with every conceivable sex toy. It was a wonder Krump One could actually get airborne. God only knows what was going on at Flight Level 350 somewhere over Siberia—Krump One’s last reported position.

While KK and Jane were exchanging their final good-byes in Cannes, the other Krump was onboard the BBJ, staring into the data display of the encrypted satellite com link. Krump One had departed earlier that same day from a secret airfield in North Korea. He was traveling back to the Krump Industries corporate offices in Berlin. Even before his aircraft left North Korean airspace, the newspapers, cable networks, and Internet were singing Krump’s praises. The media was abuzz with rumors that the always-aloof Krump had played a key role in enticing the North Korean ruler to free the two female British journalists. They were on board Krump One along with the UN’s special envoy, a tall stiff-upper-lipped Brit named Churchill. She would handle the PR. Krump detested the media. Bad for business.

Speaking of business, Krump was growing more and more concerned. Since his daughter’s chance reunion a few days before Christmas in Dubai, KK had pursued her Miss Jane all over the world. Papa’s little KK had fallen deep. Sex with the high-end dominatrix and ex–British Intelligence operative and highly skilled assassin was one thing. But, love! Love is forbidden! Papa had warned her. Too dangerous. Three weeks before, her father had ordered her to break it off. Papa was direct. Be rid of her! If you don’t, I shall!  End of discussion. Krump was sure; KK’s Miss Jane would compromise the whole operation.

KK was scheduled to join Papa at the Krump corporate offices tomorrow morning for a special board meeting to approve a new factory he’d promised the North Koreans. Papa said, “Be there or else I’ll shut down your little Hush-Hush panty business and sack all your pretty Hushgirls.” KK would be early for Papa’s special meeting. That was, until she saw her Jane standing in the doorway of her Gulfstream, waving good-bye.

Oh, Papa, I Can’t

11:38 local

Her weak heart pounded in pain. Oh, Papa, I can’t! “I— Nein!” Terrified her Miss Jane would never return from this assignment, she couldn’t arrest herself any longer. Fuck Papa! KK bolted barefoot from the BMW shouting, “Jane! Warten sie! (Wait!)”

Karla reached out, grabbing KK.

Too bloody late! Jane moved fast, to raise the drawbridge.

“Miss Jane! Wait!” KK was free and racing up the boarding steps.

“Bloody hell,” snarled Jane, unable to steal her eyes away from her special plaything. The slender little doll had never looked as full of life as when she ascended the boarding stairs.

“Miss Kristin!” shouted Karla, unable to overcome the piercing noise. KK’s wrap dangled from her outreached hand. “Remember your papa’s expecting you in Berlin.” Her words trailed off. She realized it was no use. She herself had once felt the grip of love.

“Wait! Please Jane! Don’t leave me.” KK’s words were telling as she neared. She was the image of unbridled love lost, tears flooding her cheeks. Unable to hide her true desire, she threw her arms around Jane, and clutched her tight as a small child would do its mother. She couldn’t let go. “I love you Jane. I’ve always loved you.”

But Jane heard none of it. KK had whispered her words deep into a heated bosom. The tired old cougar pried free and stepped back, blocking any further progress. She bent, bringing herself to KK’s level, one step below. Eyes clear and true, she spoke. “Now stop this nonsense. Promise Miss Jane that you’ll be good until her return.” She kissed her doll good-bye—she hoped for the last time, catching sight of Karla nearing the stairs. “And eat something, or no more fun and games. Understand?” She produced her final tissue.

“I promise.” KK held the skilled hand steady as it wiped her drippy nose. She wanted to put a ring on that hand. Her face brightened, “As long as I can be a very knotty girl, when I see you again.” She turned to leave, waving Karla off. “Oh Karla, I’m coming.”

KK wasn’t kidding. She also wasn’t the least bit concerned about the crowd of men gathering on the tarmac. Jane was. She sought for cover, stepping just inside the jet. Some were whistling, others shouting, mostly in French, one, very loud in Italian. All had their cell phones and cameras at the ready.

“Ja. Ja. Okay.” KK lifted her head, inflated her expensive chest, and struck a pose. She gave them an eyeful. Unlike Papa, the poor little rich Countess von Krump craved attention, all the attention. She was certain digital evidence of her good-bye performance would be all over the Internet by the time she met Petra for lunch.

“I shall be expecting you to be very naughty indeed, young lady.” Mindful of the pests, Jane eyed her little plaything one last time. “Now down you go!” She had enjoyed her little doll long enough. It was time to get back to business.

KK’s face exploded with joy. “Okay!” She swung herself back around and proceeded to drop.

“Not what I meant.” Jane hauled her topless beauty up in a snap. “You naughty little slut. Down the steps! Off you go.”

“Ja, ja. Just kidding, okay? I go now.”

Whack!

She felt Jane’s love hand smack her bottom smartly. “See, you love me too, Jane.” She started down, adding plenty of bounce, waving as the many camera shutters clicked, much to the delight of the still-gathering crowd of onlookers.

Jane didn’t hear KK’s last words, but she certainly did notice all the snapping cameras. “Bloody paparazzi.” She stepped back, concealing herself again just inside the doorway, watching to be sure KK was off the last step. Right then. She flipped the switch, raising the drawbridge. The boarding steps retracted and stowed into the doorway. Jane knew all about Gulfstreams, including how to pilot one. Sadly, the only flying she’d done in the last few years was in the back.

Jane wasn’t taking any additional risk that KK would break her promise. More than once, she had flown across the Atlantic with Jane, only to wait on board for her to conduct her client’s business, then fly directly back to the Knotty Girl. KK had her issues. But so did Jane.

“I’ll secure the door Miss, Smith.” The flight attendant laughed. She locked the door, sealing them in KK’s flying castle.

Miss Jane Smith, British. That was the only name and nationality listed on the manifest, along with her diplomatic passport number and customs exemption. Like Jane Smith, they were indiscernible fakes.

She slipped by the provocatively dressed perky flight attendant, through the crew rest area and galley. She stepped through the Krump-mandated securable bulkhead door and into the luxuriously appointed main cabin to find her usual seat waiting. They were all her seats, all of soft white Italian leather.

What bloody recession? She dropped her bag next to the gifts in the adjacent seat and sat by the port side window. She watched as KK entertained the still-gathered men on her way back to the car. Safe at last.

The flight attendant secured the door, setting the safety latch to the Locked for Flight position. She went back to better welcome their very special guest. The muffled whine of the starboard Rolls-Royce BR710C4-11 turbofan coming to life barely disturbed the pristine cabin. Jane clicked her lap belt and closed her eyes. The starboard engine was now running normal at ground idle.

Jane was everything but normal as the big jet began to roll. The captain didn’t wait for the second to start. They couldn’t waste any more time. Headwinds over the North Atlantic tended to be unpredictable. No one could know for sure what awaited them. Dame Jane Sterling had no idea. The assassin, Katrina GoodKnight, wasn’t as dead as she believed. In fact, they were on board the same jet.

KK feared she had kissed her lover for the last time. Papa could be so mean. She watched through the tinted rear window of the BMW as her jet began its takeoff roll, taking her Jane away. She opened her purse, gathered her mobile, and thumbed in a quick text.

The pink jet roared down the runway. KK began to weep. As it took to the sky, she tapped the Send key. Why, Papa? I love her too. She dropped the device between her legs, lowered the vanity mirror, and reached for her pink lipstick, then her lip gloss. Applying a new set of strawberry-flavored lips, the Countess shouted, “Karla! Put away that evil fucking thing and take me to the beach.”

Karla did as she was told. She always did as she was told.

Creating Jane Sterling

December 1973

The subject was delivered, somewhere in the former East Germany. The exact date and place of birth was currently unknown. All records detailing Jane’s birth and biological heritage, along with all other documentation pertaining to the entire secret program known as the Candy Business, were ordered destroyed by the Stasi leadership in the fall of 1988. To this day, the woman who identified herself as Dame Jane Sterling knew nothing of her true lineage.

This much was known. A now-missing CIA report, stamped ULTRA (the level above Top Secret), revealed that on 21 December, 1973, a Caucasian female, DoB unknown, was snatched in a joint black ops action led by the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS, also known as MI6 or “Six”). Their lead female operative—a Stasi double agent code-named Cougar—had smuggled an infant, Stasi identification KAT-731111, out of East Germany. The subject, now designated as JD-731221, was placed in a nondescript London flat. Left in the care of a young woman who lived with her auntie, the child lived there happily with her pseudo-family until her sixth birthday.

It was bitterly cold that December day in 1979. That evening, a man and woman came to attend the celebration. Each had brought a doll as a birthday gift. Both dolls were one-offs. The taller had long black hair. She wore all black—shiny black. The other, shorter and blonde, wore shiny white. After cake and ice cream, unwrapping gifts, more cake and ice cream, it got late. The subject fell asleep on the sofa with her new dolls, one to each side.

The next morning, Jane awoke in the mommy’s bed to find the dolls missing. In their place were the child’s mommy and auntie—dead. Their necks showed clear signs that they had been strangled. Both had also been sexually mutilated. There was a sweet taste on her lips. Blood…

She lay there in a cesspool of blood and human waste, too afraid to close her eyes. Two days later, Jane was rescued, still clutching the severed arm of one of the dolls. The stench was horrid. Jane was naked but for a single remnant of white latex smeared pink with blood. She’d been bound, spread-eagled to the bed. It too had been stripped but for the new vinyl mattress protector. The victims, both nude and sexually mutilated, were posed to either side. No one was ever apprehended.

One fact was obvious. Those responsible were sending London a message.

From that day forward, the child in Jane remembered nothing of her previous life, not even her given name, or the two strangers that came to celebrate. She remembered only, two gifts—two dolls. They brought them. On occasion, distorted images would appear in the fog: necks, tightly cinched waists, the scent of new vinyl and latex, the cling of the rubber, and those bloody tall boots. Weeks passed. She refused to speak or give any details of what happened, except to say, “Simon said. When Simon says, you have to. Can I have my new dollies back now?”

Since that night of unspeakable terror, Jane had been plagued by the same bizarre erotic fascinations. Blondes, young beauties with delicate necks, narrow torsos, tiny waists, and long legs, shiny fetish outfits and a pair of stiletto-heeled patent leather boots. Just like what she wore. Just like her two missing dolls. That little girl still wanted her dolls. Uncle Simon had promised: if I did what he wanted I could have the dolls.

Traumatic Sexual Imprinting: T-S-I. That’s what the first-year headshrinker sent by MI6 to interview the Jane Doe labeled her after reviewing what occurred over the course of that stormy night and weekend. Young Jane’s psyche would twist those gruesome images into a fetish-filled sadomasochistic fantasy of dominance and submission that always ended in erotic surrender. A nightmare, that to this day, Jane Sterling lived over and over again in the very troubled mind of that child.

In the weeks that followed, there were countless meetings with the many interested parties. Once more the headshrinker was asked, “Is she or isn’t she?”

His conclusion: “Either she is fooling us, in which case the Hushgirl is a skilled actress and master liar. Or, she’s fooling herself, in which case she is suffering from D-I-D (Dissociative Identity Disorder).”

One final secret meeting in the windowless room and the decision was made. “Right then, mark the Hushgirl a potential D-I-D and ship her off to the Dollmaker. Let him sort it out.” He turned to his secretary and added, “Please add this postscript: PS: An ideal candidate.”

Her response: “Yes, Minister, right away sir. Shall I inform Cougar as well, sir?”

“No, not yet. Mustn’t get ’er hopes up until we’re certain the bits and bobs all match.”

“Very good sir.”

And so it was. Jane was remanded in the dark of a cold winter night to a small private orphanage for girls in need of special care. Located on a vast country estate in Oxfordshire, the home was administered by the estate’s lord and adopted daughter. They would call her Janie. Janie lived there, remaining silent until the day the woman arrived. Tall, the woman wore shiny leather boots with fancy chrome heels. She was the Cougar.

The KGB and Their KATs

Their counterparts in the East produced their own breed of deadly KATs. Instead of plucking their Hushgirl recruits from the orphanages, the KGB’s KATs all originated in test tubes. At the time of creation, each was classified as a Teufelritter or Teufelmaus (German for Devil-knight and Devil-mouse.) The Teufelritters were most feared. Dripping wet with sexual magnetism, each displayed stunning beauty and athletic poise. Ice-cold on the inside, yet wrapped in a warm and charming personality.

Physiologically altered, these deadly KATs were believed devoid of guilt or empathy. The KATs were psychologically groomed to be cunning dominants, each with a passion for blood. Their given names always began with Kat. Within the world’s intelligence circles, these dark-headed minxes soon became known as the Tigers, the KGB’s most feared weapon of death.

The Teufelmaus were a different breed. Unlike the Tigers, the Teufelmaus were always of mixed blood and groomed to be submissive. From birth, these doll-like porcelain beauties were instilled with an unrelenting desire to please their master, or mistress, even if it meant death.

There was evidence—detailed in the missing CIA report stamped ULTRA—that claimed that some Teufelmaus were sent in the field as young as six. They often worked in teams, with one or two Teufelmaus assigned to the Tiger. They would act as the provocateur. One fact was certain. Their targets never saw them coming. Given the nature of the work, a Teufelmaus’ useful life was short, often lasting only one mission. The KGB and their Stasi puppets didn’t believe in loose lips. Use ’em and lose ’em! We have plenty more. Ja.

The KATs were all products of genetic manipulation and chromosome splicing, followed by in vitro fertilization and gestation in surrogate incubators. It took nearly thirty years, countless failures, and hundreds of millions of rubles to produce the perfect Tiger. By the spring of 1973, the hard work was done. Now, they had to wait. KAT-731111 was the first successful product of a new generation of synthesized genetic artistry. Their genetic discoveries and manipulations were decades ahead of anything occurring in the West.

It was no wonder the Stasi’s head man, known to the West only by his code-name, Breeder, went mad after losing his greatest creation to the West. He had engineered the KAT-731111 to be their best Teufelmaus yet. When word of the abduction reached him, the Breeder vowed to his disciples, “One day the world will see my revenge. The Cougar must pay. Yes, Sir Katherine Black, and all her like, shall die a thousand deaths. One day!”

Project Stiletto Receives the Green Light

January 1980

The events of that cold December night had shaken London to its core. The West had to have its own man-eaters. Referred to in official documents and ministry budget hearings only as PS, Project Stiletto’s purpose was to create the perfect killing machine: a teenaged assassin, a la femme Nikita, a cold-blooded killer with no lasting conscience. Cloaked under the cover of the CIA’s existing Cougar Program, PS was on. The JCSSA (Joint Council for Stiletto Selection and Activation) had made their decision. The Jane Doe found bound in that bed was to become the first candidate selected for the ultra secret, totally black project. By late 1984, Dollmaker was satisfied. Janie was indeed special. It was decided, this Jane Doe actually did have D-I-D.

21-DEC-1984, the Doll Factory, Oxfordshire, England

The tall woman in the fancy boots asked, “Would you like to be my little helper?”

“Help do what?” said Jane coldly, as she admired the woman’s fancy boots.

“Help Sir Katherine kill them evil bastards which killed your mommy and auntie. That’s what!” Those were the first words each heard the other speak that dark, cold, wet morning. The day was 21 December 1984.

“And get me back my dollies?” The girl held out a doll’s severed plastic arm. It was fastened to a string she kept round her neck.

“Yes, love.” The woman got down on one knee and smiled. “I think we can do that too, kitten.” She kissed the doll’s hand, then Janie’s, and said, “Well, are ya with me?”

“Bloody fuckin’ we are!” was the teen’s immediate response.

“Sterling! That’s my good kitten.” Sir Katherine held out her hand. “Come along Miss Jane.” She paused to think then added, “Sterling. There now, you have a proper surname. Come now, Miss Jane Sterling. You’re going to come live with me and my lady in our special castle for GoodKnights in the faraway land called New England.”

Four hours later, the wide-eyed Jane Sterling was seated next to Sir Katherine Black in First Class on a Pan Am 747 as it climbed out over Lockerbie, Scotland. They were on their way. Bound first for New York’s JFK airport, and then by special train and private car to the Blachmann Castle in East Hampton, New Hampshire. Late that evening, the Stiletto doll JD731221 entered the Cougar’s den for the first time.

Under Sir Katherine’s tutelage, Miss Jane excelled in all aspects of their education. From the very beginning, the Stiletto was destined to become a strategic asset of the West. The kitten with no past had been groomed those four years in England for one purpose. Now designated Cougar73-S, Miss Jane Sterling had become Project Stiletto’s first success. Their teenaged assassin was to prove every bit as deadly as the KGB’s KATs.

The Breeder oozed with joy. He would see his revenge. His disciples had succeeded in placing his most cunning KAT, Katrina (Tiger69), inside the Cougar’s den. Young Jane Sterling was in reality a two-headed feline, each programmed to obey a different master.

Of course, Sir Katherine wasn’t about to let the young KAT, Miss Katrina-Jane Sterling know she knew. No, Sir Katherine would let the new kiddy KAT, Tiger69, slumber until the time was right. For she was well aware of the Breeder’s plan, one for which she had willingly provided the seeds. She had let him do the dirty work of sowing them. Sir Katherine would now reap the harvest.

Their little game would not be played on a chessboard. No, their game of deception and deceit would be played across the globe for decades, and the game pieces would bleed real blood. The prize: reincarnation and control of the global Krump Empire and its billions in stolen Nazi loot and KGB plunder.

Coffee, Tea, Fresh Panties

11:41 local

The galley door opened. The attractive package that entered the cabin was named Elsa Weiss, thirty-three. A fine blend of German efficiency and Swiss precision, Elsa had a personality a bit on the mousy side. Trim, yet athletic, Miss Weiss sported a top shelf boob job, stood five-eight, and had shoulder-length hair. Papa had insisted KK retain the dirty blonde last summer as her fitness coach and personal assistant. When Elsa wasn’t on the jet serving, Miss Weiss lived aboard the Knotty Girl assisting. You might say she was KK’s girl-of-many-skills.

“Coffee, tea, fresh panties?”

Pink panties were dangling from Elsa’s hand. It was worth a brief chuckle. As Elsa neared, the chuckle gave way to a not-so-brief tingle. It wasn’t the first time.

“KK advised that you should require these.” Elsa left the pink panties with its attached note atop the two other gifts. “May I pour you something wet from the bar Miss Sterling?” Her face warmed.

“Thank you Elsa.” Jane’s own wetness was still releasing into the silk lining of her not-so-new designer skirt. “An Acqua Panna would be most refreshing.” Thank god I’m wearing leather. Always pays to plan ahead, thought Jane as she enjoyed the second-best thing about KK’s Gulfstream. Elsa…

KK wouldn’t let her Miss Jane go without one last lick. Guest Services at the Mayflower would have it cleaned and returned in time for tomorrow morning’s departure. She paused to reminisce. That little one couldn’t get enough.

Earlier that morning, shortly before sunrise, Jane had to lash KK to the twin stripper poles in her stateroom and gag her, so she could get a few hours of restless sleep. But first, she really needed to visit the loo. She noticed the other gifts. “How thoughtful.”

KK had planned ahead. She’d given Elsa something with the pink panties.

A card… Pink.

Elsa set the card atop the two gift wrapped packages on the adjacent seat. Karla had loaded them with the luggage. Jane picked up the heavyweight panties.

Cotton mamas, lovely. The note pinned to them read:

I promise. Do you remember yours? Love K.

She returned KK’s thoughtful gift to the table before her. Once at altitude, she could go back, dry off, freshen up, and slip on the new armor. A few hours’ sleep on the plane’s inflatable bed and she’d be jolly-good-as-new. Good thing; she needed to be rested and ready for another go by the time she stepped off the jet.

Screw the liberal socialist bastards. This was definitely the way to travel. It wasn’t like she was going to DC to testify before Congress with her hand out, whining for money. Miss Jane Smith had been summoned to DC at the request of the US State Department. Once at the Mayflower, Mistress Sterling would have time to prepare herself and put on something more appropriate for her long-belated first meeting with the subject.

She lifted the pink envelope. On the front was scribed, Darling.

“Bloody hell I am.”

She slipped it, still unopened, into her bag. As the plane taxied out to the active, she opened the first of the two gifts. Inside, another bloody card, positioned facedown, on top of the tissue. She picked up the red envelope. That’s bloody odd. Not in the mood to read yet another declaration of love, she tossed it, still facedown, on the table. Lifting the black and pink tissue she found the gift. Smashing; more lingerie. KK! She fondled the shiny soft silk. How lovely. Someone’s in love.

Inside was a diamond-studded satin push-up bra with matching silk panties, two suspender belts, and two pair of stockings with matching lace garters. All white? Really KK! Jane never wore lace. No! And white at that. Never! Not—bridle lingerie? She felt the material—the finest, noting the bra’s size. Her heart sank. 32C? Not hardly. KK knew Miss Jane was a solid 36D. The knickers too, were also a wee bit too small. Was this KK’s idea of a rude joke?

She was about to toss the box and its priceless contents aside, when the plane lurched. The Hush-Hush embossed tissue shifted. Something else peeked out from underneath the skimpy, size four panties. She lifted the lingerie and tissue. What’s this?  Several photos, all five by seven inch glossies, and wrapped with black and red tissue.

“Bloody hell—”

Dying for a Peace

December 1988

Unforeseen global events were at work, reshaping the young Miss Jane Sterling’s future. Exactly three years into her secondary education, Sir Katherine was killed. Jane would vow on Sir Katherine’s grave that cold December morning, “No matter how long it takes, this GoodKnight will get them bloody fucking bastards that done this!”

The young Cougar now had three deaths to avenge. Unfortunately, Jane wasn’t to have her retribution. Not long after the Lockerbie tragedy, the Cold War was declared over. Then, on 9 November, 1989, its greatest symbol, the Berlin Wall, toppled. Its fall exposed the prosperity of the West to the millions who hungered for freedom, only a stone’s throw beyond. Peace, unification, perestroika, and state-approved capitalism were to be the East Bloc’s post–Cold War mantras.

The mucky-mucks of both sides no longer envisioned the need for their deadliest of live weapons. Meetings were held at the highest levels. The Kremlin ordered that the purebred Tigers be euthanized. One by one, their destruction began. The Breeder, already mad, became furious. His only option was a deal with the devil. Krump intervened. A few million well-placed rubles was all it took to save the three surviving KATs from their fate. Yes, the KGB’s man-eaters would suit Krump’s needs well.

In the West: The issue of the Stilettos was handled differently. On 1 October 1990, the CIA canceled the Cougar program and with it, MI6 disavowed any involvement with the ultra secret Project Stiletto. London’s new man in charge, Sir Jack, flew in to inform Miss Christi. Blachmann Castle was to be shuttered. Everything related to Project Stiletto and the GoodKnights was to be sent to the shredder and then burned. Sir Jack was there to oversee the cleanup operation. Their only field-proven Stiletto, Cougar73-S, was to be “Mothballed.” That was the term London’s hatchet man used for what transpired.

Inside MI6 highest ranks, Sir Jack was then known as the Dollmaker’s Apprentice. Like Dollmaker, Sir Jack was also known for certain other interests. However, their unacknowledged methods had achieved the results London and Langley demanded. As such, their private proclivities were kept strictly closeted.

London had authorized a small amount of black funding to be set aside to provide for repatriating the remaining dolls, all but their highly lethal Stiletto. For one Miss Jane Sterling, MI6 and the CIA had made other plans. Repurposed: the Stiletto’s edges dulled, Jane was reconditioned for use in intel gathering and VIP honey-pot assignments. London didn’t just want their man-eater tamed. They wanted the beautiful blonde KAT domesticated. They wanted a sweet pussy that purred on command.

Right! The Stiletto’s pussy never purred for any man. Unbeknownst to Jane, Tiger69’s had. Hers purred for Papa—Tiger69’s KGB Control. Her Stiletto status revoked, Cougar73 was reactivated. Her covert operational cover would remain that of a highly skilled dominatrix.

“Take it or leave it, kid,” said her new handler.

He called himself Uncle Pete. He was CIA. The Stiletto had worked with him once before—Berlin. That term paper was given a grade of incomplete. She didn’t care much for Uncle Pete at first, but in time he earned her trust. All the while, her public cover stayed the same. During the early 1990s, they traveled the globe doing America’s dirty work. Inside the CIA, they were very unofficially known as Rocky and Bullwinkle. Uncle Pete thought it was funny. Jane didn’t.

Cougar73 operated under the legit covers of a sometimes-fashion model and thrill-seeking ex–Olympic athlete. During their time together, they stayed engaged in clandestine intelligence gathering—all very high risk. Pete quit the CIA in late ’95. For Miss Jane Sterling, it all carried on, solo, until that dark Tuesday in September 2001. She was in New York, working an assignment. Later that same morning, while the horror was still unfolding, Cougar73 was ordered back to Blachmann Castle to await further orders. Two days later, she was unceremoniously relieved of duty and given the boot.

Blackballed!

The charge: fraternizing with the enemy. The evidence: several compromising videos provided by, sources unknown. The Cougar had been caught in her own honey-trap. Or had she?

The rubble was still smoldering when Mum asked Miss Jane to stay on and complete her formal education. She complied with Mum’s request and earned her Master’s degree in pediatric psychology. In the eight years since, the now dishonorable Dame Jane Sterling had somehow become a highly regarded pediatric psychologist to Monaco’s rich. As a teen shrink, Dame Jane charges her wealthy clients two hundred euros an hour. As a dominatrix, Mistress Sterling commands twenty thousand per day, plus travel expenses. Either way one hired her, the she came very high-end, was most exclusive, and could only be seen by way of Mum’s prior invitation.

Unofficially, to help pay the bills, Mum’s Stiletto was still called out to do the occasional “odd job” for various intelligence services around the world. These days, the now-Black KAT doesn’t take sides. Just does it for the money. At least that’s what Tiger69, aka Katrina GoodKnight, tells her other self—Dame Jane Sterling, and, Mum—the Stiletto’s Control.

Who let the KGB’s man-eater loose? Who controls the Tiger? Only Katrina knows that. And these days—not since the botched Dubai affair—she’s not talking.

Katrina’s dead. They’re all bloody dead.

Here You Are

11:39 local

“Here you are…Miss Sterling?”

Startled back to reality, Jane found a vision standing over her, spring water in hand. She dropped the ice-hot panties, covering the photos. Casually placing the open box on the table and partially obscuring the red envelope, she reached for the other gift.

Elsa watched with interest as Jane opened the fancy gift box. It contained a bottle of KK’s newest fragrance. Both laughed upon seeing its label.

Wet. They now knew what the God-awful perfume was called.

More of KK’s strange sense of logic at work.

“Everything all right Miss Sterling?” Elsa placed the glass of Italian spring water into the twenty-four-karat gold-plated cup holder by the large oval window. “You look like you could do with a nap.” She set the Panna bottle on the table and stepped aft. Behind Jane’s seat was a small three-place sofa that converted to a bed for sleeping. “I’ll prepare the rack. Just in case. Won’t take but a moment.”

From the all-too-brief look at the photo, Jane was now of the belief that it was suitable for other pleasures too. “Yes, Elsa.” She realized what KK meant last evening. Jane was the inspiration for the as-yet-unannounced fragrance she’d been wearing. “Wetter is better.” That was KK’s philosophy on life. The sea, the sand, the sex. She always planned accordingly.

The Wet kickoff was scheduled for 20 June.

From their first meeting all those years before, Jane always marveled at KK’s odd sense of humor. To the world, she might have seemed like just another spoiled naughty party girl, with a rich filthy daddy. After almost five months, Dame Jane Sterling knew better. Underneath that bubble-headed Barbie-doll persona was a brainy sweetheart of a capable woman.

She observed stealthily from behind as Elsa bent and readied, the rack. Smashing.

“We’re cleared direct Dulles. You’re in for a treat too. Herr Krump’s chief pilot, Captain Schumacher, is flying left seat today. Herr Krump insisted. Says we’re to take special care of you.” Elsa winked.

“And who is flying right seat love?” asked Jane, purposely bumping the Panna bottle, nearly spilling it into her lap.

“I will be, Miss Sterling.” Elsa beamed as she snatched the wobbly bottle from the table and bent forward to set it in a vacant cup holder. “Can’t be too careful. Don’t need you getting all wet on my account too.” She giggled.

It’s a might bit late for that love. Jane knew that giggle, and the inviting smile that lingered, all too well. “Congratulations dear Elsa. You have completed your training?” Six months ago, she would have jumped at Elsa’s offer. She always had a weakness for blonde sweets that came in tight little packages.

“Yes, Miss Sterling, I received my type rating just yesterday. Thank you for all your help these last few months. This is to be my first mission sitting up front in the cockpit.” Elsa giggled again. “That’s what the captain calls it.”

“Men. Why do they persist in calling it that? I rather prefer the term flight deck. Don’t you love?”

“Yes.” That inviting smile was back. “It’s truly an honor to have you as my first.” Elsa took note of the perfume bottle’s distinct shape. “Miss Krump mentioned that you were the model.” Elsa couldn’t help but giggle when she noticed Jane studying the specially molded glass bottle. “She told me yours was hand blown, in Herr Krump’s own factory. May I touch it?”

“Did she?” She looked down at the provocatively shaped bottle, still resting in its fancy wooden case. “Total rubbish! Mine’s much larger,” boasted Jane, before adding a sly smile. Maybe, just a taste. She stroked her favorite finger over the not-so-little solid glass bump.

“Unless—must have caught me in a relaxed state.” No reason not to have a little fun. It was a long flight. She took the glass of Panna, raising it to offer Elsa a cheer. “Here’s to your first mission keeping us moist and relaxed.” She drank. “Bit parched, I am.” She set the half-empty crystal tumbler on the table.

“I shall do my best not to arouse you more than necessary, Miss Sterling.” That short tight leather miniskirt and nearly see-through white silk top, which Krump designed himself, conspired against her. Elsa leaned forward, topped off the glass, and set it in the holder. “Not till we’re gear down and on final into Dulles.” Elsa strived to be warm and inviting but still professional. “Oh, Miss Sterling; Captain asked if someone might like to sit up front with us, in the jump seat?”

Jane first met the lovely Elsa last December, when KK returned her to France from their chance holiday meeting in Dubai. KK had begged Jane to accompany her to Berlin to meet Papa’s American guest. Elsa had promised Jane wouldn’t be sorry if she came. KK also promised her a most special gift for Christmas. Mentioned something about Elsa playing too. Much as that certain part of her wanted to, the news of that chartered Citation X exploding on takeoff had the Cougar on full alert.

The Cougar spent that Christmas alone. She woke two days later with a killer headache and, no more Katrina. No presents. Not even a card. Only the empty Old Pulteney bottle. How in the bloody hell did that get there? No more. Definitely!

KK definitely came with presents. Was Elsa one of them? Since hearing the news of the crash, KK had insisted Jane fly only on her plane and that she always take Elsa. Anytime you want, Miss Jane. Since Dubai—they now had close to two hundred hours in the air together. Why would anyone refuse such luxury?

“Not just now, thank you dear.” Jane sat back, latching her lap restraint. “Maybe the landing.” She sighed, “I’m just drained,” still admiring the distinctively shaped bottle of KK’s new fragrance. She didn’t think that Wet suited her disposition. She left the bottle in its elaborate case and admired her gift. She had someone else in mind for KK’s parting gift. The perfume would make a nice terribly-sorry-I-blew-you-off-today-Nina present.

Elsa reached for the love button and giggled, “From Six to—”

“Nein!” Jane slapped Wet’s lid shut.

Elsa went forward, barely restraining giggles as she entered the galley. Jane found a primal pleasure in watching the just-right tight skirt swish and sway. Elsa had left her VIP to the main benefit a fifty-million-dollar luxury jet affords—privacy.

Without breaking the seal, the old cougar once more examined the leather-wrapped wooden case. Strangely heavy. Inside its red-velvet-lined lid were instructions. They stated: The “love button” plunger is to be depressed, forcing the special concentrated scent into the base liquid contained in the bottle. Then, shake well (from six to nine minutes) and return Miss Wet to her case. Wait three hours before enjoying her. There was a separate atomizer. It needed to be pushed in, breaking her seal.

Someone was being funny.

Wet’s instructions cautioned: The effects of using ‘Wet’ would be life-altering.

Jane had more than enough potential life changes awaiting her in the States. She dropped the lid shut on someone’s fun, closing the fancy leather case, and placed it back into its pink and black cardboard gift box. Feeling the brakes, she glanced out the window. Turning onto the active.

She rechecked the lap restraint. It was still working.

Wet… really, KK—

“We’re cleared for takeoff,” Elsa’s booming voice resonated within the spacious cabin. The engines spooled up. “Strap in tight!” Her mousy giggle gone, Elsa meant business.

And rightly so. The available runway was slightly less than fifty-three hundred feet. For safety, Captain Schumacher required that Elsa demonstrate a maximum-effort takeoff. She held the brakes locked until both engines were producing 90 percent full power. Brakes released, the big jet began its gallop. Elsa added full thrust. It felt like a much-needed kick in the ass.

Jane picked up the red envelope. Flipping it over, she read the initials M. H. handwritten in black ink. In that instant she recognized the sender’s hand, gasped, then shouted, “Bloody hell! Can’t be?” She could barely hear her own words. The pink jet’s two powerful Rolls-Royce turbofans were screaming at maximum power.

“Elsa! Don’t raise the gear!”

The Dubai Affair

British Secret Intelligence Services Headquarters, 85 Albert Embankment, London, UK, October 2008

Inside a small windowless room deep inside Legoland, the pieces finally fit. Dubai was the key to London’s penetrating Krump. Well aware, Krump had long ago placed a mole inside their ranks. Senior leadership was now convinced. Something had to be done. But what? All previous attempts to infiltrate and unravel the Krump organization had ended with tragedy.

Ever since MI6 moved in (1994), there had been scuttlebutt of one old doll still in mothballs. Doll was MI6 slang for a Hushgirl. One old-timer, still crunching numbers in accounting, had some limited knowledge of PS. He mumbled something about an old orphanage and suggested they contact the old bugger’s apprentice.

Unfortunately, Sir Jack had departed the Secret Service in 1993. None of the current management inside MI6 could identify the doll in question. As such, London felt safe in outsourcing the Krump assignment to an old ally. Mum was contacted and asked make the necessary inquiries. She immediately contacted Jane.

The request came from the highest level, dear. It’s something to do with your past history with the subject.

Of course, London never had any intention of telling the CIA or Mum the truth. Per protocol, all transcripts and electronic media pertaining to the Stiletto’s reactivation and true nature of her assignment were shredded as soon as they received confirmation that the Stiletto was wheels up for Dubai.

Still Want Your Dolls

Dame Jane’s apartment, Monaco, 21 DEC 2008, 06:18 Local

The previous morning, Jane received a coded text requesting she meet with the go-between. If you’re interested dear. She was. Dubai should have been a simple in-and-out affair. A one day job dear—most of it flying. Mum had informed: The client only required three verified samples of Krump’s DNA. For another genetic fingerprint database dear. Right. Why couldn’t it have been KK’s? Obtaining hers was a cinch. But Papa’s? That was proving next to impossible.

It was still dark when Jane awoke to the buzz of her mobile the morning of her given birthday. It had been a late night—three too many scotches. Her head was still a little foggy. There was the dinner, with the go-between and… The doll beside her came into focus.

“Bloody hell!” Jane had forgotten. Katrina, up to her old tricks, had treated her to a little present, the teenage stepdaughter of a wealthy Italian industrialist, now dead. “Move your little bum sweetie.” Mistress Sterling knew the girl’s mother well, professionally. She reached under the still warm and vinyl-clad bottom to retrieve her mobile. The text read:

Still want your dolls?

Check the time. Six and nine: Valid message. Ja. “Get dressed, love. We must be off, without delay.” She dressed quickly. The pretty brat doll scarcely moved. “Let’s go, sweetie!”

Whack!

A car was waiting. There was no need to bring anything; certainly not, Jane’s purse. She smiled like a KAT. London had been duped. Cougar73-S hadn’t been reactivated. Tiger69 was, using the same go code as eight years previous. About fucking time. Katrina whacked the girl’s ass again. “Move it baby!” Meow.

She dropped Jane’s birthday gift off at her mother’s hotel. It was on the way to Monaco’s heliport. “Tell your mama, Miss Jane expects to see her, and you, tomorrow at dinner.” She kissed the sweet, still-smiling blonde, good-bye.

“I will. Ciao.”

Within one hour of her awakening, the KGB assassin Katrina GoodKnight stepped aboard a chartered Citation X waiting with one engine running at the Nice Côte d'Azur airport.

Tiger69 pulled on the pair of latex gloves waiting inside and closed the door, sealing the jet. The two pilots stayed hidden behind the privacy divider. She scanned to the cabin and sniffed. The scent was familiar. The interior had been stripped. Heavy clear virgin vinyl drop cloths covered the only two seats, the makeshift dressing table, and the exposed flooring. She sat just as the second engine was spooling up. The scent of new vinyl filled her nostrils. Tiger69 was back in the wild. Per protocol, Katrina GoodKnight’s wardrobe and assignment were contained in a large diplomatic case already waiting on the plane.

Her assignment was code-named Papa. No verified current images of Papa were on file with any Western government intelligence agency. The only photo the British had of Papa was some eight years dated. Taken at his daughter’s graduation in the spring of 2001, it showed a bearded fat bastard in gloves, hat, and overcoat. Miss Jane was there too. Katrina had promised Papa’s little bitch that she would let her attend, if she made it that far. KK introduced her Miss Jane to her papa for the first and only time that day. Since that glorious spring day at Blachmann, much had changed.

Three months later, the world’s senses were shocked into a new state of reality. Days later, Jane was sacked, and Herr Krump became intensely secretive. Soon after, he enlisted several doubles. They traveled the world confusing all who cared. Soon few did. Western intelligence organizations had lost interest. No longer concerned with Krump, they had a new Evil Empire to occupy the blanks in their funding requests and endless reports. The public had a new boogieman to fear. Osama was the new prize. Krump and his double-dealing chums could only laugh at their good fortune. While Osama hid in caves, Krump prospered.

Katrina wasn’t laughing as she reviewed the limited intel on the subject, Papa. Though reluctant, she brought Jane along. Jane wished Katrina had paid more attention to Papa that spring day and less to KK. Katrina only brought her along to point him out. Jane turned the page.

Bloody hell!

Their assignment had been upgraded to a Term Paper. The subject was now the target. Jane threw the folder back into the case and buried her face into the vinyl. A few intensely deep breaths later, Tiger69 took charge and reached for the sealed red folder. What’s this, a two-for? Fuck me.

Inside, a second cover sheet detailed the last-minute addition. Another Term Paper. Subject two’s intel was straightforward. Headshot, key card, room number, and operating instructions:

Obtain semen sample then terminate and wait for Papa to arrive. Use protocol Delta Sierra Mike Alpha. London wanted it to look like a sadomasochistic sex game gone wrong. Death by sexual asphyxiation—a special talent of Katrina’s. Piece of cake, baby.

While Jane hid in a ball of vinyl, Katrina committed subject two’s face to memory then slipped the key card in the, lovely clutch. It wasn’t yet time to suit up. She stripped and rejoined her better half already slumbering in the vinyl. Meow…

Awake. Katrina checked the flight’s progress on the seat-side LCD. One hour to wheels down. She made Jane open the first of three sealed plastic bags. Inside was a one-piece body suit made of latex. When originally crafted, the thin black rubber had been custom molded to fit the KGB’s Tiger to perfection. Its measurements were now some eight years dated. That night it was for, Boris… Boris always preferred her KAT in black rubber. Its stated purpose was to contain any DNA material that might otherwise be left behind or picked up during the assignment. It had another purpose. She touched the rubber to Jane’s face and inhaled. Meow…

Thankful for the second shaker of black talcum powder, Katrina finally overcame the extra half stone in, Jane’s bloody awful thighs. What the—Fuck me. It had taken some effort to fit into the stretchy rubber. The tiger’s stripes were cloaked, covered neck to toe in latex. Its only openings were for her head and hands. She left the double-ended zipper open at her middle for much-needed ventilation. A latex balaclava included a long blonde wig. (Intel informed: Papa only did blondes.) She pulled it on and checked the mirror. Fuck, we’re hot. That wig, combined with the shiny rubber, gave the Tiger’s dead memories an unwelcomed jolt of life. Katrina had thoughts of Boris. Like Papa, Boris loved her, blonde kiddy-KAT. Meow…

“Nein.” Jane quickly removed it and thought of the little Italian doll she spanked the night before. It worked. Katrina’s dark memories returned to their twisted grave.

The crime scene forensics deception kit also included a spray canister containing skin cells and other DNA that most surely matched the human hair follicles in the wig. Their purpose was to leave the crime scene investigators a false scent. London was obviously trying to incriminate someone. Tiger69 reached for the patent leather slit-sided evening dress. Nice. With that done, she had time to kill. She went back to sit and reviewed what little intel London had on target one.

Papa…

Papa’s Past

Solid intel on Papa, aka Heinrich von Krump the sixth, was sketchy at best. MI6 placed Krump as being born in Berlin, sometime between 1946 and 1955, give or take. There was also an unverified report floated by an ex-KGB insider in 2000 that stated the real Krump was actually born much earlier. In truth, no one was really sure. Postwar Berlin was a travesty of social rule and uneven record keeping. Rife with corruption in all four sectors, given the right contacts and currency, a person could cross over and disappear at will.

Believed to be an orphan of an unwed dead teen whore, Krump had been wet-nursed by prostitutes. He was educated in the streets and brothels of Soviet-dominated East Berlin. A child of six, he first met his would-be benefactor, a spy for the Stasi—the former East German secret police and intelligence service. He would groom the young Krump to follow in his sadistic path. It wasn’t long before Krump informed for himself. His benefactor and the Stasi were most impressed. Their handouts provided the adolescent Krump more than enough means to service his own growing appetites.

Krump possessed a gifted though increasingly twisted mind. His benefactor arranged for many tutors. There were sketchy reports stating Krump had studied biochemistry near Dresden. It was during this time he would have attended the Stasi Spy University. A recent report claimed Krump was an avid horseman in his younger days. He quickly rose to become a director within the Stasi Science Ministry. By 1984, Krump was heading up the Stasi’s candy business. He also sold some of his finer products on the black market to the highest bidder. His old benefactor was also impressed. He made a large personal investment. Soon Krump’s candy factory was responsible for stocking the KGB’s candy stores, supplying flesh everywhere the Soviets had interests.

By the fall of 1988, Krump and his Russian friends knew the end was in sight for their totalitarian democracy. They had long planned for the end of the old way. Capitalism was to be the new way. Krump, and others like him, would set themselves up to profit in the new perestroika. Corruption may have been the daughter of communism. Krump and his old benefactors had no reason not to believe it couldn’t become the mother of this new era of internet and media-based capitalism. Sex sells. Sex buys. Sex pays. Image was everything. The newly incorporated Krump Industries GmbH was more than ready for the dividends. In November of 1989, it happened. The darkest symbol of their regime fell. The Wall came down and Krump Industries GmbH was finally in business.

All through the 1990s, most former East Germans and Soviets tried to forget their dark past in the depression that followed the fall of communism. Krump and his ex–Soviet billionaire buddies had learned to profit from the dark and dirty secrets of the old way. They just needed to be patient. Soon it would be their turn. The three greedy Turkmen would help make it so. Yes, Papa was certain of that. Soon this Krump would become the greatest king in the new world of perestroika.

The Last Bloody Assignment

30 minutes out from Dubai International

Out the window, the UAE coastline appeared in the distance. Right then. Katrina tried, but couldn’t remember, Papa… It didn’t matter. She pulled on the latex balaclava and hair. Jane could never forget KK. Katrina let those pleasant thoughts in as she finished dressing, slipping on the skintight leather opera gloves. Over her left glove she added a rather expensive wristwatch. To the other, she added a matching sixty-nine-karat diamond bracelet. The latex was causing her to perspire. She downed a large pill. It would help quell the sweating. Sips of ice-cold water from the plastic bottle couldn’t keep her throat moist.

The Tiger’s descent was proving bumpy. The seatbelt reminder flashed. She choked down her go-pill—a powerful stimulant designed to keep her brain sharp—checked, Jane’s face, in the window, and applied the lipstick’s base coat. She sat back and enjoyed the familiar view as the jet made its final approach into Dubai International.

Game time, baby. Tiger69 waited for the Citation X to park at the Jet Aviation VIP terminal. She deposited the empty water bottle and the few clothes she’d worn in the case and sealed it. Any evidence that Katrina GoodKnight or Jane Sterling was in Dubai was now protected by the international laws of diplomacy.

Opening the virgin tube of the special glossy wet red lipstick, she carefully applied the final touch. Killer lips. Katrina covered her favorite leather dress with the included black chiffon abaya, then her head and face with the black hijab. Both were fashioned of fine Korean silk. Tiger69 was now the perfect Arab woman—unseen and unheard. It would prove a dangerous combination.

The pilot stayed in the cockpit behind the privacy divider. Standard protocol: Need-to-know only. No chitchat. Jane opened the door, exited, slipped into Katrina’s killer stilettos, and made her way directly through the terminal. The woman at the counter greeted her. She said nothing. As expected, a white Rolls was waiting to take her to the hotel. It was the same hotel where she met her monthly client, the prince, for the last few years. She had one hour and fifty-eight minutes to make it back before her flying chariot would leave with or without her. So far so good, baby.

Katrina’s GoodKnight

The “Burj Al Arab,” ninety minutes later

The assassin, Katrina GoodKnight, stepped from the lift. A little drained, she hadn’t taken two steps when she spotted the pink vinyl cocktail dress. That attire was strictly out of place for the lobby of the Burj Al Arab. Fuck! What’s that little bitch doing here?

“Papa!” yelped KK, a little too loud, before using her head.

Where? Katrina checked her six to see. No one. The lift. Still open.

“Miss Jane?” asked KK, obviously startled by the sight, and not totally sure who was under the hijab. Not in that abaya? That’s way too old for you…Miss Jane?

It’s been eight bloody years…Tick tock.

Had it been that long?…Tick tock.

“Yes,” answered Miss Jane in a most British way.

KK giggled like a schoolgirl.

Katrina pretended not to recognize her. All grown up I see. “Kristin?” What in the bloody hell are you doing here? Tick tock.

“Oui, Miss Jane. Ja, it is you.” She beamed. Said she was in Dubai attending “Papa’s annual corporate celebration” for the friends of Krump Industries. She took Jane firmly by the arm. “Please!” KK went pale, wavered, then wobbled, about to go down.

Katrina caught hold of both of them, managing to shield KK before they became a scene. “What is it sweetie?” People were already starting to take notice. She didn’t need the attention. Not now. Tick tock.

KK melted. Feeling the Tiger’s powerful grasp, her eyes fluttered. Sirens, then blue lights lit up the lobby. “Come now! You must join me Miss Jane. Ja, you must. Ja, you come. I can really use you right now. Okay? Ja. You come now, with me. Please Miss Jane?”

“Smashing.” This might do. Katrina quickly scanned the crowd. Hotel security was moving in her direction. “Certainly, my dearest Kristin.” She pulled the rag doll into the lift just as its doors started to shut. “And how is Papa? Is he with you?”

KK started trembling. “Not well. I’m afraid.” She pushed the black silk form deeper into the lift and pulled a key card from her corset. Both were gold plated. The vinyl doll inserted it into the control panel then pounded the top button. The getaway lift surged upward. Eight years had passed, but KK hadn’t forgotten, Miss Jane, not for one second. “Are you staying?”

Katrina found it all a bit too queer. Coincidence? Trap, more likely. She decided it best to disappear. She split, leaving Jane to fend for herself.

Jane found herself alone with KK? Bloody hell…

KK repeated the question.

“Staying? I should think not dear. Not tonight. You?”

“This place?” KK became animated. “No fucking way! Papa says they don’t like us in this country.” The doors parted at the restaurant level. “Another one of Papa’s stupid dinners. You look fabulous, by the way.” Except for the “old lady” dress. “What’s under here?”

“KK!”  Hesitant to let her uncover the truth, she shooed KK’s hands away. “Don’t think Miss Jane’s on the guest list.”

“No problem. You can be my date. Ja.”

The doors parted. KK tugged, then said, “Fear not, Miss Jane. My dress shall protect you.” They approached the security checkpoint. KK lifted the hem of her neon pink vinyl and gold-embossed corset dress. “Papa said your boys can feel me up Karla.” She stepped toward the first of the Krump security boys. Taking his hand, she guided his stiff wand over her corset, then back up between her legs. Between all the jewelry and the metal in her plunging too-tight corset and garters, KK looked to be a major threat. His wand sounded its alarm. His other wand was stiffening too.

Karla ordered her boys off then quickly lifted her hands, as if to surrender. She laughed, a little too much, as she peered into Jane’s hijab for a few tense seconds then stepped aside. Karla spoke in Russian, wishing KK and her guest well and suggesting that they would enjoy the evening. She then instructed the security detail to let them pass without delay. Didn’t even require KK’s mystery date to open her expensive clutch.

“Ja, we will Karla,” KK answered in her native German tongue. She escorted a disbelieving Jane past the visually and otherwise impaired security boys, their wands still excitedly warning of danger, and directly to the head table. They sat as thirteen belly dancers entertained the gathering.

Jane glanced at the place card and stiffened. ‘Chairman Krump’. Bloody hell! Instinctively, Cougar73 scanned the gathering for additional threats. Only six more security boys. Odd. The intel advised Krump would be surrounded by three levels. The first was provided by the hotel. The second was the nine bad boys and Karla. Where the bloody hell was the third? Where the bloody hell was his Tiger? Papa never went anywhere without his bloody Tiger. Tiger-six—

Before Jane could think her last digit, KK stood and pounded the table. She signaled for the music and dancing to cease, then announced to the gathering, “Unfortunately, Papa took deathly sick this afternoon. He is now on his way back to Berlin. Please accept his apologies. Doctor said it might be…bird flu. Ja, that’s it, bird flu!” She quickly signaled for the dancing to resume.

Bloody hell. Under her veil, Jane silently groaned as KK plopped down beside her. Right! So much for a quickie. The intel wasn’t worth a pint of day-old piss. Krump was a no-show at his own bloody party. And KK wasn’t on her bloody yacht. She was right bloody here. Something frisky was rubbing her thigh.

“Where you staying, Miss Jane?” She kept her words hushed so only her date could hear. Remarkably, KK seemed fully recovered from whatever ailed her earlier in the lobby.

“What?” Jane had no idea. She expected to be back on the chartered jet by now, almost certain to be gone. She didn’t even pack a bag. Her casual clothes and other life were locked in that diplomatic case on the plane. Suddenly, that diamond-encrusted gold watch on her left wrist felt immensely heavy. She was getting hot. Hot and wet. The go-pill’s magic was nearing its end. She needed to get out of there, and out of, Katrina’s bloody rubber, fast. They wouldn’t wait.

Standard procedure: if the asset didn’t show by the agreed time, they would leave. She didn’t need some rich-bitch watch to tell her; she was going to miss that plane. Right. One look at KK’s drooling eyes told her that. She turned the other way. How long had it been? Something besides Katrina’s bloody latex was making her wet. She felt something. That old tingle. KK had grown…

“You must join me, tonight, on my Knotty Girl. This stupid dinner was all Papa’s idea anyway. I hate these things. Look at them. All fat with their money and whores. I had to entertain them all day while Papa stayed in the honeymoon suite, waiting for the doctor. Bullshit! Just look. They think they can rule the world. They…”

Jane wasn’t listening. She recalculated her escape options. The Prince—not likely.

“A helicopter is waiting?”

“What?”

“On the roof Miss Jane. Ja, Papa said I can’t go out in public in this. You want to come too? Please. You know they kill lesbians in the UAE. Ja, Papa told me! You come?”

You are a naughty girl. She surveyed the room, full with Krump’s wealthy associates and their hired “dates.” She recognized one right off. A general now. She turned the other way only to see another. She’d doubted he’d remember. Played a ditzy blonde teenager on that assignment.

He was a Russian diplomat and FSB colonel at the time. That was years ago, the early nineties, Serbia. Boris had pumped him for intel. Jane felt that familiar tingle when she remembered having pumped his teenage daughter. Uncle Pete was pleased. She’d done well. The bombs all hit their targets, shortening the war. A dancer moved and she spotted another old client. She knew that old bugger well. Liked a good birching. Jane had unwittingly placed her selves in the very bowels of Krump’s inner circle.

Thank God for the dancing girls. Apparently, the state-recommended dress code didn’t apply to dancing girls. The old one reached his left hand out and slapped one of the dancers’ plump round bottoms. Sir Goody, always the naughty little boy. The dancer turned, slapping him back, right across the face, but then sat in his lap, giving him a face full of olive tits. Jane dipped her head. The girls wouldn’t shake their more-than-ample tits and asses forever.

She wagered the old British lord and the others wouldn’t risk their very private interests becoming public. Not in front of their peers. Thankfully, they appeared less interested in KK and camouflaged Jane once the belly dancers resumed their mesmerizing performance. Just the same, the place could use a thorough cleansing. Bloody right. Krump Industries needs a bloody enema.

Miss Jane wasn’t giving any enemas tonight—not dressed in that sexed-up black leather evening gown, matching opera gloves, and those killer five-inch stiletto boots. Not after meeting KK… Miss Jane really wasn’t in the mood, except for Boris’s stilettos? How’d we get these? Jane was mostly unarmed. Maybe next time, boys. Krump was the primary assignment, but he was gone. Who tipped him? She leaned into KK. “Love to, darling.”

“Goody, Miss Jane. Let’s go, before they start asking questions.” KK was up and moving.

Jane grabbed Katrina’s Prada and followed. Instead of concealing her baby dragon, a Glock model 26C and an extra magazine, the small clutch contained six condoms, one of which was used; four latex examination gloves, one pair used; and six tiny ziplock plastic bags, each with a fabric swab inside. Three contained DNA; two, a small toothbrush, also used, and her mobile, a prepaid throwaway. She also had an almost-virgin tube of her favorite shade of red lipstick and a fresh pack of Trident White (Cinnamon Tingle) for after.

Some of the gathered evildoers were staring. Jane shook her head and silently groaned. Time for plan B. “Well, if you insist, sweetie.” Still on the clock.

They left together by helicopter from the hotel roof. She was thankful at least KK had a plan B. Safely in the sky, Jane wiped her killer lips clean. They shared that night and the next together secluded in KK’s stateroom aboard the Knotty Girl, anchored twelve nautical miles off shore in the Persian Gulf. It felt like old times. And this time it was perfectly legal. They were in UN-patrolled waters and KK wasn’t fifteen anymore. It wasn’t until she freed herself from KK’s hungry lips that Jane learned Katrina’s getaway jet had exploded just after takeoff, killing all aboard.

Jane Sterling first met the Countess, Kristin von Krump, eleven years earlier. KK had been at the exclusive Swiss boarding school for only three days when they informed Papa, “KK was not appropriate. She must go at once!” One day later, August 20, 1998, Papa signed the papers and wired Miss Christi, headmistress of Blachmann Academy, the one-million-dollar tuition. Papa happily enrolled his behaviorally challenged and only daughter into the Blachmann Academy for gifted young ladies. Gifted? KK was gifted alright. In the dark arts, maybe.

Papa had warned the headmistress, “I don’t expect she will go willingly.”

She replied, “Perhaps an escort will be appropriate.”

“Better send two.”

“Oh dear, I know just the one.”

“I don’t want her back until you fix her!”

“You signed the contract, there can be no interference.”

“I understand.” Krump abruptly disconnected.

That afternoon, Jane received her action order. She had been given eight days to deliver the skinny little brat to Blachmann Academy. That assignment should have been a snap too. How much trouble can a sassy-assed fifteen-year-old debutante brat be? That’s another story. One they both fondly reminisced about their first night aboard the Knotty Girl. Let’s just say, Katrina got Papa’s brat doll there one day late and both a little sore. But they made it to the Castle and nobody important died. She hated missing a deadline.

Papa would not speak to or visit with Miss Krump the entire time she attended Blachmann. Those were the rules. Miss Jane did. She visited KK as often as Mum would allow.

Since their wonderful coming together last December, KK had repeatedly promised to introduce Miss Jane to Papa. Five months later, Jane had yet to come face to face with Papa von Krump. Mum’s British clients weren’t thrilled. To make matters worse, Miss Jane was now up against a hard deadline. The Cougar was scheduled to begin another assignment in DC.

The DC client wasn’t thrilled either. Not when she canceled, again. She had blown him off twice before. Then the image of the girl in boots showed up. Jane sent her sincerest apologies and asked if it might be rescheduled, for tonight.

Who was playing who? The clients on all sides of the Atlantic were beginning to wonder.

Greetings from a ghost

11:52 local

Too bloody late! The pink jet was on the roll. Jane glared at the red envelope. Clutched in her perspiring hands, her eyes fixed on those hand-scribed letters, M. H. The pink jet surged ahead, rapidly gaining speed. She didn’t dare open the envelope. But there it was. From a hand she long thought dead. A hand-drawn heart with a stiletto stabbed through it. M.H. How was it possible? MH was her secret, a most secret and unacknowledged code name.

Of the other four that knew of MH, three were dead. Sir Katherine was buried at Arlington. The other, a former KGB operative and Stasi double agent code-named Boris, believed KIA, 11 September 2001. That was how the official After Action report classified Tiger66’s operational status at Jane’s blackballing. Eight bloody years.

The one still living was, Mum. Mum was Jane’s only living link to her past life as a Stiletto doll. She trusted Mum without question. In fact, Mum was the true reason she was headed to DC. That left only one other. It couldn’t be. Not her. Not Kat— She wouldn’t say that name. Nein. She couldn’t say her dead lover’s given name.

Can’t be. She crushed the envelope, burying it, and Katrina’s memories, face down into her heated leather skirt. You’re dead! Her body twitched in response as the Dubai reality hit home. First, those bloody boots, then the kid, and now this? “Bloody hell!” It was getting hot, much hotter than the back of that BMW. KK…

Her head was spinning. She reached for the glass.

Boris has to be dead.

Was that bloody intel wrong too? The only woman Jane Sterling truly feared wasn’t dead? Had Pete lied? She gazed out the window. Through her reflection, the runway’s remaining markers whizzed by. As the two-thousand-foot marker board came into view, the rumbling ceased. They were wheels up and climbing fast. Jane’s heart stopped. She felt a dull thud under her still-booted heels.

Easy old girl.

It was the landing gear locking in place. Since Dubai, every time Jane felt the gear retract, she couldn’t help but think about that Citation crash. “Boris!” Had she done it? Had Kat—Boris really killed her sister? Jane hadn’t been herself since learning the news of Katrina’s demise.

No! Boris is dead. Must have been Papa’s doing.

What about that cocksucker? Karla? Right, the Dubai intel…

Karla was ex-Stasi. She had taken over as Papa’s right hand when Boris was KIA on nine-eleven. In addition to keeping trouble away from KK’s father, Karla had a hand is his dirty work. Had Karla recognized her that night in Dubai? It didn’t matter. Karla was back there, on the ground. Jane was safely on her way.

What if KK knew? Never; KK…

Friendlier surroundings awaited in DC. She was finally leaving the whole bloody Dubai affair behind. Less than nine hours to Dulles. Just in time to soak in the tub, shave, eat a thick bloody rare steak, and prepare for her much-belated encounter with the subject. The client had arranged that the rendezvous be rescheduled for 2100 hours DC time.

Best settle back for a catnap. Her eyes closed.

M. H….

I’ve finally got you

Onboard Krump One, FL 350, somewhere over Siberia

He stared at the dark computer screen for the longest time. Finally a smile appeared. “I’ve finally got you.” The message Krump had been waiting for since yesterday had been received.

Your gift delivered. Going to meet Petra. Wheels up at 10:53 GMT. Meet you in Berlin. K.

He smiled, then raised his glass of Stolichnaya Elite and turned to gaze out the window. “Pleasant journeys, Mistress Sterling.” He laughed. He’d just bagged the rogue Tiger. London would be pleased. Turning back, he found his attention drawn to the elegant woman seated across the table. She had been there, tight-lipped, staring back at him the whole time. He stood, inviting Lady Jacqueline back to his stateroom. “Shall we go freshen up, darling?”

“I thought you’d forsaken me.” Already standing, she was put off by his obsession with reclaiming his wild KAT.

Together, they retired to Krump’s shower before rejoining their special guests waiting in the midships VIP salon. Krump One would be stopping briefly in Berlin for some necessary PR before returning to London to reunite the two female journalists with their employer. Krump’s intervention had secured their freedom only hours before. After six torturous months in a North Korean interrogation center, both young MI6 operatives were looking forward to resuming their lives.

Rubbish

11:02 GMT

Jane’s lids popped. The large flat panel on the forward bulkhead had powered up. It gave the aircraft’s altitude, airspeed, and position on a moving map display. It also showed the outside air temperature. As they climbed, it was getting colder and colder. She glanced at her lap. It was getting hotter and hotter. The jet passed through flight level one-eight-zero, eighteen thousand feet. “Rubbish!” This is all Krump’s doing!

They had been airborne for only nine minutes. She couldn’t wait any longer. Outside, the sky was severely clear. Not a cloud. She picked up the pink cotton, checking the size. Something on the label caught her attention. Made in Turkmenistan—printed in Russian… She got up, leaving her crumbled lover behind. She’s dead! Taking her new cotton mamas, she headed aft to the lavatory to dry off and cool down.

“That’s better.” Feeling comfortably secure in her new armor, Dame Jane returned to her seat. Her eyes focused immediately upon the red envelope. “Rubbish!” She was done cowering to Boris. She flattened it then reached into her left boot, removing her stiletto. She snatched the envelope from the table and sliced. Eyes closed, she let MH hold Boris in her hands. MH wanted to crush her ghost lover into a wad and drown her in the Panna.

Dame Jane thought better and slowly lifted her lids. This card wasn’t a Hallmark. It was fashioned simply, a piece of water-soluble red card stock, folded in half. On the front was a sketch of a compass, hand drawn. Northeast. There was also a clock face. Five till one. It was Kat— Jane stopped herself. She wouldn’t humanize her. No. But only Boris and Katrina could have known that authentication code. Sir Katherine had given it to us the day before the great tragedy over Lockerbie. Her throat went dry. She opened the card and with it a past they both tried so desperately to forget. Paris…

My Dearest MH,

Hey baby. Long time no see.

Terribly sorry we missed each other in Dubai.

Still want your dolls? Interested?

T&C / 1900 / Smith / White / Bullwinkle

Please, do enjoy the photos, love.

Do let Elsa know if you want any signed.

Yours always, K.

P.S. Speak German / Works every time / Do enjoy the gift, baby.

K… Jane practically wet herself. She hadn’t seen that handwriting since that tragic September morning almost eight years before. Boris. She stuffed the long-overdue coded love letter into the half-empty glass of Panna. The paper dissolved into a mushy pulp, its red dye turning the water bloody. She stared at the awful site. Boris is alive. Bloody hell…

Designated Tiger66 by her Russian handlers, Katerina Anastasia Teufelritter had been code-named Boris by British intelligence. Like all Tigers, Boris was a highly skilled dominatrix and KGB trained spy and sometimes assassin. She first met Boris the spy on a cold snowy night in East Berlin, February 1989. Jane had no idea she had known Tiger66 as a child. Jane Sterling’s memory only went back to January 1980.

Since going rogue from the KGB that same night in Berlin, Boris always traveled with a candy girl code-named Natasha. Both were believed to be killed in the North Tower on 9/11. Their bodies were never recovered. Neither was any verifiable DNA. At the time, they were also traveling with a little one. Boris called her the princess. She also went missing, that bloody awful day.

Cougar73 had neglected to mention that important nugget of intel at the disciplinary hearing, such as it was, was all done by bloody teleconference. London didn’t have the bloody balls to sack her in person. Just as well. I would have cut them off.

Afterwards, Jane stood alone, lost except for Mum. Mum stood by us. Well, Mum and Pete. But he swore she was dead. Pete said they were all dead.

Something in the photo caught the Cougar’s eye. What’s this?

She reached into the gift box, removing the, real diamonds and, too skimpy, bra and matching panties. Photos… She tossed the priceless bra but held the, precious, panties tight, for cover, as she studied each glossy image. Something about the cabin. She scanned her surroundings. The rack… The old spy was certain. These were taken on this aircraft.

All were action shots—quite explicit action shots. Four women. All playing some kind of kinky fetish game. Miss Jane knew one immediately. Someone’s been a very naughty girl. She must have recorded the encounter. Right. The one in pink was, definitely Papa’s little princess. She continued to eyeball the other woman but couldn’t identify the three wearing hoods. She looked up. Bloody hell! Elsa was coming. She needed to think—Quick.

Jane ditched the girls under the panties in her lap and reached for, Boris…

“Miss Jane—what have you done?  Oh. What a lovely brassiere. May I?”

“Yes. If you’d like. And, more Panna please, with a fresh glass, if you’d would, dear,” said Jane, handing Elsa the diamond-studded demi push-up and the glass she’d stuffed with Boris’s remains.

“Right away. Thanks, Miss Jane.” Elsa turned and started forward.

Like to spank that. Jane hadn’t had a day off the clock in weeks. The strain was rubbing her thin. The old girl needed a holiday. Nina… She glanced at the perfume box. It was no good. She lifted her eyes to better recon, Elsa…

Enjoying the smashing view, it hit her. “Bloody hell.” She looked down and pulled the sparkling satin clear. She was in her lap. Elsa, you little slut! You’ve been holding out on Miss Jane. Elsa was one of the three hoods. Right then. That cute little arse was there, in stereo. The first, wiggling its merry way up the aisle. The other, a lovely shade of red glowing in the steamy photo. Little Red Riding Hood was getting hers spanked by the trim, blonde, Mistress, in shiny white vinyl.

Elsa looked the part of helpless Red, dressed in a red skater’s skirt, a cape and the hood, all rubber. The spanker had on a white PVC dominatrix fetish costume. Nice boots. In the photos, White was the one dishing out all the whacks. Where do I know you from? She dissected the mystery woman’s features. Yum. Miss Jane liked what she saw. A real pro, she judged, but couldn’t identify. Mistress White? Not in that bloody vinyl hood. She shifted to the tall one in, black latex…

Jane couldn’t ID that woman either. Catwoman was tallest. Dressed in a polished black latex cat suit and mask, Catwoman also sported a rather imposing strap-on. She appeared eager to use it too. But on whom? She continued to process her intel. The next picture gave a clue. These photos were ripped from a video. She noted the date and time stamp. It indicated the video was recorded on, twenty-four, December. KK was right. Jane was indeed sorry she hadn’t joined her. Bloody hell.

Why hadn’t KK worn a bloody hood? Did she know they were being recorded? Could she not? KK was wearing pink vinyl, a push-up half bra with matching panties, and that waist-cinching corset with way-too-many garters. The fasteners appeared to be gold. Her stockings were sheer, also pink with back seams. Odd… KK had modeled those very same things for Jane last year, two days before Christmas. They were flying back to Monaco. Asked if she looked too old in the outfit, Jane still didn’t think so.

Said she had to entertain one of “Papa’s American friends.” Right. Papa wasn’t in any of the photos. Only four females: two tops, two bottoms. It was clear from the stills, the camera position varied. Who was holding the bloody camera? One more party girl? Or, was Papa holding the camera? Maybe Pete will have some bloody idea who’s who. Katerina—No! He swore she was dead. Boris must have divulged the code before—she died.

Jane Sterling switched off her missing past and switched on the in-flight digital entertainment system. Elsa had promised to secure a recording of the weekend’s grand prix. She used the remote to search the jet’s DVR for the race. Good girl. Maybe the race would help her unwind. She’d missed seeing it live on Sunday. As it turned out, KK really wasn’t much of a race fan either. There it is. She selected Sunday’s race. No sooner had the broadcast commenced when the race was interrupted.

“Bloody hell!”

The LCD went black. “What the—fuck.” The picture was back. The race had been preempted. The same bloody video. KK and the three others. She viewed the video coldly. Been edited. No audio. It only verified what she’d uncovered from the photos. Catwoman was definitely running the show. She was giving the orders, and Mistress White, the skilled dominatrix , was carrying them out. Elsa and KK never protested. Impressive. She viewed it again. Bloody hell! All those hours on this jet, and little Elsa right at our fingertips. Someone needs a bloody holiday.

One hour later, the galley door opened. “You do still want it, don’t you?”

Jane purred as little Red, Elsa, swished past, a bath towel and rubbing oil in hand. Miss Jane didn’t let on, as she was still seeing Red. Elsa removed her sexy white silk blouse, revealing the diamond-studded bra. Steady, old girl…

“Strip!”

“Thought you’d never ask, love.” Jane stood and obeyed Elsa’s orders.

After all, she had been promised a therapeutic rubdown, once they were at cruising altitude out over the Atlantic. Miss Weiss delivered. Neither said a word about the party pictures or the clipped video. On the other hand, Elsa’s flirtations were getting harder to ignore. For some reason, her skillfully administered deep massage only made Jane’s wary muscles stiffen.

“Miss Jane, are you okay? You’re terribly knotted up. Rough night?”

“Could be. Oui. Please do continue, Miss Elsa. Oui… There. Oui…Yeah, don’t stop, love.”

Twenty minutes later, her task completed, Elsa wiped her hands of Jane. “Sure someone won’t join us in the cockpit, Miss Sterling?”

“Maybe later, love.”

“I’ll just leave my poor bra and blouse there. Please ring when you’d like me to come back and return this.” Elsa started forward, leaving Jane flat on the rack with the open invitation.

Though tempted, she had boarded the jet in need of rest, not relaxation. KK had kept her Miss Jane out partying till sunrise for eleven days. She was well past spent. Boris’s note. What did it mean? After seeing it, and the party video, her mind was stuck, screaming at full throttle. She tried to comprehend it all. Not surprisingly, Elsa’s rubdown provided little lasting relief. How could it? Not after seeing her all red and rubbery in those photos. She stood, regained her dignity, and tried not to think about it.

That video? Who else was in that bloody video? She viewed it again and again.

Mistress Sterling hadn’t been this aroused in years. Eight bloody years. Boris and Natasha… “Nein!” She would not let Jane go there. Although Elsa’s rubdown provided a good distraction, it didn’t last. Thoughts of KK waving good-bye. Sweet little KK. Their last evening together. Naughty KK.  Elsa… It’s no bloody use.

Jane’s head was full of intel stew and its sexy broth was boiling over. Maybe an old black and white would help simmer her mind. She watched her favorite Bogie classic from Krump’s private collection. Thoughts of Ricki and Ilsa failed to distract her from the video or from Boris’s note. She tried another, this one starring Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. Papa wasn’t in that movie either. Neither was, Boris…

Jane couldn’t sleep. Bridal lingerie. Priceless. Really KK. Not this old rogue. For the next four hours, the video played over and over as an increasingly unsettled Jane studied the photos, thinking of past clients and assignments, both recent and distant. She was sure. She had seen the one in white before. Where? When? Jane Sterling forced herself to do something that she’d vowed never to do: revisit that assignment. The assignment she was supposed to have completed the night before they all died. How could it be, Katrina? Jane drifted off.

The Turkmenistan Connection

Located in Central Asia, bordered by the Caspian Sea to the west, Iran and Afghanistan to the south, Turkmenistan was now the world’s tenth-largest cotton producer. Early in 2002, Hush-Hush began investing heavily in Turkmenistan, buying or leasing the best cotton farms. One secret to Krump’s success included bribing the three government ministers who controlled cotton production, labor, and customs. Hush-Hush could undercut the competition, due to their artificially low costs, and still earn higher profits. Her rapidly growing lingerie empire was proof that KK had a lot more going on upstairs than your average vinyl doll.

KK had been taught well. Only the finest. In 2005 she asked Papa’s genetics experts to cross the local plant with a strain of Egyptian cotton. Not only was Hush-Hush genetically enhanced cotton soft, it felt like a million euros, was inexpensive to grow, but also yielded a fiber structure that absorbed nearly three times the moisture. Hush-Hush cotton took eco-friendly dyes well and held up to repeated washings. This was most important, given the less than eco-friendly detergents still in use throughout Eastern Europe and Asia.

Krump Industries also operated a massive textile weave and cut facility thirty kilometers outside of Ashgabat. British intel believed the facility in Turkmenistan was more than just a production plant for Kristin Krump’s lingerie business. MI6 analysts had long ago concluded Krump was using the facility to somehow aid the North Koreans in their long-range ballistic missile program. Why were cotton panty components being flown to and from North Korea on a Krump 747? What did any of that have to do with missiles? KK said it was because labor costs were cheaper in North Korea. No one, including KK, believed that.

Krump and his evil associates had long been suspected of engaging in illegal dealings with the most recent incarnation of the so-called Axis of Evil. Last November, a Boeing 747-400 Air-freighter owned by KrumpJet began making weekly flights between Berlin and the Krump airfreight terminal at Ashgabat Airport in Turkmenistan and a military base on the North Korean coast. It was the very base where missiles were being assembled and prepared for a July fourth test launch. London wanted answers.

Operatives were sent in to uncover the truth. On the morning of 10 April 2009, an Afghan national posing as a day laborer was found dead, with his throat sliced and no balls. His corpse was dumped outside the sprawling Krump Airfreight terminal’s entrance at Ashgabat Airport. He was in fact a British operative. None of that had been Jane’s problem. Since Dubai, London didn’t trust her. They suspected Cougar73-S had been flipped. They had no idea the Breeder’s most special KAT was loose and had gone rogue.

With the death of London’s second operative, attitudes softened slightly. A week later, Mum was again contacted by her British client and instructed to uncover Krump’s true agenda, by any means necessary. She quickly deemed KK the means. Nothing more than a pawn on the chessboard. In short, KK was expendable. This time, the client wanted Krump’s balls on a silver platter. Mum was also informed: The Stiletto was to be safely in her repose by 20 June, or they would see it so. Permanently. The client also instructed: The Stiletto was also to stay out of Turkmenistan, Dubai, and the UK. If not, they would put the rogue down. Immediately. Is that understood, dear?

The Monster’s Return

The pink jet, Westbound over the Atlantic, 18:00 GMT

In the galley area, the jet’s captain stripped off her sweaty rubber mask then cracked the cabin door. The VIP, Miss Smith, was asleep but Katrina was not at rest. The captain remained silent as the battle for Katrina-Jane’s damaged soul waged on.

 “The monster!” Jane was trapped in Katrina’s childhood nightmare. “Nein.” Only a dream. She called out, “Papa, are you there?” She could see a face. “Sir Katherine?”

The captain didn’t move as the ghost of Sir Katherine spoke through Jane’s lips. “Yes, my brave GoodKnight. I promised to protect you from the monster. Did you see his face?”

“Nein, Papa. Sing, please. I miss you. I’m so tired.”

“Did you take your meds today?” whispered the captain.

“Nein.” Jane’s head jittered from side to side like a child’s. “Please, Papa.” Please don’t make me, I miss you.

 “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy…” Katrina was asleep.

The captain gently closed the galley door, leaving the child’s lost and tortured soul to some peace.

10 minutes out: The pink jet shuddered. Its Rolls Royce turbofans roared. Awake. Startled from Sir Katherine’s lullaby, Jane’s surroundings came in focus.  Only the gear…“Down and locked.” She allowed a breath then checked the window. Precip. Her shoulders sank. They descended through a heavy rain shower. Out the window she searched for terrain but saw only gray gloom through the wet streaks. Smashing.

The seatbelt light flashed twice, followed by the reminder chime. As if the tired old KAT needed any more reminders. Elsa came over the intercom. “We’re cleared to land, Miss Smith. Best strap-on tight.”

If only we had the time, Elsa. Jane sucked in and cinched her lap tight. The nervous jet bucked. The shoulder restraint chafed her chest, providing an unneeded reminder of KK’s good-bye. Two minutes later, they broke out at two hundred feet. A cool dreary gray mist greeted them as the jet pulled up at Signature Aviation, the private terminal. Jane spotted the friendly face in the shiny white trench coat standing under an umbrella beside the black Mercedes. Miss Smith was back in Casablanca. Perhaps this time Ricki would get her Ilsa.

She’s dead, Jane.

Casablanca

Dulles International Airport, USA (KIAD), Tuesday, May 26, 16:15 local

Jane was zipping her boots when the usual customs officer came on board. Freddy was sent to document Miss Smith’s legal entry into the USA. Customs had been made aware by the Department of State that the VIP guest of the secretary would be arriving and was not to be challenged. Listed on the customs arrival log was Miss Jane Smith—Nationality: British—with a diplomatic exemption. Elsa’s revised uniform had Freddy more distracted than usual. Satisfied, he handed, “Miss Smith” and “Miss Weiss” their passports, then went forward to validate the captain’s.

As arranged, a car was waiting, its engine running and trunk lid up. The driver came up the boarding steps with the umbrella, leaving it with the captain. “For Miss Jane.” She took the rollaway luggage and two gift boxes. The captain offered to show the driver the cockpit.

“Really?” The driver stepped into the captain’s domain.

Back in the cabin, Jane was thanking Elsa—“For everything, love”—and helping with the bra exchange.

“Perhaps next time…Miss Smith!” Elsa slipped free.

“Your blouse, love.” Jane deposited the ice-cold diamonds and still-warm satin in her overwhelmed Louis Vuitton beside, the pink card. KK… They watched as the driver delivered her rollaway to the car’s trunk then opened the rear door. After a kiss meant to last, Jane descended the steps, took one last gaze of Elsa and the pink jet, then stepped inside the black Mercedes.

The driver’s instructions were clear. Transport Miss Smith directly to the Mayflower. No detours. Understand?

Seated inside, by the gifts, was a woman. She waited for the door to close.

“This is for you, dear.”

The smartly dressed woman handed over the sealed diplomatic case. Jane reached into her boot, retrieved her trusty stiletto, and sliced the seal. She felt KK’s warm touch as she returned the chrome blade to her boot. Simultaneously, she brushed both index fingers over the two bio-scanners. Click-click. The latches popped. Inside was a single unsealed lumpy manila envelope. She lifted then flipped, emptying the contents into the case. Standard items: secure iPhone, key card. Smashing. More photos. Eight by tens. Two subjects: One, young and…lovely. Two, older and…the client’s subject.

These photos wouldn’t keep anyone up all night. They showed two females, together in public settings—the older in conservative, voter-approved attire. She’d never seen either before. The older one didn’t interest her. Tonight’s assignment. But the other? She took her time with the younger one. Her trim waist. Her long lean legs. Smashing. Her face. Why was her face blacked out? Her too? Hardly. She passed the girl’s body shot to the woman. “Know her?”

The woman smiled politely, studied then returned the photo, but didn’t answer.

Even without reading the client’s action order, Jane was sure. She’d end her day with the older one but perhaps, she hoped, both. What a day. It began with kinky sex. It would probably end with kinky sex. What a bloody life. But it wasn’t a life. It was a profession. The real Jane had no life. She coldly tossed the assignment photos back into the case and picked up the NSA-issued secure iPhone and switched it on.

“You look tired, Mum.”

“So do you, dear. Thank God you’re finally here. You had me worried.”

Jane managed a meager smile then dipped her head. “Sorry, Mum.” Her attention turned to the device. The iPhone looked no different than the one already in her bag. It was. The new one ran a few special apps that weren’t available at the apps store. She tapped the only icon visible, a smiley face, then, held the device up with the camera facing her. The NSA-improved device recorded her facial scan. She spoke her authentication code. “Cougar-seven-three.” The display changed. She was in. The unit’s special features were now active. She scrolled, searching for her action order, and tapped again. The text read:

Both. 871. 2100 tonight. 3 hrs tops. Promise! The rubber is in the room with more pics. See ya for breakfast. 0900. Don’t be late! You get all the fun ones Mistress. LOL.

PS: Don’t lose this one.

She yawned then tapped the shredder icon. The text disappeared. It was gone forever. This system’s servers didn’t store any messages. She took the postscript to be a reference about the iPhone. She had lost the last one. Everything sent to or from the iPhone was encrypted. It also included a new security feature. If its user was not authenticated, the phone would shred itself and set off alarms at the National Security Agency headquarters building at Fort Meade.

Each time in DC, a case containing Mistress Sterling’s assignment was waiting. This one had been waiting three times before. The iPhone wasn’t hers to keep. It and the case belonged to the US Department of State. Like always, she’d leave it with the case when she returned to her other life in Europe. As the car headed east, toward the capital, Jane’s mind shifted west to all things Smith. Nina. “Shit!” She reached in her bag for her own iPhone. She searched under the bra, still warm, and the card. She didn’t need Mum seeing that, quickly burying it under the bra. Whose?

Scrolling her contact list for Nina, she tapped in a text and sent:

Terribly sorry sweetie. Hope to see you tonight? Love MJ.

The concerned woman next to her finally asked, “Is something wrong, dear? You look dreadful.”

“No, Mum. Sorry. It’s rather personal.”

“I see. Any progress on the British matter, dear?”

“Not yet.”

“Peter is a bit upset, dear. He wishes to see you.”

“Couldn’t be helped. Affirmative, Mum. Tomorrow at nine.” She hadn’t been face to face with the client, since that morning. She found it odd he wanted to meet in such a public setting.

“I’m being sacked?”

“Perhaps. You will be able to keep that other commitment, dear?”

“Affirmative, Mum. Tomorrow and next. Then Fridays to Mondays as agreed, except for Silverstone weekend. After that, I should be all yours. Well, unless, Peter.” Face to face. What does he bloody want? I’m sacked. Why hasn’t he told me what makes this one so special?

“Very good, dear. Sure you’re well? You look worn.”

“Have you seen her yet? The boots. Have you seen them? Are they really hers?”

“No dear. Not yet. I did see this.” Mum handed over a laptop.

Jane opened it and scrolled through the Web page. Her eyes went wide. It was page three of a German celebrity gossip site. “Bloody hell! Sorry.” Today’s hot lead story featured several pictures of her and KK taken around Monaco, including some long shots of her with a topless someone on the sundeck of the Knotty Girl. The caption read: Germany’s hottest billionaire party girl all tied up with notorious British Femdom, as mysterious Papa works for world peace. The inset showed a grainy image of Papa boarding Krump One taken earlier that day. KK had lied. Papa was in North Korea. “More rubbish.”

“Look at the next one dear. She’s gotten much too thin. Is she eating?”

She advanced to the next Web page. “What the bloody hell!” The image showed a topless KK standing with Jane in the doorway of the Gulfstream.

“Taken today?”

“Yes, she’s eating. Plenty! Stuffed her face full; myself, just this morning.” A less sentimental Jane scrolled down to the next photo. It contained a link to a video clip. “Bloody hell,” escaped through her clenched teeth.

“However did they get that one, dear?” Mum was pointing to an image ripped from the clip showing KK across Jane’s lap, getting spanked.

Sunday afternoon on the Knotty Girl. She recognized it immediately. “Oh, that. She was throwing a bloody tantrum. Found her vodka all gone.” Jane dropped the lid on KK. She’d had enough of that doll for this week. “Thanks, KK.” So much for discretion.

“I see. No bother. At least your cover is still intact. You gave my regards to the prince?”

“Yes, Mum. Sends his as well. He informed me that his people still believe the crash to be an accident. Their DNA test confirmed it was Katrina’s remains. Oh, yes—he also looks forward to seeing you when the Council next convenes.”

“How nice. He’s such a good boy. What do you think happened, dear?”

“Maybe for you. Dubai? I don’t believe in accidents.” Jane dropped the NSA-issued iPhone and key card into her shoulder bag then placed the two gifts into the case covering the client’s photos. Closed and locked it. Their car was soon to arrive at the Mayflower.

“Oh dear, I almost forgot. How do you like the new wardrobe?”

“Loved it, Mum! Can’t tell it from traditional latex. Your prince certainly didn’t notice any difference.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it? Elaine hopes to begin our first production run next week.”

The hotel’s doorman pulled. Jane prepared to disembark.

“Thanks for the lift, Mum. I’ll meet you and the new kitten tomorrow as scheduled.”

“Jane.” Mum’s lip trembled as she took Jane’s hand with both of hers. “Thank you, dear. I don’t think I ever could manage this without you.”

“Not to worry, Mum.” After a quick embrace, Jane took a firm hold of the case and exited the Mercedes. “Cheers.” She managed a false smile before the car’s heavy door swung shut. Pete, Boris, Elsa, Miss White and the girl in the boots with no face were crowding her mind as she escorted the bellhop toting her luggage into the lobby.

Nina… Nina passed by without a word. Ouch. Jane took command of her luggage and made straight for the elevators.

Always Second

Room 869-871, 17:05 local

Inside the usual suite, soaking in the bath, Nora’s CD was spinning in the Bose. Jane’s thoughts drifted back to their last week in Monaco. They’d been a real couple last week. At least KK thought it was real. They had attended the numerous VIP parties surrounding the Grand Prix. Jane did compete in the Porsche Supercup race on Sunday, finishing second. Always second, never first. The way KK kissed her afterward, you’d think she’d won. KK wasn’t shy. No, she made sure the paparazzi got plenty of money shots of herself, arm in arm with her trophy Domme. If felt so real, the unbridled joy on KK’s face when their names were announced at the royal reception given Sunday evening for the Grand Prix competitors. “Presenting the Countess, Kristin von Krump, and her companion, the honorable Dame Jane Sterling.”

“Oui.” She had insisted KK wear something formal that evening. Something black. At least cover your fanny. Thankfully, KK did as instructed. Her KK always did as Miss Jane instructed. Few in attendance were aware of what the honorable Dame Jane Sterling had done to earn her knighthood. All the same, KK made a point to proudly introduce her hired date as Dame Jane Sterling to everyone. She wasn’t concerned that her dame was already well acquainted with many of the other royal and wealthy guests. The past doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter, anymore. “Oui.”

KK never dwelled on her or Jane’s past. She was smart enough to know that the past was past and could never be changed. Some things were best forgotten. Jane’s past wasn’t what KK wanted. She wanted Jane’s future.

The music?  Nora’s latest CD had finished playing on the Bose by the bed. Jane’s eyes opened. It was time. Lifting her hands out of the water, they looked all white and puffed. She thought it was all getting a little old, and wrinkly. She’d been in the tub, soaking and reminiscing, for nearly forty minutes. She reached back into the murky water to find her still-buzzing razor and finished shaving. Jane was living a life of lies. KK didn’t deserve this. Oui. The Krump assignment was different. KK wasn’t some random subject she knew only from the intel.

Nein!

She didn’t need any bloody intel to tell her. She cared for KK—oui. She felt that tingle again.

Ja.

 Every time she looked into those green eyes, she saw that same bony-assed scared girl she rescued eleven years before. Should have bloody well refused. Earlier that same morning in Cannes, she had seen something else in those eyes. She saw her lover. Bloody awful love. Never should have … Miss Jane—have to pull the plug. Why didn’t she? She was in way too deep. Any deeper would require a wetsuit. Have to get out, and soon. Oui…Oui…

For the second time in her life, Jane Sterling wasn’t using her head. She was still using her razor, though. She couldn’t do it. Not to KK. Not now. Oui…Not ever. Or, so she told herself.  She pressed the razor closer and closed her eyes. Oui…That’s my good little … Miss Jane squeezed her little vinyl doll tight. “Oui!”

When Jane regained herself, Katrina was standing, staring back into the tub. Holding the bath towel around her, she watched the water drain. All gone. Only the razor remained, still buzzing as it danced around atop the porcelain. The razor slowed, its battery drained. Soon she would be drained and gone, down the drain. The old KAT knew that reality all too well. Someday soon Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling would be gone too. Pity.

Chin up, baby!

Shocked back to Jane’s reality by the sight in the full-length mirror, the distant voice in her head was back. She didn’t recognize the face. It wasn’t hers. Who is that cow? She let the towel fall. Bloody awful, you are. Jane’s face signaled the GoodKnight’s displeasure. She hadn’t worked out in months. Getting old. And fat too. She sucked in, that tummy, and debated if she’d pass inspection. She’d better, or the client would pull her plug. Younger models always get the best jobs.

“Bloody candy.” The Cougar snarled. Didn’t experience count anymore? Tomorrow, she’d get a chance to judge for herself. How did she get those bloody boots? She left the towel where it lay, left the bath, and grabbed the client’s special iPhone from her bag, then went over to the bed and opened the case.

Time to get acquainted with Mistress Sterling’s naughty new subject…

Their Catherine, My Katherine

Arlington, VA. 17:05 local

The Mercedes had pulled away heading out of the city, over the Potomac, retracing its route into Virginia. The woman Jane called Mum sat back and closed her eyes. She was very tired from a stressful day. Mum allowed herself a quick snooze. She would need it and all her inner strength. Her destination wasn’t far. A nice happy home, not far from CIA headquarters in McLean. She hadn’t been for a visit to the Blacks’ residence in eight years.

If not for the tragic events of 11 September 2001 and the subsequent closure of the Blachmann Academy, one young Miss Catherine Black would by now know her true destiny. Yes, she would have just completed a third year at Blachmann. Instead, those events sparked major changes in the destiny of said Miss Catherine Black. Since that day, her parents thought it best that she remain hidden.

Hidden in plain view, the Blacks lived with assumed names under cover of Washington DC’s exclusive suburban shadows. Or so they thought, until the day the boots arrived.

How did she get those boots?

Had Krump unearthed their elaborate deception? Or was it the Breeder, extracting more blood?  Her parents broke their silence, sending word to the Lady Christi London Black, now in her sixty-eighth year, to come collect their Catherine. She didn’t use the Lady or London Black, preferring Miss Christi or, simply, Mum.

Never knowing any parents, Miss Christi was delivered to Blachmann, as were most, on her fourteenth birthday. The year was 1954. It was there she met and would later find love with her Katherine. Together they shared thirty-four intense and passion-filled years. Though her Katherine had departed in 1988, their special love still burned bright. For within Miss Christi’s ageless heart, they were still soul mates, and death could never change that.

Two years after her Katherine’s tragic downfall, Miss Christi began writing historic fiction. Her works, most still unpublished, were based on the true secrets hidden deep within the granite foundations of Blachmann Castle. Their true facts, still classified Most Secret by British intelligence, remain buried in the file archives known only as Branch 6, Section 9, Department PS. Not long after the horrors on that dark Tuesday, Miss Christi’s writings took on a new purpose. Her steamy novels now contained coded messages. She used them to communicate with the most recent ghosts of Blachmann Castle.

After months of resistance, Miss Christi agreed. “A tryout of sorts,” she informed them. She would have the young Catherine Black spend the summer at Blachmann. According to the parents, their Catherine had had an increasingly troubled youth since entering the tenth grade last September. Until last Friday, Miss Black was a student at a very exclusive boarding school located not far from their home. Wearing those boots to class was the last straw.

That same afternoon, the school’s headmistress had made her opinions known to a belligerent Catherine and her somber parents. The headmistress tossed around the words

 inappropriate, excessive truancy, and dress code. Each was mentioned several times. She also made it a point to add the term odd behavioral issues. It was code for: your daughter is a nutcase! Her mom had already heard enough when the headmistress closed with the kicker, “Miss Black won’t be welcomed back next September.”

Miss Christi would have but the three summer months to assist young Catherine in, as her mom, Kate, put it, “Getting your shit straight!”

In town the evening before, Miss Christi was disappointed to learn Jane was not there as expected.  Both Cougars were scheduled in Langley for a special meeting concerning Blachmann’s future. She was also there to make her annual visit to the graves of three loved ones. Her day had dragged on, consumed by a tense and, at times, terse meeting with the room full of gentlemen. With Jane’s absence, it should have been over by noon. Not so. Recent events had caused their agenda to be extended. All present wanted only one question answered.

Who gave the Stiletto’s kid those damn boots?

Miss Christi thought her days of dealing with such “gifted” young ladies were long behind her. It was in 1991 when she first took charge of the second Blachmann Academy. The curriculum only slightly revised, she remained headmistress until 11 September 2001, when the school was abruptly, and without ceremony, shuttered. In her all-too-brief time as headmistress, Blachmann had become well respected by society’s upper crust as the only proper school for those “special and gifted, but troubled” girls aged fourteen through twenty-two. Since its official shuttering, Miss Christi had continued to provide her unique brand of home schooling to but a select few. “Strictly as a favor, dear, and without charge of course,” for those special young ladies still dear to her and her departed Katherine.

The first Blachmann Academy was founded in 1947 by the late Sir Katherine Black, using funds discreetly provided by the CIA and funneled to her by the British secret intelligence services. If the real purpose of Blachmann were ever to be discovered, they could each point a finger at the other: the Americans claiming it was entirely a British program, and the British claiming they knew nothing about any Blachmann Academy nonsense in America. While Miss Christi was no longer Blachmann’s headmistress, she did still legally own and reside at the expansive ocean-side estate that once housed the academy.

The old Blachmann estate was located in East Hampton, New Hampshire, overlooking the Atlantic. The estate once encompassed several thousand acres. What remains, still known to the locals as the Castle, was completed on April 15, 1912. Its builders had just finished hanging the owner’s portraits when word of the great tragedy was received. The owners had sailed aboard H.M.S. Titanic. Sadly, it was to be their last voyage. They died with Titanic, never having seen their dream fulfilled. It wasn’t to be the last tragedy to effect the masters and mistresses of Blachmann. Would there be more? Would Mistress Sterling be next?

That chilling thought was still pressing on her when confirmation of the pink jet’s departure was received. At exactly 05:54 local this day, Miss Christi London Black was returned to active status in the employ of the CIA. Not on my watch. All present held their collective breath as she reviewed then signed the necessary documents. The Blachmann academy and Project Stiletto were officially out of mothballs.

With that done, and Jane delivered safely to her hotel, Mum was on her way to meet young Catherine. She would stay this night at the parent’s home. Greatly concerned for their troubled daughter’s welfare, they feared they may have already lost their young Catherine to the evils of a corrupt world. Thank goodness Miss Christi had packed plenty of her special tea.

Only a short distance from her destination, the Mercedes slowed abruptly. The driver spoke. “Looks like a wreck ahead. Yeah. Ouch! Uh, don’t look, Mum! It’s a bad one. Best settle back. Could take a while to clear the mess.”

They weren’t going anywhere. The driver raised the privacy divider, got comfy, and fired up her iPhone. She then tapped in to a live streaming video that would preoccupy her while they waited for the cleanup.

Miss Christi smiled and followed the advice. Her eyes felt so heavy.

Tits and Clits

Room 869, the DC safe room, 18:06 local

Old or not, she was intrigued by the cryptic note included with the lingerie. Tits and Clits… Somehow, Boris… No; KK knew she was booked in at the Mayflower. The client saw to the adjoining rooms: 869-871. Prior to her blackballing, Mistress Sterling had visited these rooms several times a year, always when congress was in session. Her last stay was six weeks previous. The client’s mucky-muck had canceled at the last minute. The trip wasn’t a total loss. She had spent the evening in the T & C, reminiscing. She also made a new friend. Nina…

Tempted by the note, and not wishing to spend the evening alone in her room until the subject showed, Jane decided she’d chance it with Nina, and recon the hotel’s lounge. Just one drink and perhaps—

Boris! Was a piece of fresh white candy already waiting down there with her name on it?  Down there was the Town and Country lounge located at street level in the Mayflower. The T & C was their favorite place to enjoy a drink and a steak together when the KATs crossed paths in DC. It certainly beat room service. There was also the mental diversion its testosterone-filled atmosphere provided. Frequented by the current crop of power brokers for democracy, by this time of day the T & C was sure to be crawling with wolves. And there was its storied history, not to mention, the piano…

Jane found the piano’s notes relaxing, even romantic. Not at all like the note—from whom? With the piano playing in the background, the bar vaguely reminded her of Rick’s Cafe in the movie Casablanca. Well, it made for a good fantasy. Katrina had told it to—only Boris; their last night together. Of course it was only a fantasy. Jane played, Ricki. Just like Rick, she always killed the bad guys. But unlike Rick, Ricki always got the doll. All the dolls. Ja, Nina… “Oui…”

For nearly forty years, the Town and Country was the daily hangout of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. Hoover was a real-life Captain Renault. Keeper of all the secrets, no one in DC dared to cross him. During his reign, and when in town, Hoover always lunched there, seated at the same table by the window, facing Connecticut. He wanted everyone to see him, even those walking by on the street. His Soviet watchers ate there too, every day, to see who was lunching with the director. Although Jane never met him, some nights she swore she felt his presence. Hoover retired permanently in 1972.

It was in the spring of 1936 when the watchers witnessed a young Miss Katherine Black first meet Mr. Hoover there, and many times afterward. By Hoover’s end, each would know the other’s secrets. When Hoover died, he chose to leave his vast collection of secret files at Blachmann for safekeeping. They’re still safe. Jane knew that, and where too. Long before the cold war, the T & C had become a favorite haunt of spooks—East and West. Deals and double-crosses. That was then. That war ended twenty bloody years ago. Pity…

Mistress Sterling had an assignment of her own to deal with, due later that evening at nine in the adjoining room. Still naked and safely on the bed, she was reading the Justification for Action report. It was on the client’s iPhone. Satisfied she thoroughly understood the subject’s special interests, the Cougar shredded the electronic report and tossed both sets of photos back in the diplomatic case, locking it.

This assignment wouldn’t be too hard. It was to include only light bondage and discipline, with a healthy dose of verbal humiliation. Of course, Mistress Sterling would be decked out in her finest dominatrix wear. It was one she’d completed many times before. Next door in room 871, she verified that all the tools of the trade were in position. Mistress Sterling would make certain the senator forgot her troubles.

Time Check: Eighteen-O-nine. Two and a half to kill. Right then; plenty time for a bit of supper and a little bird watching. And, maybe a sweet treat.

Her only lasting hobby was bird watching; actually, a bit more profiler than watcher. When in town, Jane enjoyed the pastime from, Katrina’s favorite corner table, a glass of Old Pulteney, the twenty-one-year, her trusted companion. She would sip and observe as they entered, intermingled, drank, and then went about their business or pleasure.

Were they good, or evil? Or, were they just average—somewhere in between? Mistress Sterling didn’t do average. Her focus was their soul; profiling the inner self, their secret lives, and their naughty needs and deeds. Those all-too-human traits most people dreaded would ever be revealed. Yes, Mistress Sterling was very good at getting the subject to reveal what they worked so hard to keep hidden. Everyone kept secrets.

Ja—

Ding-dong…

The doorbell… Guest Services with the rejuvenated leather skirt and blazer. She found, the robe, and opened the door. “Brilliant. Thanks, love.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Miss Smith, was back in the attractive thirty-five-hundred-dollar designer skirt and blazer, in the elevator and on her way down to the Tits and Clits. She thought about the kid in the boots. Was she the subject’s kid? There were always kids. That was tomorrow’s assignment. Collateral damage. Every action had some form of unintended damage. KK…

She tried not to think about it or KK. Dame Jane’s reflection in the mirror made that impossible. Why had KK insisted she buy—this outfit? White? When she tried it on in the shop, KK said she had finally met her knight in white armor. The GoodKnight exited the elevator, entering the Mayflower’s gilded lobby and headed direct to the Tits and Clits. Her thoughts focused on, the bloody note…

Wake Up

Mclean, Virginia, 18:20 local

The grisly wreck had traffic more delayed than usual for a Tuesday evening. They arrived at the Black residence twenty-five minutes behind plan. Miss Christi detested tardiness. She was awakened from her well-deserved snooze by the attractive twenty-year-old driver.

“Wake up, Miss Christi. We’re here.”

“Oh dear. Must have slipped off to heaven for a minute,” she said as the driver helped her from the Mercedes. “Thank you, dear. I’ll see myself to the door.”

“Very good, Mum. I delivered your luggage when I set the sensors. Nice place. We’ll have motion, audio, day, night, and IR video. All are hot and running normal.” She patted her blazer’s pocket. “Her mom seemed quite anxious. Told her there was no need to worry. I made the beef stew. Hope you like it.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure I will. Thank you. It’s been thirteen years.” She sucked in deep, held it for a bit, then exhaled. “Well, my dear Danielle, it’s time this old girl got back in the game.”

“Yes, Mum, very good. I’ll be back to collect you and our new kitten at O-nine-hundred sharp.”

“And thank you for all your help today, dear. Oh dear. Please don’t forget my Katherine’s flowers, tomorrow.”

“I’ll have them waiting on the seat. And remember Mum, if you need us, just say the word. We’ll be all over that tight brat ass in less than two minutes.”

“Yes, dear, I remember, Bullwinkle. Good night, dear. I’ll sleep well this night, knowing you’re watching over us.”

“Yes, Mum, that’s it. Happy dreams tonight.” She gave Miss Christi a quick hug then waited by the Mercedes for her next passengers, Catherine’s mom and dad.

Miss Christi faced the house. The family had lived there since 1996. The same year they received their new identities. The place was nice but nothing like the castle they once lived in. All the homes in the upscale neighborhood looked the same—expensive. Typical upper-class DC suburbia: five toilets, four bedrooms, three cars, two kids (one dead), dueling incomes, too much work, and not enough family time to keep the one kid they still had out of trouble. Yes, it had been the perfect cover for all involved. But that was over.

Shouting greeted her from behind the front door. Before she could press the bell, it swung open. “Please come in, Miss Christi.” It was Catherine’s mom. Dressed in a black evening gown, Kate appeared slightly agitated.

Miss Christi had barely said, “Hello, what’s wrong, dear?” when the verbal blowup resumed. She entered, her attention immediately drawn to the top of the stairs.

“Fuck you! I’m not going! I hate you!” Catherine screamed at her mom. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Upstairs, her father tried hugging his wild daughter without success. She lashed out, hitting him in the arm, and then she shoved. His life on the brink, he reached out, trying to regain his balance.

“Daddy!” She reached for him. That was fucking close. She was shaking. “Please? Don’t.” She’d never hit her father before. “Don’t make me go. I’ll be good. I promise.” She hugged him lovingly, waiting for her reprieve. It didn’t come.

Miss Christi listened with sympathy to her son’s encouraging words.

“Come on, Cat, I promise she’ll make your summer fun. Believe me, you’ll have loads to do in New Hampshire. She promised to let Dani teach you to drive.” Her father thought they were prepared. He was so wrong.

“Fuck you!” The cornered Cat shoved him away and started firing, “Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t fucking want to fuckin’ go to fucking New Hampshire! I don’t fuck—” Fists shaking with rage, she spotted Miss Christi in the entry. Is that her? Oh. My fucking G! “I can’t go. With her? I have to stay. Here!” Catherine continued pleading her case as her father retreated down the stairs. “I have—” She froze.

“Why!” roared her mom, coming to his rescue. She roared again. The technique proved effective, freezing the wild Cat, including that mouth. “Well? Tell me, why?” She waited and watched.

Having no part in Cat’s latest tantrum, she was done waiting. “Well? What’s so damn important that you don’t want to spend the summer at a beautiful ocean-side estate in New England?”

The mouth didn’t answer. Instead, two boots pounded down the staircase. They were standing face to face.

Mom, please…

“Well? What do you need to tell us?” demanded her mother, their mouths only inches apart. “What’s so damn important here? You can’t leave it for three months?”

Catherine’s stormy silence continued. She attempted a stare-down.

Mom wasn’t fazed. “Well then! No reason to stay!” She leaned into Catherine’s right ear and whispered, “You’re going, you little—” She backed off and growled out her last order. “You, go to your room, young lady! And change out of that”—he pointed with disgust—“ridiculous outfit!”

Cat stood her ground, arms crossed.

We’re late. With no better option, Mom played the trump card. “Where’s my paddle?”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me, you little—”

“Bitch!” The beaten Cat swung around and stomped up the stairs, huffing and puffing. With each step, she again tested their construction. Seconds later, there came the unmistakable sound of a bedroom door slamming shut.

What followed was less than repeatable. At least the closed door muffled her mom’s salty words. “Sorry, Miss Christi. No doubt you guessed what her favorite word is.” Kate’s cooled voice gave little indication of what just transpired. She showed Miss Christi into the family room. She was calm, too calm. Her skin tone was as pleasant as the gown she wore. “I just set out a fresh pot of hot water.” She pointed to the teapot and service neatly arranged on the coffee table. “Danielle said you brought your own tea.” She turned to her husband and growled. “Come on, honey, we’re going to be late.”

“Yes, Tiger, almost ready. Just have to pee.” He stepped into the powder room just off the foyer.

“Good God, Mum. He always has to pee before he can go anywhere.” She wanted out the front door before her daughter finished reloading. “I almost forgot. There’s a beef stew simmering in the crockpot for you two.” She smiled. “Should be ready soon. We’ll be back by one at the latest. Good luck with the little princess.”

“Fuck you!” Slam! Catherine was retesting her door.

Miss Christi sat on the sofa. “Sounds scrumptious, dear. You two go on now. Go.” She looked through the window. “Miss Danielle is waiting. Have a nice time tonight. Don’t let this spoil your dinner.” She motioned for them to leave. “Please don’t worry about us girls.”

Her reassurances were received with guilt.

“Oh, I have a pot ready for your tea,” said Kate as she pulled the front door open.

“Yes, dear.” Miss Christi was pouring herself a cup.

“Shit!” A look up the stairs caused her head to shake with sadness. “Sorry, Mum, I’m not at my best today. I thought she’d never get her ass out of that damn car.” Welling up, Kate stepped out the door. She wouldn’t have her stepdaughter see her crying. For months she had wondered, where had it gone so wrong?

“Hey, wait for me.” He pulled the door closed and raced to catch up.

Catherine’s parents had a special dinner to attend in DC that evening, their belated fifteenth anniversary. Reluctant to leave her alone with their Cat, they felt some relief knowing two Blachmann Cougars would be posted nearby and ready to assist if necessary. Miss Christi stood to witness the Mercedes pull away. She sat back in the soft leather. Opening her laptop, she engaged herself in the next chapter of her latest work of fiction. Not long after, those boots started down the stairs. Their Cat was going much gentler on them this time.

Miss Christi looked on as, their Catherine, remade her entrance.

Clutching her cell phone and still dressed in black. All black. She wore a cutoff T-shirt with the letters F and U prominently displayed over each breast in a bold white font. It appeared Catherine was also in an ill-fitting push-up bra. Equally unpleasing, the well-worn cheap leather wraparound mini.

Panties… Miss Christi most certainly hoped they fit better.

Catherine stood before her in the pair of very fancy heeled well-over-the-knee boots. Made of real patent leather, the upper third was folded over, trimmed, and tied down with lipstick-red lacing. They had four-plus inch polished chrome metal stiletto heels. They looked to be one-of-a-kind and very-very expensive. But were they those boots? Or just a good reproduction?

“Well, dear, that certainly is an attention-getting outfit. Those boots are quite stunning. May I trouble you for a closer look, dear?”

“Aren’t they?” She pretended to ignore her new adversary as she fell into her father’s leather recliner, and gave a tug on the release. The footrest sprang out, lifting her long slender booted legs. She stretched out, almost horizontal, and made no effort to cross her legs. “Why?” She was having some fun. Screened only partially by the tea service her mom had set out on the coffee table, she gave her grandmother quite a look. “Seen enough?”

“Yes, dear. I see your panties are black too,” offered Miss Christi with a chuckle.

“Are they?” retorted Catherine, smirking as she flipped her long hair and continued texting, her eyes glued to the iPhone.

“To whom are you texting, dear?” asked Miss Christi in another attempt to make a connection of her own.

Ignoring her, legs still parted, she continued to interact with, whom. Her thumbs and eyes glued to her iPhone, not at all acknowledging her grandmother’s repeated attempts to make contact.

Miss Christi took note of the Harry Potter chess set on the bar. “Catherine dear, join me in a game of chess?” She sat forward, waiting with a saint’s patience as the minutes passed. “Your mother said you’re quite a match.” The silence grew louder. She tried again. “Would you like to hear a story, my dear?” No response. More minutes passed. Updating her tea, Miss Christi calculated her next move. She studied, their Catherine, lying back in the recliner, dressed and positioned so provocatively. “Catherine dear, do you like to fuck?”

Her thumbs froze. The device dropped onto her distressed leather. A head slowly rose. She flicked her long hair, revealing two blue eyes filled with dark caution. Had she succeeded in getting Miss Christi to play her game? Staring for a good minute as her face grew brighter, she exclaimed, “Grandma!” You just said fuck. Didn’t you? Fuck me! Nice opening move, Granny. Grinning with approval, she decided she would play. Making her move, she said, “What did you say?”

“I said, do you like to fuck, my dear?” The words left her lips without embarrassment. “It seemed an appropriate if not unpleasant topic to engage you.” Miss Christi continued, advancing the pawn another space forward. She set the trap. “The letters, on your top?”

Catherine picked up her iPhone and dropped her head back. Pleasant topic? Fucked if I know. Never been with a guy. No way! There was a long pause as she contemplated her next move. Slowly, she again lifted her now-somewhat-brighter blue eyes toward Miss Christi. “Fuck? Yeah, I like to fuck.” I guess. “Doesn’t everyone like a good fuck? How about you, Granma? Do you like a good fuck?” She claimed her first piece. Her queen was set loose to roam the board. She was ready to play a reckless game.

“Well, I don’t know about everyone, my dear. I would think most do at some point in their lives.”

Huh? Wait. Yeah, this must be some trick of my mom’s. She feared her next move might expose her queen. I’m not playing anymore. “I’m hungry!” The Cat sprang, kicking the recliner closed, and scattering the game pieces. “Let’s eat.”

Dinner waited in the kitchen. Miss Christi followed, mentally noting the surefooted mastery of those stiletto heels. Catherine prepared a bowl of stew for Miss Christi and one for herself. Was it an act? They sat at the kitchen table and ate. Neither offered a word as they consumed the meaty stew. “Thank you, dear. That was delicious,” said Miss Christi after her last taste. “Your mother said you were always a great help in the kitchen.”

My mother? “Whatever.” She got up from the table leaving her bowl. Returning to the recliner, she reentered her private world in the iPhone.

Miss Christi filled the teakettle, lit the burner, and placed it over the flame. While she waited for the boil, she tidied up after Catherine and loaded the dishwasher. She placed the remaining stew in the refrigerator, washed up the crockpot, and located its place in the storage cabinet. After checking that the kitchen was properly organized, she returned to the family room with a fresh pot of tea.

Back in their respective seats, each retook their previous postures. It was now time to resume their game. Miss Christi moved first. “Join me in a cup of tea, my dear?” She was hopeful the food had calmed the untamable beast.

“Not likely. I’ll have a double Jack on the rocks. You want one?”

“Like to hear a story?”

“No, not really, Grandma.” Back in iPhone world, every few minutes, Catherine’s thumbs tapped. Every so often, she mumbled something unintelligible or twitched in response to the display.

Grandma was the one word Miss Christi couldn’t stand. She let it slide. “I have many exciting stories from our past life. I would love to share one with you, my dear.”

“I said, no!” She never took her eyes off her little world.

“Have you decided what you wish to do in this life yet, dear?”

“What?” Confused by the question, she fired back. “My life?  My fucking life ends tomorrow! Remember? Fuck!” Do you have fucking Alzheimer’s? Shit. Do you?

“Oh no, my dear.” Still calm, Miss Christi tilted forward to pour. “I don’t think it’s going to end because you’re spending one summer with me and the girls.”

“I do.” The two words ended with a pout. Girls?

“I fear you may find it most rewarding, my dear.”

“Yeah, sure. I want to be a heartless assassin.” Her words carried a sinister tone. Bet you’re peeing in your Depends! “So what do ya think? Can you teach me how to kill people this summer? Huh, Grandma? Can you?” Catherine held an evil face. Got you, didn’t I? She was sure that would end the game.

“Well, my dear, that does sound like an exciting profession.”

“Did you fucking hear me?” She pressed the device into her leather, placed her hands on each armrest, slowly pulled up, then shouted, “I want to fuckin’ kill people for a fucking living! Do you have a fuckin’ class in that this fuckin’ summer?”

“Perhaps.” Miss Christi smiled. “Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” Catherine fell back in the recliner. Did the old girl hear me right?

“I have a couple I think you might enjoy, considering your career goals.”

“What?” She did hear me? Is Granny on drugs? “Yeah, sure. What ya got, Gran?”

“Be right back.” She trotted over to the guest room. It was just off the family room. She returned, holding two DVDs. “I have Point of No Return and Long Kiss Goodnight. Which do you prefer, my dear?”

“No fucking way!” How’d she know? Catherine thumbed in a quick text and put her friend down. She was all smiles. “Let’s watch Nikita. She’s my kind of girl.”

“Oh yes, me too.” Miss Christi giggled. “Terribly ruthless! But sensitive too.”

They shared their evening watching young Nikita become a skilled assassin.

“Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it, my dear?” Miss Christi got up to retrieve the DVD from the player. “Do you think you could do that?”

Catherine didn’t respond. She picked up her best friend and resumed texting. She hadn’t gotten any reply since just before seven. “Stupid fuckin’ phone!” She sent another text before rising from the recliner. “Oh, hey, thanks for the movie. I’m going to bed now.” She headed up the stairs.

“Goodnight, my dear. I hope you have a restful night. Our ride will be here at nine sharp. Please, be prompt, dear.”

“Yeah, whatever. ’Night, Gran.” Sure-footed and light as a cat, she hurried up the stairs.

Each retired to their own bedroom. Tonight’s game: a stalemate.

Late Apologies

The Town and Country, 18:38 local

Jane sat at her usual table when the stone-faced, cute waitress approached. She had broken their date, planned for this morning. Nina had paid the penalty for KK’s stolen extra day. Late apologies never work. She had sent the text two hours ago, on the way over from the airport. She hoped the expensive gift bottle of Wet would better say, I’m-so-sorry-I-blew-you-off-love. She still expected she’d have Nina up to her room later, after she’d dealt with tonight’s subject. Sweet girls like Nina were a naughty little pleasure Miss Jane just couldn’t resist.

“Good evening, Miss Smith,” said Nina, casting a chill. “How may I serve you this evening?”

“A good evening? I do hope so, my sweet little Nina. Let’s start with my Old Pulteney. The twenty-one, please. We’ll just have to wait and see where and when your services will end.”

Jane first met the lovely young lass a month earlier. She had stopped in for a nightcap. Nina was new in town, just off the plane from Holland.

“Once again, Nina, please accept my sincere apologies for missing our date.” A real date. One without lies.

Jane had it bad for the cute young blonde with the tiny waist and healthy breasts. Scheduled the evening before, she had planned to fit the personal time in before her meeting with Mum and the mucky-mucks at Langley.

Promised her a breakfast in bed and a morning of sightseeing. The red double-decker tour bus stopped right outside, at the corner of Connecticut and Desales. That was before she was persuaded to stay. Just one more night, Miss Jane. I promise, Miss Jane. Papa will be here, later Miss Jane. Ja, on the Knotty Girl.

KK lied.

Back in DC, this time to pump a senator, a real up-and-comer, named Winter. With the changing of the guard, the blue team was back in charge of Washington. Mistress Sterling was usually in town two days a month to entertain the client’s chosen few. She always felt a little tension before first meetings. To take the edge off, she indulged in her other naughty little pleasure, a single glass of Old Pulteney. The twenty-one year.

Tonight, it was a sorely needed diversion. The note had her on a hair trigger. Boris and those photos? Who were they?

If only Jane knew about the surprise still waiting to be unleashed in her room. Had she pushed a little harder when she rubbed that glass clit, the two-hour delay would have started. Jane, Elsa, and Captain Schumacher would have all gone down for the last time and without a trace. She never would have had to face her disappointed Nina. No, she and the others would be spending an eternity at the bottom of the North Atlantic.

Jane recalled the real reason she got on the pink jet. Those bloody boots…

Nina Gets Wet

18:50 local

“Pleasure to have you with us again, Miss Jane.” She was still steamed. “Will you be staying with us long?”

Nina claimed she was twenty-three. She looked about fifteen—a most dangerous weakness of Jane’s, come to DC six weeks ago from the Netherlands. Her name meant peace in Dutch.

Jane had become intimate with the lovely young sweet on her last visit. The subject had canceled just after she arrived. Why let the room go to waste? That night and for much of the next day she practiced her art on Nina.

She learned the girl’s mother was a prostitute. She was raised by her grandmother on the family farm. Nina’s mother gave birth eight weeks’ premature, at age thirteen. She’d been raped and never said by whom, then left home at sixteen. Nina hadn’t seen her since. She said her mom had dreamed of becoming a movie star.

Instead, her mother found her way to Amsterdam’s red light district, where she worked as a window prostitute. Had she given up on her dream too soon? Maybe she was just gaining experience for a future role, offered Jane with reassurance. More likely, she was just another lost soul searching for something, or someone, to brighten a dark heart. That doesn’t make her a bad person, my sweet Nina. Now does it, dear?

She had a way of giving the young ones just what they needed. Upon her return to Europe, the Cougar did some checking. She had located Nina’s mother, still working Amsterdam’s red light district. She’d been promoted to house madam, with seven girls of her own. They met. She planned to inform sweet Nina, when the time was right. Until then, the perfume would have to do.

“Sadly no, just the one night, love.”

“Oh.” Nina’s face dimmed as she handed Jane the menu.

“Once again, my sincerest apologies for so rudely breaking our date today.”

The Cougar made an unneeded review of the menu before scanning the dimly lit bar. Just blokes. She relaxed, settling back in her chair, and felt the stiff bulge between her legs. The ghost of Boris had her on edge. She hadn’t strapped on in some time. Under her skirt was her baby dragon. Always ready, the baby Glock model 26C was strapped on tight to her right inner thigh. She repositioned the menu. Just then, the distinct sound of woman’s footsteps could be heard from the hallway outside the bar. Stilettos…

Jane didn’t look. She didn’t want to be seen first. Her face shielded behind the menu, the Cougar’s ears maintained the surveillance, attracted to the arousing sound. Her eyes drew them into focus. Black pumps, lovely. The clicking soon vanished, smothered by the, bloody carpet. A pair of yummy legs moved past. They were attached to the shiny black stilettos. They headed toward the bar. She glanced at her watch. Eighteen-fifty-seven.

The mystery woman’s scent lingered. Soft, refined, familiar? Her nostrils flared, she raised her head. Too late. She hadn’t seen the face. That didn’t deter her from savoring the strangely familiar fading scent. Wet! Bloody hell, it’s…

“KK?”

No response.

Too bloody tall. Steady, Cougar.

Wet! Jane was sure of it. How? Wet hadn’t been released for sale. Only KK and Papa had access to samples. Suddenly, those sugary memories of the last week with KK weren’t so sweet.

The mystery woman, Miss Wet, perched herself at the bar. Her round, yet trim and, that tightly skirted bottom, filled the only open seat. Smashing. She hadn’t yet seen the face of Wet. Before permitting her eyes to feast any further, she scanned the men seated to either side of the young woman.

Was Miss Wet meeting someone else? Who? Was she a pro? Who’s the lucky bloke? Wait. Was it Elsa? Did she know Elsa? That thought caused her pleasant pain. Who else? Papa! Had Krump sent her? That thought caused a very unpleasant pain. She spied the still-unidentified bird. Miss Wet was easy to watch. A white swan came to mind. Where’s me bloody scotch?

Said something to the bartender. What? Reached for her purse. Removed mobile. Checking screen.

Jane’s excellent hearing was of no use. Bloody text. Miss Wet tapped in her response then returned, an iPhone, maybe, to her clutch. Prada. Nice. The bartender set a glass of White on the bar. Wet sipped the wine, barely dropping the level. Jane sat back and purred as the Cougar crunched the intel.

Top down: Miss Wet appeared to be about mid twenties, five-seven—nein, eight, fair-skinned, a delicate yet healthy profile, blonde, pinned up in back, length undetermined. Professional, but not too, waist, very trim. Very nice. Well dressed. That cropped white PVC jacket…flirty, but not too out of sorts, given the rain. Fitted white leather pencil skirt…smart. Long slender legs wrapped in black, back-seamed stockings. Sex trap. Black stilettos, at least five inches. Deadly sex trap. Yes, most inspiring. Definitely a Pro.

Jane felt a long tingle, more like a tremor. She whispered to her menu, “Marvelous, bloody jolly marvelous.” The image of beautiful was seated at the bar. Like a powerful stimulant, Miss Wet had revived her from the long sleepless journey. What’s this? The large bloke with the beard started hitting on my beautiful white swan. Wet looked ready to fly, but then glanced Jane’s way. Too brief for an ID.

She wasn’t about to lose her, beautiful white swan, to some, bearded bastard. Adrenaline was an amazing thing. Jane straightened. Raising her left hand, she signaled for Nina. I should have a seat at the bar. The old cougar was on the prowl and it felt good.

“There isn’t one.” Nina was a mind reader. She placed the glass of Old Pulteney on the table. “The twenty-one, as requested. Shall I invite her over for you, Miss Jane?” She obviously had a heart of forgiveness.

Better yet, perhaps she would like to join me for some dinner and a little conversation. Jane regained herself to find Nina standing before her. “What’s that, love?”

Someone was in serious danger.

Nina asked again, “Miss Jane, shall I invite her over?”—this time pointing discretely.

“Would you, sweetie?” She felt a tingle as Nina went to make the inquiry. She took a gentle bite on her Old Pulteney, watching as Nina propositioned—the gift. Jane pondered which was older… the white swan, perched at the bar, or the scotch, still tickling her throat. The Cougar always preferred her scotch old and her prey young.

Wet swung herself around to see Jane Smith standing, offering an inviting smile. Wet returned the smile, and then rose from her perch at the bar. Smashing. Wet neared the table. It can’t be. She looked lower. Wet was in a cleavage-revealing white silk blouse. Same as Elsa’s. That tremor was now a steady rumble. Boris’s note. Jane’s better half kicked, Miss Smith in the bloody arse. Too late. Someone was on the prowl. Meow…

Miss White I Presume

19:06 local

The lovely swan offered her wing.

Miss Smith took it in a blur. She felt herself quiver. “Do be a dear and join me in something Wet, Miss?”

“Oh.” Wet blushed. “I was informed you were in need of a dinner date?” She spoke with a vaguely familiar accent.

“Why, yes, yes indeed, Miss?” Jane waited, her gaze fixed on the slender neck and what it hovered over.

“White. Like this sweet wine.” She blushed again. “Miss Natasha White.” She could feel the eyes touching her neck, squeezing. The mouse inside struggled for breath. “Please, call me Natasha.” She placed her glass on the table.

The English was perfect, but the accent?

East German. Had Boris actually reached out from under the rubble? Jane put on the most British of accents she could reclaim from her silent childhood in England. “I would so enjoy your company, my dear Natasha.” Miss Jane had picked up the stiff upper lip, spending her formidable years in the all-girl orphanage in Oxfordshire. She knew it went over big with the younger ones.

“Thank you, Miss Smith.” Natasha spoke in a gentle, attracting tone.

She’s good. “Lovely, darling.” How delightful. Jane stood, waited for the prey to sit. She mentally rearranged the white swan’s outfit, removing the, too hot, PVC jacket, opening another button on her sleeveless white silk blouse, revealing a hint more of the white satin lingerie covering those, creamy breasts. She took a bite on her scotch. Still not quite right. She mentally released—that bloody hair clip. Natasha’s beautiful blonde mane fell. Those gorgeous slender shoulders—a style the old rogue found much more stimulating. She teased it up a little more.

For the next ten minutes, they made small talk about the weather mostly. “Too cold” and “too rainy” they agreed. “Yes, much too wet!” said Jane, certain she was being played, as Nina returned to take their dinner order.  Once on the ride, one may as well enjoy it. Right.

“And for you, Miss Jane?”

“Yes, for me. The New York strip, peppered thoroughly. Add the braised asparagus, dear.”

“Very good. How do you like it prepared, Miss Jane?”

“Oh, sweetie, please. You know how Miss Jane likes it. Hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet!”

That made Nina giggle and Natasha blush. Nina already knew, but she loved hearing Jane say it. “Very good, Miss Jane.” Still giggly, Nina turned to Natasha. “And for you?”

Natasha was quivery as she returned her wine glass to the table. “Just a chicken Caesar, dressing on the side, please, Miss.” She lifted her wine.

Everything about her said, White, except for, that Prada, the belt, her hose, heels and, that bloody awful perfume.

“Very good.” Nina wasn’t happy about someone crashing her party.

“Nina, you shall address our dinner guest by her proper name. Allow Miss Jane to introduce Miss White.” She looked to Natasha for a reaction. Nothing.

“Sorry, Miss Jane.” Nina’s attention shifted back to Natasha. “Please accept my apologies, Miss White. It’s so nice to serve you this evening. Would either of you misses desire another drink or some wine with your dinner?”

“That’s okay, Nina.” Natasha raised her glass then emptied it with two gulps.

“Yes, dear, a glass of your boldest Cabernet, served with the strip please.”

“Well, I really shouldn’t.” Natasha had no tolerance for alcohol. “Oh, yes, another. Your house, please.” She tapped her empty wine glass. “The Chardonnay. It’s very dry.”

“Very good, ladies, thank you.” Nina left them.

Alone at last. Jane’s good senses were on high alert. Wicked thoughts of what the evening might hold danced around in her head. She shifted gingerly, afraid that stiff little weapon between her legs might go off. That would have ruined everything. She suspected her dinner date worthy of more than just dinner. Much more, she’d already decided. Pete’s up-and-comer would just have to wait until her next visit to DC. Tonight was all about her new interest, the beautiful and mysterious Miss Wet, aka Miss Natasha White. Jane pinched herself. Was Boris alive? She checked the room. Just blokes. She would play…someone’s game. “What brings you to the Mayflower, Miss White?”

“I’m here to meet a client. To review a speech she plans to make in Berlin next month.”

Right. “I see.” She reached for Natasha’s mobile. Bloody hell. She watched it fall into Wet’s clutch. “Is she running late?”

“Yes, her aid just texted. He said she’d make it here by eight.” Natasha checked her watch.

Jane thought it looked like, Wet—expensive.

“She often runs late.” A frown. “Sometimes I think she does it intentionally to anger me.”

Jane decided to change course. “Well then, Miss White, it would appear that you’re all mine, for the next hour.” She gently stroked Natasha’s hand, sending her a very sweet I’d-really-like-to-get-to-know-you-better-in-bed look.

“Yes, it would appear so, Miss Smith. Consider me yours.” Her words flowed temptingly. “At least until my naughty senator arrives.” She giggled, nervously. “Please, call me Natasha, Miss Smith.” The wine had sweetened her.

Miss Smith?  “You’re such a little—” Senator? Senator who? Can’t be? The Cougar needed to pause the game. She couldn’t. The gun in her head went off. Miss Wet, or White, or bloody whoever…was she the other woman? Pete’s intel…said the subject wanted a threesome. Was Natasha the Pro the subject’s been seeing? This is getting bloody interesting. “You shall address me as Miss Jane.” Her words were sharp and strict. “Am I understood?”

“Yes. Thank you. I shall.” Fear gripped Natasha’s chest. “Miss Jane?”

“You’re very welcome, my sweet Natasha.” Jane softened. “Well, my dear. If I was ever so privileged to have arranged a date with you, I would certainly not be late. I would be just devastated if ever I left my Natasha stranded, especially in a scary dark place like this. Not even for just one minute. It would be unacceptable! She should be sternly punished for leaving you all alone in this nasty, wicked, and dark place.” The Cougar surveyed the room, its image emphasizing her words. “God only knows what unpleasant evils might happen upon you, my sweet child.”

“I see what you mean, Miss Jane. I did feel quite exposed, what with all these wicked men in here, especially, while I was seated, all alone, so exposed, at the bar.” Both took notice of the bearded man still at the bar. “He was so rude, Miss Jane.” Other than Nina, they were the only women in the room, growing more crowded with men of all shapes and sizes. “I’m so thankful to you Miss Jane, for rescuing me from that nasty old wolf.” Her voice was inviting, now with a hint of youthful trepidation. Her hand waited nervously on the table.

“You’re so welcome, my sweet.” Jane took the delicate hand in hers, stroking it softly in an effort to chase away any remaining apprehensiveness. There they stayed, locked in the other’s gaze.

It had been a long day with little to pacify Katrina’s appetite. Growing hungrier by the second, now positive the nervous young lady before this GoodKnight understood clearly the expected outcome of the game they were playing. The Cougar knew how to play this game too; she’d played it often. The tingle in her nipples beckoned. They stiffened, pressing with a hunger of their own against the new Hush-Hush bra. KK had picked it out in Monaco. Mistress Sterling always wore new lingerie, on an assignment. Wardrobe was always included in the price.

“Thank you, Miss Jane.”

“Thank you for what, my dear?”

Natasha’s eyes dropped. A younger voice spoke. “Thank you for that gentle caress of my hand, Miss Jane. I find it so lovely.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. I too find it pleasing.”

Dinner was served. Not a minute later, Nina returned with their wine.

Jane continued her focused observation of the, lovely Natasha. She appeared quite capable, yet quite innocent. Her posture was, perfect. Her table manners were, exquisite. Yes, she was the perfect Teufelmaus. But, was she the same one? Had Boris trained her too? “Enjoying your Caesar, my dear Natasha?” Impossible. She’s dead. They’re all dead! This is Krump’s doings.

“Oh yes, Miss Jane. Thank you for asking.” Natasha’s face grew brighter with each word sent her way.

“You have such a lovely smile, my dear.” She held Natasha with her eyes. “So innocent, yet inviting.”

“Thank you, Miss Jane.” Natasha was blushing. “It’s the wine. It gives me much joy to know that I please you so.”

“How long have you been a linguist, my dear?”

“What? Oh, since, I came, to America, Miss Jane.”

“Sie sprechen Deutsch? (So you speak German?)“ Jane spoke in fluid German.

Natasha answered, also in German. “Yes, Miss Jane. Russian, Polish, Dutch, French, some Italian, and English of course.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. Their words would remain in her native tongue for the remainder of the evening.

Slicing deep into her juicy strip, their conversation moved overseas. “Where in Berlin did you reside, my dear?”

“We lived in an old hotel. I forgot the name. Just to the east of the Brandenburg Gate.  About three kilometers past the Wall.”

“So you’re a communist, then?” asked Jane, only half joking, with a tinge of slyness in her eye.

“Oh no, Miss Jane. Never!” Natasha had lost the sweetness. “We’re not communists. We—Oh! I, I’m an American citizen. I love America. I hate the fucking communists. Fucking pigs! All of them.”

Jane quickly released her steak knife, replacing it with the doll’s hand. “Please forgive me… Natasha?”

Natasha breaths turned short and rapid. “They killed my mama.” She started to tear up. “They killed my papa too. I hope they all die!” She was shaking. Her left hand twitched in Jane’s. Her face was on fire. Natasha’s eyes locked onto Jane’s, searching for, Katrina; a sign she knew the real reason they were there. She had to wait. The code… Did she get it?

Jane reached out, taking both hands. “There, there, my sweet little princess. Come back to me. Miss Jane can see what a brave girl you are. I’m sure your mama and papa died a brave death protecting you from the evil iron fist of communism.” She leaned closer, seeing both fear and hope held captive in those soft blue eyes. She held tight. For two minutes, they stayed locked together, neither saying a word. It worked. Natasha settled. Jane released, but only to remove a tissue from her bag. She placed it in the doll’s trembling left palm.

“Finish your dinner, sweetie.”

They resumed their meals, finishing without further conversation. Jane remained sensitive to Natasha’s state. No doubt, whoever she was, her past held great pain and sadness. The gentle touch and approving smile, along with a few mousy bites, worked to settle her newfound sweetie. Nina returned and cleared the table.

Jane, still speaking in fluid German, said, “Well then, my sweet, I greatly enjoyed our dinner date. It seems that my hour with you is lost. We are almost upon the time that I must release you.”

“Thank you, Miss Jane. I too have enjoyed you.”

“Do you see your tardy senator, my dear?” They released their eye hug, just long enough for one complete scan around the lounge. Each searched with concern for the one person neither wanted to appear.

“Why no, Miss Jane, I don’t. Maybe she’s not coming. What should I do?”

“Well, my dear sweet little girl, I think you shall hand me your mobile.” Jane held out her open hand. “Right this second!”

Natasha reached into her Prada then placed an iPhone in Jane’s eager palm.

A false check for recent texts. “Just as I thought. My dear, sweet little girl, your naughty senator has left you a message apologizing for stranding you in this scary place. She insists you call her office tomorrow to reschedule. Well then, my dear, I still have you all to myself. Don’t I, my little sweetie?”

“Yes. Yes, Miss Jane. You can have me.” She blushed. “At least until eleven. I have to get home. I promised my kitten.”

Jane held Natasha’s attention as she dropped the iPhone into her own bag and then removed a small leather-bound writing pad. The pad was red—bloodred. Next to it was a fancy fountain pen. She removed it, slowly unscrewed the cap, and scribbled out a brief note then read it aloud.

I Natasha, give my true self to Miss Jane on this day, 2009.05.27

Starts: 2000 / Expires: 2300 local

Switch Phrase: Boris sent me

Safe word: Bullwinkle

Signed: Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling

Jane slid the coded proposal across the table.

Natasha read it. She read it again. She sighed. You received her note. She wanted to cry, but didn’t. Something was wrong.

Jane Sterling looked directly into those glazed blue eyes and slowly spoke her next words in flawless German: “Do you, little Natasha, give yourself over to Miss Jane, as per the contract, with free will of your one true self?”

She answered timidly. “I do, Mistress.”

“Do you promise to obey Miss Jane’s every desire?”

“I do, Miss Jane.” Her word barely registered. Something was terribly wrong. Where is my Katrina? She realized her Katrina wasn’t there. A single tear escaped, falling to bleed, the note.

“Sign it now, dear.”

With quivering hand, Natasha took the fountain pen and carefully signed her true and given name: Kristina Natasha Teufelmaus. She then lifted the small red pad, blowing over the black ink. Only after being certain it was dry, and with the greatest of care, did she present the executed and now binding contract back to her new mistress. She studied the pen. On it, the initials: K.G.B. She slowly screwed the cap on, Mistress’s pen, and handed it back.

Miss Jane examined the signature for some time before returning the pad and the recapped pen to her bag. “We’ll then, my sweet little Natasha.” She rose to her feet. “Let us retire to Miss Jane’s bedchamber where she can better attend to your needs.” She offered her hand.

Natasha took it.

With a firm grasp she eased Natasha’s chair out, enabling a most graceful departure from the table. Everyone noticed the Cougar and her catch. They withdrew, arm in arm, leaving the T & C to the drooling wolves and their howling eyes. Jane escorted her beautiful white swan out to the lobby and direct to the elevators.

“What floor, Miss Jane?” asked a soft, almost childish voice. She waited, eager to press Katrina’s button.

“Eight. Remove those big-girl shoes.” She wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” Natasha pressed the button.

The door slid shut with a thud. “Never?” Jane raised a brow. “Really?” The elevator rumbled.

“Never! I’m really a good girl.” Natasha complied, removing the stilettos. “Really.” The ride up got a little bumpy.

“I’m sure you’re a very good little girl.” Taking her into her arms, Jane continued with a cursory weapons search, whispering into the left ear. “But, if you were a naughty girl, I’d have to put you over my knee and spank your soft little bottom. Wouldn’t I?” She loosened her hold just enough. Each looked into the other’s soul. “Wouldn’t I, sweetie?”

Natasha closed her eyes and in a barely audible voice said, “Ja.”

“Look at Miss Jane.” She waited for the eyes. “Ja, what?” Jane’s voice was stern.

“Ja, Miss Jane. I promise to be a good little girl for you tonight.”

“Does my little Natasha promise to do everything she’s told?” She spoke the words softly.

“Ja, Miss Jane.” With each reply, Natasha regressed, growing younger and younger, becoming less the woman and more the girl, the little princess she longed to be.

Jane sensed the regression. She knew the intensely submissive trait all too well from experience. By the last response, Natasha took on the personality of a child, one totally dependent and unconditionally trusting of her new guardian. Was Natasha under Miss Jane’s spell? Jane hoped that was the case as the elevator arrived at eight. Or, was it someone else’s spell? Was this another bloody Krump honey trap?

The rogue looked down at her pretty little gift. “That’s much better, sweetie. Pick up those big-girl shoes.” The elevator doors opened. “Take Miss Jane’s hand. Hold on tight.” She led her out into the hallway as if she were guiding a child. They walked hand in hand down the long carpeted corridor, almost to the end. “Here we are, sweetie. Room eight-six-nine.”

Jane inserted the key card and removed it. Click. With a twist and a push—“In you go”—they entered. She handed the agent provocateur the Do Not Disturb sign, “to stand guard, love.” With a thud, the door closed tight. She let the sweet little girl turn the lock, sealing out the real world, a world full of evil and lies. The rogue smiled. “I don’t think these will be of any further use to us.” She took the ill-fitting stilettos and dropped them by the door. “Come, my sweet, I may have a present for you.” Someone’s in the mood for candy.

Meow…

Sweet Dreams Baby

Catherine’s Bedroom, 23:04 local

Still dressed, she lay on her bed ready to go and pissed. Her friend hadn’t responded since dinner to her repeated texts. She waited a few minutes and tried again. Fuck! No reply. She felt herself seething with anger. She reached into her Coach and removed her almost-empty perfume, applying a healthy dose. Its scent brought instant pleasure. She sent another message and waited. Still, there was no reply. Cat couldn’t understand why she hadn’t received any reply. She promised. Bitch! The next time she typed it out longhand, pressed the Send key, and waited. It read:

Where the fuck are you? MK is going to whack my BP silly. Meet me around the corner at 11:30. I can’t wait to kiss you again.

Love MK.

11:11 PM. MK’s phone purred.  “’Bout fucking time.”

Sorry MK. Can’t. Going to be tied up all night in DC. BP will call MK tomorrow. MK can whack her BP then. Can’t wait to kiss MK too.

Love BP.

12:01 AM. Catherine sent her plea:

But YOU promised! We have to leave now!

12:02 AM. She received her reply:

BP very sorry love. Still tied up in DC. You’re on your own until tomorrow. GoodKnight my love.

For close to an hour, she simmered in denial. She should have been here by now. “That bitch lied.” She really isn’t coming. After taking some time out to quell her demons, Cat’s anger remained at bay. She lay there, atop her bed, wide awake and still dressed. From the bed, she went to the window, still trying desperately to come up with a new escape plan. Make a run for it? Why? My mom will know where I went. “Fuck!” she peered out into the darkness.

She didn’t know that Miss Christi had planned ahead too. Two Blachmann Cougars were stationed in the black Mercedes parked around the corner. Monitoring the sensors was Danielle. She had installed several earlier that day. Any movement in the bedroom would arouse her. From their position, they could also maintain a visual on her bedroom windows and the street. If she made a break for it, she wouldn’t get very far.

“Not in those hot boots.” Danielle turned down the brightness on her iPhone.

Cougars were what the academy Blachmann alumni called each other. The school’s mascots were a pair of female cougars, one black, one blonde. Catherine really should have just gone to sleep. Did she really think her parents would leave her alone with Miss Christi? She really didn’t want to come face to face with a Blachmann Cougar, let alone two, in the dark of the night.

“Fuck! They’re back.” A taxi pulled into the driveway. Her parents got out and their ride was gone. They’re arguing again. She jumped on her bed and waited, weary, but ready for another fight. She expected her mom would check in on her. Footsteps. Catherine could feel her mom’s presence on the other side of the bedroom door. She sat up and said, “It’s open.”

The door creaked. Her mother stood there, in silhouette. The light from the hallway illuminated Kate’s statuesque form with a soft glow.

“Still awake, I see.” Her mom sounded tired standing there. Her gown dragged the floor.

“Yeah, I guess.” She sounded whipped.

Her mother didn’t say another word. She couldn’t. Those damn boots. Kate advanced.

“You’re beautiful, in that dress. Where’s your heels?” She needed to hear her mom’s voice.

“Thanks. Your father left them in the taxi. They were killing. I’ll be glad to get this corset thing off and get to bed.” She forced a yawn. She couldn’t show it, but Kate was stressed to breaking over sending their Catherine to the Castle.

“Have a nice time with daddy tonight?” She left her defiance out in the darkness.

“Yes, kitten, we had a nice time. Until his damn Blackberry went off, and off.” Her mom hadn’t called her kitten in a long time. “Sorry. Aren’t those stilettos killing you?” She stepped closer. “Want some help out of those damn boots?” Shit. She froze.

“No!” Catherine recoiled. “I love them. Might even sleep in ’em.” The truth was, her arches had long-since-needed a break from their bondage.

“Suit yourself kitten. I love you…always.” Kate wanted desperately to take her misguided kitten and run. She knew what lay ahead. She wished it could be different. It was out of their hands.

“Goodnight, Mother!”

Her mom cringed. “Happy dreams, Cat.”

Her dad’s head popped through the doorway. “Love you.”

Catherine allowed the child imprisoned within to speak. “Love you too, Dad,” and Mom.

Her father said something about calling the cab company. It was just after one when the he pulled her bedroom door shut. He worried it might be for the last time.

1:53 a.m. Catherine finally had a new plan. She sent a text to her accomplice.

Be at DCA by 11. MK will kiss her BP all over. GoodKnight yourself, slut.

Whack, whack!!!

Love MK

Parked around the corner, Danielle continued her sentinel. She took another hit of her Black Stallion. Her iPhone smoldered in her lap. Without warning, it buzzed, the screen lit, and the earpiece teased her right ear. “Motion detected. Motion detected.”

Her partner, asleep in the back, had the next watch at 02:00. Danielle sat in the driver’s seat, motionless, studying the composite image burning in her lap. The system used the latest in video surveillance technology. It’s like being a bug on the wall. No, it’s way better. She hadn’t taken her bug off the wall since dropping the Blacks off at the Mayflower.

Catherine slid her long legs off the bed and walked to her desk, connecting the phone to its charger next to her closed laptop. She returned to her bed and sat.

Unzipping the boots. Need any help?

She pulled them off.

Maybe next time, baby. Danielle had chosen the perfect location to position the covert sensor package. She took another hit from her Black Stallion. Empty. She eased the thin aluminum container into a plastic bag. Too soon to wake, Sam.

Danielle observed the subject hop off her bed. Here we go. Unzipping her leather mini. Let it fall. “Yes!” Crap. She glanced over her shoulder. Still sleeping like a baby. Close one.

Catherine kicked it up from the carpet, snatched it out of the air, and tossed it on top of the boots.

Very nice, baby. Subject made a visit to the bathroom. Waiting for the flush, Danielle took both eyes off the screen for the first time since the subject entered her bedroom. She reached for her mini cool pack, taking out another energy drink.

On her return to camera view, the subject added, that ugly top and totally wrong bra, to the pile and then crawled in bed, under the sheets.

Catherine was finally ready to allow herself to sleep. Her eyes closed. She allowed some slumber, but only after one last thought. You better be there. You promised.

Sleep? Danielle was way too aroused. Not after that performance, not to mention the caffeine-laced energy drinks. One eye still on the screen, she noted the time, 02:02. “Nighty-nights, princess baby.” Time for Sam to relieve me. She hadn’t slept in twenty hours. Too wired. She stared at the darkness guarding her lap. We’ll let Sam sleep a bit longer. She downed the last of her fourth Black Stallion and switched to IR mode. Oh yeah…

That form looked just as hot under the sheets. White hot. Danielle dimmed the screen to its lowest setting. The car was getting hot and steamy. She switched on the ventilation. The windshield cleared. Outside, the temperature had dropped to 61 degrees. It began to rain. She set the temp selector to six and nine. She didn’t need Sam getting hot and waking up. At least not until her shift was done. Oh yeah, that’s my baby.

Wake Up My Sweet

Room 869, Wednesday, 29 May, 08:46 local

“Wake up, my sweet beautiful princess.” Jane gently stroked Natasha’s exposed thigh and stepped away. “Miss Jane has ordered a lovely breakfast, just for you, love.” Like yesterday, she stood before the room’s mirror, this time repairing her lipstick. Satisfied, she capped the tube, a souvenir from Dubai.

“Are you not hungry, Miss Jane?” asked Natasha, seeing Katrina already dressed and ready to leave.

“I think after our last night together, you really should drop the Miss.”

“Last night? You’re not staying?” Natasha sat up, modestly holding the bedsheet with both hands as her lover approached.

“Sadly, no, my dear. I have a breakfast engagement.” Jane set the tray. “Promise Mistress you’ll eat.”

“I promise.” The bedsheet fell, exposing two ripe breasts. “Cancel. I’m free all day.”

“Actually,” Jane remained discrete as she sat on the bed and kissed the beautiful doll. Just to be safe, she kissed Boris’s doll once more and said, “That’s not true, love. I rescheduled your senator for this morning. Eleven, sharp! Miss Jane expects that you’ll be on time.”

Miss Jane… “What?” Natasha lips now tasted bittersweet. Her body tensed. She pulled the sheets, covering herself. “When did you do it?”

“Yes, dear. At dinner, when I replied to MK’s message, canceling your rendezvous.” Jane’s face gave no hint as she stood.

“What! Why? No. Please.” Natasha’s face sank. She surrendered. Her heart slowed as she released the heavy sheet. This time, she stretched her hands high above her head and yawned, taking in the deepest breath. The sheet slipped completely away. Holding her breath, she presented a lasting glorious reminder of what Katrina was losing. “Please. Not yet.”

“Sorry, love.” Jane swooped in, kissing each of them. “Can’t stay.” Her voice remained calm and, much to Natasha’s dismay, her eyes never wandered, staying locked in hers. Those bloody blue eyes. She had to get out of there.

Natasha pouted out, “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps. If you promise to be a good girl.” Jane kissed, Boris’s mouse, on the lips for the last time. Once more should do.

“Yes, yes, I promise!”

“Wait for your mistress in bed, just as you are. She’ll be back soon, love.” Picking up her heavy shoulder bag at the door, she paused for one last view. It can’t be. She contemplated breaking the breakfast engagement. “Duty calls.” Jane reached for the door.

Natasha struggled against the effects of the lipstick’s powerful hypnotic, Triazolam. She shouted, “Wait!” She pushed the tray off, spilling the half-empty glass of juice. She flung the luxurious bedsheets, throwing them over the tray as she leapt from the bed. Except for the vinyl-covered panties, the doll was completely exposed. Tripping over her things, Katrina’s forgotten love ran to the door and pulled. “Wait, Mistress! Wait!

Did You Enjoy Yourself

Hotel Reception, 08:59 local

Feeling the strain on her right shoulder, Jane regained her own presence to find herself in the lobby, standing at reception. The young lovely repeated, “Did you enjoy yourself with us, Miss Smith?”

“Always, Miss…” Setting her overloaded bag on the counter, she glanced at the name tag. “Cockney. Very much, so.” Patricia. “Lovely.” She reached into her bag and removed the gift box. “Would you be so kind as to give this to the young lady who works in the piano lounge? Nina. Comes in about five. Gets off before one. Know her?”

“Yes, Miss Smith. Quite well.” Miss Cockney perked up. “We’re roommates.”

“Small world.” She handed over the package, certain that Nina could never afford anything so expensive on what she earned waiting tables for the, cheap mucky-mucks. “I do hope she will still accept the gift.”

“Yes. I’ll bring it home. Is that card for her as well?”

Poking out of Jane’s bag was the pink card, still unopened. “No, dear. However, this one needs to be delivered to the young lady still in eight-six-nine. Jane produced a small red envelope. “It’s most important she receive it with the breakfast I’ve arranged. She’s still sleeping.”

“I understand, Miss Smith.” She rang, requesting a bellhop.

“Do tell our Nina I hope to have time for her when I return next week. Perhaps you might join us?”

“Next week? I shall Miss Smith.” Miss Cockney smiled.

Jane discreetly stuffed, the card, and with it, all thoughts of KK, deep in her bag. “Cheers.” She marched off down the gilded hallway, on her way to the Mayflower’s opulent main dining room. The client was waiting. She wasn’t looking forward to the long-overdue meeting with the client. I’m bloody late.

These days, the client was responsible for high-profile US dignitaries, including sitting and past presidents, cabinet officers, ambassadors, high-ranking judges, senior senators, and ranking congresspersons, and/or their significant others. His job was to ensure that none of them got caught in any activities that might reflect badly on the US or any host country, where said embarrassment may have taken place. The job kept him on the road much of the time.

Every president since Roosevelt had been made aware of the covert arrangement known only as the Blachmann Charter. The program was classified ULTRA—so black, nothing leaked. The charter was originated in the early thirties, by Roosevelt, and in conjunction with the coronation of J. Edgar Hoover, the untouchable head of the newly renamed Federal Bureau of Investigation. Roosevelt had made a secret pact with Mr. Hoover. Neither could afford any embarrassments. Both had closets full. It was agreed that the Black program would be cloaked under the neutrality of the Department of State inside the Bureau of Secret Intelligence. Almost eighty years later, the Blachmann Charter remained the same. Simply put, the client’s job was to prevent embarrassment, if possible. If not, do whatever he deemed necessary to sweep it under the nearest rug.

A holdover from the previous administration, the client also functioned as the chief liaison between the secretary of state and the intelligence community, domestic and abroad, in any related matters. When it came to the secret lives of the political elite, Jane knew there wasn’t much going on around DC that the client didn’t know, or would know.

The Cougar stopped at the entrance to the dining room. This was to be their first face to face in eight years. The client hadn’t told her anything about the subject other than her sexual interests. The subject had skipped three rendezvous. Finally made it here last month only to find the client had bloody canceled. The client didn’t give the reason. Clients never give bloody reasons. Why, Mistress Sterling? Pete’s subject didn’t seem to warrant her level of expertise. Not from his skimpy intel at least. Should think Miss Wet and the candy girl would have been sufficient to keep her cogs lubed. Just another bitchy politician. What in the bloody fuck is he up to? Right, the kid in Boris’s boots. Just another bloody escort assignment.

She was sure of one thing. Someone was bloody lying.

Part II

The New Game

Nine Sharp

McLean, Virginia, USA, Wednesday, 27 May, 09:00 local

Ding-dong…

Miss Christi checked her watch then struck her knuckles against the bedroom door.  She stiffened her voice. “Nine sharp!” My Katherine never was one to keep a lady waiting. She rapped again. “Time to go, dear,” and with a kinder tone, added, “I set out a bowl with cereal and milk for you. Your favorite.” She glided down the stairs to greet Danielle. “Good morning, dear. Miss Black is not quite ready. Please come in.”

“Thank you, Mum.” Her restless driver entered with purpose. “I know.”

“Join me for some tea?”

“May I use the powder room first? Please. Been a long night.” She needed to go. “These new nappies are great, but…” She smiled, anticipating her impending relief.

“Certainly, dear, it’s just there.” Miss Christi pointed. “Please, take some time. Refresh yourself, my dear.”

“I won’t be long.” Danielle disappeared behind the door.

A few minutes later, she joined Miss Christi in the kitchen. She spied the waiting bowl. Cheerios. “May I?”

“Please do, dear. Anything significant develop overnight?”

“Thanks. No Mum.” She sat, filled the bowl and poured some milk. “Lights out at zero-one-zero-five. The parents, asleep at zero-two-zero-two.” Crunch, crunch. “Sensors detected no movement until zero-six-thirty-seven. Pass the sugar, please. Bathroom then back in bed at zero-six-forty-one. Thanks. Didn’t wash her hands.” Crunch, crunch. “Dropped Sam at the Mayflower at zero-seven-ten.” Crunch, crunch. “Picked up your flowers and was back on station at zero-seven-fifty-eight.” Feeling a now familiar rumble, crunch, crunch, she reached into her blazer’s left side pocket and withdrew her iPhone. “It’s vertical.” She tapped the display, selecting standard mode. The visual provided by the video feed proved entertaining as she devoured Catherine’s breakfast.

“Has Miss Jane checked in?”

“No, Mum. I’ll let her know we’re tracking to plan.” Danielle thumbed in the text and sent it, then resumed her surveillance. “She’s dressed. Same as last night.” Yum.

More minutes ticked away. Miss Christi busied herself preparing a second pot of tea. Danielle policed up her table area then loaded the waiting luggage. Upon her return, she carried the tea service to the family room. They sat on the sofa. Without prompting, Danielle readied two cups, sat back, and resumed her surveillance. Nice hair. “She’s almost ready. Here you go, Mum.” Wow! Those boots are hot. Ouch.

“Make sure to be careful of the boots.” Miss Christi lifted the fresh cup with its saucer. “Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome. Yes, Mum, I know. Those heels are deadly.” She tasted the tea. “Mmmm, I really like this flavor.”

“Yes, but don’t let on, dear.” Miss Christi giggled. “Wait till you see them on her.”

“Oh, I already—” seen them and more. Danielle regrouped. “Mmmm, this is really good.”

“Yes, dear, I know. It’s Peppermint Burst. I thought a sweet distraction, to calm my nerves. I felt you might require some too, given the circumstances.”

“What?” She tore her eyes free. “Right, Mum. This is way better than the bloody Black Stallions I downed last night.” She made an it-tasted-yucky face.  She enjoyed another sip of Peppermint Burst, further cleansing the Black Stallion’s trail. “This sure beats the horse piss I—” Danielle covered her mouth. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Perfectly understandable, dear. Very attractive, isn’t she?”

Footsteps… Danielle noted the time, (09:43), “for the report, Mum.” She played it cool as God’s gift to all mankind strutted down the stairs into the foyer and struck her favorite pose. Not again.

Yes again. The Black kitten made her grand entrance, dressed the same as last night, in her slut-sexy Little Nikita outfit, with one addition—a shiny black patent leather shoulder bag. She’d also invested considerable effort in her face and hair. The overdone makeup and, especially, the big hair, gave Catherine a more adult look than two weeks shy of sixteen. She stood there at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, ready for a verbal brawl.

W-T-F—Who are you?

Too bloody much. Danielle was seeing it full size for the first time. Too much hair spray. I can’t wait to get my hands on that hair.

“I see you’re very attached to that outfit, my dear.”

They scanned the subject from head to booted toe.

Danielle tried not to laugh. “Pretty Woman? Or is it Pretty Baby?” She ended with a snicker.

“Miss Wright!”

“Sorry, Mum. Couldn’t resist.” She’s beautiful.

Pretty Baby couldn’t ignore the reference either. She fired back, “So what if I do? I don’t give a fuck about what you’re wearing!” Hey, why are you wearing that? “Why should I care what you think?” Shit. Where’s my mom?

“Like your Coach,” offered Danielle. The olive branch was rewarded by a smug brat face. Undeterred, she dipped her eyes and tried again. “Love those way-cool boots too. Sooo, where’d you get ’em?”

“Bet that’s not all ya love,” said Catherine under her breath as she struck a very adult pose. Yeah, you like what you see? Don’t ya, baby. Me too! Fuck me. Granny sure scored us one hot limo driver. She gave Miss Wright a little eye-thrashing then finished her off with a hair flip.

Hand crafted in 1940, those old boots were real attention-getters. They could also be quite distracting—even deadly. Catherine had already learned how much distraction they could be, in the two weeks she’d worn them in public. One day at Tyson’s Galleria, some random guy was staring at her so hard he walked right into a wall. She thought it was pretty funny. The guy’s wife was so pissed. That wasn’t her problem.

Pretty Baby looked around and listened for a minute, then whined, “What the fuck! Where’s my fuckin’ mom and my dad?”

Danielle set the tea and leaped to her feet. “Left about eight, princess.” Come on, baby. I’m ready, if you are, baby.

Miss Christi reached out, placing a gentle hand on Danielle’s arm before she took a step. “Regretfully, they each were called away by an early meeting, my dear. My-my, Miss Catherine, you’re quite the perfect image of a young femme fatale, standing there in those silver-heeled boots.”

Catherine looked at Danielle with a puzzled look on her face. What did Granny call me?

“Said you look hot.”

“Oh. Thanks, Gran.”

“Yes, dear, so stunning, those boots of yours.” Miss Christi’s eyes were fixed on those way-too-sexy-for-her-age black patent leather boots, trimmed with red lacing and four-and-half-inch chrome metal stiletto heels. “Where ever did you get them, my dear?”

“Glad you like them,” retorted Catherine, ignoring the question though loving the attention the boots invited.  Her own eyes were still locked on the, attractive and fit, young, driver up then down and back up. It did no good. Fuck. They already left. She went to the garage then checked outside. Her parents’ cars were gone. That same black car from yesterday was in the drive. “Hey, blondie! Where’s your horse?”

Danielle perked up. “I got six hundred of ’em, under the hood. You want to see ’em?”

“Whatever.” Catherine flipped her long sticky hair. She thought of her missing mother. She’d gone to a lot of effort to piss off her mom, only to find she’d already left the house. They didn’t want to see me off for the summer. Great! I spend like, a half hour putting on this getup, and…she’s not even here. Fuck her! Well, at least Granny and her pretty nice blonde bitch are appreciating the effort. Time for some fun. “Fuck-um!”  She had the room’s attention.

They observed the two long legs strut over and plop into their father’s recliner. Her right hand pulled the small lever. Wham! Her trim torso fell back and out went those oh-so-long and brazenly uncrossed legs. Same as last evening. The life-size brat doll acted as if they weren’t in the room. Must be a trademark. Danielle sat then slowly lifted her eyes. What a waste.

Catherine removed her best friend from her shiny Coach and began tapping. Concealed by her oversprayed frozen locks, she kept one eye fixed, studying Danielle. Blonde bitch. Frick me. Didn’t plan on a hot chick driver. Nice britches. The rest ain’t bad either. Why’d she have to be blonde? She thumbed in another text.

Won’t be long till MK ditches Granny and her BB.

CU soon.

They’ll never catch us. LOL

MK can’t wait to have my BP again. 

Whack!  Whack!  Love MK.

Keeping up her own sneaky surveillance, Catherine tapped Send. Blondie looks a little saddle sore. Why the fuck is she dressed in that? “Hope the hot bitch brought her riding crop.” Fuck me! I said that! She slammed her eyes shut, so angry at herself for the lip slip. “Fuck!” She felt her face burning. She figured the best defense was to go on the attack. “Hey, you!  Yeah, you. What’s with that gay riding outfit?” Why you dressed in the English dressage riding suit?

“Well…did ya?” Wanna take a ride on my pony?

The stare-down began.

Don’t let her suck you in. “We should be going, Mum.” Danielle stood. Catherine looked even better from that angle. “Let’s go. On your feet, princess.”

“No need to hurry, dear. Miss Catherine, some breakfast before we leave?”

Miss Christi finished her tea. Smacking her lips, she enjoyed the last bit of the peppermint. “Nothing then?” After an appropriate pause, Miss Christi and Danielle rose from the sofa. “Well, then, perhaps it’s time we began this journey, my dear. Gather your things.”

Danielle stood by at the ready. Come on baby, try something. Anything. Please.

“Got everything I need, Gran.” She dropped her phone back into her Coach and patted it. “Right here.” She kicked the footrest, slammed it stowed, then dragged herself to her feet. Her too-heavily-applied perfume would soon find its way to the roof of Miss Christi’s mouth, causing it to burn with increasing intensity.

Her Coach contained only the necessities: iPhone, lots of makeup, including a tube of strawberry red lipstick, cherry-flavored lip gloss, her iPod Nano loaded with girl songs, her red Skull Candy earbuds, a small nearly-empty bottle of perfume, a pack of her mom’s Trident White with three pieces left, two super-plus tampons, and a backup panty liner.

Her wallet contained one hundred and sixty-three dollars, her fake ID, and three pictures. The first was of her dead cat, Squeaky. Another showed her mom and dad in happier times. The last showed her best friend with her mom, taken during spring break by the pool at Disney World. She had more pictures of them all together on her semifunctional iPhone; the memory card was full. She didn’t pack a charger. She’d left a spare at her friend’s house the week before.  Mom said to plan ahead.

“Catherine dear.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t your parents inform you of my intolerance to perfumes and latex, dear?” Miss Christi was visibly upset.

“Oh, did they?” She sounded like a spoiled little brat. “I don’t remember them saying anything.” Latex? What?

Cat did too remember. It was what triggered yesterday’s shouting match. Her mom said, “No more fucking perfume.” Her mom had made it a point to tell her all about the mysterious ailment known as Burning-Mouth-Syndrome or BMS. BMS afflicted Miss Christi and many millions of other woman. The slightest scent from perfumes, candles, even cleaning products caused them tremendous pain. There was no known treatment or cure—only avoidance of the triggers, which varied from one person to the next. The countless doctors were useless. Nothing helped.

“That right!” said Danielle smartly, more than a hint of skepticism clinging to her lips. She looked to Miss Christi with subtle concern. Turning, she scowled at the subject. Looks like a supermodel, sits like a guy, acts like a not-so-little-brat bitch. Yup, she’s a real princess all right. This is going to be one fun summer. “Liar.”

“Fuck you, bitch!” Catherine strutted toward the door, her arms crossed, like a bully itching for a fight. She stopped only inches away and waited. “Well?” The princess insisted Danielle get the door. With her back to Catherine, Danielle advanced and opened it. As she did, Catherine leaned in close to Danielle’s ear and whispered, “Bitch!”

“Not yours, princess!” Danielle’s response came quick. I felt that hair. Deep breaths. Steady girl. Their game was definitely on.

As they walked out to the car, Danielle stayed vigilant, ready to chase the subject down if she tried to run. Miss Christi had warned her, “Sometimes they run, dear. Most are too confused. They usually cry.” A lot. Danielle had packed an extra box of tissues. She pulled the door then assisted Miss Christi’s entry into the Mercedes.

“Oh, Miss Danielle! These flowers are truly lovely. Thank you so much, dear.”

“You’re most welcome, Mum. I have the other two bouquets up here with me. Knew you’d want to hold those yourself.” After securing the safety belt around her employer, Danielle carefully closed the door. Over the warm black roof she said, “I’ll get yours in a second, princess.” The car had functioned as her mobile operations base for the last twenty-three hours. She was prepared to make it so for most of the next twenty-four.

Catherine was tapping her foot impatiently when Danielle—No, she’s more of a Dani—came ’round and opened the door. “Hey, blondie, what’s with all the flowers? You two dating?”

“Please get in, Miss Black.”

Catherine almost crushed the bouquet as she plopped. Twenty-one red roses sat between them, placed neatly in the center of the rear seat.

“Want me to buckle you in, princess?” Danielle reached for the lap belt. Please.

“Hey! Fuck off!” Catherine pulled the belt away then yanked the door, slamming it shut, nearly crushing Danielle’s nervous hand. Her face still glared as she asked Miss Christi, “Hey, what’s with all the fricken flowers?” Pretty. Nice.

“Please buckle up, Miss.” Danielle stared into the rearview mirror while starting the Mercedes.

“Shut up and drive the fuckin’ car. Bitch!”

“Sure you don’t need some help? Well, do ya, baby?”

Click!

Danielle would have opened Miss Christi’s window, but the bullet-resistant windows didn’t go down. Instead, she engaged the ventilation system’s special feature, concerned the all-too-pungent perfume Catherine had overdosed herself in was causing Miss Christi great discomfort. A powerful blower sucked in the subject’s smelly fumes from around Miss Christi. The system also filtered the air, passing it through a canister of activated charcoal before returning it to the cabin.

“Is that better, Mum?”

“Yes, dear, much. Thank you.” Miss Christi sat back as they drove off. Soon they were on the Custis Memorial Parkway heading east in the direction of Reagan National Airport. “It’s a wonderful day to begin our journey, don’t you agree, my dear?”

“Yeah. Sure, whatever.” Catherine didn’t give a shit about the weather. Her entire world was sitting in her lap. The weather down there was always hot and steamy. Their world, for the last two weeks, had been accessible only through her tapping thumps.

“To whom are you communicating, dear?”

“Huh? Nobody you know.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

Catherine lifted her head and turned to Miss Christi. “Positive!”  She resumed her blind texting: WTFRU

The Client

The Mayflower, 09:04 local

Jane entered the opulent dining room expecting to be sacked. She stood at the entrance for a moment scanning for, the client. Eight years was a bloody long time.

She spotted, Uncle Pete, on the far side sitting in the corner. Never for once had she believed it was his real name, but it was the only one she knew. His back was up against the wall, partially obscuring the mural of an English country fox hunt. Same old Pete. He had drilled it into her head. You need to see them coming. She chuckled to herself, did a discrete chest pump, and continued her death march. Head high, old girl. Her stomach growled when she passed the enticing breakfast buffet and neared her destiny. He looks older.

The client was forty-seven and slightly overweight for a guy six foot. Said he played some football in college: backup QB for Harvard. Class of 83, or so he said. She had googled him the month before. There was no record any Pete Long ever went to Harvard. There was no record any Pete Long ever bloody existed.

Earned his Harvard degree in political science then added a PhD in human failings, as he liked to call it. Said he reported indirectly and very covertly to the new secretary of state, the new and recently divorced Ms. Rodwell. His official title within the department of state was Director of Human Relations. It was all a white cover for his clandestine service role operating within the guise of the Diplomatic Security Service (DSS).

He was reading today’s copy of The London Times. Krump’s arrival in Berlin with the two freed British journalists was the lead story. A photo showed three women deplaning from Krump One. The headline touted Krump’s pivotal role in mediating their release. He pretended not to notice the Cougar heading his way. He didn’t get or look up.

“The food here’s wicked good. You’re late. What kept ya?” He still spoke with a blue-collar Boston dialect. He’d lived in DC for close to twelve years. He wore Brooks Brothers, still drank Bud—Bud Select when they had it—and hated Mexican food. As for fun—not lately. “Can you believe this Krump fucker? What a load of—Christ, Cougar, you look like crap.”

Same old Pete. She scanned his plate. One thick sausage link with two puny potatoes, arranged as cock and balls. It was code. We’re being watched.

“Right. Only place in this bloody awful town that offers one a proper British breakfast.” Jane set her things in the empty chair then backtracked direct to the buffet. With purpose, she built a plate, heavy with scrambled eggs, two plump English sausages, and two scoops of the pan-fried potatoes, then scanned the room for threats. She saw only one, a tall slender temptress, sitting alone, staring. She arrived back at the client’s table to see, same old Pete eyeing the red and pink, sticking partially out of her shoulder bag.

“Coffee?”  The waitress poured, leaving the pot.

“Some wheat toast, dry.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

Jane growled back, “It’s Miss!”

“Excuse me, Miss!” She left.

“Rough night, Cougar? I mean, Miss Jane.” He laughed.

She growled.

Pete sensed neither Cougar was in the mood for his games. “That what I think it is?”

“Bloody brilliant, you are.”

She reburied, KK’s card, then slid the red envelope across the table.

“Need a favor from your old mates by the river.”

Mates? Without looking, he covered the envelope with his napkin and moved it into his lap. He lifted the unsealed flap and tilted. The photos slid partway out. They weren’t the one’s he was expecting. He smelt trouble and looked up.

 “Play nice, Cougar. They know me here.” He discreetly covered the envelope with his napkin and hoped for the best. “Where are they?”

Their waitress had returned with, “Your toast, dry,” and, “More coffee?” She recharged both cups. “Anything else, Miss?”

“Thank you, no, sweetie.” She put on a warm smile. It departed with the server. “Have access to a video.” She paused, allowing Pete time to review the glossy intel. “Forget the one in—”

“Pink.” Pete had interrupted. Something was very wrong. She hadn’t completed the weekend’s assignment. “Well?”

No response.

Still eyeballing the glossy handful in his lap, he said, “You mean Booby Barbie? The one all knotted up like a pretzel?” He couldn’t help but grin. All the same, he was dancing on a razor’s edge. His best operative hadn’t been right since Dubai. After last night, he was pretty sure he knew why. Just the same, this Jane had managed to brighten his mood. And he’d never caught an actual Tiger by her tale before.

“Right. She’s the Countess Kristin von—”

“Krump. Yah, Jane, I know. Sole heir to Papa’s fortune and Europe’s kinkiest lesbo party girl. What else? Oh yah, spoiled debutante and current favorite of the French paparazzi.” He rotated “KK,” trying for a better angle. “Heard you two were dating.”

“Smashing. So, you do know her, then?” That faux smile was back.

“Na. Well, just what I see on the Internet.” His stained teeth were impossible to ignore. “Hey Janie, remember—”

“Yes, that.” Her left index finger directed him back to point. “The other three.”

“In the hoods?”

“Right. Need them ID’d.”

“Nice outfits. Hey Jane, you in any of these?”

“Hardly. Kept their faces shielded. Video’s been sanitized as well.” She reached for the small jar of strawberry jam. KK’s favorite. “The engagement took place aboard Krump’s G-five-fifty. I believe there was a fifth. Probably the one with the bloody camera.”

“Did the vinyl doll keep you engaged last night?” There was a long loud pause as he pondered the scene and his options. He had backup, within shouting distance. Too messy, he thought. He needed to stall. “Yeah. No problem. I’ll have it verified, but…” He flipped back through the kink show. “Hey!”

“Yeah. What?”

“How’d you get these?” He held her in an eye-lock. “Miss Smith?”

“Can’t say.”

He blinked. “Yah, sure.” Pulled one and studied its date stamp. “I’m 98 percent sure of your other bondage model, the one in black latex. This is really weird. Hey, who gave you these?” He set the photo of Catwoman on the table so she could see it clearly and waited.

KK? Or was it Elsa?

“Your old girlfriend. She’s back, right? Figures. Anyway, why’d ya cancel, this time? Pretty last minute, even for you.” He showed the photo again and gave a puzzled look. “Well?” He was done playing the memory game.

She growled. “Jet lag.” It was more of a reason than he gave her last month. She quickly shifted his interest to her plate. In went a fork-load of eggs. She reached for her knife.

“Easy, Cougar, you’re not sacked. Not yet, anyway. We took the subject to another show.”

Thanks, mate. “‘We’?”

“Don’t ask. You’re welcome, by the way. Told her you were still tied up with another client.” Pete grinned. “Wasn’t exactly thrilled by your stand-in, what with the big buildup I gave you. I’ll tell you, Miss Smith, clothes on, she’s one pushy you-know-what.”

He’s stalling. “Wouldn’t know.” Bored, she started counting his fillings. One, two…

He shut it, leaned forward, and said, “Listen, Cougar! I stuck my dick out big-time to get you here!”

“Said thanks.” She showed him Jane Smith’s perfect pearly whites.

“Just don’t blow me off again. Understand?” He sat back and waited…and waited…and waited some more. “Well?”

“Sorry!” She stabbed his puny sausage. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“Whatever. Tried to get her over here for a quickie. Someone needs her rubber fix.”

 “Smashing. Couldn’t make it?” She brought his meat to her lips and sucked.

“Na.  Said she has a meeting at eleven.” He got a bad feeling. Something or someone wasn’t right.

“Pity. I was so looking forward to meeting your little slut.” Off went the tip of his sausage.

Pete twitched, but didn’t say a word. She must know we sent Snow. He checked his Blackberry. His operative still hadn’t checked in. Wow, the way she stabbed my meat. Why’s she so pissed? Better give her some time to cool down. He reviewed the photos again.

It always made him a little uncomfortable to see her with a knife. Any knife—in her kill hand, especially when she was in a bad mood. Judging by how quick his sausage went down her throat he knew she was really, really pissed. He’d seen his Cougar like this before. His right knee began to ache.

He hadn’t seen her in six months. Gained a shitload of weight. Those tits are huge.

“So, what went wrong this time? The Council’s gonna want an answer…Jane?”

This Jane didn’t have the answer. Only Katrina GoodKnight had that answer, and she wasn’t at this meeting.

He watched her spread a half jar of Smucker’s. He had trusted that Jane with his life, once. But so hadn’t at least five other guys he could name—all dead guys. Back in the early nineties, he’d witnessed her Tiger carve up that sausage too. Real bad, evil sausage. He came real close himself, Once. Christ, that was a life time ago. I hope she didn’t—

“Pete. You okay, mate?”

“Me?”

No, her mate wasn’t okay. Denial, repression, disassociation, and, apparently, regression.  She had all the symptoms of a split. His best operative was MIA. That meant her BFF, Tiger69 aka Katrina the KAT was loose in the wild. He needed to get the KGB’s man-eater back in her cage and his Cougar whole. But how? Last night’s brilliant plan hadn’t gone any better than the first, the one gnawing a hole in his lap.

“I see you brought an old friend.” She pointed to the long-legged temptress in red.

“Huh? Yeah. Mom’s idea. It’s just in case. So what happened last night? It was that damn bar-girl again, wasn’t it? Is she okay? You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“Said I was sorry. Tell your bitchy politician Mistress Sterling will make it up to her.” She paused, stealing another bite of the wheat toast smothered in, KK’s jam. “Next week?”

“Great. I’ll set it up.” Is Snow dead? A big lump swelled in his throat. He grabbed his coffee and hauled back. He needed to get up and go. Go up to room 869 and—he couldn’t let Jane go up with him. Too risky.

Who knows what kind of a mess her Tiger left this time? No, better keep her here until the rendezvous with Mum and the new kid. But Pete needed to be somewhere too. He had a rendezvous with a KAT of his own. Plans… Nothing ever goes to plan. He needed a Plan B. So didn’t Jane.

“Boris, is she really dead?”

“Huh, what? Yah, kid, she’s toast. Why?”

Kid… “No reason. What’s the word on Mum’s new kitten?”

“Beats me, Mistress Sterling.” Pete knew plenty. But, he wasn’t about to share any of it with whoever was sitting in that seat. Not until he was sure, Mistress Sterling was still his KAT. He noted the time, and decided to give her another go. “Hey, Janie, do you remember Paris? What year was that?”

Ninety-three… Bloody hell.

Katrina’s Comeback

Room 869, 09:29 local

Natasha lay in bed, sobbing. The door opened.

“Katrina’s come back. Hold me tight, my love. Once more. Please.”

Her arms opened as her long-lost love neared. “You came back.” She felt Katrina’s sweet sticky lips. I need to tell you. Wait! Don’t go away. Stay. Please, Mistress; I love you.

“Yes, my sweet. I’m back. I came back for you. Promise you’ll not fall asleep this time.”

She felt Katrina’s pull. She hugged tight and let her mistress lick away the tears, much as she had the night before. This time something was very different. This time Katrina had shed tears of her own as she got up and started for the door.

“Look what you’ve done. You’ve made Miss Jane all wet again. You know what this means, don’t you, my sweet beautiful princess?”

Natasha’s face went pink. “Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. The wine…makes me so sleepy.” She raced to stop her lover. They embraced. “Please, Mistress.” Standing on tiptoe, Natasha stretched to kiss those, juicy red lips. “I’ll wait for you, my love.”

Jane Sterling had checked her now-familiar face in the mirror by the door—the same mirror as Katrina GoodKnight had many times before. This time, though, it returned a most unfamiliar sight—her youth. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so old. She looked back at the reason, still in the bed, and said, “My love, your mistress left you a little present in the dresser, top drawer. Go see, my princess.”

Confused, Natasha ran and pulled the drawer. “How beautiful.” She lifted her gift and turned to show— “Katrina, come back.”

Tell Me Peter

The Dining Room, 09:30 local

Still eyeballing his old Blackberry, Pete talked, “Na. Anyway, we spotted your Catwoman here.” Tap, tap… “At a charity luncheon… Berlin? Day before Christmas? With your German Barbie doll and her Papa—” He eyed her kill hand in motion.

Bloody hell. “Sorry.” She dropped the blade and refilled Pete’s cup while he stared at her. “And?”

“Thanks.” He emptied half. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He looked like hell. “Guess who was with them?” He sounded it too.

“Won’t happen again, mate. Promise. Who?”

“This is total bullshit, Jane. It’s the fuckin’ Brits. They activated your old BFF, didn’t they, Tiger?”

“One mustn’t kiss and tell, Peter.” Tiger… “Katrina’s dead mate. Didn’t you hear?”

“Dead?”

“Dubai.”

“Dubai?” Pete did more than hear. He had requested the UAE spooks float that little nugget. He thought for a minute, then tried again. The image of Catwoman held their attention. “Hey Janie, that’s some pretty fine rope work.” He whispered, “Looks like Boris. Na, she’s toast too. Right kid? This has to be—”

It is Boris? “Focus, Peter.”

“Na, can’t be because, you killed her too. This flight was three days after Dubai. Do the math, Miss Smith.” He tapped the date stamp.

She didn’t bat an eye.

“By the way, Happy B-day. Did you get our gift?”

“Our?”

He blinked. “Anyway, by the time I got up with you—her; they were at her summer place. Out on Winter Island? Pretty funny huh?  Owns the whole rock. Coast Guard choppered us over. Weather was crap. Ice, snow, and wind.” He felt a chill. “Dropped in on her front lawn.” He chuckled. “She’s got a wicked piss-a cool place out there. Said she just had it rebuilt. Ever been there? Anyway, apparently her great-great-granddaddy owned half of Maine. Timber and potatoes. Yah, told her I was Santa and I wanted the present back.”

Three silvers and…

“Yah, the BP didn’t think it was very funny either. Anyway, Santa caught them with their panties down. Her protection too!” Yah, that’s right kid. “She was doing your booby pink vinyl doll and her protection.”

“Carol Daniels?”

“What? So, you do remember? Should have seen their faces, Janie!”

Janie—Bloody hell… “She still with Secret Service?”

“Figured you’d remember her. She was different, wasn’t she? Liked to eat her own puke, didn’t she?”

“Get on with it.”

“I will, now that I have your attention, Miss Smith. Anyway, she didn’t have it. Do you?”

“No.”

“Sure. Anyway, advised her that lunching in public with a lesbo-exhibitionist daughter of an ex-Stasi big shot and still loyal party member probably wasn’t the best thing for one’s public image. Right, Janie?”

Janie? Bloody hell.

“Christ, Janie, your little fetish doll’s fake tits and bony ass have been on the internet so many times, I’ve lost count. Listen up, Cougar. That kinky shit may go down with afternoon tea in Europe, but not here.” He took another big gulp of black courage. “Don’t you feed her?”

“They’re augmented! And it’s Dame Jane now.” She reached for the pot. “May I, Peter?”

“Sure. It is? Thanks, Dame. . . Saw the tearful good-bye performance.” Pete emptied his cup. “Hey Janie, does she ever wear a top?”

Just the same three silvers. It’s really him. Why the bloody fuck is he needling me? She knew the clandestine interrogation technique better than him. She could play that game too.

“Yes! You bloody Yanks. Always pretending to be so puritan.” Stabbing his headless sausage, she lifted it for a closer study. Her antics pulled him away from the kink-fest in his lap. She casually asked, “What about the young woman in your package?”

“Come on, Janie!” His brow went up. “The blonde chick? Last night? It’s Snow White. Here.” He lifted the photo and fingered the hooded one in white PVC. “Nice outfit. You think it comes with a matching jacket?”

Natasha’s jacket… “What’s the link?” asked Calamity Jane, calmly reloading his coffee.

“Thanks. I told you. She’s Snow White, Natasha—hey!” His cup overflowed.

Bloody hell. “Sorry.” She dropped the pot and reached for his napkin and the photos.

“Forget about it.” He pulled them clear. “Ever met her?” Pete took another slug of the now-very-black coffee, and waited. Dame Jane said nothing. He prodded her again. “Sounds sexy, don’t it? Maybe she’s a little too old for you though, huh?”

The Stiletto answered with another fork-load of eggs followed by a deep slice into his poor defenseless sausage.

“Sure. Said she met your Snow White here”—tap-tap—“last October? Some local clit-pit called Lace. Mostly rich old cougars on the prowl for fresh candy.” Pete smirked. “Sound familiar? Ever been there?”

“Can’t say.”

“Yah, sure, Dame Jane. Winter gave me the same bullshit. Said she’d hired Miss White here to translate some old papers she found last summer. German, nineteen-sixties, seventies. Found them in some secret room they unearthed during renovations. What is it with those old estate houses? They all have secret rooms. Rich fucks. Figures. Hey, sure ya haven’t seen her before?”

“Your senator?”

 “No!  Snow White, here!” Pete impatiently poked the photograph of Natasha several times.

She didn’t like him fingering, Katrina’s doll.

Tap-tap.

The bloody card. “I really must get off. Till next time, Peter.”

Dream’s Over

RM 869, 09:54 local

Knock, knock!

“Room service!”

Knock, knock!

Natasha’s eyes opened. Still in bed. What happened? Where’s the tray? My lips… They tasted like—strawberry? The lipstick. Only a dream. A lonely tear slipped from her cheek.

The deadbolt went click. She called out in the dark, “Katrina!”

“Room service!” The service cart pushed passed the door, propelled by a somewhat-tall man. On went the lights. He wasn’t wearing a hotel uniform. “Good morning, Miss White.”

She recognized the voice. This was the first time she’d seen the client’s face. “You…you’re Bullwinkle?” She pulled the sheets up, covering bare breasts, and shouted, “You!” Shocked, and ashamed, Natasha painfully reached up, clutching her forehead. It hurt something awful.

“Good morning, Miss White. I have your breakfast. Oh yah, Dame Jane asked that I deliver this.” He tossed the red envelope at her tits. “Nice catch. What the hell happened last night? Christ, I thought she killed you. You wore them vinyl underpants like I said, didn’t you?”

Natasha ignored, Bullwinkle, and opened, Katrina’s note:

Sorry about the lipstick sweetie.

Your senator is waiting / 1100 / her place.

Please inform your MK; MH lost her sweet tooth.

Tell her I’ve grown up since we last met.

Love: Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling

P.S. Check the dresser. Top drawer love.

Frantic, she dropped Dame Jane’s note and pulled the bedsheets to her lips. She wiped the last traces of the evil lipstick from her swollen lips, tossed the sheets, and flew to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer.

Just like my dream.

More confused, she picked up the beautiful diamond-studded white satin bra, bringing it to her bare breasts.

Yah, looks like you did. “Nice, aren’t they? Too bad she hasn’t earned them yet. So, will ya be having your breakfast in bed, Miss White?”

Still groggy, Natasha turned to see him still in the room. “I did as you said. She didn’t show.”

“No shit. Where’s the phone?”

That pretty head was spinning. Dame Jane Sterling, aka Miss Jane Smith, also known in certain sewing circles as Mistress Katrina GoodKnight, the freelance assassin, was long gone. So was Natasha’s dreamy state of euphoria. She turned back, throwing the handful of diamonds and satin into the drawer. The pictures… The ones the client had left in the case. She felt weak, gripping the drawer for support. Tears spilled from her cheeks, wetting the matching satin panties. She’d wet her panties, again. She slammed the drawer shut. “I have to tell her.”

“No! You can’t!” Pete calmed himself. “Not yet, Snow. She’s not herself. She thinks Katrina’s dead. For real this time. Understand? Hey, where’s that damn phone? Where is it, Snow?”

Snow White…Katrina once called me her beautiful snow-white princess. “The iPhone? I don’t know. Maybe she took it.”

“Bullshit!” He inspected the pile on the floor—“Nice outfit”—then, Katrina’s clutch. Empty. He set the Prada on the table and picked up the service tray. “Where do you want it?”

“What more do you want from me?”

“That depends. I’ll just leave it here then. Don’t forget to dial five-five.”

She shouted in German. “Get the fuck out! Can’t you just leave us alone?”

Stepping to the door, he replied in same, “She’s not to be trusted, Miss Teufelmaus. Understand?”

She nodded. Natasha understood, better than most. Katrina GoodKnight wasn’t really missing, she was hiding. Hiding deep inside a false psyche of her own invention, one Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling. The last time this happened, it took nearly four years for her to come out. While Pete and Mum worked to bring their Katrina-Jane out, KK and her father were each doing their best to make sure that Jane never came out again. Each had their reasons.

“Nice shoes.” The five-inch pumps looked familiar. He picked up his wife’s old stilettos and removed the wads of tissue, leaving them for his lovesick operative to blot her tearful memories. So anxious for her reunion, Natasha had left her condo without any heels when Kate picked her up yesterday. “See ya around, doll.”

Alone. She raced to the door, bolted it, then lunged for the table and her purse. The phone? Where’s the phone? I have to warn her.

Weak with despair, Katrina’s snow-white princess fell face-down onto the bed and cried into the pillow, “No! Not again. I betrayed my mistress again.” She felt sick. Sick and dirty—so dirty, but, so in love. Her eyes closed. The Teufelmaus surrendered to her darkness. Please, Mistress, take me…

The Ghosts of Blachmann Past

Arlington, Virginia, 10:08 local

The armored black Mercedes traveled at a steady pace in the direction of Reagan National Airport. The traffic was uncommonly light for mid morning on a work day.

“Catherine, dear, there are three dear souls I wish to visit before we begin our journey to New Hampshire. You don’t mind, do you, my dear?”

With a condescending voice, Catherine replied, “Whatever makes you happy, Grandma!”

The sun shone brightly as the car pulled into Arlington National Cemetery. Danielle stopped at the visitor’s entry, opened her door, and handed the guard her pass. Checking it against that day’s list of authorized vehicles, he flipped the sheet on his clipboard. Halfway down, he spotted their names. Black, Christi London. Black, Catherine. He looked in the open door as she popped the trunk.

A second soldier went around the car. Using a mirror, he inspected under the chassis. Next he checked the opened trunk. He closed the lid and said, “All clear.”

“Very good, miss. Please be respectful, and observe all signs. Proceed.”

“Thank you, corporal.” Danielle waved as she pulled forward through the gate. She glanced in the driver’s side mirror. The corporal was recording the vehicle information on his day sheet.

10:14   MB-S65 AMG / BLK     D WZ-692        3 F

Danielle drove slowly onto the hallowed grounds. There were long lines of visitors waiting to get in. She yielded the right of way several times to the many small tour buses. This time of year was a busy one at Arlington. She took notice of the endless rows of simple graves. Each was marked with a small symbol of the nation’s respect for their sacrifice. The small Stars and Stripes were placed there every year by volunteers.

They passed the Kennedy Memorial. A short distance farther, the Mercedes turned off the paved road. The heavy black sedan left an impression as it crawled up a gravel path and parked. Well off the main road, the path led to a sloped grassy area.

Danielle opened the door. “We’re here, Mum. May I help you out?”

Miss Christi reached out, taking her hand, ready to be escorted to the grave sites. “Oh, thank you, my dear. Would you be a dear and assist me by carrying the other bouquets?”

“Certainly, Mum.” After helping her from the car, Danielle reached in the open passenger door and removed the two smaller bouquets and a small towel from the right front seat. “Lovely day for a visit?”

“Yes, dear, splendid.” Miss Christi smiled. She knew this place well. They both took a moment to take in the serene parklike setting. The morning sun warmed their faces. “Miss Catherine,” asked Miss Christi through the still-open rear door, “will you be accompanying us today?”

“Seen one grave, seen ’em all,” said Catherine with a sigh, showing no respect. Her eyes still glued to her iPhone, she stayed seated. “I’ll wait here.”

Does this brat have a heart? Danielle swung the door, hard. “I’m honored to do so, Miss Christi.” Reverence cradled her words.

“How do I look, dear? I want to look my best for my love today.”

“Smashing! Shall we, Mum?”

With the greatest of care, Danielle assisted Miss Christi as they made their way from the car onto the rain-softened lawn. Miss Christi held a bouquet of twenty-one long-stemmed, ruby red roses. The thick moist grass tried its best to snare their heels. They climbed the gentle slope to a secluded area harboring three gravestones. Miss Christi began to tear up, as they neared. Danielle placed the towel just in front of the center stone. She assisted as her mum kneeled before the gravestone.

Miss Christi kissed the bouquet before placing it before the headstone. She leaned forward, kissing the polished black granite, and whispered, “How have you been, my love?” then reached forward, hugging the stone. Slowly, she let go her dead lover and settled back, closing her eyes. A pleasant breeze swept passed, caressing her face as she shared her soul. My true love, I pray you will make this journey with us. I am in desperate need of your strength. Please help me to accomplish my assignment. Please, Sir Katherine, be my guardian once more. Please protect us on this journey, my true love. My passion still burns hot for you, my brave GoodKnight.

She reached out as if embracing her lover, kissing the warm stone once more. Their kiss lasted a long minute. She could still feel her lover’s passion on her lips as she leaned back and looked up to Danielle. “Oh, thank you, dear.” Taking the tissue being offered, she dabbed away the tears. “Good thing I went easy on the makeup this morning,” she said with a lighthearted tone.

“You’ve rescued me again, Miss Danielle.”

“Anytime, anywhere, Mum. May I assist you in regaining your legs?”

“Oh, please do, my dear, I’m weakened by the events that await us this day.”

“Very good, Mum.” Offering her free arm, Danielle helped Miss Christi to her feet.

“May I place these for you?”

“Would you, dear?  I’ll be only a few minutes with Stephen.” Miss Christi moved to stand before the grave to the right of her departed lover’s. “I think our visit must be a short one today. We do have a train to catch. I hope you are keeping yourself well, my dear friend.”

Miss Christi added a short prayer and then moved to the third. The grave was her lover’s father, Colonel James Jack Black. He was killed in a plane crash on his way out of Germany. It was shortly before the outbreak of World War Two. The cause was believed to be sabotage. The culprits were never identified.

“I think it’s time, dear.”

They walked down the slippery green slope toward the car. Once again, Danielle’s sure arm escorted Miss Christi, making sure she didn’t succumb to the grass. Catherine was outside sitting on the fender, her back to them, head down. She was still waiting for a response to the WTFRU text. Just as they reached the car, Miss Christi caught sight of her son. He was jogging up the path toward them. His face looked pained, and he was out of breath.

“It’s wonderful. You managed to make it in spite of your situation.”

He shook his head yeah, and worked on catching his breath.

Catherine’s head popped up from the darkness to see if her mom was there too. She let it fall. Suddenly, she heard the clunk of woman’s shoes on the gravel. Mom. She wouldn’t look.

“Oh dear, isn’t this wonderful, Miss Catherine? Your parents have come to see us off! I had feared we might miss each other.”

“I knew they’d find a way to say good-bye to you, Miss Christi,” said Danielle before turning her attention to Catherine. “Hey princess, your parents are here. You want to say good-bye?”

“Whatever.” She didn’t acknowledge her parents. Appearing much older than her fifteen years and eleven months, she slid off the hot fender and straightened. She gave her mom her best shot: a smirk, followed by the stare-down.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry we’re late.” Pete greeted his mom with a warm hug. “Have a good visit today?”

“Yes, dear. They’re all well. My Katherine is as lovely as ever.” They both started to tear up.

“I miss her too, Mom. Very much.”

Their son never knew his real father. Sir Katherine was like a father. She wore the pants in the Black family. Miss Christi had always let Sir Katherine do the dad things with little Dicky, as they affectionately called him. His real name wasn’t Pete Long. It was Dick, short for Richard—Richard James Black, the second. When he was a young boy, Miss Christi would always say, I do the mothering and Sir Katherine does the fathering. After all, every boy needs a role model.

“Yes,  dear, I think we all do. They’ll always be right here.” Miss Christi smiled gently, as she placed her hand against their son’s heart. “Won’t they?”

Catherine was staring her mom down with the best F-U she could muster. Inside, she was very sad, still in denial that her parents were shipping her off. She refused to let them know her true feelings. She continued to hide behind her bitchy brat Cat attitude, and that Little Nikita wannabe costume. She did look good though—a little too good for almost sixteen.

Who is this beautiful bitch! What have you done with my little girl? “I see you still couldn’t find anything else to wear.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Danielle thought, might be better not to smile.

Her mom stared her down. God help me. I want to beat your tight little ass raw, right here, right now!  “Did you pack a bag for tonight like I told you?” Keep smiling, you little— You’re making this less painful than I feared.

“I thought I’d go like this. I was sure you’d like it too.” She enhanced the already most-evil smile.

“Suit yourself, young lady.” I love you so much. “It’s going to be a long two days with just that one outfit.” Please come back to me.

Her evil melted. “What two days? I thought it would only take a few hours to get to New Hampshire.” She addressed Miss Christi. “My mom said you own a jet.”

“Yes, dear, I do. Very fast one too.” Miss Christi turned to Catherine’s mom. “Didn’t you tell her about tonight?”

“Oh, didn’t I? That’s right. You’re having dinner in New York, tonight. Sorry, kitten.”

Other than just then and last night, her mom hadn’t called her kitten since the day she saw her in those boots. She’d always called her, “my little kitten.” Lately though, it had been, “you little young lady,” or, when she was really pissed, “you little whore,” or, “you little slut!” Right now, she wanted to put her Catherine over her knee and whack that firm little bottom. She managed to control herself though. At least she could think it. Teenagers…

Miss Christi and Danielle made their good-byes.

Danielle ordered, “Back in the car princess. Want some help with your lap—”

“No.” Click. “Do you?”

“Not today, princess. Thanks for asking though.”

Soon the three were on the move again. They left the cemetery’s main gate behind and headed straight across the Potomac toward the Capital.

Catherine quickly became agitated and demanded, “Why the fuck are we going this way? Doesn’t your stupid bitch driver know the airport’s back there? Back that way, on the other side of the river!” Growing flustered, she pointed back, in the direction of Reagan National. Sarcastically, Catherine attempted to be humorous. “Just follow the planes,” she said, as she added a fake laugh.

Silent with glee, Danielle continued toward the capital.

Catherine undid her lap belt and bent forward. She got right up in Danielle’s ear and growled through gritted teeth. “Hey, you dumb little bitch, you’re going the wrong way! Turn this fucking car around or I’ll kick your cute tight ass.” Shit!

“Thanks, baby, but this is the best way to Union. Really.”

Baby… She caught Danielle’s, nice eyes, in the rearview mirror and screamed, “Union Station!” nearly blowing out the girl’s eardrum. “Fuck!”

“Why, yes, dear. It’s where we board the Acela Express for New York.”

Catherine turned back. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why aren’t we flying? It’s like, way fuckin’ faster, you know.” Her disturbed mind was racing. Acting more childish by the second, she started an eye fight with that bitch. “No!” Shit, fuck! What the fuck am I gunna do about this? “Who fucking like, takes the train anymore?” Shit! Got to tell my BP. She shut it, sat back, and opened her Coach. Retrieving her iPhone, she thumbed in a text and hit Send.

Plan changed! Not flying. Meet MK at Union Station. Hurry! Love MK.

Excusing the offensive words, Miss Christi responded, “Well, that may be true, my dear, but what’s our hurry? Do you wish to get to the Castle sooner than tomorrow?”

Catherine regrouped and answered, a little shaky. “Well, no, Grandma. I just didn’t, like, think anybody took the train when they could get there in two hours by flying.” Having revised her plan to escape, she was still trying not to appear flustered while she waited for her BP’s response.

Castle? What the fuck is she talking about? Catherine fell back, clutching her iPhone tightly, resting it in her lap. It was her only remaining lifeline. She held it tight, leaned her head against the window, and waited for BP’s reply.

Repent My Brother

Union Station, 11:22 local

The pleasant weather had the usual street characters out panhandling the tourists. That churchless preacher guy was at his usual spot with his megaphone, shouting out to all the sinners. “Repent, my brother and sister!” Only a few tourists bothered to notice. Danielle delivered them to the steps of the main entrance.

“I’ll meet you outside Penn at the usual spot,” said Danielle, talking softly to the windshield as she braked to a stop. “I see the temptress waiting on the steps, just up ahead. No word from Miss Jane yet. If anything changes, just say the word. I’ll meet you.” She was speaking to Miss Christi, using their covert communications technology. Catherine took no notice of their tiny earpieces.

Miss Christi nodded her acknowledgment as they exited the Mercedes. Though she was turning sixty-nine in September, Miss Christi was in exceptional physical condition. She maintained the fit appearance of someone at least ten years younger. “Would you like to join me in some lunch, my dear? We have enough time before our train is scheduled to leave.” They were booked in first class on the 1 p.m. Acela Express for New York’s Penn Station.

“Fuck yeah, I’m starving. Let’s go to Uno’s.”

They trotted up the granite steps, through the front entry doors. Inside the main concourse, they headed straight for the restaurant on the second level. As they walked, Catherine remained unaware that they were under surveillance by the pair of Blachmann Cougars.

“Good morning, Mum. Sorry—”

Jane’s sudden vocal appearance had startled Miss Christi, causing her to stumble as she ascended the stairs.

“Hey! Watch it, Gran.” Catherine’s snatch was lightning fast, saving Miss Christi from disaster. “I got you.” She offered an arm. “Those heels too tall for you?”

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Miss Christi maintained a solid grip on Catherine’s arm even after they reached the second level. “You’re my good knight in shining armor.”

GoodKnight… She shook free of Miss Christi’s grasp and said, “Yeah, sure.” Told ya.

“Sorry, Mum. I have your back. Nice little kitty you’re bringing me. Never thought I’d see those bloody boots again. Never thought I’d see her either.” Even from that distance, the resemblance was striking. “I think we’re in for a bloody hot summer.” She observed, the pretender, from the upper level. She’d been there waiting, watching for trouble since leaving Pete. She took in one eyeful of Catherine’s booted legs. Jane was sure of one thing. Katrina’s kid was trouble.

Many years had passed since Miss Christi’s last field assignment. She wasn’t comfortable having voices in her ear. That assignment hadn’t gone as planned either. They made their way into Uno’s. Catherine told the hostess to seat them by the balcony overlooking the main concourse. She chose a seat that afforded a clear view of everyone coming and going below.

Following them in was Miss Christi’s lead operative. Jane took a seat at the bar next to a heavyset airline pilot. He was sweaty and smelled. But the position gave a good vantage point from which those coming and going could be easily observed. She watched and listened as they opened their menus. Catherine’s seating choice didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Christi or her Cougars. They suspected she might have an accomplice.

“What are you in the mood for, my dear?”

Ignoring her, Catherine reached for her iPhone and checked for new texts. None. She turned and focused her attention back to the station’s main hall. She searched without success for her accomplice.

“Um, I need to pee.”

“I’m going with the chicken Caesar. And you, my dear?”

No response.  Catherine banged away with her thumbs, sending that BP another angry WTFRU text. The well-pierced butch server returned to take their drink order.

“What can I get you young ladies to drink today?”

Catherine looked up and smiled. Maybe eighteen or nineteen? She flipped her hair and said, “I’d like a double Jack on the rocks, hun.” She waited for a reaction, but Miss Christi wasn’t fazed and didn’t intercede. “Oh, hun, where’s the ladies room?”

“May I see some ID please, miss?” asked their server in a disbelieving tone.

“I’ll have a hot tea please, dear.”

Catherine reached into her Coach and produced a Maine driver’s license. She lifted her slender arm and offered the fake ID to the server with a disarming smile that contained more that a hint of delightful seduction.

The distracted server checked the ID and then looked to Miss Christi, who acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The server again studied the ID then handed it back with an approving look. “Here you go, miss.” She pointed. “Over there, past the bar.”

“Thanks, hun.” Catherine rose from her seat and added, “When do I get to see yours?” She towered over the well-pierced server.

“How about tonight, Miss GoodKnight,” whispered the server, making eyes. “I’ll have your drinks right away, ladies.”

Catherine strutted off to the bar area. She paused to look back at Miss Christi. Bye-bye, Gran. She started for the exit. The pilot seated at the bar reached out, tugged her arm, and said with authority, “Hey, miss, restroom’s that way.” As the pilot pointed, a slightly tall, slender redhead with freckles stepped forward and said in an equally loud voice, “Nice boots, honey. Where’d you get them?”

“Thanks, mister.” Catherine glanced back at Miss Christi with a big smile. Guess now’s not the time to make a break for it. She growled, “eBay,” and headed for the restroom.

The redhead followed.

Once inside, she started texting. Fuck me. What does Freckles want? Shit. She’s coming over.

“Hi, honey. Name’s Sam. How much?”

“Fuck off! I’m booked.” Catherine entered a stall and latched the door. Fuck! Why hasn’t BP shown up yet?  She yanked her panties, hiked up her mini, sat, and got busy. She re-sent the text and added a PLEASE. This time she received a reply:

BP sorry. Can’t meet U 2day. 2 much work 2day. 2morro??

The redhead entered the adjacent stall. “Hey, honey, this enough? Can I come over?”

Fuck!  Something was touching her boot. She looked down to see the redhead’s hand under the stall. Two new hundreds. Her heart started pounding. She thumbed quick and sent:

MK VERY PISSED OFF! BP must come get MK NOW! In the Unos Restroom.

Come NOW! Please.

A quick response:

BP VERY SAD / working / G2G / BP LOVE MK

“Come on, honey. So how much for a lick job?”

“I said, fuck off!” She thrust her right stiletto down for added emphasis.

“Hey! Easy, baby! What, you only do dicks?”

“I’m not that kind of a girl.”

“Sure you are. I can get us a room.”

Seconds later, she heard another woman enter the restroom. Seeing her best chance for escape, Catherine stood, mounted her panties, and muttered, “Fuck you, bitch!” She burst from the stall, heading back to the safety of, Grandma.

“Everything alright dear? Your face, it’s quite pale.”

“Yeah.” She was shaking. “Where’s that little dyke with my fuckin’ drink?”

The interested server soon returned with their beverages. “What would you like, ma’am?”

“May I have a chicken Caesar with the dressing on the side?”

“No problem, ma’am.” She scribbled on her pad. “And what can I get for you, Miss Good—”

“Same thing, butch!”

“No problem, miss!  Have those out right away.” The distraught server turned quick to hide her face and started off.

“Miss Black! Did your parents not teach you to be polite?”

“What?” Finally! She has a button.

“Please, thank you, and you’re welcome?” Her expression conveyed only disappointment.

What? “Oh yeah. They like, taught me that shit. I guess.” Granny must be hard of hearing. I called that little Goth butch a dyke. “Didn’t you hear me?” Shut up.

“Yes, I’m sure they taught you dear. But did you learn?” It was clear; their Catherine’s head was elsewhere. “Nice phone. Where did you get those delightful boots, my dear?”

“What? Huh? Ah, I got them from my—” MK caught herself. “They were like, an early birthday present.”

“Yes, they’re quite stunning, my dear.” Miss Christi and Catherine both took a moment and admired the boots. Miss Christi was certain she’d encountered them before. “May I?” She touched one. “You don’t see boots made from real patent very often these days. And, those lovely heels. They must be quite expensive.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How tall are those lovely heels?”

“Huh?” She took her eye off her iPhone to check. “I don’t fricken know. Like, four and a half, I guess. Who cares?”

“Just curious, my dear. I always like seeing a nice pair of boots on a woman.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fuck! BP… Answer me!

“Who gave them to you, dear?”

Catherine snapped. “None of your fucking business! Okay?” Her venom cast a chill over the restaurant as their equally chilled server returned with the twins. Maybe the salad would keep her mouth at bay. The food calmed her.

“Enjoying the whiskey, my dear? You’ve barely touched it.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I guess.” Catherine never thought Miss Christi would let her get the drink. She took another swallow. She wants to know if I’m enjoying this shit. She sat there trying to decide if Grandma was either, really cool, yeah, or really retarded. She took another sip. “Yuck!” Catherine couldn’t stand the taste, and it burned all the way down.

“I was never much of a whiskey drinker myself. My Katherine was though. Scotch, only the best would do. Old Poultney. The seventeen-year. Not me, dear. I get tipsy. Never could get used to the taste, or the way it burned my throat. A little too masculine for my tastes. When did you develop your interest in spirits my dear?”

“What?” Listening with one ear, Catherine continued to scan the main hall below them. She still held out hope that she’d spot her accomplice. “Huh? I don’t know. A long time ago. I was like twelve or thirteen, I guess.” She devoured her salad.

“Now, I do enjoy the occasional glass of Cabernet, with dinner, mind you. But, never more than two, dear.” Miss Christi giggled. “Goes right to my head.”

“I’m still hungry.”

“Would you like a sweet treat, dear?”

“What?”

“Dessert? Would you like a treat, my dear? We have time.”

It wasn’t long before the server arrived with an enormous chocolate chip cookie smothered with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, and whipped cream. “Here you are, ladies.”

Catherine proceeded to whittle away at the delicious monstrosity, using her spoon with alarming precision. She’d consumed slightly more than half its two thousand listed calories when she paused to sip. Jack fuckin’ sucks. Maybe it gets better with age. Wish I ordered the root beer.

Miss Christi couldn’t take it any longer. “May I have a taste, dear? It looks so delicious. May I?” She peered into the disheveled gooey remains, a youthful wanting in her eyes.

“Oh yeah. Sure, Gran. Help yourself. It’s really good.”

“My one weakness, dear. I love sweet naughty treats.” Miss Christi went for it, plunging her spoon deep into the sweet sticky mess.

“Yeah, me too.” Catherine smiled, showing true joy for the first time.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Please, have some more, Gran.” They both shared what was left.

Miss Christi finished off her tea and blotted her lips.

Catherine’s iPhone danced. “’Bout fuckin’ time.” She picked it up to read the text.

Can’t help anymore today. BP very sorry. Meet U tomorrow.

PS: MJ loves MK’s boots too.

“What the fuck!” The sweet smile melted and left her lips bitter. She tossed the traitor into her Coach and flipped her hair. Anger scrolled across her brow. She reached for the Jack.

“Something wrong, dear? Perhaps a nice cup of hot tea instead of that?”

“Maybe. Yeah, perhaps.” But when their regrouped server returned with the check, she downed the rest.

“Suit yourself, dear. I think she likes you.”

“Who? That fucking butch dyke waitress?” Cute ass. Yeah, but a little too Goth for me. But that ass is so nice.

“Maybe if she was blonde, dear?”

“I’m not into that.” Liar! Shut up!

“Oh! I didn’t mean to imply anything. Just that— It’s not important, dear.” Miss Christi paid the check in cash, a single new hundred. “Time to catch our train, my dear.”

Fuck! Why didn’t you come? You promised. Fuck. What’s Freckles doing? She’s following you, stupid. Catherine took a tight hold of Miss Christi’s arm as they made their way to the Acela. “Don’t want you to stumble again, Gran.”

All Aboard

The Acela on Track 9, 12:56 local

The conductor shouted, “All aboard.” They found their seats in First. Unknown to Catherine, Miss Christi’s two operatives would also board today’s train, just in case. The Enforcer, Jane Sterling was already seated just behind and to the left in the aisle seat. Her other operative, the redhead code-named Temptress, entered and seated herself forward, near the forward exit.

Catherine found her iPhone and began texting. She tried desperately to get back into the private world she shared with her mysterious sexting partner, BP… The train started moving, leaving the station, the city, and, MK’s life, behind. Her head banged the window. “Why are they doing this to me?”

“My dear, why are you so angry?” inquired Miss Christi sincerely.

She didn’t answer, just stared into her dark display. Because my fucking parents hate me. Sending me away with granny? She shook her head. I wish I were dead. Why hasn’t my BP texted me back? She hooked up her iPod and cranked the volume.

Miss Christi nudged and asked why she didn’t just use the iPhone’s music player. She said it didn’t work.

“Perhaps you should let Miss Wright look at it when we get to New York. She’s quite handy with technology.”

Catherine didn’t respond. She observed Miss Christi reach into her bag, removing her Kindle. She woke it and started reading. The time ticked by. She smiled, laughed, and even cried a tear or two. Catherine figured it was a romance. She kept looking past their reflection in the window, frequently checking her trusty iPhone. She hadn’t received any new texts. After an hour of silence, and just having left Philadelphia, she blew.

“Oh-my-God! Fucking stupid fuckin’ piece of fucking shit! Like, what’s fucking wrong with this fuckin’ thing?” Fuck! Catherine glanced at Miss Christi before turning back to the window, banging her head. How come Granma isn’t telling me to stop saying fuck? My mom would have strangled me by now if she was here. I just don’t get it. I’m doing everything I can to piss Granny off and she just sits there acting like I’m still some sweet little five-year-old girl. If only she knew. That little girl is dead. She died a long time ago.

Her head banged against the window. “Fuck! Why are they doing this to me?”

The anger had made a break for it. Her repressed feelings escaped the torture chamber she built around her heart. Since seeing her parents at the cemetery, she struggled, trying to keep the emotions locked away. Her sadness, now strong in anger, was ready to break free. Her words shot out faster than the Acela was moving.

“Oh-my-God! Like, how can you? Like, be so fuckin’ happy, sitting there? We’re, like stuck on this, like, fuckin’ train, Oh-my-God! I’m like, fucking sick, and all I got like, to do today is, like, visit some like, stupid fucking grave and like, watch you, like, read on your dumb like, fuckin e-book! And like, Oh-my-God! You didn’t even like, say anything when that totally hot-for-me butch brought me the fuckin’ drink! I can’t believe you let me, like, drink it.” Catherine took a desperately needed deep breath and fell against the window, trying to conceal her tears.

Miss Christi set her Kindle in her lap. “Well, my dear. So wonderful you decided to join me. Do you wish me to answer your questions?” She reached for her bag.

She sniffled. “Yes.” A tear streaked down her painted cheek as she pulled her earbud and killed the music.

Miss Christi held out a tissue. “My dear Catherine, do you not care about me?”

Yes.

“Do you still, my dear?”

“Yes!” She snatched the tissue. “Yes, I want you to…talk to me, please. Why does she hate me?” Catherine wiped away some of her painted-on age.

“Well then. First things first, my dear Miss Black. You shall please apologize for that offensive outburst!” She offered another tissue.

“What? Oh. Sorry.” Catherine found that little girl. She wasn’t dead, just locked away, deep down inside. She started to cry.

“Sorry about what, my dear?” Miss Christi asked, a bit more sternly.

There was safety in Miss Christi’s stern yet compassionate tone. Catherine had to think, should I?  Still sad but also apologetic, she responded. “I mean, I’m sorry I was rude to you, Grandma.” She let her face fall against the window with a thud.

Miss Christi put her Kindle to bed then reached over to take Catherine’s left hand. She squeezed gently, maintaining her hold. Catherine’s head lifted off the glass. She turned to face Grandma, managing a sad but honest smile.

“Oh my dear, please stop calling me Grandma. I find the label positively evil.”

“Well, what do you want me to call you?”

“Miss Christi will do.”

“Okay Grand— I mean, Miss Christi. And you can call me Cat, like my dad does, if you want.”

“What does your mother call you?”

“Oh, my mom calls me a lot of names. They all start with little. Little Slut! Whore! Hooker! Bitch! Take your pick. It doesn’t fucking matter. I don’t fucking care anymore.”

“What did she call you before you two got out of balance?”

“Huh?  Oh. Her pet name for me was—” She choked back tears. “I was her, her little kitten.” Catherine felt herself drifting back. “She hasn’t called me that in a long time.”

“Do you miss being her little kitten?”

“Yeah. I miss the way me and my mom used to always talk and do stuff, before she went back to work. I hardly ever see her anymore. You know? It’s not like we’re poor. I’m not stupid.”

She was in a different place now; a place safe from the anger. It was also a place full with a great sadness. She was ten years old and her mom’s little kitten. Her mom was still, Mommy.

“Yes, my dear, I think I have some sense of how that must make you feel. Abandoned is one feeling that comes to mind. May I address you by the special name she bestowed on you? I would be most honored should you grant me that privilege, dear.”

“Yes, Miss Christi, You can call me that. But not the little part, okay? I’ll be your kitten. I mean, if it makes you happy.” Please.

“It does indeed, kitten. It’s been a long time since I last had a kitten.”

“Me too…My kitty, Squeaky, died last February.” The sadness was visible. “Don’t know what happened. Just found her, day after Valentines. Couldn’t walk or see. Vet said it was probably some stupid brain virus. My dad had them put her to sleep.” The kitten asked for another tissue.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, my dear. I’ll add Squeaky to my prayers tonight.”

“Yeah, thanks, Gran—I mean, Miss Christi.” She smiled. “So, who did you go to visit at Arlington this morning anyway?”

“The one true love of my life, my dear.”

“Really? What was his name?” Fuck! I was such a little brat shit at the cemetery.

“No, my dear kitten,” Miss Christi paused, squeezing her new kitten’s hand, gaining her full attention. “Her name was, Sir Katherine Katrina Victoria Blachmann Black. The last sovereign, mistress, and true ruler of the royal House of Blachmann.” Miss Christi had announced her Katherine’s name proudly, as if she was announcing the President, or the Queen, or some other famous royal person. “Yes, dear, my Katherine was—”

“Catherine!” Her jaw dropped. She blurted, “No fuckin’ way!” Her brain went into a tailspin. Almost dizzy, she uttered, “You were a dyke!” She quickly turned to the safety of the window. Fuck me. Her face was on fire and her heart pumped hard, further feeding the flames.

“No need to be crude, my dear. I take it by the label, you disapprove of such relations?”

“Well, no, not really.” Regaining her stride, she eyed Miss Christi. “I’m just a little surprised, knowing you were, like, a lesbian.” Fuck me! She likes girls too.

“Why did you say, were a lesbian, dear?” She placed her other hand over Catherine’s. ”I don’t think I stopped being who I am because the one true love of my life died. Would you?”

“Well, I guess not.” She tried to appear understanding, placing her free hand over Miss Christi’s. “I never really thought about it. I mean, my lover dying or, that you old—err people still…you know, do it. Shit! Like, you know, I just never think of stuff like that. I kind of only think about how like, me and my friends think about stuff like that. Well, you know.” God! Shut up.

“Yes, my dear kitten, I think so. I may have just a bit of knowledge concerning how young people think. Did you know I earned my PhD in pediatric sexology?”

“What? Kid sex?”

She gave a comforting smile. “It’s true. I spent most of my life helping many young ladies, some not unlike you, my dear, to find their true selves at Blachmann Academy.” Miss Christi gave her a, ‘Don’t-worry, it’s-going-to-be-okay,’ smile then glanced down at Catherine’s boots. “They must be very old, dear. I wonder who else may have worn them. What journeys they may have taken, before they found their way to your lovely feet. I wonder what exciting tales they could tell us.”

“Yeah, they are pretty old, but I, well, I totally love them. But, I never thought much about who owned them before me.”

“Perhaps, someday you will tell me how the boots found you.”

“Someday…maybe.” Catherine turned back to the window. “Can you keep it a secret?”

Miss Christi didn’t answer. Pretending not to hear, she asked, “What’s that, dear?”

Why’d she say Sir Katherine? She turned back to ask, “Miss Christi, why’d you say, Sir? I mean, like, she was a woman, right?”

“Well, my dear, I’ll tell you all about it. You see dear, my Katherine was knighted by King George, the sixth. On that day, she informed the King she was nobody’s Dame. She became the first woman to receive the style, Sir.” Miss Christi chuckled.

The world outside the window turned black. The lights flickered, and then the darkness was inside. They couldn’t see the other.

“Oh my!” She reached out, clutching her new kitten for comfort.

“What’s wrong?” asked Catherine, just as the lighting flickered and started back to life.

“Nothing, dear. I fear we’ve entered the tunnel under the Hudson. I’m not fond of dark places.”

“Don’t worry.” With remorse for her earlier self, Catherine took a firm hold and proclaimed, “Fear not, Miss Christi, your GoodKnight is here.” Her words contained something profound. She didn’t really understand. It was more like a feeling. As if her past could be her future. Her face gave away the pleasure she was feeling.

Miss Christi felt it too. Their relationship had turned a corner. She brightened with the Acela’s lights. “We’ll be at Penn Station very soon, my dear. We’ll have to continue our talk later.” She packed up her Kindle. “Gather your things, my dear. Our car is waiting.” Their train snaked its way from one track to another, finally arriving on track six. “Would you like me to take you shopping for a nice sexy outfit to wear to dinner this evening? Something that might better compliment your lovely stature, my dear kitten?”

“What?” More sexy than this? “Really?”

“A friend, dear. She operates a lovely fetish fashion boutique. Not far from the Waldorf.”

“What?” The kitten wasn’t sure she heard correctly.  A fetish fashion boutique? Grandma’s not just a lesbo, she’s a kinky lesbo. “Dinner?”  This keeps getting better. “Yeah, I guess. Sounds like fun.”

The stop was squeezed into the day’s agenda, well before Miss Christi spotted Katrina’s vintage outfit. Catherine’s mom had e-mailed her their daughter’s fashion model measurements; the same day that Catherine wore the boots and skirt to class. Also, on that day, Miss Christi and Kate reviewed the first week’s curriculum.

The next day, Miss Christi called her favorite designer and dear friend to discuss the kitten’s wardrobe needs. Her friend then sketched up and quickly tailored several outfits. Both felt certain Catherine would find each more desirable than her present ensemble. The new outfits were all specifically designed to complement the boots.

Kristin’s Kloset

New York, NY, USA, 15:56 local

The Mercedes pulled up in front of the Chrysler building. “Thank you, dear. We’ll be thirty minutes.”

“Very good, Mum. I’ll deliver your things to the Waldorf. Be back and waiting in exactly thirty. Have the princess text me if the plan changes.”

Miss Christi led the way. Since being restored to its original grandeur, the Chrysler’s lobby, with its Art Deco styling and massive murals, was a sight to behold.

Something’s up. Catherine’s guard rose. “Doesn’t look like any store to me. Hey, how’d what’s-her-name get here so fast?”

“Yes, Miss Wright is very resourceful. Don’t worry, my dear. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Elaine is a well-known designer and a very dear friend. I spoke with her last night before turning in.” Miss Christi reviewed Catherine’s figure. “I hope she got the measurements correct?” As they waited for the elevator, she studied the cheapish streetwalker getup. “Perhaps a bit too edgy for tonight though, my dear. Don’t worry. Elaine promised she could refine your intrepid ensemble without dulling its edge.”

“I’m not going to wear any shit I don’t like, you know.”

They entered the elevator. Miss Christi pressed the highest button.

She moaned, “Way up there?” Catherine could feel her dreaded nemesis slithering up her boots. By halfway up it had started to tighten around her long legs.

Pretending not to notice her kitten’s gathering panic, Miss Christi continued, “I’m certain she’ll have created something you’ll find acceptable. Something more worthy of those lovely boots, my dear.” She moved to steady her. “Kitten, you seem a little flush. Are you feeling well, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m— I just guess I’m like, hungry or something.” Catherine’s face was draining fast. A bead of sweat quickly developed across her brow. Unable to further conceal the panic within, she watched with gloom as the floor indicator climbed higher and higher. She wobbled. Miss Christi held out her arm. The scared kitten latched on with both paws. Catherine was about to faint. The doors parted. Fuck… She let out her dead air and sucked in new life. That was close. “Hey! Where is it, Gran?”

“Come, kitten, it’s this way. Only nine more, dear. Lift’s just around this corner.” Miss Christi tugged at Catherine to maintain pace. “Quickly, my dear! No time to doddle.”

I can do nine… She grudgingly stepped into the next elevator. Why couldn’t it be in Filene’s Basement? Fuck no! Had to be way the fuck up here. She felt it again. The dark creature wrapped her legs and tightened its grip. Steady… you little pussy, steady. Mercifully, the doors soon parted.

They would go no higher today. Catherine opened her eyes and caught sight of the signage behind the cute receptionist’s kiosk. Kristin’s Kloset? “Hey!” Eyebrow raised, she queried Miss Christi. “Just what kind of fashions do they sell here, anyway?” She waited, hands firmly on her hips. What a sight.

“Hey yourself, girlfriend,” shot back the blonde with a pretty face and nice boobs, standing behind the kiosk. “I’ll bet you’ll think they rock.”

Catherine’s eyes were stuck on the, wicked cute, receptionist. “Grandma, have you been keeping secrets from me?” She felt revived, quickly forgetting how high she was. She kicked the weakened creature off her long booted legs, stepped up to the counter, and flipped her hair. “Hi ya.”

“You’ll see very soon, my dear.” Miss Christi could see Catherine was somewhat perplexed as she moved in closer.

“Hello, I’m Vic—”

“Key?” said Catherine, leaning over the counter to steal a high-def close-up of the pretty girl’s cleavage, framed so nicely by the key-holed white leather top. “Nice.” The rest looks yummy too. She was feeling her surefooted self again. Her face grew threatening. “Love your top.”

The young receptionist dipped her head, looking down to check out her own boobs. As her head lifted, her eyes returned the compliment. “Thank you, miss!” She glanced at the F U T-shirt. “Can’t say the same about yours.” She scrunched her nose then lifted her eyes to meet Catherine’s with a new smile. “Those boots are pretty smoking hot though.” She bent forward, leaning over the counter. “Where did you get them?”

Catherine looked too, but not at her feet. Her name tag. Vicki was a clever girl. Nice try, Sticky…

Miss Christi knew that dance. She cut in (even though Catherine had no intention of answering), “Oh, this isn’t actually a store, my dear.”

Vicki took them out back. “This is our New York design center. I’m sure once you see my mom’s designs, you’ll want to wear them.” Just then, an attractive woman, about fifty, burst into the reception area. “Our first show is in three weeks.”

“Welcome. Welcome, Miss Christi. So wonderful to have you visit us.” Clearly excited, she spoke with a French accent. “Oui, Miss Christi! Welcome.” She kissed Miss Christi hello on each cheek, then turned to Catherine, “Oh!” One step closer, she said, “Look at this beautiful creature you’ve brought me today. So lovely.”

The woman put both hands around Catherine’s waist and felt her. “Oui. Oui. I should say we got her dimensions exact.” She spotted the boots. “I’m sure we have just the right wardrobe to complement those enchanting boots.” The woman’s eyes were fixed, as she knelt for a closer inspection. She felt them, tracing her hands along the stitching by the cuff. “Yes, yes, just as you described.” Still on her knees, her head lifted. “Where ever did you get them?”

“The Internet.” Catherine’s eyes were still stuck on, Sticky Vicki. “EBay.”

“You must have a very special Internet.” The woman sprang to her feet and took her guests in each arm. “Come, come. No time to waste!” She whisked them off.

They made their way through the center of the work area. They moved by several women working at different workstations. As they passed, each of them paused, offered a heartwarming greeting to Miss Christi. They all wanted to see the boots. The room smelled of leather. “Lucky for you, kitten, we’re still doing the leather line.” The work area was arranged in an open-concept layout. Several computer workstations on desks and large work tables; some covered with leather hides, others with completed garments.

“The new Guayule based hypoallergenic fabrics are expected tomorrow. We start production of the new rubber line next week.”

“Rubber?” blurted Catherine, pausing for a closer look at one of the computer screens. Fuck me! She just got her first look at the new rubber line.

“Yes dear, very popular with our European clients,” said Elaine tugging. “G emailed me the sketches of her latest outfits,” she added, addressing Miss Christi, while still eyeing the long slender frame. “Very good work. I think they’ll do nicely.”

“Yes. She’s most excited. Can’t wait to see how they look on.” Miss Christi suppressed a giggle.

They continued walking. Elaine maintained a quick pace. Over to one side, a big bald black man was using something that looked like a giant jigsaw. He was cutting through a short stack of leather hides, following a template. Scraps of leather were scattered about the floor. On the far side of the room, several women stitched the cut pieces of leather together.

Catherine took an extra deep breath and looked ahead. They were approaching a large corner office. “Windows.” Great…

“Perhaps we should close the blinds.” Miss Christi moved ahead. “Window washers.”

“Thanks.”  Catherine felt better upon seeing those racks. “No fucking way!”

Elaine closed the door. Her corner office had been prepared ahead. Selections of different outfits, all in leather, were hanging on two garment racks. Without pause, the woman moved to the nearest one. “Hate to be rushed.” She sized up their subject then looked to Miss Christi. “You did say only twenty minutes?”

Miss Christi nodded.

Elaine frowned. “I must do what typically requires four hours minimum.” As the woman went on, she busied herself with the rack. “We’ll let the formal introductions and pleasantries wait until dinner.”

“That’s quite all right, Elaine. I’m sure Miss Catherine won’t mind the pace.” Miss Christi waved her arms. “Go ahead, work your magic.”

Elaine barked, “Strip!” Her French tone was now direct, totally opposite the pleasant one in reception. Elaine was now all business. Over the years she had said “strip” the exact same way to hundreds of models. She wouldn’t treat this princess any different. No matter how much royal blood flowed through that perfectly shaped gorgeous young body. “You could do with some toning.”

“What?” Catherine replied with surprise, immediately raising her defenses, and crossed her arms. She stiffened, spacing her legs further apart, as if to brace against an attack.

“Come on, sweetie. I said strip!” Elaine smiled wickedly then softened her tone. “How can you try on my creations unless you take that off?” She was pointing at Catherine’s F U T-shirt. “Please? And that cheap wrap thing too. Be quick kid! Time is our enemy.”

“It’s distressed.” She turned to Miss Christi for guidance.

“Oh, come now, dear, we all know what girls look like. Don’t we? Just pull off your top.”

Elaine said, “I’ll help with the ‘distressed’ skirt.”

Catherine slowly pulled her top up and over her head. She felt the woman unzipping her very distressed mini. “Hey!” She reached to save it—too late. The skirt flew down her long legs, crashing around her shiny heels. She stepped forward, leaving it and a treasured piece of her past behind. My BP gave me that.

“There. Very nice shape. Let’s get to work.” Elaine pulled Catherine’s still-trying-to-cover-herself arms free. “Don’t worry sweetie, I won’t bite.” She showed her sharp teeth and said, “Unless you want me to.” She laughed and Miss Christi giggled. They obviously were old friends. Close too.

Catherine wasn’t; she was standing there on display like an unsure goddess in her over-the-knee boots, protected only by her front closure push-up bra and black cotton boy shorts. She felt cold. Her skin turned porcelain.

“I see you had the good sense to go for function over form down below.” Elaine directed Catherine to turn around and put her hands on her hips. She reached around, under the arms and cupped the breasts. “How awful for you.”

Catherine jumped, “Hey!” her pulse quickened. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Who fit you?” Elaine unfastened the bra.

“Why?” Me!

“It’s totally wrong for you.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” said Miss Christi, nodding.

“Calm down, princess. I’m just checking your firmness and…other qualities…so I can fit you properly.”

“Sure you are!” Oh-my-God! This old dyke is totally feeling me up. She pushed Elaine’s hands away. “Hey, that—”

“Please be quiet, my dear.” Miss Christi’s voice was crisp. “Unfortunately, there isn’t enough time for Elaine to explain every little step. Please, just let her fit you.”

“Just go easy on the nipples.”

“I can assure you, my dear, Elaine knows her craft without question.”

Elaine moved back to the garment racks. She worked her way along the first, picking some as she went. “Buttons, snaps, or zippers?”

“What?” Catherine was confused. She’d never felt so on display. She was still fighting off the residual nausea from the elevator. Don’t look out that window. Look the other way, at the mirror. Oh! Fuck me! Her eyes were stuck on the overexposed image in the mirror.

“Buttons, snaps, or zippers? Well?” Elaine was losing patience. Her tone sharpened. “Which is it, princess?”

I knew all this hair would come in handy. That’s better.

“Answer me!” Elaine was loud enough to be heard on Wall Street.

Fuck! “Zippers! Definitely zippers.” Snaps are okay but, “Definitely no buttons!”  She shook her head na. “Too much work.”

“Keep that hair under control. Hold it up so we can see you. I think I have a sense of the look you tried to create. Here, let’s try this and this, and—Oh, yes. Here it is. This should work.” She held up the three different skirts plucked from the first rack. Each was a variant of the other.  “Which of these? You, oui?”

Catherine still held a clump of her waist-length hair in each hand as she pointed at the third one. Elaine handed her the black leather skirt. “Slip it up, sweetie.” The skirt was the shortest of the three. Barely legal, it had a thin strip of red embroidered down each side that matched the accenting laces adorning her boots. She pulled the size 00 mini up, over her narrow hips. She felt the quality of the leather. The lining was a satin weave of real silk. “Fuck.” This is so nice.

“Yes, dear, fits you nicely.” Miss Christi was clearly impressed with their selection.

Catherine moved to admire her new look, in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Elaine pulled a red and black patent leather front-zip bustier from the rack and then, “Oui,” a matching cropped fitted jacket, also with plenty of zippers. Both went with the skirt and boots perfectly.

“Try these.”

“You made all this?” Catherine zipped up the bustier and added the jacket. She almost couldn’t believe what she saw in the mirror. Fuck me! This is hot!

“Fits okay? Oui?”

“Fuck oui!” Catherine knew a little French herself. No one paid any notice.

“Now, for some panties. And, maybe a bra or two? The red and white camis are for daytime or sleeping maybe?” She added a questioning brow. “Oui, almost forgot. Where is that little purse for your essentials?” Elaine went to her desk and picked up an evening purse of black patent with a chain-link handle. It was Prada, from their summer collection. She placed it with the lingerie in a hot pink and black shopping bag. The Hush-Hush brand was scrolled on each side.

Miss Christi inquired of Elaine, “Still haven’t received the new bags yet?”

“We did, but KK ordered them sent back.” Elaine grimaced. “Tell you about it at dinner. Here, new kid, take this.” She handed her the Hush-Hush bag containing the shiny black purse, the two silk camisoles, two bras in matching colors, and four pair each of assorted silk and cotton panties. “Why don’t you just leave your old things here? I know just the place for them.” Elaine eyed the trash bin with joy.

“Sure. Whatever.” Catherine was still checking out the new kid in the mirror when Elaine opened the office door.

“We’ll see you at seven.” Elaine’s voice had lost its bite. “Just in front of the Bull and Bear. Cheers.”

“Cheers, Elaine.” Miss Christi wasted no time. She took Catherine by the arm and accelerated her through the workshop and into the reception area. “Good-bye, Miss Vicki.”

“Good-bye, Mum.” Vicki stood in the open elevator, holding the Door Open button in. “I saw you coming.” She checked out Catherine from head to toe and back. “Totally hot!” The next words dripped off her just re-glossed lips. “Going down?”

“Sure hope so.” Shit… Catherine didn’t say another word but flicked her hair as she gave her the look. Must be the boots. It’s always the boots.

Miss Christi hurried her W-M-D fashion model into the waiting elevator. “Very thoughtful of you, my dear.” Miss Christi gave a peck to Vicki’s cheek.

“Hey!” Catherine watched Vicki release the Door Open button. “What’s up with you?”

“I want to go down.” Vicki glanced Catherine’s way and changed. “With you.”  She was now wearing a very naughty face.

“In your dreams.” Maybe. She peered through, that keyhole.

Vicki pretended to yawn as the elevator slowed. “Can’t wait for bedtime. You?”

Really distracting. She didn’t notice the open doors.

“Come now, dear. Catherine!” Miss Christi needed to give a little tug to get her kitten moving. “One more to go. Say good-bye, dear.”

As they rode the express forty floors down to the lobby, Catherine said, “Sure wasn’t expecting that.”

“We’re not done with you yet, my dear.”

“Really?”  “We”? Maybe this summer won’t be that boring after all.

Welcome to the Towers

The Towers, 16:59 local

Danielle delivered them promptly to the private entrance on East 50th Street. She handed Miss Christi two key cards as the smartly dressed doorman greeted them. The entrance was reserved for guests staying in the suites perched high above the main hotel. Six minutes later, they were in their suite on the thirtieth floor. Danielle had also arranged for their visit to the very private Guerlain Spa. Located on the nineteenth floor high above the city, the Guerlain salon and spa was just what the doctor ordered.

After a quick shower, they slipped into their complimentary plush white robes and headed down to get their hair, makeup, and paws tuned for the evening ahead. They sat together, ready for the exclusive pampering. Surrounded by a flock of attentive women, each was treated to ninety minutes of hair and makeup. Per Danielle’s special request, everything that touched their bodies was hypoallergenic and fragrance-free. Catherine’s feet weren’t in the footbath for ten seconds before she was back to her old self, texting. Their shadows weren’t far. They too were receiving certain pleasantries in the spa. Between her endless thumb-tapping, the kitten began making a few discrete inquiries.

“Um, who was that Elaine woman, anyway? How do you like, know her? Why do we have to have dinner with her? Can’t we go out clubbing or something? Maybe with that girl?  You know—that cute receptionist? Why do I have to go to a boring business dinner anyway? That, what’s her name? She looked like a total party girl.” Catherine went on and on, all the while tapping away to her secret friend, repeating much of what she was saying. “You know, that Vicki chick.” Lipsticky Vicki—LV. She tapped Send.

From the next room came a shout. It sounded a lot like, bloody hell! Their esthetician then mouthed the dreaded words. Bikini wax.

 “Ouch. Think she knows where to party? Why can’t I—we, go out with her? I mean, you know. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind us, unlocking her.”

“My, my, kitten. So many questions.” Miss Christi didn’t answer any of them. She understood the behavior well. Talking rapidly, mostly questions, whenever she was anxious. Drugs? Possibly. The what, had been answered, but not the how? How was she getting drugs? And, why? Why was my dear kitten on drugs? “There. Head, hands, feet, and face: all beautiful. Shall we head up and see how lovely that leather fits the new you? I also have a little surprise planned.”

What? “What is it, Miss Christi?”

“We shall see, my dear. Come now. You mustn’t keep your lady waiting.”

“Yeah. Hey, do you have a charger? My stupid battery is getting low.”

“Sorry, dear, I don’t believe I do. Best shut it off to conserve what’s left.” Miss Christi fibbed. She was determined to get whoever was on the other end of that iPhone, out of Catherine’s head.

House Keeping

Suite 30A, 19:45 local

“Housekeeping.”

Bloody hell! Ready to leave for her assignment, Jane pocketed the mobile and opened the door.

“Surprise!” KK pushed past and headed straight for the bathroom. “I really have to.”

“Go.” Jane followed, demanding, “What are you doing here?”

“Pee-pee.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Papa is here for some UN meeting. I tagged along. Elaine texted. Said she was meeting Miss Christi and you here for dinner.”

“Well, young lady, I don’t have time for you.”

“Not even a little?” KK wiped. “I missed you.”

“One bloody day? Really, KK!” Jane flushed.

“The longest day of my life! Ja, Papa is so mean.” On went the water. “Did you like the gift?

Jane didn’t answer as she reached for a hand towel.

“Didn’t you read my card?” Off went the water. “Thanks.” She wiped.

“Your card?” Bloody hell. It was there, still buried under three iPhones in her bag. “Right then. Come here, little girl.” She held the correct mobile behind KK’s back and sent: Babysitting KK, use LV. “Where is your papa staying?”

KK pulled free and purred, “Didn’t say. Told me I couldn’t see you ever again.” She pouted.

“Did he?”

“Ja. So, did you like my present?”

“Come here, you naughty girl. Now! Miss Jane has a little present for you.” Jane hiked up her cocktail dress and settled on the bed. “Well. Get on with it.”

Come now kitten

Suite 30C, 19:53 local

The girls were nearly ready to go down and meet Miss Christi’s other business partners for dinner. Miss Christi checked herself in the mirror by the entry to their large suite. She wore a knee-length black leather pencil skirt and a ruby red sleeveless silk blouse with a plunging neckline that presented her still-healthy cleavage with enticement. She also had donned several pieces of very expensive jewelry. The center showpiece, a beautiful diamond necklace, hung around her thin neck lying gracefully between, as if guarding, those still desirable breasts. She checked their fit in the mirror.

Her excitement had peaked. She concealed her obvious arousal in a matching cropped leather fitted jacket. Its cuffs trimmed with matching red silk ruffles to make the blouse appear more conservative when worn but most aggressive when removed. She buttoned the jacket’s midpoint. Just to be safe. “Come now, kitten. Don’t want to be late for our date with the girls.”

“Almost ready!” shouted Catherine from the bathroom as she dabbed on a tiny dose of her perfume. She emerged in the new leather—a stunning image of perfection wrapped in a skintight distraction.

“Oh, my dear!” Miss Christi was taken aback by the vision. “You are a joy to behold.”

“Are you sure?” Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. “Hey, Gran. You look pretty awesome.”

“Yes. Thank you, dear.” Still dazed, Miss Christi twisted to catch her old self in the mirror. “I do have a little something left in the tank.”

“Huh? Hey, Gran, you sure I’m like, okay?” Catherine twirled. “I mean, for this place? You know, like, don’t I look a little too Pretty Woman in this.” She admired the young woman in the mirror, twisting to check her backside. “This skirt is a little shorter than I thought. You can almost see my—”

“Not at all, my dear. Don’t worry, kitten. We’re in the fashion capital. However, I wouldn’t drop anything, dear,” said Miss Christi, acknowledging the preteen status of Catherine’s eleven-inch micro mini. “Otherwise, I think you’re dressed most appropriately for this evening. I’m sure our dinner companions will find you most charming.” She stepped back to take in the view.

“Positively delightful! Do remember to stand tall, dear. Be the confident and respectful young woman I know you are. If you believe it, everyone else will too. Please don’t forget to keep those legs tight when you sit, dear.” Miss Christi pointed at the danger zone with her eyes. “Wouldn’t want to distract the help. Would we, dear?” She smiled then fitted Catherine into the much-cropped, biker-themed leather jacket. “Perhaps you might keep this on downstairs? I totally love the zippers too, dear.”

“Hey!” Catherine’s hands went to her hips. “What about the surprise?” She looked like, Wonder Woman, standing there, that pose, those boots. All she needed was some rope. She sure didn’t look fifteen. “You promised.”

“Yes, yes. I do have something special for you, dear, to finish off your new ensemble.” Miss Christi moved to the table and returned holding an expensive-looking case, covered in black and red leather. She opened the velvet lined jewelry case, briefly admiring its contents. She giggled as she turned it. “Come see, my dear; let’s see if these fit.” Miss Christi held out her surprise.

“Holy shit, Gran!” Catherine’s brain halted. Her mouth opened. “Wow!” She took a deep breath. “I mean, sorry.” She took another breath. “Are those fucking real? There’re sick. I mean, those rocks are freaking awesome! You’re like, really going to let me wear them?”

Miss Christi held a case containing a matching arrangement, each piece crafted of twenty-four-carat gold and fitted with hundreds of diamonds.

“Whose are they? Where did you get them? They’re so beautiful.”

“Yes dear, a wedding gift from my Katherine. Custom crafted by Mister Harry Winston himself. She had them made for our wedding, a symbol of our special love.”

Catherine stood stiff, frozen by the jewels, valued in excess of a million dollars. The diamonds were of the highest quality, nearly flawless in both color and clarity. Brilliant color sparkled as Miss Christi lifted an earring and fitted it to Catherine. Old memories came alive as the diamonds captured the day’s last ray of sunlight. A billion dots of light danced about the room. It was like a dream. Was it a dream? She had diamonds too.

“I bring them out only for very special occasions.”

“You think tonight is one?”

“Oh, yes, my dear; a very special night. We are celebrating the first anniversary of Kristin’s Kloset.” Miss Christi adorned her with the jewels, the earrings, the bracelet, and then that incredible necklace. Katherine, “Would you do me the honor of wearing our wedding ring, my dear?”

Catherine stiffened. “Huh?” Before she could think, nightmare, Miss Christi had her hand out. She watched as the rings slipped onto her finger. “Hey, they’re a perfect fit. Fuck! That’s a big rock, Gran.” Shit. I said that.

“Lovely. Let’s see how you look, my dear.” Miss Christi took her hand and led the kitten back to the full-length mirror. “Wow! You’re one hot young kitten now, Miss Black.” As Miss Christi double-checked the necklace clasp, she looked into the mirror and marveled at the sight. “You have been given a very special gift, my dear. My only wish is that you will let us teach you of its true value.”

“Us”…

Miss Christi, a tear in her eye, was held captive by the image in the mirror. She was standing beside her soul mate, Katherine. “We’re young again.” She allowed herself to take joy in the vision, as the spirit of Sir Katherine filled her heart. She gathered herself. “Come, my love. We don’t want to be late for the girls.”

Girls? “Don’t you mean old ladies?”

Hands on hips, Miss Christi said, “Now remember, dear, tonight we’re a couple of bad-assed chicks with refined attitudes. No swearing at dinner. May I take your arm, my dear?”

Great! This hot outfit and I have to have dinner with a bunch of old ladies. Stifling a smirk, she offered her arm. Catherine escorted her dinner date from their suite, past their noisy French neighbor, down the carpeted corridor, and into the elevator.

“Let me brief you on Elaine, dear.”

“Brief me?”

“Elaine Goodwin, a graduate of the first Blachmann Academy. The year must remain a secret. Some years later, she returned to teach her art. She’s quite gifted. And with an understanding of fashion and how to blend it with a person’s soul and inner desire to present the true perception that lies within.” Years ago, Elaine had sold Miss Christi on her idea for a line of hypoallergenic fetish wear ranging from mild to wild. “Boardroom to bedroom, if you follow, dear.”

Since her first days at the academy, Elaine had known that Miss Christi, like many others, suffered from an allergic reaction to latex, as well as the many other chemicals used in the production of fetish wear, sex toys, and related novelties. Little more than one year before, they had met with Kristin von Krump and her father in the same restaurant. It was in February, during fashion week, when KK agreed to carry their line in her Hush-Hush catalog and trendy lingerie boutiques. A deal was done. Elaine would get her chance. Kristin’s Kloset was soon be added to the list of companies in Krump Industries global empire. But KK had her price and it still needed to be paid. Papa had promised.

The Bull and the Bear

20:01 local

They stepped out from the elevator into the private area just off the Astoria’s main lobby. The Bull and Bear was located at the corner of 49th Street and Lexington Avenue, clear at the other end, and down one level. Pausing, Miss Christi gave the same sound advice Mr. Winston once gave her Katherine: “People will stare. Please make it worth their while, my dear.” Still arm in arm, they strutted through the lobby and down the glitzy promenade past glass cases full of rare and exotic trinkets, their combined price certain to make a wealthy man poor, were he to purchase them all. As they descended the stairs, Miss Christi spotted the dinner guests.

“Who’s that? That guy?” asked a surprised Catherine as they advanced toward the three people standing by the entrance. She recognized the older woman from earlier that afternoon. She was Elaine, the one who had felt her up and fashioned the attention-commanding outfit now constricting her breathing. She was locked arm in arm with, a man? “Miss Christi, who’s that man?” Her left hand lifted.

“What man, dear?”

“Him! That tall guy. Right there, with the black leather gloves. Next to your friend.” Catherine was pointing to the tall imposing figure in gray. He turned. “Fuck me!” She pulled her arm back before it was noticed. “Sorry, I thought. You know.” Nice one.

Catherine had pointed out the Lady Jacqueline Churchill. An honest mistake, for Lady Jacqueline was somewhat masculine, appearing in her gray tweed trouser suit. She was standing arm in arm with Elaine. As they neared, the woman morphed, becoming more feminine. She was actually a ruggedly attractive fifty-something with her short dark hair. Lady Jacqueline often wore a pair of thin black leather gloves to conceal her unusually large hands.

“Yes, dear, I know. Don’t mention the gloves at dinner. It’s a touchy subject.”

“Got it.”

The third had her back to them. They approached. She had fairly long blonde hair that quickly captured Catherine’s full attention. She also looked much younger, maybe early twenties. She presented well in the tight little red cocktail dress with matching five-inch stilettos and a clutch.

Fuck me! She’s hot. Smokin’ hot. That’s one nice little ass. Ouch. “Hey, Gran. Who’s that with them? You said we were meeting your business partners. What’s her name? Why didn’t you say anything about her?”

Hearing the unmistakable sound of the boot’s stiletto heels, the young woman turned.

Sticky Vicki! It’s that flirty receptionist. “Hey, she’s my age? What gives? Who is she, really?” Catherine could barely contain her newfound enthusiasm for the boring business dinner.

“The Lady Victoria Goodwin-Churchill. Nineteen and unattached. Not that anyone asked, dear.”

“What? I just wondered what her name was. It’s not like I’m planning to ask her for a date or anything. I just want to be polite. You know, like you said I should.”

“Well, dear, please make sure you’re just as polite to her mom, Elaine, and Ms. Churchill. Lady Victoria is a royal, you know. Chin up dear, show time.” She began the final push.

Royal? “No shit?” Their distance closed. She held back a step as Miss Christi opened her arms to greet the two older women with a warm embrace. Catherine’s eyes went straight for Sticky Vicki. “Hey.”

Miss Christi got the ball rolling. “Hello, Jack. Heard you might be in town. So nice of you to join us girls. Hi, Elaine.  And hello to you, Lady Victoria. I’ve missed you this last year, very much, dear.” She went to hug Vicki cheerfully then stepped clear.

Lady Victoria made her opening move and latched on, greeting Catherine the French way—a quick peck to each cheek. “Where has Miss Christi been keeping you?” Vicki clearly wanted a new girlfriend, and wasn’t shy about showing it. She gave Catherine a very obvious going-over with both eyes while still holding her hand. “Love the new you.”

Ignoring the girls, Lady Jacqueline took Miss Christi firmly in gloved hands. “It’s been too long since your last visit over to see Father.” She escorted her catch into the Bull and Bear. “He sends his regards.”

They entered a private dining room just off the bar. The table was set for eight. A flurry of staff soon appeared.

“Yes, it has, Jack. Everyone, it is my greatest pleasure to introduce Miss Catherine Black.”

Catherine stepped forward and offered her hand to each. First Elaine, then “Hello, Ms. Churchill,” who greeted her with a firm handshake. Jack? Figures. Catherine did her best not to look at the large black riding glove. She never once took her other eye off, Lipsticky. “Hi again.”

They sat. Lady Jacqueline insisted that Catherine sit between her and Miss Christi. She pulled the chair. A disappointed Vicki sat two seats to the right.

“Miss Catherine will be spending the summer with us,” advised Miss Christi, before slipping into Catherine’s chair—“Thank you, Jack.”—and requesting a pot for her tea from the nearest server.

Us? She didn’t say anything about us.

Vicki jumped up and pulled Catherine down before anyone else got their mitts on her girl. “You’re soooo lucky! I’ll be slaving away with my mom and her wicked dressmakers all summer.”

Elaine sat to the left of Miss Christi and reminded her daughter, “Don’t forget Montreal and the three weeks in Europe with the Hushgirls.”

Feeling the odd woman out, Lady Jacqueline grumbled, then sat beside Elaine.

“Forget! I can’t wait. It’s going to be a total kink blast, seeing everyone in Mom’s new rubber costumes. Will you be coming over this year, Miss Christi?”

“Perhaps we might just tag along, dear.” She gave a subtle wink Catherine’s way.

The chitchat continued, through drinks and menu selections, pausing only when dinner was served: four servings of beef, and one Scottish salmon.

Figures… As soon as the waiters departed, Catherine asked, “Rubber costumes?” I can think of a few costumes I’d like to see you in. Under the table, she recrossed her legs.

Lady Jacqueline said rather dryly, “Lovely. I’m sure Father and Miss Krump would be keen for you both to attend the reception.”

“We’ll see,” answered Miss Christi, adding another wink Vicki’s way.

Vicki addressed Catherine. “We’ll all be in Mom’s latest fetish creations for two shows in June. Rubber and leather. Would you like to come and model with us?”

Us… “Shows? Yeah, sure, sounds like a blast.” Catherine was stuck on, Vicki. Yeah I know what costume I’d put us in! She licked her lips. It didn’t go unnoticed.

As the two girls continued their getting to know each other, the women discussed a number of details, including the two empty seats at the table. Lady Jacqueline appeared to snarl every time that subject came up. She also spent more time focusing on Catherine’s face and necklace than her plate. They soon finished their entrees. Miss Christi looked to Vicki and announced, “Who wants something yummy?”

“Um, Mom, can I take Miss Black up to the apartment and show her the view? I promise I’ll have us back in time for dessert. That should give all you fashion tycoons enough grownup time to finish your business while we talk more girl stuff. Be back in twenty.” Vicki was up and pulling her girlfriend to come before anyone could respond.

“Wait one minute, young lady!” Lady Jacqueline stood and snared Catherine’s wrist, halting their escape. “Are you in agreement with this, Miss Christi?”

All eyes locked on the black glove, waiting. Miss Christi didn’t respond, only stirred her tea slowly. It was as if all time stood still. Even the servers stood frozen awaiting her answer. She sipped, then returned the teacup to its saucer and retrained her gaze to “Miss Catherine.”

Oh. “Please, may I be excused, Miss Christi?”

“Yes, dear, you girls may. Go have your fun together while we old ladies talk a little business. Remember my dears, return to us soon.” She then eyeballed Vicki and said, “We have an early start tomorrow.”

“Hey, Jack, let go. Please!”

“Look who made it.” Elaine stood and motioned out to the bar. “It’s KK with her companion.”

“Companion?” Lady Jacqueline released her grip on Catherine and gasped at the sight. She growled. “It can’t be—” She gathered her emotions, pushed her pleasant button, and said, “Yes, I see it’s true. Miss Krump is here.” She looked to Miss Christi. “I wasn’t aware that Sterling would be joining us.” The way she said Sterling could have filled volumes.

“I hope you don’t mind, Jack dear. I invited her to join us.”

“Hello, Jack.” Jane’s hand reached out to greet.

She ignored the hand. “It’s Lady Jacqueline, Sterling!”

Jane growled back, “It’s Dame Jane.”

It was clear to all; the feelings were mutual.

Miss Christi quickly intervened, asking KK, “How is your papa?”

KK pushed right past Jack to hug her dear old friend. “Has the swine flu. So he says. Ja. Papa won’t be joining us.” KK turned, lit up, and said, “And who is this lovely creature? Oui.”

“Miss Catherine Black.” Miss Christi was beaming as she introduced, their Catherine.

“Hello.” Catherine offered her hand to shake. Oh-my-fuck! It’s my old Barbie, all grown up. Not bad.

“Hello, I am the Countess Kristin von Krump.” She snatched the offering and pulled it to her lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Black.”

“Yeah, you too, countess,” said Catherine, staring at her own still-outstretched hand, now tattooed with, Barbie lipstick.

“Please, you must call me KK.” She giggled. It worked. Catherine softened.

“Whatever. Ciao, KK. ’Bye, everyone!” Vicki raced off, her new girlfriend in tow.

Lady Jacqueline and Dame Jane sat as far from the other as possible, directly opposite on the seventy-two-inch round table. Neither spoke a word. It was as if they both had seen a ghost. Miss Christi wondered if the evening would go as planned. Elaine asked if anyone was worried that Vicki might hijack the kid and the jewels.

Miss Christi responded, “Not likely to get far.” Danielle and the Temptress were already shadowing them.

KK giggled and said she would be happy to steal them both. “Ja.”

No one else laughed.

What the—

Nina’s Apartment Building, Washington DC, 21:09 local

Nina searched her bag for the apartment key as she rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. She stepped out of the elevator. Suddenly, the building shook. The lights flickered off and on. “What-the—”

Intense heat preceded the blast wave. The sound was deafening. Something sharp hit her and sliced into her left bicep. Before she could think, she flew backward. She smashed against the wall before dropping like a sack to the floor, unconscious. The hallway filled with thick black smoke.

Several minutes later, Nina woke to see a firefighter kneeling over her. The thick black cloud shrouded his back. He was checking for a pulse. Her ears ringing, she started coughing.

“Hey, lady, you okay?” he lifted his breathing mask from her face to steal a breath.

“I—” Nina started to get up but felt she would lose consciousness. She was out again. The firefighter put his oxygen mask back over her face. He rechecked her pulse as he radioed for the medics to evacuate her to the hospital. The black cloud had begun to dissipate.

Twenty feet away, there wasn’t much left of their apartment, and the overly curious roommate was burnt beyond recognition. Both had been incinerated by Papa’s special gift. Nina had only just missed her unscheduled date with death.

Outside, Pete stood by, just another bystander in the gathering crowd of onlookers that had braved the thunderstorm to see the show. Satisfied everything had gone as planned, he walked the two blocks to where he’d parked. His ride was in sight. He pressed the remote start on the key fob and waited at a safe distance. Ten minutes later, he was back inside the comfort of his armored Chevy Suburban. He held his breath and slipped it in Drive. Nothing… Maybe next time, cocksucker. Relieved, the wary old spy headed home to his big empty house.

Sweet Treats and a View

Papa’s Penthouse, 21:21 local

Vicki unlocked the door to their luxury apartment high above the city and atop the Towers.

“Nice fricken place, Lady Victoria.” Why is everything so freaking high in New York?

“Thanks, babe. Just call me Vicki. We moved in last summer after I came back from Blachmann. It belongs to KK’s papa. He’s never here.”

Catherine had a look of surprise. “You went there? How long were you there? What’s it like? Did your mom and dad— Did they make you go too?”

“Hey! Slow down, girlfriend.” Vicki took hold and led her across the sitting room toward the balcony. They neared the large glass door. Catherine slowed. Vicki stepped ahead and slid the door open. A strong cool breeze blew in the sounds and scents of the city. Vicki stepped out, pulling her girl to come.

“Wait!” Catherine froze, digging her heels in. She thrust her right hand against the doorjamb. “No! Don’t.”

“What’s with you?” Vicki pulled again, trying to get her past the doorway. “Come on, babe, you’ll love it out here.”

No use, the babe remained steadfast. “No!” She wasn’t budging any closer to the evil beast waiting out on the balcony. “Let the fuck go!” Her face filled with fear, perspiration followed, her breathing was rapid. Too rapid.

Vicki felt Catherine’s hand go cold then clammy. She realized her perfect plan of seduction possessed an unexpected flaw. “Why don’t we go sit on the sofa?” she asked as she pushed Catherine back into the center of the room. “How’s this, babe?” They sank into the safety of the buttery soft white leather love seat.

“Better.” She eyed her new friend. “Way fucking better.” Feeling herself again, she reached into her purse for her perfume. It was almost gone, but she had to have some. She reapplied a dab behind each ear, and one more between the girls, for luck. Catherine’s panic retreated as quickly as it had come.

Vicki moved closer, “to better enjoy your scent.” She whispered, “Think I discovered Supergirl’s kryptonite.” Vicki made her next move: a nibble on the neck. “Didn’t I?”

“What?” Catherine pushed her off, rising swiftly to her heels. “Fuck you, bitch! I don’t have any fucking kryptonite! And, don’t call me that.” Fear gave way to flaming anger. She reached for her purse. My perfume. “Where’s my fucking perfume?”

Vicki took the purse. “Let me, girlfriend.” She talked Catherine down beside her and administered a healthy dose, closed the small bottle, then dropped it back in the purse, tossing it on the heavy glass table before them. Vicki waited for her girl to chill.

Catherine stood, still heated. “Why the fuck is everything in New York so fuckin’ high?”

Vicki thought it all a little strange. “Easy, girlfriend!” She rose to meet her. “I thought you’d like the view.” She held Catherine’s flailing hands at bay and looked directly into those beautiful dark blue eyes. Her own hungry lips moistened. “I’m sorry I said that. Please forget it, babe. Okay?” She guided her catch back down to a soft landing on the new sofa. “Personally I like the view in here a whole lot better. Don’t you, babe?” Her seductive smile encouraged her babe to relax. Vicki paused, allowing those devilishly dark blue eyes to feel her up for the hundredth time. “Try using your hands, babe.”

Do it! “Okay.” Catherine gripped Vicki’s narrow waist and felt her up once more just to be sure.

“Don’t let go.” Vicki kicked off her skyscraper stilettos and scrunched up her knees beside Catherine. She moved in. “That’s a nice scent.” Her short dress morphed from cocktail to cocktease.

Catherine turned away, toward the glass door. It was telling. “Yeah, I like the view in here too.” The darkness outside made the glass a perfect mirror, providing a clear shot of Vicki’s trim young form. Nice boobs. Her custom-fitted corset ensured their presentation remained appealing from every angle. She pulled Vicki closer. Yeah, real nice. Her hemline rode up so far as to be useless. Catherine could see stocking tops, garter straps, and most of Vicki’s silky little red cheeky panties. Fuck me! My hand is on her ass. Sweet. This chick is fricken hot for you. Maybe spending the summer with Grandma won’t be as boring as I thought. Do her! And don’t blow it this time.

“Don’t you want to kiss me, babe? Hey, you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure.” Fuck me.

Vicki’s heated breath closed in for the kill.

She’s gonna do me.

Vicki’s eager lips pressed.

Catherine’s lips parted for the soft but persistent tongue. Impressed by Vicki’s boldness, she offered no resistance as the warm wet tongue probed her again and again. Their passionate kissing and caressing continued for several minutes, causing her arousal to escalate out of control. MK was ready to take the lead. Go for it. She reached around and unzipped Vicki.

“No! Stop! We don’t have enough time. My mom.”

“What?” Okay. Catherine pulled the instigator onto her lap, turning her face up. Both hands covered Vicki’s partially exposed breasts, caressing them forcefully.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good. Take me. Touch me. Please,” begged Vicki, her head tilted back. Her back arched. “Take me!”

She fricken wants it. Catherine pushed on. Exploring Vicki’s beautiful soft parts, somehow adhering to the we-can’t-get-undressed rule. She skillfully plied each breast from its elegant confinement. She grew hotter and more aggressive with each shared breath. Her pinching became more intense.

“Ouch! That hurts.” Vicki pushed Catherine’s hands away.

Her eyes opened. “What? I thought you liked it.”

“Why don’t you focus further south, babe?”

Catherine’s right hand slid timidly down, toward, Vicki’s silk. Before reaching its final destination, it paused at the dress’s raised hemline. The hand strolled along the edge, teasing. “More?” Do her, now!

“Please, Catherine! Don’t torture me any longer. Touch me, please, touch me.”

The right edged closer and closer. It reached those pretty little silky soft panties. It stilled. Catherine whispered into Vicki’s ear, “Tell me what you want, my little princess?” The hand gently brushed between the parted thighs. “Tell her now!”

Vicki was quivering with anticipation. Not awaiting another steamy breath, she thrust herself to meet Catherine’s all-too-timid fingers. She struggled against her own arousal to get the words out. “I want… Make me… Just do me… Please.”

Catherine’s hand slipped inside Vicki’s damp panties with just enough pressure to tease her aroused clit. Yeah. I got this one.

“Yes! Do it. Do it harder!” Not waiting, Vicki rubbed herself against Catherine’s hand. “Please.”

“My, my! You’re a very wet naughty girl, aren’t you?” She continued to stir the simmering orgasm. “What else do you want? Tell me? You want a spanking. Don’t you!”

“Yeah. Ah. Yeah, touch me, harder, harder. Please? Yes that’s it— Oh…Oh!”

The pressure to come increased with each stroke. “Don’t you?”

“Yes!  Yeah, yes. Oh…that’s it. Don’t stop!”

Catherine maintained a slow steady deliberate pace, each time slightly increasing the pressure. This wasn’t Lipsticky Vicki’s first rodeo. All too soon, for one of them at least, the stroking proved too intense.

Vicki stiffened. Overwhelmed by the incoming tide of undeniable joy, she let out a series of increasingly louder moans. Her body shuttered. She squeezed her pubococcygeus tight. It was no use. She couldn’t stop. The powerful orgasm sent waves of pleasure pulsing through her being. She held the surprisingly skilled hand tight to her disloyal clit until the tremors subsided.

Vicki had climaxed in record time. Amazingly, she was still charged with desire—a strange new unsatisfied desire. One geared to please her new girlfriend. Vicki twisted round, offering her soft little bottom. “Like it, don’t you, Mistress?”

“Do I like it?” Catherine’s voice grew husky and forceful. She snarled, “Tell me, you liked it. Tell me, you little whore!” Her snarly tone indicated an insistence on a correct answer. Under the fine leather, her nipples raged, stiffened with unbridled lust. They ached. There was only one remedy that could transform the intense pain burning at her soul into a pleasure she was so desperate to take.

Whack…whack!

Catherine brought her hand down, striking Vicki’s soft white ass. First the left. Now the right cheek. Nice. She quickly had Vicki back on the path to orgasm.

“Yes! Oh. Yes, Catherine, I like it. Do it.” Vicki caught a breath then cooed, “Do it, harder.”

Catherine smacked the soft little beauties again, this time rubbing down between her thighs. Two more stern whacks had Vicki smoldering toward another orgasm.

“You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn, you naughty little slut. Tell Mistress Katrina you like it!”

“Katrina?”  Surprise in her voice, Vicki viewed the darkened glass. She could see a wicked excitement boiling in those now dark eyes. Helpless to resist, her heart pounding, she willingly surrendered. “Yes! Yes. Oh! Don’t stop, Mistress.” She was melting uncontrollably.

“You’re so hot.” Catherine stroked the creamy soft pink bottom. She raised her hand, ready to bring it down on Vicki’s ass. “Have you been a bad girl?”

Vicki didn’t answer.

Whack!

“Ouch!”

Whack!

“Hey, that fucking hurts!”

Whack!

“Okay! I’m a bad girl. Stop it!”

“Do you like it, whore?”

Whack!

“You do! Don’t you my little slut whore?” Catherine raised her arm again. She paused to admire Vicki’s scorched bottom. “Tell Mistress—”

Ring… Ring…

“Fuck!”

The phone rang again, freezing her arm. When am I ever going to get laid? She released her hold, helping Vicki up.

Vicki ran and picked up the phone. “Us? Nothing…Really?…Okay. See you in a few… Yup…Love you. ’Bye.”

Catherine was already up, checking herself in the darkened glass.

“It was my mom. They’re on the way up.” Vicki worked her boobs back in. “Zip me, will you, Mistress.”

“Sorry, I got a little rough. Goes with the outfit.” She added a fake laugh.

“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” Vicki pulled Catherine in, kissing her passionately. They parted. “Shall we, babe?”

“Thanks. Hey, can you help me—”

Click. The door opened. It was Elaine, Lady Jacqueline, and Miss Christi.

“Come, dear, it’s time we got to bed.”

Close one. I’ll say.

Bedtime Visits

Suite 30C, 23:13 local

They arrived back at their suite to retire for the evening. While changing for bed, Catherine saw her grandmother mostly undressed. Something about her underpants had her spellbound. It must suck being old.

Miss Christi caught her staring, as if transfixed. “They’re my protection, dear. Need help with your boots?”

“No thanks. I can manage.” Protection? Great. She wets the bed too.

Lying in bed, she entertained herself, reliving the lipsticky Vicki encounter over and over, when, something startled her. Miss Christi was mumbling in her sleep. She didn’t dare move, but strained to make out the distorted words. It sounded like she was talking to someone. Her lover? Catherine lay there, listening.

“Oh, Sir Katherine…save me… Yes, my love.” Miss Christi’s breathing grew heavy. Her words mixed with moans. “No!” Her restless legs kicked. Her oral emissions became more primitive, grunts mostly. She kicked again then swung an arm, hitting Catherine in the chest.

“Hey!” Shit! Is Granny dreaming? It was a dream. A sex dream? Should I wake her? She gave it a bit longer, hoping Miss Christi would settle. She slid herself to the edge of the bed and out of arm’s reach. She watched as Miss Christi flailed about then reached out and grasped, “My hand!” Shit! Someone had joined the dream.

Without warning, Miss Christi’s breathing stopped. Her hand pulled back. She was touching herself with Catherine’s hand. Her whole body tensed then the bed began to tremble wildly. Their nightmare was over. She let out one final moan and settled. After a minute, her breathing calmed.

Catherine slid near and whispered, “Hey, Gran, you okay?” She didn’t dare touch her, again.

Miss Christi woke, let out a long sigh and said, “What’s that?  Oh. Sorry, dear. Did I wake you?”

“What? Huh? No. I was sleeping.” She gave a fake yawn and stretched.

“I see. Sorry if I disturbed you. Goodnight, my dear.” She settled back into a deep restful sleep.

Yeah, GoodKnight. “Yeah. Happy dreams.” Wow! That’s pretty cool. Granny can still get herself off. Yeah, in her sleep too. Sir Katherine? She was looking at me kinda funny tonight. She did say I look like her. What the hell. Glad I could help Gran. Now it’s my turn. I’ll try to not wake you.

She grabbed her tired, but still trusty iPhone off the bed stand and slipped it under the sheets, where it could be of more use. Without looking, she thumbed out her desires.

Where are you?

Nothing…

You’re going to get quite a spanking when ICU

Nothing…

Are you wet for MK?

Nothing…

Me too. I love you. Tell me. NOW!

She put the iPhone on vibrate and stuck it between her legs. She started stroking her nipples and waited for her own dream lover to crawl into their bed. She didn’t wait long.

Yes! I’m so bloody wet for MK. Sorry for not finding you. Looked everywhere. Terribly sorry love. What shall you do with me.

Freeing her nipples, she replied:

Put my BP over MK knee! Spank that cute little bottom. Hard! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

The phone tingled in her thighs. She read the reply:

Oh please, please, MK, I’ve been so naughty today. Spank me harder.

Eyes closed, she tapped:

Yes you have, Touch me now.

With each tingle she continued the sexting:

Where may I touch you, MK?

You know where! Do it now!

I’m touching you. May I kiss you MK?

No slut. Keep touching me there.

She pushed the iPhone against her panties and waited. Every so often the device tingled. She pushed harder. The interval between incoming texts lessened until they began arriving one after another. She lay there enjoying her cybersex partner’s well-spaced words for a few minutes before sending her next command.

Suck my nipples.

Thank you MK. I’m kissing them.

Kiss them… Harder… Suck them!… Don’t stop!

Another minute tingled by.

Suck them. Harder. Slut.

“Harder!” Shit! She tilted her head to see if her loose lips had aroused Miss Christi. Still sleeping like a baby. Yeah, a baby in wet diapers.

Eyes closed and back with her lover, MK neared her peak. Her virtual lover’s next text sent her over the top.

I promise to collect you tomorrow.

She didn’t read it. Instead, she bit her lip and held her breath. Suppressing her desire to scream out, waves of pleasure rippled through her core. Like a moderate earthquake, each one greater that the last, radiated out from her epicenter. After a few minutes to collect her thoughts, Catherine sent one final text for the night:

That’s my good girl. MK very sleepy now. Tuck little self into bed. Go to sleep my love. Dream your naughty dreams. I still love you.

MK didn’t read the reply as her own battery was too drained. Having seen it so many times, she wasn’t concerned. Tomorrow—yes, all would be well soon. They would be together again.

One room over, KK pried the iPhone from Jane’s thumbs and read the last text. GoodKnight MK. Miss Jane loves her sweetie too. “Who’s MK?”

“A very naughty girl.”

“Ja, me too. Now do you have time for your favorite knotty girl?”

Jane took Natasha’s iPhone from KK and connected it to her charger. Who knew they had a bloody app for that? “Right then, where’s me rope?”

Catherine settled off, only to be awakened twice later by the possessed couple in the adjacent room.

The Morning After

New York, NY, Thursday, 28 May, 06:40 local

Lit only by the glow of CNBC on the flat panel, the bedroom was still. The well-spaced bumps under the covers had yet to stir. Miss Christi, already dressed, had risen at six to check the news. Given the recent financial panic, she found herself tuning in on a regular basis. Krump Industries had announced another takeover.

The on-screen personalities were interviewing Senator Winter about her not-so-secret subcommittee’s investigation of Krump’s alleged ties to known terrorist states. “What about North Korea?” The senator had no comment on matters of national security. They asked if she had met with Herr Krump. Again, no comment. They put up a photo of the senator and KK. He asked, “Berlin?” She said it was a private matter. “Really?” Senator Winter smiled briefly and added, “Next question. I have a train to catch.” The questions continued as a loop of KK’s glossy exploits played in the background. “So, senator, there’s been chatter that you’ll be meeting with Krump in New York this—”

Miss Christi had muted the sound and stepped to rouse her silent bedmate. “Wake up, kitten. You have just enough time to shower and get ready, dear.”

“Wait! What did she say?” Catherine saw her and turned away, facing the still-shaded window. “You go, I’ll catch up.” That old bitch!

“Please be quick, my dear. Miss Danielle will be ’round to collect us in twenty minutes. We’re booked on the 8:03 Acela for Boston.” Miss Christi was sipping her second cup of tea. “I ordered you a little something to eat. It’s waiting in the parlor. Would you like some tea, my dear?”

“What? Oh yeah, New York. Okay, Gran, I’m up.” Sticky, Vicki… Was last night a dream? She rolled to her side. The iPhone fell from between her legs. Nope. “What time is it?” Her hand slipped under to retrieve the device before Miss Christi noticed. Shit. The battery. No charger. Stupid Fuck! What am I gonna do for fun until my BP shows. Get more sleep. Catherine closed her eyes.

“It’s a beautiful morning, kitten. Time to rise and shine, dear.” Miss Christi gently drew up the shade. They were the old spring-loaded-on-a-roll kind. First, you pull down and then let it roll up without letting go, else they go way too high. She saw no sign that Catherine had stirred. With the second shade she pulled then released. The shade flew. The early morning sun poured in. The shade made a loud slapping sound as it beat itself around the roll. Bright warm beams of sunshine heated Catherine’s face, jolting her from the false slumber.

“Hey!” She groaned, “I’m up.” Blinded by the sunbeams, Catherine closed her eyes. Memories of the previous evening replayed on the inside of her eyelids. Vicky… Did we? Really make out? Last night? She rubbed her temples. The need to go quickly overcame her desire to remain in bed. Throwing back the covers, she soon found herself vertical beside the bed. “My head hurts. Hey, you’re dressed.” Like a granny again.

“Ten minutes, Miss Black.” Miss Christi started toward the sitting room.

“But my head hurts!” She’d slept in only the panties she’d worn out last evening. She moved toward the bathroom, grabbing her new purse along the way.

Returning from the bathroom to find Miss Christi still in the doorway, Catherine stepped onto the same spot where she dropped her new leather mini last night, bent down, and pulled. She zipped her new favorite skirt tight then reached under and removed her expired panties, kicking them high, watching as they fell to land on the rumpled sheets.

“Remember, dear, nine minutes.” Miss Christi left her, returning to the sitting room.

“Where’s my stuff?” called Catherine as she turned the corner and strutted into the sitting room, still rubbing her head.

Miss Christi, standing by the window, turned to see.

“Enjoying the view?” She lowered her arm and smirked, then spotted the Hush-Hush shopping bag on the carpet, near the breakfast table. “There they are.”

“I see you’re keeping fit, my dear,” said Miss Christi with a glance as she sat to resume her breakfast.

The vision sashayed toward the table. “Thanks, Gran! Hey, did you hear all that noise next door last night?”

Sunbeams bounced from the mirror, highlighting Catherine like a spotlight. They further enhanced her way-too-developed-for-fifteen swimsuit-edition figure and cover-girl face. In the last few months, she had become much less concerned with physical fitness. She quit the swim team mid season in March, dropping them out of contention for first place. Her coach and parents couldn’t understand it. She’d always loved swimming and competing. The only exercise she got lately was with her thumbs.

Before puberty hit with the force of Hurricane Katrina, she’d acted more like a tomboy than the stunning beauty she was concealing. At the age when most girls wanted a Barbie, she had wanted a Lionel. Her parents got her one of each. That was centuries ago. These days, the only toy Catherine played with was her own. In recent weeks she’d become overly concerned with her appearance and shape, not to mention the size of her ever-increasing breasts.

“Not at all dear, were they a disturbance?”

“Na. Sure sounded like someone was getting laid, though.” Catherine bent forward, picking up the shopping bag. “Thanks again, for these.”

“I think you should thank your mother and God for those, my dear.”

“No!” She smiled. “I mean these things you got me.”

“Yes, they are lovely, dear. Why don’t you thank me and them with a quick body shower?” Miss Christi edged back in her chair. “Please.”

Catherine stood close enough that her aroma encroached on Miss Christi’s ability to enjoy her breakfast. She dipped her still-sticky left paw into the bag, removing a new matching bra and panty. “They’re very nice. Don’t you think?” She held them up then slowly, slid them across her sun-drenched breasts. As she did, it sounded as if she purred. She did it again. “So Gran, do you like ’em?” Bet you do, you old lesbo.

“Shower first.” Miss Christi quickly reached for more jam, spreading it liberally. “Please, dear.”

“Oh-my-God. These are so nice!” Sexy too.

Miss Christi looked up. “Yes, very. Oh, I had the longer skirt sent over.”

Catherine again stroked the lingerie against her breasts. It was clear she wasn’t shy about showing her assets. She had plenty to show. From her wild mane that fell and nearly reached her narrow waist, her supermodel beauty ran all the way down to her painted toes. The titillating display seemed as much for herself as for Miss Christi’s benefit. She caught herself looking in the mirror. “Oh, Gran!” The lighting perfect, she paused at the awesome sight. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes, yes, I agree, most impressive, my dear.” Miss Christi lifted her gaze. No makeup. Katherine’s face. “I’m happy you find them acceptable.” She was, however, most unimpressed by Catherine’s concept of personal hygiene. Returning to find solace in her breakfast, she spread a generous portion of strawberry jam on her last piece of multigrain toast. Her nose found safety in the jam’s scent.

“Please, my dear. A shower first.” Miss Christi grew annoyed with the girl, having ignored what to her was a most reasonable and basic request. She persisted, “Please, my dear! A shower will make you feel like a new woman.”

“Why?  Took one yesterday. Remember?”

“You stink.” She bit into her toast, now liberally coated with jam, savoring the factory-fresh strawberry flavor. Help me, Sir Katherine. “Please, my dear.”

Patience. You must have patience, my love.

“Oh?” Standing chest to face with Miss Christi, she bent forward to load her rich full breasts into the lace-trimmed cups of the new red Hush-Hush 34D cleavage-enhancing push-up bra. She reached around and clipped the catch, securing herself. She reached into the shopping bag, retrieving a pair of red cotton panties. Using her best theatrics, she pulled them on ever-so-slowly, giving Miss Christi a nice view of her firm teenage bottom.

“Five minutes?” pleaded Miss Christi, her eyes glued to the front page of the Journal. Word of Krump’s secret visit to the UN filled the front page.

“Okay! But not the hair.” She stopped mid pull, and then reversed, divesting herself of the new panties only seconds before they could be considered a scented collector’s item. One swift kick off her bare foot sent them sailing high into the air. They both watched as the red cotton touched down on the table, partially covering the Krump headline and her breakfast plate. “Oops.”

“Still play soccer, do you?” Her egg-white omelet had lost its appeal. Thank God the toast was in her hand.

“Used to.” Her head hung. “I was aiming for the bag. Honest!”

Miss Christi wasn’t fazed by Catherine’s behavior. She bit deep, licking a piece of jam that was stuck to her lip. She kept her toast near. Its aroma protected her senses. It provided a suitable short-term defense. She glanced over her brave toast to read the Krump story brief, still visible on the cover, giving no recognition to the impromptu theatrics.

Catherine would soon realize Miss Christi had but one button. She too preferred zippers. In the forty-five years since first arriving at Blachmann, Miss Christi had lost control only once. She hadn’t gotten her tea that morning. The tea, a very special blend, was her security blanket—very calming.

So far, she hadn’t seen anything new. She decided to have a little fun of her own. She addressed Catherine, “Just globs of flesh, my dear.” With that said she went back to her paper. “Mind rescuing your panties, my dear?”

Fuck! What do I have to do to get a rise out of you? She snatched her fresh panties from the Journal. “See anything you like?” Oh-my-fuck! Am I really trying to seduce my own grandmother? “Do you think they go with this bra?” Yup.

Boundaries needed to be set, and fast. Miss Christi gently shooed their Catherine away. “Please, go take a shower! Would you? Please, dear. Your perfume! Please, dear.” Her mouth was on fire. “I think we’ll both find you most refreshing without it.”

“Fine! If it will make you happy, I’ll take one.” Catherine whipped the panties back into the bag. She then removed the steamy bra, tossing it, again covering the newspaper.

Miss Christi plucked the smoldering bra from her paper, dropping it back into the shopping bag before handing it all to Catherine. “Go now. Shower and prepare yourself for today’s journey.” Miss Christi watched the kitten’s retreat through the mirror. Well, my love. I think we’re making progress.

As Catherine showered, Miss Christi helped herself to the perfume, storing it safely away in her own bag. Both found the shower refreshing. Catherine toweled off and reached for her purse. “Where’s my fucking perfume?” She looked up to find Miss Christi holding a piece of toast.

“Come, dear. There isn’t time. Eat this. We have a long day ahead. Perhaps you lost it last night.”

“Yeah. I wish.”

Back on Track

Track 6, Penn Station, 07:54 local

Miss Christi and Catherine took their seats in First on the 8:03 Acela to Boston. Without asking, Catherine surged past, taking the window. Her iPhone’s power nearly depleted, she wasted no time in setting it up. She rested it on her new fourteen-inch leather miniskirt while sticking her Skull Candy in each ear. Miss Christi noticed the kitten hadn’t pushed the volume up as loud as yesterday. The kitten would be able to hear when she wanted to. The Acela started rolling. They were on their way to Boston and then, the Castle.

Catherine hadn’t detected their remaining shadow. Thanks to KK, Jane had missed the train. Miss Christi’s other operative, the Temptress, Sam, short for Samantha, had made it on board. Concerned that Catherine might remember her from their encounter in the restroom yesterday, Samantha had borrowed one of Danielle’s dark wigs to conceal her strawberry blonde hair.

Once under way, Miss Christi continued telling what it was like growing up in an orphanage, never knowing anything of her real mother and father.

“Yeah, that must have sucked. East Germany? Where’s that?”

“Yes, actually, it did suck, my dear. East Germany is history now. It’s all part of Germany. I didn’t have a choice?” Miss Christi recalled that day she arrived and saw Blachmann Castle for the first time. How frightened and alone she felt that cold rainy September day.

“No, I guess not, Gran. I mean, Miss Christi.” Catherine abruptly changed the subject. “When did you know you were a les— I mean, ga-ay?”

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think, dear?”

Catherine turned away, back to the window. “I’m sorry. Tell me more about the orphanage.”

“Well, it was during the war.” Now it was Miss Christi who wished to change the subject.

“What war?”

“World War Two, my dear. The war against the evil fascist ideology known as National Socialism.

“You mean the war against the Germans?”

“Well, yes and no. You see, my dear, the Germans weren’t all evil. They had allowed themselves to fall under an evil spell. It was their leaders, the Nazis, who were evildoers.”

“You mean Hitler!” Am I in school? “Don’t you?”

“Yes, dear, Herr Hitler and his evil band of Nazis. The German people were for the most part just pawns, to be used up by the Nazis in their quest for world domination.”

“So what does any of it have to do with you, Miss Christi?”

“I shall tell you, my dear. One fine September night, one of Herr Hitler’s bombs accidently fell on the hospital I was in, killing my mother and many others. It was earlier that same day, I was born. I wasn’t found until late in the afternoon the next day. I’d been buried in the rubble.”

“No fucking way! What about your father?” Her tone was serious. Catherine looked at Miss Christi, taking her hand. “You lay there all alone?” For the first time, she actually saw her.

Miss Christi’s lip quivered. “No, my dear, my mama was there in the rubble too. Dead. Unrecognizable, I imagine.” She added, sliding her free hand over, Katherine’s.

Catherine felt odd and remained silent. She turned back to the window, staring at her own mother in the glass. For a moment she shared their mutual loss.

“At the time, they had no way of determining who my mother or father was. The Nazi bombs destroyed the—”

“What about DNA?” interrupted Catherine, eager to solve the mystery. “You know, like on Forensic Files.”

Miss Christi chuckled. “It was nineteen-forty, my dear. DNA identification was not sufficiently developed until the mid eighties.”

“Oh yeah, and no internet either. That must have totally sucked.” Catherine remembered her priorities. She growled, “No stupid texting either.” Her thumbs tapping angrily on her dead friend. She hadn’t received any texts since last night. “What’s wrong with this stupid fucking phone?” Dead.

“Battery? Can’t always count on technology, can you, dear? Did you remember to charge it?”

“Guess not.” She tapped on her iPod, putting Katy Perry on pause.

“You see, dear, I only know because I was told some years later, by my Katherine. She told me I was kidnapped by Nazi spies and secretly smuggled out of the UK. They took me to a secret orphanage inside Germany. Of course I have no memory of this because I was only two days old. I was held there, a captive, until I was five. I don’t remember much about it. Just as well. I’m sure it must have been most unpleasant.” She gave a shiver. “Afterward, I went to a home for orphaned girls in Britain. I don’t care to remember those years either.” She looked away. She looked an ocean away.

Miss Christi returned and continued. “One day, my Katherine came and took me away to live and receive my education at the Blachmann Academy. She never would say why I was chosen. There were so many of us orphaned as a result of the evils of that war. I’ve lived at Blachmann Castle ever since. She taught me so—”

“Oh-my-fuck!” Catherine gasped then blurted, “You fucked your teacher!” She realized that Miss Christi’s lover was the same Katherine Black that had founded Blachmann Academy. She made a face, not looking too pleased with the revelation. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, no, not right then, dear. It was some years later, when I was grown, mind you. But it’s true. I’ve always been in love with my Katherine.” Miss Christi paused, gazing through, Katherine. “Your father and mom never told you any of this?”

“No fucking way!” Catherine paused to collect her scattered thoughts. “They always told me my grandfather, I mean, your love, died in the war? What war? They definitely never said he was a she. Hey! Now that I think about it, they never said much about you either.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yeah, once. I was like, ten. I asked my mom. She tried to change the subject. When I asked again, she yelled at me saying you were both dead and never to ask about it again!”

“Is that so? Well, my dear, I will be happy to answer any questions you wish to ask me.”

“Tell me about her. Would you? Please?” Catherine pulled out her left earbud.

“There’s so much to tell, my dear.” Miss Christi’s face beamed. “My Katherine was an amazing person. Let’s see. Oh dear, what can I tell that you might find interesting? Where should I start? She lived such a full life. I know. Let’s start when she was your age.”

“She knew then?”

“It all began with the ’36 Summer Games. They were to be held in Berlin that year. My Katherine was to participate in swimming, diving, and equestrian. Was the same summer she met her first real love. She was fifteen. Just like you.”

“Really? She was in the Olympics at fifteen? You know I’m a wicked fast swimmer.”

“Yes, dear. Your mom told me. It was about that time when she first became a spy.”

A spy? “What? No fucking way, Gran! You’re making this all up. You’re totally bullshitting me. Aren’t you?”

“It’s all true, my dear. My Katherine was a spy; a double agent, actually. In fact, all during the war, the Nazis thought my Katherine was spying for them.” Miss Christi shook her head, no. “Actually she was an OSS secret agent feeding Herr Hitler’s cronies’ false information. Her true assignment was to gain access to Herr Hitler’s inner circle. She was successful. Of course she placed her life in great danger on many occasions. After the war, she became involved with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Yes, she was also a spy for the British. Most people know it as MI-six.” She shook her head, no, again. “That’s not its proper name, dear.”

“Like, fucking James Bond?” Catherine’s face signaled total disbelief. “Come on, Gran. My dad says that’s all make-believe bullshit.”

“More like Jane Bond, my dear. Together, they set up the first Blachmann Academy. It was a cover for a secret program to develop teenage female operatives for use in clandestine activities. That’s why I was brought to the Academy. I was selected to be trained as an operative. Actually, I was to be used as bait in a Cold War operation, a deadly game of cat and mouse. I was the mouse; a pawn, really, considered expendable, an acceptable cost to achieve the greater good. Of course I had no knowledge of any of this at the time, dear. In fact, I didn’t learn the complete truth of the first Blachmann, or my expected fate until…”

Miss Christi closed her eyes, searching her past. “Let’s see. I think it was sometime in ’62. Yes, yes, I remember it clearly now. The Wall had been erected, cutting Berlin in two. That was the time she rescued me from the evil duke. His name was Simon von Krump. I was being held in a secret facility in what was then called East Germany. In a most evil place called Colditz Castle. Of course I’d been in love with Katherine from the beginning. Couldn’t help it. You know what I mean?” She gave a look.

“Yeah, I guess.” BP…

“We first met some years earlier. She was my brave GoodKnight in shiny armor. But back then, in the fifties, to her I was only an assignment. I was her mouse, to be trained and used by her to achieve London’s goals. At least, that’s what she thought at the time. Boy, was she ever wrong.”

“No fuckin’ way! You’re making this shit up. Aren’t you? God, Grandma?” Catherine stiffened, percolating with disbelief. “You’re fucking with me?” She wondered how anyone could believe the tale Miss Christi was spinning. At least this train ride isn’t as boring as I thought it would be. And last night. Vicki— BP!

“It’s all quite true, my dear.” Miss Christi held up her right hand. “I swear it. So help me God. Why else would she be buried at Arlington?”

“I thought that was only for soldiers?”

“Soldiers, yes, but also diplomats, and…” Cupping her mouth to Catherine’s ear, she continued, “Intelligence operatives too, I do believe.” She settled back and resumed her normal soft tone. “Would you like me to check it on Wikipedia?” asked Miss Christi, reaching for her Kindle. “Won’t take but a moment, dear.”

Catherine stopped her. “When did she die? Tell me about her. Please, Miss Christi.”

“Nineteen eighty-eight. December twenty-first.”

“Where? What happened?”

“Over Lockerbie, Scotland—”

“No fuck! I’m sorry. Can’t help it.”

“That’s understandable, dear.” Since getting her first whiff of MK’s perfume, Miss Christi couldn’t help it either.

“She was on that plane? Really?”

“So you know of the Lockerbie tragedy?”

“Yeah. My mom and dad always drink a toast on that night. My mom would start. It goes something like, oh yeah, ‘To those who have fallen.’ Then my dad would say, ‘May—‘”

Miss Christi interrupted, reciting the part Catherine’s dad always said every night at bedtime. “May their souls always hover above us, ever watchful…”

Catherine joined in, like her mom would always do when they tucked her in together. “Let the GoodKnights of Blachmann protect us from all that is evil on this good earth.” Together, they sat, silent; each was back in time.

“Yes. It was the one thing she feared.”

“Flying? Yeah, I hate flying too.” Catherine nodded.

“No dear; sabotage. It was a bomb, remember? Same as her father.”

“Kinda. What really happened?”

“Agents of the Axis of Evil placed a small but powerful bomb aboard, hidden, as I recall, in a cassette tape player. It was placed on the 747 as checked luggage. She was in first class. When it detonated, the forward section broke off with my Katherine. They were at thirty-one thousand feet. Those seated in the main body of the plane were ripped apart by the almost five-hundred-mile-per-hour air blast. The larger sections fell for two minutes before crashing down on the small village of Lockerbie. The front section, the part with my Katherine, came down mostly intact. Did you know that several people actually survived the initial explosion?”

Catherine shook her head. “No way.”

“Yes, dear, it’s true. I was later told she had survived the blast and the fall. Yes, she was actually killed by the impact with the ground. They found her still strapped into her seat. She was holding a picture of me and your father. I was heartbroken.” Miss Christi dropped her head, tears streaking from her eyes. She reached down to retrieve a tissue. “My bag. I’m sorry, dear.” She stretched, trying to reach her bag.

“That’s so awful, Gran.”

“I should have planned ahead.”

“I’ll get it.” Catherine bent forward to snatch the handbag and handed it over. She retook Miss Christi’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” She felt her pain.

“It was the same method by which her father was killed. Did you know that?” asked Miss Christi, her brightness returned.

“No way.”

“Oh, yes, my dear, it’s quite true. My Katherine always called her father, the Colonel.  His given name was James. He was on a plane leaving from Munich in 1940. It was late afternoon. Katherine said that it was raining that day as she watched the plane take off. Shortly after, his plane exploded. She was horrified. She watched the fireball fall from the sky. All on board were lost. You know, it is still believed her father was carrying a secret agreement that Herr Hitler himself had signed earlier that very day.”

“Herr Hitler?” Catherine’s brow rose, which signaled increasing disbelief. “Come on? Gran. Sounds like you’re making it all up.” She pulled her hand back, using it to tap on her iPod. The sound of Miss Perry could be heard emanating from the earbud dangling at her breast. Before she could fit the tiny speaker back in her ear, Miss Christi offered her challenge.

“Well then, my dear, maybe you’ll allow me the opportunity to prove it to you this summer?”

Catherine boasted, “Maybe I will. But I’m not easily fooled, you know.”

“I can see that, my dear. You are a very perceptive young woman.” She reached for, Katherine’s hand, taking it in her own. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together. I really do, kitten.”

Refilling her ear, Catherine turned away, pressing the iPod’s control until the music was all either could hear. Miss Christi reached for her Kindle. An hour passed before she tapped on Catherine’s shoulder. “Tell me, kitten. Do you still desire to become a Hushgirl?”

Pretending she didn’t hear, she pulled her left earbud. “What?”

“Do you truly wish to be educated as an assassin, dear?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess.” A devilish smile appeared. “It would be kinda cool. Wouldn’t it?” She tingled all over as she processed the offer. She agreed to listen with one ear while still enjoying the lyrics to her latest favorite song with the other. Though she tried to appear less interested, it did not escape Miss Christi’s eye when Catherine lowered the volume two notches.

The Worthless Whore

Eastbound at FL 350 off the coast of Newfoundland, 15:54 GMT

Krump One had completed its climb out from JFK. Established in level cruise, Captain Schumacher finished reviewing their flight plan with her first officer and relief pilot. All KrumpAir flight crews were female. Directly below, in the Airborne Command Center (ACC), Krump had requested the captain’s assistance with their very special guest.

A furious man sat at the command desk in the ACC, communicating with Karla using the aircraft’s secure satellite data link. The system utilized the latest IP voice encryption technology that included a feature capable of shifting voice patterns, disguising them. An added benefit was that it made one sound more menacing. He pounded the desk and shouted in German, “Worthless whore! You failed again?”

“Nein, Herr Krump. I personally armed the detonator when I placed the package on board her aircraft.”

“But it did not explode. Sterling must have disarmed it.”

“It is impossible, Herr Krump. Once armed, it’s tamperproof. The Tiger most likely never lifted it from the case, triggering the delay. Two hours, as you commanded. The chemical explosive would have incinerated everything within a ten-meter radius.”

“Enough! I am well aware of its capabilities. The Blachmann’s bitch used it to destroy my pretty new Nina doll.” Krump laughed. “It exploded last night, killing her overly curious roommate. No matter. I have the bitch’s old doll on board. She’s in some need of your TLC. Have Lucy prepare the room.”

“Ja, Herr Krump. I understand.”

The Invitation to Play

South Station, Boston, Massachusetts, 11:44 local

The Acela’s brakes squealed as it came to a halt on track nine. Miss Christi had invited the kitten to play a game—more of a competition—during her summer at the estate. Catherine wanted details. Miss Christi would give none. She said, “You’ll have the drive to the estate to contemplate your decision, my dear. Either accept, or decline. The choice is yours and yours alone. I cannot help you make it. Those are the rules.”

“But how can I? You haven’t told me what the game is.”

“You cannot change your mind once you decide. You have until we arrive at the Estate.

“Can’t you tell me what it is? How can I make that decision?”

“No, kitten. I cannot tell you that. I can only say this. If you want to learn who you truly are, you should choose yes. If you, my dear Katherine, want to live your life without any truth, simply say no. Yes or no? Accept or decline. You and only you can choose. Either way, I will always love you just the same.”

On the station platform, Catherine stood waiting as Miss Christi got her bearings.

“Come now, my dear, this way.” She offered an arm. “Let’s hurry out front and find our transportation.” Her arm untaken, Miss Christi turned back to notice her kitten having a  conversation with a tall, slender brunette in dark glasses.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Catherine ran to catch up. “These fucking boots are killing me. I’m starting to wish I didn’t wear them.”

“Oh no, my dear, don’t think that. I love the way they look on you. You’ve given them new life.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I like the way I look in them too. They do kinda hurt a little though.”

“Yes, my dear kitten, I’m sure they hurt plenty. But sometimes we must bear the pain of experience to learn what pleasures our life has to offer. Isn’t that so, dear?”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess. You sure have a funny way of saying things, Gran. I mean, Miss Christi.”

“What did that woman want? Do you know her?”

“Who? That tall one?” Catherine glanced back at the woman. “She liked my boots. Asked where I got them. I told her, eBay.” She laughed, flipped her hair, batted her dark blue eyes, and added, “Never seen her before.” Would have remembered those tits.

“You may take off those lovely boots in the car, if you’d like, dear. I won’t tell. It shall remain our little secret.”

They mingled in with the throng, making their way toward the Summer Street exit. Miss Christi looked left, and then right. A warm sun was shining. It was sixty-seven degrees. It seemed the pleasant breeze that gave her comfort yesterday at Arlington was also there to greet them. She recalled the many times she and her Katherine’s heels had walked those same steps.

“There she is. See her? Over there, kitten.” Miss Christi pointed down Summer Street. “See her? There. She’s waving.”

Catherine turned to see. “Where?”

“Next to—”

“No fucking way!” shouted Catherine, staring in amazement at, “Danielle?” dressed in white patent leather, nice boots, fitted blazer, nice mini, and topped off with a, cute cap. Way cool.

“Yes, dear. On time, as always.” They walked quickly to the car.

Jane was there, seated in the front seat. She’d driven up with Danielle. Both had changed outfits when they dropped the Mercedes just outside Boston. Their new ride was a shiny white old-fashioned limo.

“Nice outfit, Dani. Did it come with the car? Where’s the fuckin’ wedding?” quipped Catherine as soon as they came within earshot.

Danielle should have expected it, standing beside the 1961 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II. Very rare and very, very expensive, this type of Rolls was often employed to transport brides on their wedding day. The old girl looked to be in pristine condition.

“Hello, Miss Christi.” Danielle turned to Catherine. “Enjoy your train ride, princess?”

“Yes!” The straightforward answer surprised her as much as it did Danielle. She quickly recovered, adding with only a hint of sarcasm, “Miss Christi sure is a fun person to take a train ride with.”

Maybe there is hope? Danielle opened the rear door for Miss Christi and said, “Should have us all back at the Castle in under an hour, Mum.”

“There’s no need to hurry, dear.”

Showing no manners, Catherine jumped in, sliding across the back seat. The interior was like new. The white leather was oh-so-soft to the touch. Visibly impressed, Holy shit! She noticed the woman sitting in front. “Who’s she?”

Jane turned and said, “Security escort,” then raised the privacy divider.

“Security?” Catherine frowned, then ran her hand across the seat, taking in the new leather scent with a deep breath as Miss Christi stepped in and sat. “Wow! Pretty fucking nice, Gran!” She continued to fondle and take pleasure in the new leather’s aroma.

“Thank you, kitten, I’m happy it pleases you. We only recently had the interior redone. I do so love to be taken home in it after a long journey. You know, dear, I always pretend my Katherine sent it, to hurry me back to our secret castle where she waits. I dreamed it last night.”

“Yeah, I know,” whispered Catherine, while giving Miss Christi a look of delightfully naughty approval.

“Oh, I see.” For a second, Miss Christi thought she’d caught sight of a mouse’s tail between her kitten’s glossy red lips. “Can I help you with your boots, my dear?”

“Na, I can do it.”

Soon they were on the move. Miss Christi watched as Katherine lifted her long left leg, the tip of her stiletto heel came dangerously close. “Please let me, dear.” She pulled on the long zipper then sat back to observe as, their Catherine, removed the boot. It provided a pleasant remembrance.

“Mind if I inspect it, dear?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Catherine, handing the boot over before attacking the other.

Miss Christi inspected the old boot closely. She traced her finger over the stitching. The upper third of the boot’s shaft had been turned out and down and secured by red lacing, tightly knotted. Thus, the boot’s shaft prevented the gold sword and shield embossed with a five-pointed star, and the hammer and sickle, from being seen. An experienced thumb rubbed against the soft leather of the cuffed upper’s exposed inner. It appeared to give her kitten a scare. She then held the upper to her nose and inhaled. “Very nice. Italian, I’d say.”

Next, Miss Christi turned the boot over, admiring its engraved stiletto heel. Her fingers toyed with the chrome tip, discretely checking its security. She commented, “Titanium, I believe. Sixties vintage, I would say. Yes, top shelf.” She lowered the fancy boot, placing it with its sole mate now simmering on the floor.

“Yeah, I guess like, if you say so. I just think they’re like, way cool. Don’t you?”

“Yes dear, I do like. I wonder who else may have worn them. Do you?”

Catherine shrugged, “Who cares? They’re MK’s now.” Shit.

“Yes, for the time being, they are.”

“What the fuck!” Catherine grabbed, and pulled the boots onto her lap. “So, what do I gotta fuckin’ do in your game?”

“You have to win, my dear.”

“Duh. Like I fricken know that. But how?”

“I can say no more, kitten.”

The Castle

East Hampton, New Hampshire, 12:55 local

Awakened by the sound of breaking waves, Catherine lifted her head. The Castle… Her window was down as was the privacy divider. That security escort is eyeballing my boots. The Rolls took on an air of saltiness. Out the windshield, twin gilded gates guarded the formal entrance, and the twin cougars of Blachmann welcomed them. Just beyond, the drawbridge was raised. Behind, the ocean battered away at the rocky bluff. Unlike Catherine and the Atlantic, that woman from last night, Sterling, never truly slept. The massive golden gates parted. “Looking for something?”

“Only your decision, Miss Black. Ja or nein?” asked Jane.

“Huh?” She had all but forgotten. The invitation.

“Your decision, my dear?” echoed Miss Christi with a reverence.

Miss Black… She didn’t answer for the longest time as she studied Miss Christi’s face, as if searching for the answer. Not there. Fuck! She thought about yesterday, and then, Dani. “Yeah, I’ll play your stupid game. I’ll fricken beat you too,” boasted Catherine glaring, adding, “You too, bitch!” Yeah, I can’t wait to beat her fat ass too. Shut up, it’s not that fat.

“We shall see, Miss Black,” growled Jane.

Miss Christi cleared her throat and offered the contract. “Do you, Miss Katherine Black, with a clear conscience, and of free will, give your consent and submit yourself as my kitten, and to do as I, Miss Christi, and the new headmistress, shall desire from this moment until one September of this year?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Catherine, radiant with confidence. “Piece of cake.”

“Yes what, my dear?”

“Yes, Miss Christi. I, Miss Catherine Black, freely and willingly give my consent to be your little kitten from now until the first of September.” Or at least until I get the fuck out of here, Miss Granny!

“Then, my dearest kitten, it would seem we do have a binding contract.” Miss Christi offered a tentative hand.

Catherine took hold, shaking briskly. “Deal, Granma! I’ll play your stupid game this summer and I’ll win too. Bet I trounce all of you. You’ll see. I’ll beat you. I know I’ll win. You’ll see.”

“We’ll see who trounces whom, my dear. But I, for one, do hope you win too.”

Both shared triumphant faces as Dani and Security looked on. They weren’t smiling. The Rolls edged forward to the second gate. They waited as the first gate closed. Out her window, she could see the wall and the moat. Her triumphant view faded.

Catherine peered past the gold-spiked black ironwork at, the wall. The wall was twelve foot high and made of concrete. Three feet thick at its base, with a foot-thick top, embedded with broken glass, bordered the two public roads that formed the Estate’s dual fronts. Intended to keep prying eyes at a safe distance, it was useless against today’s digital voyeurs in the sky. Its inner wall sloped down into the water and then continued straight down another eight feet to the granite bedrock. The man-made concrete moat was twenty-four feet wide.

Ground access to Blachmann was provided by three double-gated entrances. The first, the one they passed through, served as the formal and east entrance. The second was the less formal family and service south entrance located on State Road 111. The Gate House was located just inside the south entrance. The third was the nearly forgotten old rail spur that once connected the Castle to the old Eastern line of the Boston and Maine railroad, and the world. Once someone was inside, escape was impossible. Jane instructed Danielle to “Proceed.”

Catherine turned back to see the formidable gates shut. She looked ahead. The drawbridge lowered. They crossed over the moat and started up the drive. There it was, rising up out of the mist. Blachmann Castle? “Holy shit, I’m at fucking Hogwarts. I don’t remember any of this. It’s so f-in big.” It really does look like a fricken castle.

Ja. She’d forgotten so much. Sitting atop of the grassy rise, and framed by two large turrets, the main residence had two levels. The servant’s quarters were in the attic. The magnitude of the site grabbed her interest. Looks different than I remember. It was. The Castle only recently completed a long-overdue facelift. The exterior refinished to its, like new again, appearance, and the leaky green roof had been replaced. All cleaned up and in peak health, she survived one hundred harsh New England winters, and countless corrosive gales, not to mention the few hurricanes and several devastating Nor’easters. The old girl had out lived them all and was now ready to endear her guests for a hundred more. Right…

Impressed as Jane was, Catherine’s only concern was escape. She hadn’t been back to the estate since turning four. Her parents never talked about their time at Blachmann. I had like, totally forgotten like, how fricken grand this all was. Then, she spotted the outline of the diving platform and shouted, “The pool!” Like a kid, she tugged on Miss Christi’s arm. “Can I swim in the pool? You still have it, don’t you, Gran?” She wore a Disney smile.

Jane answered, “Yes, Miss Black, provided you remain the good little girl.” Up went the divider.

Little girl? “Who the fuck is she?”  Slowly, the Rolls made its way up the long, twisty, private drive. There was no turning back as they neared the eastern front. Each twist gave another glimpse. “Thought it would be bigger.”

“That’s what they all say, dear.”

They gave you a face-lift too.

Jane’s view was unrestricted. The estate’s centerpiece was the faux French chateau–styled main residence. She was buttressed by two massive turrets, each twenty feet in diameter at their base. The north tower was tallest, with an additional level and a half. Its steeply peaked roof looked like an upside-down sugar cone. Above, the flag proudly flew the colors of the House of Blachmann. The south tower’s roof was flat and with a private sun platform that when built provided one with a panoramic view of the coastline. One saw only a gravel path, tall marsh grass, and mostly beach to the south. These days, the view along Ocean Boulevard was masked by a throng of million-dollar-plus beach homes. Early one spring day in 2002, the south tower’s sun deck received an extra something special. What was it? As the drive twisted again, her attention turned to the veranda.

There was something bloody odd about that veranda, but she couldn’t remember what. Have to ask Mum…

“Hey, Gran, why are the windows all black?”

“They darken to keep the sun’s heat out, dear.”

“Oh.”

Miss Christi left out the other purpose for the blast reinforced and surveillance-resistant windows installed during the renovations. Just right of, and abutting the north tower, a ten-foot faux stone concrete wall masked the pool area. The privacy wall extended to the Stag House. Once the province of unattached gentlemen guests, the Stag’s last use was as the teacher’s quarters. Questions still remained as to who would be occupying them come this September.

Farther north, opposite a small paved courtyard, were two service buildings. The first was the Carriage House, now used to shelter the Rolls and other vehicles in the motor pool. Not far to the north, was the old steam plant. For a time, it was host to the Academy’s first gymnastics center.

“Blachmann was built to last a thousand years, dear; with proper maintenance, of course.”

“Really?” Bet you’ll see every one of them.

Built using reinforced concrete, Blachmann was built to stand the test of time and the elements. Encased within the concrete was a revolutionary new alloy of corrosion-resistant chrome-nickel steel imported from the Krump metal works in Germany. The same alloy was used in the gates and other ironwork. Other than having their many layers of leaded black paint removed, the ironwork required no repair, except repainting. Though considered experimental, exotic, and incredibly expensive, when construction of the main structures commenced in earnest during 1905, the chrome-nickel alloy we now know a stainless steel proved to be a wise decision.

Various pigments had been applied to the concrete walls that gave the illusion of cut and polished stone. The steeply pitched roofs were clad in dull copper. Recently replaced, it wasn’t the green patina, as Jane vaguely remembered. Blachmann’s original owners had also specified that all plumbing, wiring conduits, and all metal fixtures, such as doorknobs and window latches were made from an alloy of copper and nickel, like that used in ship construction.

A Blachmann Welcoming

The new Blachmann Castle, 13:01 local

The Rolls eased up in front of the massive granite steps of the main residence always known locally as the Castle. Before she could get out, Miss Christi laid out a few rules of the game to Catherine.

“Upon entry into Blachmann Castle, I shall no longer be your ‘Grandma.’ Instead, you are to think of me only as your private pedagogue. You shall address me as Miss Christi, the Chancellor of Blachmann Academy. You are not my granddaughter in this house. You shall, however, remain my kitten, a baby; to do with as headmistress pleases.”

Headmistress… “Sounds a little twisted, Grandma. I mean, Miss Christi. Whatever blows your skirt?” Catherine started laughing.

The privacy divider lowered.

“Silence, whore! Mistress Sterling owns the kitten’s little arse now!” Jane’s tone eased. “Time to start learning to be a good little kiddy Kat.”

Shocked, Catherine noticed that Miss Christi wasn’t giggling or smiling anymore. She’d just met the Mistress Sterling, first Headmistress of the third Blachmann Academy.

Holy Shit! Fuck me! She was starting to get the picture. “Wait a sec, Grandma! I might have been a little too quick to say yes. I mean, Miss Christi, I don’t—”

Miss Christi had placed her hand over their new kitten’s lips.

“Rule number one, dear; honesty is the only policy. Absolutely no lying, to anyone. That includes you, kitten. Do you understand me, my dear?” Miss Christi’s words hit like an iceberg. They carried no emotion, just a cold clear truth that could no longer be avoided.

“Yes, Miss Christi.” Catherine held a sharp eye to Jane. Security escort. A chilling pain stabbed through her, as if an ice-cold dagger had penetrated her soul. I’m so fucked.

“Yes, Miss Christi, what?” demanded Jane.

Fuck me. “Yes, Miss Christi, kitten understands. Honesty is the only policy. I promise not to lie.” This game is getting a little too creepy. Catherine tossed a faux smile Jane’s way as she built up steam. And… Wait. Oh yeah, fuck you Miss Big Fuckin’ Tits. I’ll be out of here before Granny or her two hot bitches know what hit ’em. Be cool. Just play along. For now. On went the warmest, trusting, little-girl-happy-face one could conjure up.

“Very good, then; henceforth, mind the cursing.” Jane motioned Miss Impertinent to step out. “Miss Danielle, please escort our new baby out to the pool. She wishes to enjoy a swim before we begin.”

“Affirmative, Miss Jane. Come with me, baby.” Taking Catherine’s clammy hand, Danielle led the strikingly attractive new kitten up the polished granite steps and through the imposing front door. She played it cool as they entered the grand foyer and proceeded without conversation down the main hallway and through a very grand ballroom that opened out to the pool area.

What a pool. Olympic-sized, the pool was shallow at each end and exceedingly deep in the middle. There was a set of diving platforms at the midpoint on the ocean side. Built to Olympic standards, the short one was three meters, and the other? It towered high above. Catherine looked up and shook her head—NFW!

“Would you like to slip into a swimsuit and take a dive?” asked Danielle invitingly.

But we need to get the lay of the land. “Na. Not now, thanks. Hey Dani, can you show me around?” Catherine dropped her boots and Coach on the lounge chair and neared the pool. Dipping a toe she noted, “Pretty warm.” The pool was maintained at eighty-eight degrees year ’round. Miss Christi liked it that way.

“Sorry, can’t. Miss Jane said, just the pool. Take it or leave it, baby.” Danielle shrugged as if to show she didn’t care. Stay cool.

“Really?” She gave Danielle the look and said, “Yeah, maybe a quick dip then.” She slid off her jacket and handed it to, Dani. Having her undivided attention, she pulled her camisole over her head then unzipped her teen mini. It dropped where she stood, as Miss Danielle looked. Yeah, you like it. Don’t ya, Miss Bitch? Maybe, if you help me, you might get some.

“Well?” Danielle barked, “Do it, baby. Let’s see you get wet, if you’re—”

“Fuck you, bitch!” shouted Catherine, as she raised her hands and dove into the water. Leaving barely a splash, she swam the length of the pool and back. Her backstroke had lost some of its zip in the months since she quit the team. “Hey, Miss Danielle, the water feels great.” She puffed up her magic charms. “Wanna come in and get wet with me, don’t ya?” Catherine lifted, partially rising out of the water at the edge of the pool; she presented Danielle a lovely view of her dripping wet upper body, still supported, but no longer protected, by the soggy bra. Yeah, bitch. That’s it. Look at ’em! You want some candy? “Oh lookie, Miss Dani.” Her eyes lowered, “Baby’s soooo cold. Seeee?”

“Look pretty hot to me.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t think I’ll be getting wet with you. Not today, baby.” Danielle turned away and walked over to pluck two towels from the rack. “Maybe when you’re a grown-up?”

“In your fricken dreams, bitch!” Her natural charms had failed. No way. She fricken wants me.

“Finished getting wet, baby? Let’s go! Time to learn some more rules, kitten.” She held all the cards and the towel. “Here, take it; playtime’s over. It’s time for baby to meet her new mommy.”

“Hey, wait. Hey Dani, how’d you beat us with that car?” Catherine lifted her slick body from the pool and tried once more to snare an ally. “You must be one fast driver.” She took the offered towel and tossed it to the stone patio. “Oops.”

“I guess. Liked your form.” Danielle crouched and picked up the towel, offering it again. “But, forget it. Your charms won’t work on me. Let’s go, baby.”

“Fine!”  Great, she’s totally straight. Just my fuckin’ luck. She tugged on the towel. “Hey, let go, I got it.”

“Here, let me wrap your hair, babe.”

“Hey, leave it!”

“Fine!” Baby. She dropped the other towel in the chair and gathered the subject’s leather, boots, and bag. “Miss Christi is waiting.”

Catherine thought better and wrapped her towel tight as they headed inside.

“Here she is, Mum. Sorry about the drips.”

Back in the foyer, and still dripping wet, the puddle began to grow wider where Catherine stood, centered on the Blachmann family crest.

“Thank you, dear. You must be famished! Miss Margaret is waiting with some lunch, dear.”

“Call if you need me. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Danielle handed Catherine her things. “See ya later, baby.” With that said, she turned and clicked her heels down the long formal hallway leading to the kitchen.

Miss Christi’s full attention returned to Catherine, who was struggling to hold everything and keep the already-loose towel in place. “Rule number two, dear; kitten shall ask for and must receive permission from her mommy before kitten does anything.”

“Mommy?  You don’t mean that Dani bitch do you? I mean…what the fuck, Gran! You want me to ask her permission before I do anything?” Catherine realized what she’d just said. What the fuck? “Anything, Miss Christi—” Hey stupid, “Are you fucking nuts? I don’t get it. Is this place for fucking real? Look Gran, I’m done playing your stupid baby game. Understand? Done! D-O-N-E… Done!”

Miss Christi hadn’t answered; though, she did notice the puddle was spreading.

Blachmann’s newest Headmistress, Mistress Sterling, had entered from her new office—the library. It was just off the foyer to the north, and opposite Miss Christi’s office in the panty parlor.

Catherine turned white. The puddle turned champagne.

Meet the New Headmistress

13:25 local

“Silence!” The Cougar’s roar was deafening.

“I didn’t say anything, did I?” Shit.

“Understand this now, Miss Black! New kitties are the same as new babies. They know for nothing but eating, pissing, shitting, sleeping, and playing with themselves. At Blachmann, baby kittens depend one hundred percent on their mommy to take care of all other needs. If Mommy meets these needs, then baby is happy. If baby’s needs are not met, or baby is neglected for too long, kitten will be sad and shall cry out and start screaming to get Mommy’s attention. Kitten must learn to be a good baby and not make Mommy angry by crying unnecessarily. Does the baby kitten from the House of Black understand the headmistress from the House of Sterling?”

Standing in her tallest boots and at strict attention, the headmistress, Jane Sterling waited but two seconds for her answer. She would wait no more for this kitten than any other. In a blink, she ripped at the special one’s towel as if she was unwrapping her gift; scattering Catherine’s things around the now thoroughly submerged family crest. “My bloody boots!”

Catherine was down on all fours, reaching, “They’re my fucking boots!” Shut up.

“On your feet, baby. Now!” Jane reached down and gathered a handful of wet black hair.

“What the fuck!” shouted Catherine, boots firmly in hand as she was forced to stand  straight. She spotted her other things. Gran is picking them up. Her smirk gone, she had somehow lost her little brat attitude somewhere in the foyer; she wasn’t quite sure where. Denial set in as she began a visual search to retrieve it. Unable to believe her fate, she looked in any direction except—the Headmistress. All time stood still, allowing her an eternity to complete the now-desperate search. Her shocked mind replayed what she just heard before she mustered enough courage to face the headmistress. Fuck me! This old bitch is for real! Yeah, she’s a real Superbitch. Deal with it, kitten. “Fuck you!” Shit. “I didn’t—”

“Well, then—does the baby kitten understand Mistress Sterling?”

Her words forced through gritted teeth, MK responded, “Yes. The fricken baby kitten Black gets the fricken picture.” She lowered her head, defeated, then added, “Mistress Sterling.” Tears trickled down each cheek. She stood there, her only protection a dripping bra and wet panties.

“Splendid. Well done, sweetie.” Jane’s eyes slid down over the slopes and valleys. Taking their sweet time, they each made an inspection of, Sir Katherine’s spirit. Both descended on a, “Pleasant journey?” to the floor. “Right then. Seems you’ve wet yourself; and all over the old family crest, haven’t you? And just like a baby too. You do learn fast.”

Catherine’s eyes followed the amused Miss Superbitch’s to find she was standing in the center of a wet tessellated circle displaying the Blachmann family crest. The glossy mosaic stared back through a coating of pool water mixed with tears and pee. Shit! “Sorry, Miss Jane.” Her plumbing was out of order. I want my mom. Why are they doing this to me?

“Wipe that bloody piss up!” Jane dropped the towel at Catherine’s feet. “One, two… Well? Does the baby kitten need an attitude adjustment?”

My mom! Catherine quickly toweled the crest dry. Head down, she listened as a fresh set of heels entered the foyer. She didn’t dare look up.

“Miss Christi! Welcome home.” The voice belonged to—

WTF—Dani, you’ve changed.

“Hello, dear.”

Hiding behind her hair, Catherine had a front row seat as Miss Christi hugged, Dani? What’s with the pretty girlie-girl act? And that white O-M-G satin tea dress—then kissed her on the lips. Maybe there’s still hope. Granma! You old cougar.

“You too, Miss Jane. I’ve missed you so.” She gave Jane a tighter hug and a longer kiss. When they finally parted, she was beaming and clearly excited to have them home. “Is this Mommy G’s new baby?”

Miss Jane too? Catherine looked up to be sure. What’s with the Mommy G Bullshit? It’s that hot bitch limo driver except that she’s dressed way different and—her hair! Yeah, it’s like way blonder too. What gives? She’s acting all girlie, and much more bouncy. Shit, she’s bending down.

Mommy G was inspecting the new baby. “Thank you for that nice big welcome, sweetie. Miss Jane missed you too.”

Catherine studied her face. What gives? It’s a wig. Way too prissy.

“Can I be her mommy? Can I? Can I please, Miss Christi, Please? Oh please? Please?”

What the fuck is her problem? It’s that Dani bitch. Shut up. They’re fucking with us.

“Yes, my dear; this is our new kitten, Miss Catherine Black. But we’ll be calling her baby kitten until she grows up. If Miss Jane gives you her baby kitten, does Miss Giselle promise to be a good mommy to our pretty new baby Kat.”

“Oh yes! Yes Miss Jane! I promise! Mommy G will be the best mommy Baby Catherine ever had. I promise. I promise. I won’t hurt her. Ever! I swear it, Miss Christi. Really, I do!”

“Only if you swear to Miss Jane that you’ll be the best mommy this baby will ever have.”

“Oh, yes, I swear it, Miss Jane! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Miss Christi.”

Jane handed over the reins. “Miss Giselle, take your pissed little baby upstairs for a check and change. Our new baby could do with a nappy.”

“Oh, goody.” Perky Giselle took charge of Catherine’s boots. Grasping them in her left hand, she held out her right. “Take Mommy’s hand, sweetie. My name is Miss Giselle. I am your new mommy. Mommy G will be taking care of Baby Catherine.”

Catherine lifted a hand then resisted. Stay cool. She looked back into Miss Christi’s eyes. They slowly blinked once, like her mom always did when giving reassurance about trying something when she wasn’t sure if she could. She took hold of Giselle’s cool right hand and was led up the grand stairs to the private family level on the second floor of the main residence. At the top of the long straight staircase, her new mommy led her around to the right and over to a railing. They looked down to see Miss Christi and Headmistress, Superbitch, still standing below in the foyer.

“Say nighty-nights to Miss Christi and Miss Jane. It’s our nappy time.”

Our? Catherine stared back at Giselle with a look, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Oh shit! I said that. “I’m sorry, Mommy!” What the fuck! I can’t believe I’m playing these wacky bitches’ fucked-up twisted baby game. She put on Catherine’s best baby face and said, “Nighty-nights, Miss Christi.” Too afraid to face Superbitch, she closed her eyes and waved, “Bye, byes.”

Shit, Wrong Bloody One

The library, 13:42 local

Miss Christi held a pleasant face until the kitten left their view. She listened for her private sitting room’s door to close then stepped into Jane’s new office. Jane slid the heavy pocket doors closed and headed for her bag sitting on the old desk. She reached in and removed the iPhone. “Shit, wrong bloody one.” She reached in again, removing Natasha’s and finally Pete’s iPhone. She tapped, opening the app that controlled the room’s security level. She tapped again to enter, the Library, then once more. The windows darkened. Danielle had downloaded the Castle Control App while they waited for the train.

“Why three phones?” inquired Miss Christi.

“Yes, that. I met someone Tuesday evening, in the T & C. I took charge of her mobile at dinner. Just as a precaution, Mum. Forgot to return it. I’ll have to get it back to her.”

“I see. Miss Samantha won’t be back until dinner; a lecture at MIT. I’m not so sure she isn’t up to old tricks, Miss Jane. Oh, you should be aware, dear; Danielle’s not entirely finished validating the new sensors. We still don’t have the difficulties resolved with the new full-spectrum cameras.” She pointed to the Cinderella carriage on the mantel. “As such, the facial recognition will remain off-line.” There was another carriage on the desk.

“Two years and seventy million in renovations and we’re still having problems with our video reception?”

“I know, dear; Danielle promised she’d have it resolved by Kickoff.”

Kickoff…  “Right, Mum. Miss Wright informed me. Dani thinks she’ll have the day video back on-line by this evening. She’s not certain when the IR will be fully functional. Not without bringing back the contractor’s tech team. She’s rather insistent. Something about the cameras being in need of some sort of software update. Thinks the blokes knew. Put them in anyway, to submit the bill, claiming they finished on schedule.”

“We don’t need any distractions returning until our baby grows up.”

“Yes, Mum, I agree. Don’t need any bloody distractions.” Boris and Natasha…

“I trust your assignment for Peter last evening was successful?

“Right, that? Well.” KK…

They both chuckled.

“I can’t wait to write all about it, Miss Jane.”

“Yes, Mum, the sequel too, I should hope.”

“Oh, Miss Jane. Still the rogue, I see. I’m so grateful you accepted my offer, dear.”

“Could never refuse me, Mum. Come give the real Jane a proper hug.”

 “I shall be delighted.” A moment later, they parted. Mum continued, “Welcome home. This house and I have missed you, my dear Miss Jane Sterling. Please have a seat, dear. Why don’t you review the surveillance of the little assignment you handed off to Miss Vicki? It’s on the server. Please let Danielle know if you need any help with the technology.” Miss Christi moved to let herself out. “I just want to check on Miss Giselle.”

“Wait, Mum.” Jane tapped her iPhone. The room’s tall windows returned to normal. The ocean view to the east reappeared. Out the window, Danielle was getting back into the Rolls.

“Yes, dear—something you wish to tell me?”

Danielle pulled the Rolls around the statue of Sir Katherine, returning to the Carriage House. Jane stood silent until they were out of view and then moved to open the heavy doors. “No. Let me, Mum. I’ll be below. Miss Wright promised us a tour.” She watched as Miss Christi stepped into the foyer and around the house girl, sweet Maria, who was bent at the waist, mopping up the arrival scene. Jane smiled and slid the massive pocket doors closed. She tapped on Pete’s iPhone and waited as the bookcase started to move.

The Castle Reborn

The castle hadn’t had any major work done since 1947, when the original 1910-era electric system was upgraded. A CCTV system was also installed with an encrypted Telex that connected them to HQ in London. Katherine’s mother, Victoria Blachmann, was beside herself when the workmen started drilling all those holes in the plaster. She instructed them in no uncertain terms there would be hell to pay if they damaged any of the fine plaster details and artwork. Victoria had passed in 1977.

Two years ago began an extensive renovation and modernization of the entire Blachmann estate. This time, Miss Christi would watch over the work. She had spared the Castle no mercy and no expense. With great effort, she managed to locate the great grandson of one of the artists responsible for the ballroom ceiling to help restore its fine plaster details and repair the paint where the new sensors were installed. A grand total of 196 cameras were placed throughout the three above, and two below-ground levels. A fiber link now ran direct to Langley—only Langley. The CIA would be running the new Academy solo. And, they were smart enough to run it from a distance. The mucky-mucks in London weren’t too happy being left out in the cold.

Jane waited down below. Way below. She stood outside the elevator, having descended one hundred feet below ground. It seemed a lifetime had passed since her last visit to the dungeon level. It had been only five years. Footsteps.

Danielle rounded the corner. “Sorry I took so long; can’t wait to show you the improvements. Shall we, Miss Jane?” Her proud voice tinged with nervous excitement as it echoed off the granite.

“Lead the way, Miss Wright.” All grown up.

Together they stepped into the Chamber of Dark Passions.

Bloody hell. “How lovely.”

The Nursery

13:42 local

Giselle held Catherine’s hand and led her through a way-too-pink sitting room. “This is Miss Christi’s private salon. Never come in here if the door is closed. Does the baby kitten understand Mommy Giselle?”

“Yes, Mommies,” responded Catherine, using her baby voice. Pink. Figures…

“Good baby. Let’s go see my baby’s pretty new crib.” She tugged Catherine over to the right, though the salon and through a doorway. “Look. Isn’t kitten’s nursery so pretty?

“Yeah, love it.” Oh-my-fuck. I’m in some psycho Barbie nightmare. “Where’s the windows?”

“Do you, sweetie?” Giselle was giddy. The room smelled of new vinyl and baby powder. Her pulse quickened. “Let’s see what nice things Mommy G has made for her new baby to wear.” She pointed over to an oversized changing table. There was a pink baby dress hanging next to the table. Clearly, it wasn’t sized for a little baby. It looked to be sized for, “Baby Catherine.” On the table was a pair of heavy pink cotton panties and a pair of old-fashioned waterproof plastic pants little kids use to wear over their cotton diapers before disposables became the rage.

“You’re fucking with me, right? Hey, what’s with all the Mommy Giselle bullshit? Thought your name was Dani. I mean, Miss Danielle.”

“No, no. You silly baby. I’m your Mommy G now, not Miss Danielle. At Blachmann, mommies never fuck their babies. That would be very, very naughty.” She led her new baby over to the table and wrapped her head of wet hair in a towel. “We’ll take care of baby’s pretty hair later. First; let’s get these nasty wet big girl things off my baby.” She reached to undo the still soggy bra.

“Hey!” Catherine recoiled. “What the fuck, bitch!  Keep your fuckin’ paws off me! Understand?” This Dani Mommy fuckin’ G bitch is totally fuckin’ wacked. “I’m not wearing that! Are you fuckin nuts?” Shit. “Yeah, I think this B-A-B-Y has had enough of this twisted shit. Bye-bye Mommy G, you wacko fucked-up bitch. I’m fucking outta here!” She whipped off the head towel and made a break for the closed door. “Hey! Where’s the fucking doorknob?” She turned and—Fuck me!

“Not so fast, baby!” commanded Giselle, showing her claws, taking a firm grip on Catherine’s arm. Her free hand then grasped a sizable chunk of her new baby’s drippy long hair, pulling smartly.

“Ouch!” Catherine shouted, “You fuckin’ wacko bitch! Let go! That fucking hurts. Stop it!” She hadn’t made it two steps and now she was headed straight for the huge metal crib. She hadn’t been at Blachmann for an hour yet and already they had turned one of her best weapons against her. Twice already. “Okay. Stop it!”

“Stop it, what baby?” Giselle yanked her handful harder.

“Ouch! Stop it! Please, Mommy! Please Mommy!” You fucking bitch cunt!

Giselle’s pull eased. “Look, sweetie! It’s very simple. Mommy G’s new baby has two choices.” Her face had a mommy-dearest look. Her tone became more sinister. “Either baby lets Mommy G change her out of these naughty wet big girl things and into her pretty new baby outfit, or…” She pinched, digging sharpened nails into Catherine’s arm.

“Ouch! Stop it, please. Fuck! You’re cutting me.” She started crying.

“Mommy G is going to make baby wish she did.” Giselle punctuated it with a snarl.

“Okay, okay.” Fuck me. “I’m bleeding, Mommy!” What the fuck have I got myself into? This fuckin’ wacko bitch will do it. Catherine closed her eyes. Fuck me. She acquiesced, surrendering her big girl things to Giselle’s prying hands. Out of ideas, she reached far into her past to find her long-ago-lost inner baby self. “Sorry, Mommy.” She cooed, “Baby promises, toose bees good.” She didn’t dare resist as Giselle undressed her. “Baby fweeeeezing. See?” How could she miss ’em?

“Hold still, baby.” Giselle carefully and covertly examined every inch of her new baby’s slightly-in-need-of-a-toning body. She took her time, checking for any signs of drug use, cutting, brandings, or body art. “That’s done.” She still needed to verify that Catherine hadn’t tried to smuggle in anything inside her privates. She pulled on a pair of purple latex-free examination gloves.

“What are those for?”

“Cavity search. Let’s go; legs apart. Spread ’em baby!”

“Fuck you, Mommy!”

“No, silly. Babies can’t fuck their Mommy either. But Mommy can pull her baby’s pretty hair.” She put her happy face back on and removed a fresh baby wipe from the dispenser. “Hold still.” Nurse Giselle pressed ahead with her exam.

“Hey, that’s fucking cold! Bet you like doing that, don’t you?”

“Yes. Now turn around and bend over, sweetie? Let’s go; grab your ankles.” Giselle was again satisfied she was clean. “See. That wasn’t so bad.”

She pushed the poop finger away. “It wasn’t?” Bet you liked it loads you fucking psycho lesbo wacko bitch, not-so-bad-on-the-eyes-kind-of-mommy. She took a deep breath. “See anything you like, Mommy?”

“You are a naughty one.” Giselle giggled, pulled off the gloves and wiped her baby with another baby wipe. “Now let’s get these pretty new things on you.” She handed Catherine a pair of pink cotton panties. “Can my baby dress herself?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Catherine wasted no time grabbing the pink cotton. Soft. “Baby Kitten knows how to put her panties on. See!”  She quickly pulled them up. For some protection. “What’s next, Mommy? Can I put on my new pretty pink dress, now? Please.” Judging by her nipples, the purposely chilled air had kicked in. The nursery was kept at a constant sixty-six degrees F.

“Is my pretty baby kitten cold? Or does my baby like being touched?”

No shit. “Yeah, Mommy…Baby kitten fweeeezzzzzen.” Fuck. Where did that come from?

“Hurry now. Let Mommy get baby kitten’s special panties on too. Aren’t they pretty?” said Giselle, holding a pair of pink vinyl rumba pants to Catherine’s face. “They’re brand-new; just for my new baby.”

They looked—even smelled—just like the ones her mom always made her wear to bed when she was little. “Okay. But, do I have to? I promise, Mommy. I won’t wet myself, again.” She was hoping her new Mommy, Giselle, wouldn’t really make her wear the vinyl panties. “They’re for your own protection,” her mom would say. This bitch must be in on this sick joke!

“Yes, sweetie, but you must. It’s Miss Christi’s rule, ‘All baby kittens shall wear their special panties at all times.’ Well, except for potty and when Mommy G is giving baby her daily bath. That—”

“What?” interrupted Catherine. “Wait a minute. You’re giving me a bath? No fucking way! Mommy? Don’t. Wait. Please.”

“That would be silly to wear them in the tub. Wouldn’t it, sweetie?” Giselle proceeded to fit the vinyl rumba pants. Calming her new baby with smiles, silly laughs, and tickling her bare stomach. “So pretty.”

Laughing excitedly, Catherine responded. “Uh…ah…hey…stop it.” She started cooing for real when Giselle began caressing her erect nipples. “Mommy! That …tickles…Oh.” Whoa! That’s weird. I actually kind of liked it. I can’t let on. Got to watch it girl. She is kind of cute, though, in a mommy-milfish sorta way. Catherine’s guard lowered to threat condition Yellow. Great, I’m getting fuckin’ horny for this wacko bitch mommy act. Blondes. I’m so fucked! “Hey! Stop it!” Why can’t I wake up?

“Okay. Let’s see how kitten’s pretty new dress fits.” Giselle picked up the adult-size pink baby dress and unzipped the back. “Here, kitten, try on your pretty new dress. Mommy made it just for her new kitten.” She held it open. Catherine reluctantly stepped into the way-too-short dress. Her new mommy was most helpful, pulling up so she could put her arms through the puffy little sleeves. “There you go; show Mommy.” Made from a stiff and heavyweight satin weave, its flared hem hung to just above mid thigh.

With trepidation, Catherine asked, “How do I look, Mommy?” She turned around so Giselle could zip her. “Fuck me!” I look like a freak! The wall was mirrored. In fact, all the walls were mirrored, and the ceiling too. “Hey, what’s with this weird place?”

“Hold still, baby!”

The zipper’s movement chilled Catherine’s spine from the small of her back all the way up to the nape of her neck. It fit like a glove.

Giselle closed and latched the built-in collar buckle, quickly securing it with a miniature padlock. Catherine couldn’t remove this baby dress without ripping it. Reinforcing leather had been strategically added around the form-fitting waist, puffed sleeves, and in the high neckline. There was no way it was coming off without permission. Giselle knew from experience, new babies tended to be very rough on their outfits. Especially the pretty ones like Catherine. She used only the best materials and always added plenty of extra stitching.

“There, there, sweetie, all done.” Giselle took two steps back as “Baby Catherine” turned to face her. “Oh! You do look pretty now. What a pretty little baby.”

Giselle took her pretty baby by the hand and led her toward the oversized metal crib. It measured eight by four feet in length and width, and was specially constructed using the same 4130 chromoly steel used in the roll cage of Jane’s race car. Both were designed to keep their occupant safe in the event of a crash. The welds were all thoroughly inspected before the crib had received its nickel chrome plating and electric leads. Danielle’s metalwork was first rate.

“Time for my baby’s first nappy time.” Giselle released the latch, allowing the crib’s heavy sidebar to drop with a clang. “Come on, up you go.” Giselle patted her bottom.

“Hey!” Catherine hopped up and scooted onto the crib’s vinyl-covered mattress. There was a way-too-small pillow and baby blanket, both covered in pink satin. Giselle raised the sidebar locking it back into position.

“That’s a good baby. Nighty-nights. Mommy G loves you. Happy dreams, kitten.”

“Where you going, Mommy?” Her voice revealed more than trepidation. She watched Mommy G pick up all her things. Not my boots! Fuck! My phone too! That blonde bitch got all my stuff and now I’m dressed like a baby, lying in a fuckin’ crib that looks like it was built for King Kong. She sat up and reached out, grabbing the crib’s chrome bars. “Ouch! Fuck!” She released, shaking her still-stinging palms. “What the fuck was that?” Oops, forgot the act. “Mommy’s Baby kitten’s got a bad shock. It really hurtsees.”  Oh, brother…

“Oh, that. It’s just Baby kitten’s pacifier. Not to worry, sweetie; just don’t touch anything metal. The voltage goes up each time.”

“Voltage?”

Giselle smiled like Satan’s bitch. “Lay down, silly. Mommy will keep these naughty big-girl things in a safe place until you’re old enough. They’re not appropriate for my little baby. Now close your eyes, sweetie. Go to sleep; understand, kitten!”

Didn’t like the sound of that last kitten. “Wait!”

Giselle sang, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word.” Her new mommy walked out, closing the door.

Click… Click… Click. Out went the lights.

“Wait!” Fuck. She’s gone, Cat. I can’t see a thing. The clicks were the three electrically operated dead bolts that secured the only door. Locked in total darkness, Catherine sat up, very careful not to touch the electrified bars. I’m soooo fucked.

Holy fuck me! I must be dreaming. Yesterday, I thought I was running away with BP. Now, I’m a prisoner at Miss Christi’s wacko school in a fucking castle full of wacko lesbo bitches. Who the fuck would ever believe me? Wake up! I don’t even remember being here when I was a little kid. God when was that? Like, when I was like, three, I think my mom said. No, I was four.

Fuck me! I’ll bet that wacko bitch, mommy-dearest, locked the fucking door too. What door? Guess it doesn’t matter… I’m not touching those fucking bars again! That wicked fuckin’ hurt! Great, I’m stuck in King Kong’s crib, dressed like a baby fricken Nikita doll in a pitch-black wacko nursery. I must be dreaming. Wake the fuck up! Too bad I wasn’t in charge. Guess I might as well try to get some sleep and rewrite my dreams. I’m going to gaga-fucking-goo-goo, kill my fucking mom, if I ever get out of this—“Ouch!” Watch those bars. Fuck me. I am awake. Don’t cry.

There wasn’t much else she could do now except, lay down and roll over and smell the vinyl. Careful, stupid. Don’t touch the fucking bars. She went about pleasuring herself as she fantasized that she was headmistress. She took her time dealing out Dani’s stern punishment. Feeling less anxious, she drifted off to happy thoughts of her faraway lover BP, and the gruesome death she was planning for her mom and Headmistress Superbitch. Catherine then devised more deviant schemes: What fun I’m gunna have with that hot wacko bitch, Danielle, or Mommy G, or whoever you really are. Blondes. Why is it always blondes?

Oh yeah…that’s it…Yeah…Do it Cat…“Ah…oh…yeah, Dani. That’s it. Yeah…oh. . . Kiss me there…yeah, that’s a good girl…yeah. There. Do it Dani, again. Now suck it. Yeah. That’s good. Don’t stop—”

Nappy Time Is Over

14:26 local

The lights went bright. Click… Click… Click. The three dead bolts released. The door swung in.

Shit! Catherine’s heart stopped with a jolt. She pulled her hands free, but kept her face buried in the pillow and tried to get her breathing under control. Someone’s coming. No shit.

“Wakie-wakie.” In walked Mommy G, all bright and cheerful. “Time to rise and shine, sweetie. Nappy time’s over.” She dropped the side rail, this time without the clang, and gently patted the pretty pink vinyl ruffles covering Catherine’s bottom.

Don’t move. She’d almost been discovered with, hands in vinyl. Her pink satin baby dress had ridden all the way up to her waist. I never slept.

“Wake up, sleepy. Wake up. Baby had enough dreamtime. Miss Christi is waiting.”

The lights were blinding. Catherine’s eyes began to focus; they revealed that—it was no dream. The shiny metal bars came into view. She stretched her arms and legs, being careful not to touch the bars until she realized whoever-she-is was touching them.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Musta fell asleep. What time is it?” Catherine rolled over and looked up at—“Fuck me!” It wasn’t a dream. Eyes closed, she soon felt a pair of lips on hers. She didn’t move. Then a hand reached inside the vinyl panties. Her eyes popped. “Hey!”

“Sorry, sweetie. Mommy can’t play with you now; it’s preschool time. Come, baby, let go. Miss Christi and Miss Jane are waiting in the Panty Parlor. We don’t want to be late for our first lesson. Do we?”

Fully awake and alerted from her false slumber, Catherine took in her new reality, still in the baby dream. Panty Parlor? Deciding to play along, she forced herself back into a long-forgotten past and cooed up at Giselle. “No, Mommy! We don’t want to be late for Miss Christi.”

“Does Mommy’s new baby need to go potty?”

“No!”

They made their way out of the nursery, through Miss Christi’s private sitting room, and down the grand staircase then turned right at the entry to the Panty Parlor.

The Panty Parlor

Miss Christi’s office, 14:39 local

Wake up! Please!

Miss Christi’s office had always been more affectionately known around Blachmann as, the Panty Parlor. Its pocket doors were rarely closed. On the far side of the room, Miss Christi was seated at her desk working, her fingers dancing away on the keyboard of her laptop. In walked a barefoot Catherine, still dressed in her pretty new baby outfit. She tried to act as normal as any almost-sixteen-year-old in a way-too-short pink baby dress could. It was the first time she couldn’t remember not wanting to be the center of attention.

“Sorry we kept you waiting, Miss Christi.”

“That’s quite all right, Miss Giselle.” Miss Christi closed her MacBook Pro, rose from her desk, and stepped to greet them as they stood together in the entry. “Oh, don’t you make a perfect little pretty baby doll.” She scanned the kitten from head to her bare toes and back up.

“Come in, my dears, and sit yourselves down right here.” Miss Christi stroked her hand across the overstuffed white leather love seat located centrally in the parlor. Though it faced her desk, she usually avoided sitting behind it when she had company, preferring the center seat on the nearby sofa. She went and took her seat.

As they neared, Catherine kept her distance as she spied the Panty Parlor. Great; more pink, Barbie pink. Two large windows, facing east, were to either side of the matching leather sofa, itself bracketed by small end tables. Above the sofa was a large framed LCD showing a picture of the castle. There was a large glass coffee table in front of the sofa. The love seat she was to be seated in was located in the center of the room, facing the desk, its back to the doorway they entered from.

Catherine didn’t like having her back to the door. Always want to see them coming. The granite flooring was covered by a large heavy custom rug. It looked expensive. Its edges, irregular, matched a leaf pattern; its color, mostly beige with some pinks and greens, for the stems and leafs. The tabletops were all of heavy glass. She stopped in front of the fireplace, centered on the west wall. The flames rising off the gas logs warmed her. Above the mantle was a life-size portrait of a woman. Who is she? Looks pretty old. Was that her Sir Katherine? Must be her.

“Here we go kitten. Sit your pretty little bottom right here next to Mommy.” Giselle gently patted the creamy white soft leather cushion. “There we go. The baby Kat is now ready to begin her preschooling, Miss Christi.”

Upon sitting, she heard footsteps and twisted. “Why is she here?” Catherine pointed with trepidation at that woman, who entered and seated herself on the sofa with Miss Christi.

“Pleasant dreams?” Jane’s attempt at small talk was met with silence. “Right then. I am Blachmann’s new headmistress. I shall be responsible for conducting your formal education and enrichment during your time with us at Blachmann.”

“You? Superbitch? No fucking way! I thought—” Fuck! Tell me you didn’t just say that out loud? Whoops…

Giselle quickly corrected her baby. “Kitten shall address our new headmistress as Mistress Sterling or Miss Jane unless Miss Jane instructs otherwise. Is that understood, kitten?”

Everyone waited, and waited.

“Yes, Mist—Miss Jane. Kitten understands.” She smiled then, regained some spunk, and let go with, “There’s no fucking way I’m playing this whacked baby game with you. Who fuckin’ died and made you headmistress, anyway?” Feeling her old self, she added, “Fuck you and that cute little bitch you rode in on!”

“Splendid. Shall we let the education begin?” Jane stood and placed herself directly in front of Catherine. “Come with Miss Jane, kitten.” She reached down, taking Catherine by the hand.

She didn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She recoiled, snarling up at Jane. “I’m gunna call my dad. He’ll get me outta here. You’ll see! Let go of me, you fucking bitch cunt!”

“Right, then. Miss Giselle, please fetch Miss Jane’s paddle.” Jane never once raised her voice, still standing before Catherine as she admired the girl’s spunk.

“Yes, Miss Jane.” Giselle popped up and quickly exited for the library, eager to satisfy Miss Jane’s request.

Holy fuck me! Did she say, P-A-D-D-L-E? Catherine looked to Miss Christi for help. She’s no use. Miss Christi didn’t even flinch. She just sat there, acting so pleasant and normal, as if Miss Jane, gag me—had asked Miss Prissy to pass the sugar. “Miss Christi, may I please call my daddy… Please?”

The seconds ticked bye dreadfully slow. Mommy G returned, holding a long black paddle shaped with two wide spots at the end. They were engineered for maximum effect. The paddle’s wooden structure was covered with black leather. The other end had a hand grip, also wrapped in black leather. Judging by the worn spots, it appeared that the padded side got frequent use.

Holy fuck! Miss Headbitch is a fucking Nazi sadist. She wanted me to act out! Fuck me. “I’m sorry, Miss Christi. Really, I am. I’ll be good now. Please don’t let her hit me. Please!” Catherine cringed and started to cry. My fuckin’ mom sent me to some Nazi sadist boot camp. Several doses of adrenaline pumped her back to life. She stiffened, preparing for a fight. MK wasn’t going to just bend over a take it.

“Thank you, sweetie.” Jane accepted the sinister-looking device from a happy Giselle. Then, much to Catherine’s surprise, she found a pretty white tea dress spread across her lap. With each look, another jolt of adrenaline pumped.

Jane stood over Catherine, waiting. “Well.”

“Well, what?”

Miss Christi spoke. “Kitten, please be a dear and lift Mommy Giselle’s pretty skirt for Miss Jane.”

Catherine’s brain was spinning faster than the Concorde used to fly. Her adrenaline pump went crazy. Now it was stimulating MK in other ways. “Yes, Headmistress; right away.” Catherine slowly lifted Mommy’s skirt up and pulled it back.  Pink panties… And cotton mamas too. Not quite like her dream—but it would do.

“The knickers too.”

“Huh?”

“Her panties, dear,” offered Miss Christi, translating.

“Oh yeah, right away, Miss Jane.” Catherine tugged the pink cotton, exposing Psycho Dani’s rounder than I thought, ass. Nice. “Um…may I please hold her down for you, Headmistress?”

“If you’d like, sweetie.” Jane took aim and then let loose the Enforcer.

Whack.

“Ah…”

Whack.

“Uh…”

Whack!

“Oh! Yeah!  One more, please, Miss Jane.” Make the bitch scream.

Whack!

“Sorry, Mommy Gee.” Catherine held tight and didn’t look at all sorry.

“Right then. You can let your mommy up now, sweetie.”

“Thank you, Miss Jane,” said a tearful Giselle, slowly returning to her feet. “I’ll try harder to be a better mommy.” She stared into Catherine’s excited eyes as she rubbed her red bottom, reinforcing the message. “I promise.” She hiked up her panties.

Jane held her left hand out for Catherine to take. “Are you ready to continue with your education with Miss Jane now, sweetie?” Her right still held the Enforcer. The session had jolted her. She fondly relived her first day at Blachmann. Sir Katherine had introduced Miss Jane to the Enforcer the first day. She recalled that Sir Katherine had used it on that bony little bottom so many times that week after she first arrived. She couldn’t remember the baby kitten’s name: another hole in her memory.

Catherine didn’t move; her eyes stuck on the Enforcer. Fuck me! She liked it more than I did. I bet she wants me to act out again. “Yes, Miss Jane, I can’t wait.” She sprang to her feet. “I love school.” Taking Jane’s hand, she went, and so did the Enforcer. They were about to enter Mistress Sterling’s new domain.

Lesson One: Truth

The library, 15:00 local

Jane guided Catherine into the only seat at the large round table filling the center of the library. On the table were a new journal and a big pencil, the kind they give to little children.

“Sit here, kitten.”

Miss Jane went and sat at her desk. It was a large heavy desk, made of the same dark wood that covered much of the walls and ceiling. Catherine wasn’t sure what kind it was, just that it looked more like an old man’s office. Way too cold, dark, and hard, she thought. Thankfully, three tall windows let in plenty of the afternoon daylight.

She glanced to her left. Hundreds of books stood on the shelves covering most of the three interior walls except for the doorways, fireplace, and the pictures. This fireplace was considerably larger than the one in the Panty Parlor. It was trimmed with polished black granite and the same too-dark wood as the rest of the room. It also had a life-size portrait hanging above. It was larger—a beautiful young woman. A tiny baby clung to her breast. Blondes with big boobs. “Go figure.”

“Eyes forward! No talking.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.”

“Kitten is to write her name, date of birth, physical age, emotional age, sex, gender identity,  sexual preferences, number of sex partners with names of each and date, names of all lovers with date you started and ended each relationship. Explain why each ended.” Jane spoke in rapid but deliberate precision. “When kitten is finished, close your journal and bring it to me. No talking during the assignment. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” After a long pause the baby added, “Miss Jane.”

Talking? Talking—who the hell am I going to talk to? There’s nobody else in here. Why the fuck did she say that? What’s with everyone in this fucking place anyway? Are they all fucking nuts? Do my mom and dad know all the fucked-up twisted shit they’re into? What’s going to happen to me? How could they fucking send me here? How could I fall for that stupid game trick act of Granny’s? How dumb was that?

Catherine looked up. Superbitch was sitting behind her desk working at her computer. Fuck…

A minute, then two drifted past. She tried with growing vexation to remember the fucking assignment. Fuck me! What did she just tell me to do?  Name, Date of Birth, age, Emo—What did she call it?

She couldn’t remember the assignment. Jane glanced at her new kitten. Catherine was lost and helpless. She sat there, staring at the blank page. She took relief when Jane’s eyes left her and returned to her laptop. “Now what the fuck am I gonna do?”

“No talking!” Jane’s voice was stern.

After what seemed like forever, Catherine mustered her resolve and timidly raised a trembling hand, dreading that Miss Jane would actually notice.

“Yes dear?” asked a pleasant Miss Jane, sounding more like a preschool teacher, having just finished her review of the video surveillance from the New York penthouse.

Catherine answered, speaking fast, still with her best baby voice. “Miss Jane talked way too fast for her baby kitten to remember all those big grown-up words.” She hoped they wouldn’t be her last. She would never hit a baby. Would she?

Jane lowered her eyes, focused back to her computer, and slowly repeated the assignment. “Does kitten understand Miss Jane now?”

This time, Catherine copied it down. “Yes, Miss Jane.” She hunched over her workbook and started writing. A lefty, she shielded her work with her right arm—like when you don’t want the kid sitting next to you to see. After answering the easy questions, she paused. I’m not going to tell her that. She shook her hand—it was all pins-and-needles from clenching the pencil so hard. The new baby kitten was growing tired of her first assignment. She looked around for the time.

There, in the center of the table, a large clock was built in. Like most everything else in the library, it looked to be very old. What a strange clock. It had eight extra dials with hands. She watched the hands on the clock face. They’re fricken moving. It still held excellent time but was different. “What’s with those extra dials and letters and stuff?” Shit. She lifted her head. “Sorry.”

“Do you find the timepiece interesting?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a very special chronograph.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see the eight extra dials?”

“Yes.”

“They provide a cryptographic encoding and decoding function. It was used by the Blachmann Eight to exchange secret communications in the days before computers.”

“Who are the Blachmann Eight?”

“Who were the Blachmann Eight? They’re dead. Can’t say, love; must let Miss Christi tell the stories. Focus on your assignment, kitten.”

Catherine lowered her head, supporting it with her right hand. Who can I use? Oh, yeah. Three should be enough. Don’t want Superbitch to think I’m a total slut. She wrote the details in the book. She put the big fat pencil down, closed the book, and sat up proudly. “Finished, Miss Jane.”

“Right, then. Come, give it to Miss Jane.”

Catherine handed the book of lies to Jane.

“I think you forgot someone on your list, sweetie?”

“No. I didn’t. Really? No. I promise.” Shit. “I mean, no, Miss Jane.”

“Please return yourself to the Panty Parlor and sit on the love seat. Look around and reflect. Search your thoughts for who you neglected. Look around and search your soul. I think in time you will find the answer we seek. But only if you are true with yourself.”

Catherine didn’t move.

Jane took the kitten in hand and led her back across the foyer and into Miss Christi’s office—the Panty Parlor. She directed Catherine to “sit,” on the love seat, facing the desk. “Kitten is to stay here until she provides Miss Jane with the whole truth. Does the kitten understand?”

“Yes, Miss Jane.” Her shoulders sank.

Truth Lies Within

The Panty Parlor, 15:33 local

Catherine eyes scurried around the room, certain it hid the answer. The old woman in the portrait watched her like a cat as she searched the room for a clue. Superbitch sent me back to old-time Barbie’s Panty Palace for a reason. She looked at the walls. I see why they call it the panty parlor. Several pieces of vintage lingerie were on display: some framed, others in a glass cabinet. Behind Miss Christi’s desk was another tall window. It was just like the other two. They all had long pink curtains with red roses. How romantic. Gag me!

Miss Christi’s desk was smaller and softer in color than Jane’s, and was neatly arranged. Her MacBook sat in its center with its lid closed. Better not. There weren’t any papers on the desk. Neat freak. Just to the left of the computer was Miss Christi’s Kindle, connected to the laptop by a USB cable. I could have tapped it for power. To the right of the laptop was an open binder containing what looked like some kind of fabric samples. Kristin’s Kloset: A fairytale carriage. Vicki…

Catherine stopped daydreaming of Lipsticky Vicki long enough to notice the LCD picture over the sofa, centered between two east-facing windows. It was of the Castle, with a girl in a window, high up in the tower, waving to what she thought was a knight on a black stallion. The GoodKnight is riding to save her. Someone was hiding in wait at the gates, to ambush the Knight. Catherine cast her mind adrift. Her eyes closed.

BP… Where are you? BP! She could see her now. Her lover was in the tower window. She was riding to her rescue. Catherine found herself in the picture, on the horse.  There you are. Seeking to defeat her anxieties, she touched herself. Look out! Soon she drew her heavy sword, Die you evil fucking bitch!  With all that she was, she thrust the mighty sword forward. MK had dispatched her mom. She entered the Castle; I’m coming, my love! She moved up the stairs, until— “Oh, BP!” She’d found her lover bound on the bed. You’re safe, my love. She kissed her beautiful princess. I’ve come back to save you. I told you I would. I love you.

Her eyes opened to find her world was not as she had fantasized. Fuck it. I’m still in this wacko place. Still in this room—the Panty Parlor. She had used her secret weapon and escaped her demons.

She returned her focus to the assignment. This time she was more honest with herself. She tried a little harder, but still couldn’t think of who she’d forgotten. Not an hour passed. She thought it had been more than two.

Red Faced

16:22 local

Worn out, Catherine gave up and returned to face Jane. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” Superbitch. “I really don’t know who I forgot.” Her head slumped forward. Almost in tears, she stood before the headmistress’s desk, assembled from hand carved cherrywood some ninety-seven years ago.

She did not acknowledge Catherine as she continued to click away at her computer. “Eyes up!” She waited to be obeyed. “You forgot at least one person, my dear.”

Catherine remained at attention, holding the journal, once more reviewing the names. “I don’t know. Really, I don’t.” How could she?

“Miss Jane will help the baby kitten, if she asks?”

Help me what? Better play along. “Help me? Oh, yes. Please, Miss Jane.” Was that too dramatic?

Laptop closed, her eyes lifted, meeting Catherine’s, Jane replied “Why, it’s you, love.” Jane’s face softened. “Silly kitten. You forgot to list your own name. Didn’t you, sweetie?”

“What?” Catherine’s neck stiffened and her brain became more confused. “I don’t get it?”

“Kitten knows what Miss Jane means. Did you enjoy your playtime in the Panty Parlor?” Jane stood, walked around to where Catherine was standing, took her left hand, and sniffed.

“Enjoy myself?” She asked if I liked it. Liked it? Liked what? “I didn’t do anything, Miss—”

“Silence!”  Jane paused. Steady, old girl. Taking in a deep breath, she tapped her iPhone’s display. Catherine heard a whirring sound and turned left to see. The portrait over the fireplace slowly traveled upward. Behind was a large flat-panel display. “Miss Jane has a little home video for kitten to watch.” Jane led her kitten closer for a better view of the big screen.

They stood side by side, not four feet from the display. Catherine watched as the video image flickered to life. The Panty Parlor appeared on the LCD.

“What the—” Fuck me! I’m going to be on YouTube—in a stupid pink baby dress and vinyl panties.

Tapping her iPhone, Jane fast-forwarded the video. “Remember now? Who is BP?”

“Oops. Sorry, Miss Jane.” Catherine giggled nervously. “Didn’t know I was like, you know, doing anything. Really!”

“Really?” Jane advanced the video to the climactic scene. “Right then. Can you answer Miss Jane or do you need the instant replay?” She fumbled with her iPhone. Bloody hell…

“Wait.” I’m so fucked! Catherine felt her face getting hot. It turned crimson. “Me! It’s me, that’s who, I forgot to—to write me.” Fuck, I thought she knew about BP.

“Yes, my sweet kitten. It was you. Perhaps you forgot?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t have done, that,” said Catherine, still red-faced.

“Done what, sweetie?” asked Jane as she stepped before young Katherine. I don’t believe it. She placed her left hand under the warm chin, tilting it up. “Look at Miss Jane, sweetie.” She waited for the pretender’s eyes to open. “What exactly did you do in the Panty Parlor?”

“That. You know.” Face burning, she shrugged. “You know!”

“No, sweetie. Miss Jane doesn’t know. Tell Miss Jane all about your BP.”

“BP?” Catherine’s face went red-hot. She feared she would burst into flames. Have to come clean. She sucked in then erupted. “I got my fucking rocks off! On that fucking love seat!” Slamming her eyes shut and fearing the worst, she tensed. “It must have been the leather.” She could feel the tears turning into steam as they poured down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt me, Miss Jane. I promise.” Upon feeling a tissue dabbing her flaming cheeks, one eye peeked. “Thanks.”

“Why did you say, BP?” asked Jane in her matter-of-fact, almost clinical voice, as she continued mopping up the mess-of-a-girl’s face.

“I don’t know.” Catherine sniffled, “I guess, I was like, upset and like, afraid that you were going to like, hit me with that.” Her eyes were pointed at the Enforcer, resting on the mantel.

“And that’s why you masturbated without permission?”

Permission? “Yeah. Yes, I guess,” stammered Catherine.

“Interesting.” Jane returned to her desk; she clicked something on her laptop and then looked at Catherine. “What rule did you break?”

“I, maybe…I lied, a little, Miss Jane.” Her face sagged in resignation.

“What else?”

Catherine didn’t answer. The pocket doors slid open behind her. She turned to see. Not her again.

“You called, Miss Jane?” said Giselle, sliding the doors closed.

Jane said, “Eyes forward,” and repeated, “What else?”

Catherine still didn’t answer.

Giselle rushed to her side and answered, “My baby kitten failed to ask permission to pleasure herself. Now, Mommy G shall be disciplined for her baby’s transgression.”

Trans—what the fuck? Catherine didn’t move. Her pulse quickened a notch as Giselle stepped to the mantel and lifted the Enforcer from its resting place. Without another word, Giselle returned and handed the Enforcer to Catherine.

“Me?” What the—Take it!

Giselle had already hiked her skirt exposing those pink cotton panties. Without any instruction from Jane, she reached behind and slipped her pink panties down, exposing a round, white bottom. Next, Giselle positioned herself for pain, leaning forward over the backrest of the very same chair Catherine had used. She placed her hands forward on the seat, gripping its front edge to steady herself. Giselle was now fully prepared and waiting to receive Catherine’s next spanking and maybe a dose of MK’s revenge.

“Ready, Miss Jane.” Catherine sounded too eager.

“Then discipline your mommy, kitten. Five should be sufficient. Don’t you agree, MK?”

I’m actually holding the fricken Enforcer. She stood there dumbfounded, but also fascinated. “What? Huh? Yeah. I mean, yes, Miss Jane. Five?” She looked up and nodded. “Yes, Miss Jane. That should do it. Shall I begin?”

Jane searched the girl’s dark eyes. She wasn’t yet sure. “Please. And, do make them count dear.”

Whack!…whack!…whack!…whack!…whack!

Catherine’s body sparked and tingled as Giselle’s creamy round ass glowed brighter, like a sunrise, as each of the five reminders of rule number one hit home. Holy shit! She actually let me do it. Maybe honesty is the best policy. Don’t look so happy. She tried to hide her glee as Catherine faced Jane. “Was that okay, Miss Jane?”

“Yes, dear—a lesson well learned,” said Jane, inspecting Giselle’s reddened bottom. “Off you two go.”

“Yes, Miss Jane, I think I just did.” You kinky wacko mother fucking Nazi Superbitch whoever you are.

“No, sweetie.” Giselle took the Enforcer and said, “Time to go potty with Mommy.”

“What?”

Jane addressed Giselle. “Miss Jane thinks you need to change your kitten. She’s wet.”

“Yes, Miss Jane; right away. Come with Mommy G, sweetie.” Giselle chuckled as she took Catherine by the hand and led her away. She took the Enforcer too—just in case.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs, to make you go potty and give you a baby bath.”

Payback’s a bitch.

The Payback Begins

The library, 17:15 local

Giselle popped her head through the doorway. “Baby Catherine is back in her crib, all safe and snug as a bug, Miss Jane. She still wouldn’t pee or poop. I brought the two DNA samples I got earlier to the lab. Oh, Sam’s back. She said it will take a while before she knows for sure what it is.”

Jane was seated at the restored desk; her new laptop opened, and her old fingers whacked away. “Thank you, sweetie. You have Miss Jane’s permission to go below and play with Maria until it’s time to help with dinner.”

“Oh goody! Thank you, Miss Jane. I promise I’ll be good this time.” Giselle entered the library, sliding the pocket door closed behind, turned left, and walked the few steps over to the bookcase built into the wall in the southwest corner. “Ready, Miss Jane.” Her voice filled with anticipation, she waited.

Jane tapped on Pete’s iPhone. The bookcase swung out from the wall. It concealed a secret elevator. Giselle quickly entered. “Remember sweetie, you promised Miss Jane.” The paneled elevator door slid closed and the bookcase swung back into place. She returned to her typing. Ten minutes passed while she completed her case notes. Jane saved her work and sent a copy to Miss Christi before shutting her laptop’s lid. She rose from the desk, then stepped out and across the foyer. Entering the Panty Parlor, she found Miss Christi, sitting at her desk, reviewing the preliminary drug report just e-mailed up from the lab.

“Well, Mum, did the pretender reveal anything to you?”

“No dear, nothing of any importance.”

“No mention of any girls? No one called Natasha?”

“Natasha? No, dear; just the boys on the list. Why do you ask?”

“Right! Never licked a single clit? Rubbish! An all-girl boarding school? Really, Mum?”

“Miss Sterling!”

Jane didn’t respond.

“Well, dear; we received the preliminary background checks. Two are gay, and the other has been away in Europe with his parents since March.”

“Sorry, Mum. But, if she’s not of our like—I’ll eat Jack’s arse.”

“Be careful, Miss Jane. Lady Jacqueline just might hold you to that.”

Jane didn’t respond.

“I received word from Peter, dear. The subject never showed at the Mayflower?”

“No, Mum. However, the evening wasn’t a total loss. As I said, I met a lovely young swan named Miss White. It seems we were booked for the same party.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes, I rather thought so too Mum. Peter informed me that Miss White has been involved with the subject.”

“Did she know your true purpose with the subject?”

“No, Mum; I think not. I’m taking the jet to New York this evening. I—Miss Jane promised KK. I think we’re close to the end game on the Krump matter.”

“Very well, dear; I appreciate you fitting this personal matter in. But don’t forget; Peter rescheduled the subject for tomorrow; breakfast at nine. He’s most upset that you missed your assignment last evening. Believes you owe him.”

“Does he? Just as well,” said Jane coldly, admiring the portrait over the glowing fireplace. “One must always pay their debts.” The cold gripped her. Winter in East Berlin gripped her in the fog… Boris was still alive. KK… Natasha… Katrina’s kid… Pete? She was lost in the soup—the fog that cloaked her past. Bloody hell. What was Pete’s connection to this?

“You sure you’re up to this, dear?” asked Miss Christi, rising from her desk. She moved to join Jane, staring through the portrait of, Sir Katherine. Standing but one step removed, she could see that Miss Jane was an ocean away. “Mistress Sterling! Are you still with me?”

Jane Sterling didn’t answer. She wasn’t in the room. The Kat was. Katrina stared into the portrait of her past a minute longer before leaving. Jane stepped out from Katrina’s fog and saw Miss Christi. “Always, Mum. I don’t fancy us using KK to get to her father.”

“It has to be done, my dear. What do you think of our new kitten, Miss Katherine?”

“Right.” The pretender. “Remarkable resemblance. I’m not yet convinced it’s truly her.” Jane paused to check, Natasha’s iPhone, then took a step back and said, “I don’t bloody like it, Mum. We weren’t scheduled to be back online until September. Our systems are not 100 percent. And, I still have the Krump bugger to deal with. At least Sam’s lab is up and sorted. Any word on what’s in her system?”

“Not yet, dear. It seems to have her hormones working overtime. Hopefully, we got her here in time and there won’t be any permanent brain damage. I saw you have Danielle going over her laptop and phone?”

“Yes, Mum. Let’s hope. The tech? Unfortunately, Danielle—Miss Write doesn’t expect that she’ll crack the laptop until tomorrow at the earliest. Both have those bloody level five (NSA) encryption safeguards installed. As yet, she’s been unable to penetrate the mobile for fear it will shred itself.”

“Oh dear. Well, I’m confident we’ll make sufficient progress without them. I sense she wants to come out and tell us who gave them to her.”

“Right. The boots. Do you think she’s ready to listen? If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be a bloody tough nut to crack.”

“I should think a few days in the crib should soften our kitten up nicely.”

“Right, Mum. Wish I could be here to see that. She’s a feisty one.”

“Yes, dear, just like her mother, at that age.” Miss Christi looked to the portrait.

“Really, Mum? You must tell us about that one day.”

“I will, dear. She’ll be more at ease by next week. We’ll wait till Monday to begin. Perhaps a game of Chessex will be in order for your return next Friday. I’m planning a prime rib for dinner. Consider it the official welcoming celebration of Katherine’s return to us, Mistress Sterling.”

“Sounds brilliant!  Right, Papa won’t keep us from that. Be back by low tea then. If you need me before, just give a ring to the mobile. But please, don’t ring tonight!” Thoughts of New York filled her head. “Unless of course, the pretender tells you how she got those bloody boots.”

A gentle knocking was heard at the foyer doorway. It was the house girl, Maria, standing in the open doorway.

“Yes, dear?”

“Sorry to interrupt, Mum. Tea is ready.” Maria entered with the tea service, and set about preparing a cup for Miss Christi. “Oh, Miss Jane, Miss Giselle said you gave me to her.”

Jane turned to find, sweet Maria, bent at the waist in the sexed-up black satin French maid’s uniform. “Yes sweetie?” She patted Maria’s white silk bottom. “You grew so—”

“Oui!” Maria jumped, nearly spilling Miss Christi’s tea. “Your car has just entered the grounds, Miss Jane.”

“Oui. And thank you, sweetie. But only till dinner, love. And don’t let Nurse Giselle tell you otherwise.” Jane checked the window. “So it has.”

Maria bowed, making her exit a pleasure for Miss Jane.

“No worries, dear Jane. You’ll be the second to know.”

“Good day, Mum. Hope you enjoy the tea as much as I did. This GoodKnight must be off for me date with Satan’s sweet little bitch.”

“Jane, dear. Do promise you’ll be careful. And don’t forget your assignment in DC, tomorrow.”

“I shall indeed, Mum.” Bloody Pete. Jane had one last look at Sir Katherine’s portrait before leaving the safety of the Castle for the waiting black sedan.

Miss Christi sat on the sofa, sipping her tea, concerned. Why was Jane being deceptive regarding Natasha? As the black sedan disappeared down the drive, violating long established protocol, she placed a call to Catherine’s father.

“Hello dear. . . It’s Mom… Oh dear, isn’t this line secure?…Yes, I know. We shouldn’t… But, something is very wrong with our Kat. Did everything go as planned the other night?… Oh, I see… A bomb?… Oh, dear… No, dear, she left for New York.… Yes, dear, Kristin again. The boots?… No, we have them… Do you think she’s in any danger?… Wait and see! I’m not sure that we have that luxury, dear.” She paused for a much-needed sip of tea.

“Have you heard from, Papa-Six?… Oh, I see… I’m sorry to hear that…I’m sure she didn’t mean that… What’s that, dear?… The kitten? She’s napping…Yes, dear, like a baby. It’s for the best. Don’t worry, dear; we’re all taking real good care of her… I will, dear… She sends her love too… Oh, that? You were right ,dear; it was the perfume… Yes, the doctor has it… Not yet… Yes, I will, as soon as I know… No, dear, she appears to have no idea who our Kat really is… I love you too Dickey… Oh, sorry. I forgot. Good-bye, dear.”

Click.

Part III

Play Their Game

Promised I’d Return

The Waldorf, New York, Thursday, 28 May, 20:21 local

Half on the bed, one boot securely on the floor, she blew softly into KK’s ear. “Promised I’d return.” It was the same bed they had shared the night before. A kiss to the neck stirred her as much as the doll’s exposed bony shoulder. Wet… the scent, identical to Natasha’s.

“Wake up, my naughty girl.”

Roused from her slumber, KK was indeed the naughty girl. Mistress Sterling’s kept promise had her ready to pounce. What else could she do but, act the part.

“I see you’re still on Paris time. Did you eat for me?” She patted the bony bumps rousing the sheets.

“Hmmm.” KK cooed, “I must be dreaming.” Stretching all four paws, her back arched, like a cat waking from a refreshing sleep.

“That’s better.” She raised an open palm.

Whack!

“Ja!  Much.” KK dropped, turned, and pushed away the covers. “I have something to tell you.”  She sounded younger, much younger.

“I see.” It wasn’t the first time the GoodKnight took her eye off the ball to check out some pussy with a nice pair and, that bloody marvelous strap-on.

KK’s gaze followed Jane’s. “Not that!” She beamed. “Ja, okay, that too. Papa said you would like it?”

“Right. What then?” She bent and kissed the strawberry lips teasingly, offering only a hint of tongue.

KK couldn’t exhale. “I love you.” She let go a painful sigh. “Really, I do, you?”

“Miss Jane loves you too, sweetie.” Her tongue ventured deeper.

KK nearly bit it off then yelled, “Nein!” as both hands levered Jane’s shoulders. She pushed, preventing another kiss. “Nein, Jane!” KK’s head was shaking, nein. “You don’t understand!” Her tone turned somber. “I really love you, Jane, not the Miss Jane you! Oui, it is you, Jane. I’m in love with the real you, Just Jane.”

Just Jane’s smile faded. “Now KK,” A long pause followed. “You know what I am.” She looked away. Her words fell somber. “This can’t be. Just can’t, my sweet little princess.”

“I know, but, still… I— I can’t help it. I love you, Jane.” KK couldn’t hide her sadness. She shrugged then sighed. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

Jane’s head tilted. “What about Papa?”

KK pulled her lover’s hair clip. Flowing dark hair fell, shielding Jane’s face.

“Papa’s not going to like this.”

“I don’t care. Besides; I already told Papa.”

“What!” Jane paused. Her voice softened. “When, my dearest?” She brushed Jane’s hair away and with it, a tear. She took a tight hold of KK’s hands and faced her nemesis.

“After the GP.” KK kissed her love again.

“Sunday; last?”

“Oui, I rang when you were in the shower. Before dinner, remember?”

“Right. You spoke to your papa? What did he say?”

“Oui. He was most certain you’d be over me by Wednesday.”

“Well?”

“Well, what? You’re in New York, aren’t you?”

“Right.” She smiled and nestled beside Papa’s naked Barbie doll. “I see we’ve made you sad.” She began consoling KK’s disappointed nipples.

“I want you to move in with me. Papa will just have to get used to it.”

“And where is Papa?” She continued stimulating each nipple between thumb and middle finger.

“After he saw you; they—”

“Saw me? When?” Sharp nails dug into the right nipple.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, sweetie.” The interrogation moved left. “Where?”

“Ah. Ja, that’s better, oui.” KK’s gaze met, Katrina’s. “My love.” She grabbed the big black stallion between her legs and stroked it once. The doll knew the KAT’s weakness.

“The lobby?” Mistress Sterling held course.

“Ah. Ja, ja. Papa saw you, twice, in the lobby this morning.”

“Really? Why did he not approach me?” She reached for, the clit.

“Ah, Papa was surprised, oui, too…oui…see you. Ah, ja. He thought that you wouldn’t make it. Ouch! Stop that! I’m not one of your masochists!” KK grabbed at Jane’s evil hand but missed. Grasping the sheet, KK pulled it up in an effort to save her clit and cried out, “Please don’t hurt me?”

“Sorry, love.” The evil retreated. “He said that?” Recalibrated fingers now offered pleasure, stroking the golden midriff along the sheet’s edge.

“Ja,” answered KK, with some surprise. “Ah, oui…much better, my love. I told him. Oui. That ooh, oui, feels nice. I wasn’t going home. Told them I was staying here, with you. I’m never going home again!” She paused, taking in an extra deep breath before submitting to her lover’s next question. Attempted to quell her nerves, she guided Jane’s right hand down below the sheet. “Oh Miss Jane,” She lifted to meet probing fingers. “We can live on the Knotty Girl year ’round.”

“He left?” Both interrogation techniques were well honed. The GoodKnight pressed on.

“That tickles.” KK squirmed as she tried to fend off the KAT’s attack. Too late!

Mistress Sterling had Papa’s knotty doll by the clit.

“Don’t, Miss Jane! Please.”

“Left where, sweetie?” Neither Jane was in the mood for any more KK games.

“Yes, this morning. Papa rang the pilots. He ordered them to get the Big Blow Job ready. ‘Now!’ he yelled.  He wanted to leave immediately, and didn’t even have breakfast with us. I was so mad. Papa never has time for me anymore. Not since—” KK silenced herself.

“Where?” Jane’s fingernails urged compliance.

“London!” offered KK as she grabbed the GoodKnight’s skilled left hand, pleading, “Please. Don’t. I’m telling you—”

“Today?” Jane’s voice ticked up a notch. She paused to right herself. “Who was here, this morning?”

“Yes!” KK released Jane’s hand. “Papa was here, today, with Lady Jack-off and her new friend. Now they’re”—she lifted her head, checking the bedside clock—“in London, probably asleep at his flat by now. Miss Jane, I think he’s fucking her. Ja.” KK gently massaged Katrina’s wetness.

Jane purred, “Sweetie, where is your Gulfstream?”

“Oh, that?” KK sounded disappointed. “Papa made them fly it to Teterboro. Elsa and I had breakfast together with Elaine. She’s also my pilot now, you know. Papa insisted the captain fly back with him. Elsa’s a very capable woman, you know?” KK had plans of her own. “Ja. Why don’t we call her and go out to—”

“Ring her up. We’re leaving for London. Inform Elsa that Miss Jane will fly left seat.” She glanced at the clock, “Wheels up at,” doing a quick mental calculation, “zero-three-hundred this morning.”

“What?” Surprised, KK asked, “Not now?”

“No. Miss Jane needs some rest.”

“We can sleep on the plane. Can’t we stay here? I promised Elaine we’d take Vicky—”

“No, my sweet love. It’s time I met your papa. After all, should I not be facing him?” The rogue took hold of Papa’s German sex doll. “When I ask his permission for—”

KK pounced. “Oh, Miss Jane!” She was on her Jane like a hungry kitten. KK pressed the attack, mauling her prey playfully for several minutes. Releasing, she reached for the bed stand and her iPhone. “I shall text him.”

“KK!” Jane grabbed the evil device, “I think our only way is surprise. We wouldn’t want to scare our Papa away, would we, love?” She returned KK’s iPhone to the bed stand.

“Oh, Miss Jane, you’re so devious.” KK started giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Yes, she is. Now, be a good girl and put on some proper clothes. Would you like some supper?”

“It’s late,” pouted KK. “Let’s stay in tonight. I’m sure I can find something good to eat right here.”

“KK!” Jane got free just as KK pounced. “Don’t make Miss Jane rethink her proposal.”

“Okay!” KK handed over the hotel phone. “You make us a reservation. Ja—a romantic table.” She slid out of bed, casually picking up her iPhone and made for the bath.

After enjoying the view, the tired Cougar waited to hear the faucet run. Voice raised, Jane inquired, “See anymore of Elaine today?” Returning the hotel phone to its cradle, she reached for her bag. Quickly removing, Pete’s iPhone, she held it before her face. New safeguards required her to authenticate each time before it would send the encrypted texts.

Through the doorway came the answer. “Ja, I told you; we all met for breakfast. I visited with Miss Elaine until four. She was most impressed by my new designs. The new hypoallergenic fabrics are fabulous. No telling it from natural latex. Those outfits will make the perfect backdrop for Papa’s stupid party.”

“And, Jack?”

“I told you; breakfast. Then they left for London with Papa. I overheard her say something about Air France. An urgent meeting in London, tomorrow. I didn’t really pay it much attention. All that political stuff never interests me. I really don’t get what Papa sees in her.”

The Cougar thumbed quickly and sent:

Off to London / Air France? / Tomorrow? / Cancel 0900. Sorry mate.

She dropped the US-government-issued iPhone into her bag. Pete’s naughty senator from the great state of Maine could wait one bloody week more. Dame Jane Sterling was back on British time, doing the Queen’s dirty work. The toilet flushed. She reached for the room phone.

KK reappeared, dildo swinging, and holding two cocktail dresses. “Pink or hot pink?”

Jane sat on the bed. Room phone in hand, she glanced at the doll’s vinyl. Short or shorter. She pointed to the shortest one and purred.

Seeing her best opportunity, KK let go. The vinyl dropped, and so did the doll.

“Yes. For two, please.” Catching sight of trouble at her knees and approaching, “In, let’s say ten,” she attempted to hold the oversexed love doll at bay.

Undaunted, the doll went between Jane’s knees and lifted the leather. Red silk? Wet. KK had to act fast. The naughty girl went straight for the rogue’s left boot. In a blink, the stiletto sliced.

Bloody hell… “Best make that twenty, oui, minutes. Oui… Cheers.” Jane didn’t bother to hang the phone. “KK!  Ah…oui…oui…Please. Oui…Make it bloody quick, sweetie. Miss Jane is bloody starving.” Oui… So this is love?

KK popped up. “Me too!” Her words rang true. She was starving. All day, she’d hungered for another piece of her mistress, the KAT Katrina.

Dame Jane Sterling? She wanted that KAT to rest in peace.

KK’s your bloody problem. Nein. Oui…oui …

Settling In

Blachmann Castle

The baby kitten’s first few days at Blachmann passed in the darkened nursery, mostly in the crib, always with Miss Christi asking the same questions. “Who gave you the boots, my dear? Who gave you the perfume? What do you wish to tell me, my dear?” The kid wouldn’t spill, except to say FU when Mommy Whoever told her to do something.

She caught on quickly to what happened every time she hurled an F bomb. Giselle would take one whack for every fuck. Catherine thought it strange that Mommy G did so without complaint. She found it amusing, and secretly, more than a little arousing. She fretted away her alone time that first weekend twisting her pigtails and plotting her escape. That was, when she wasn’t fantasizing about her attractive bipolar jail keeper, Mommy G. Or was her name really Danielle?

First thing Friday, during exercise, with the cute bitch, she tried to run. She made it only three feet before Danielle yanked her to a sudden stop by her right pigtail.

“Ouch! Fuck you, bitch!”

Danielle’s handiwork had turned one of her best assets into a liability. After a brief review of the rules with Miss Christi, Catherine was returned to the crib for some additional reflection time. She spent the balance of Friday and the next two days locked in the darkened nursery.

Giselle, or was it Danielle?

They checked her every so often. The time between wakeup checks was varied, keeping the kitten disoriented. Sometimes one hour, sometimes three, but never more than six hours. Catherine never felt so alone. Her only comfort was the baby bottle full of warm creamy sweet milk they kept shoving in her hand. By the time of her fourth changing, she was nearing the breaking point.

Resigned to the one fact, Escape was hopeless, at least for now. She had no money, no way to contact BP. And, there was the insurmountable issue of attire. She didn’t want anyone outside the estate to see her that way. Not in the silly baby dress. No fucking way! She wasn’t even allowed a bra for morning exercise. Her boobs were aching something awful. My boots… Maybe, if I had my boots, I wouldn’t look so gay. She soon had a more pressing issue.

I’m wet.

There was that other small problem. Those strange feelings for, Mommy G, or, was she really Miss Danielle? Either way, Catherine didn’t understand the mind games they were playing.

Giselle, always so happy, so childish, so psycho… Danielle, always so serious, so matter of fact, so hot… First, she’s mommy-fucking-dearest-G, the lipstick lesbo. Next, she’s Danielle the tight-assed drill instructor bitch from hell. How could one person be so different? Mommy G couldn’t keep her hands off me and Dani… She plays hard to get. What gives?  They’re one wacko chick. Two, for the price of one? What the fuck! What does it matter? I got my own problems. Fuck; now I’m really wet.

Each time either one entered, the routine was the same. Drop the side rail, a quick wet check, and then an escort to the toilet in the master bath. “Pee in the cup!” Good thing it was only a few steps. With all that warm sweet creamy milk, she always had to pee in the cup. There was no way in hell she was going again in those vinyl training pants. She didn’t like being watched in the bathroom.

“It’s Miss Jane’s rule.”

“Yeah, well, fuck Miss Jane!” She filled the cup to the brim. “Here!” The anger at her mother helped her let go.

Each sample was immediately sent below for testing. The doctor had requested another poop sample. But so far, Baby wasn’t cooperating. That plan only had one flaw.

“No fucking way!”

“Maybe next time, baby.” Eventually, everyone poops. The mild laxative the doctor ordered added to her milk Saturday would ensure it. Danielle washed Catherine’s face with a cold washcloth. Then it was back to the nursery for a changing and a new dress. The padlock went, click. “Back in. Let’s go, baby! I don’t have all night.” Up went the chrome metal sidebar. Slam. “Happy dreams, baby.”

“’Night Mommy Who-ever-the-fuck-you-are.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Miss Danielle. You got that, baby!”

“Okay, Dani… I can’t sleep. Can you rub my back? Pweeezzesss.”

“Well, just a little.” Down went the side bar. “Push over.” Danielle climbed in. “How’s that?”

“Yeah…that’s it… that’s nice…lower…yeah…lower…yeah…between my—”

“Can’t.”

By Sunday morning, the baby in the crib knew not to buck their system. Every few hours, they repeated the process. Bath time included a warm bubble bath with, Mommy G, then on the toilet. Don’t flush, then off the toilet. Still nothing? Afterwards, she was helped into a clean pink satin baby dress and the padlock secured. Ready for story time with Miss Christi?

Danielle would brush all that hair then braid the pigtails while Miss Christi told one of her many fairytales. They were always the same. Who will save the beautiful princess, my dear? Too bad MK wasn’t ready to listen. Speaking of which: if Catherine didn’t go potty before bed she’d have to hold it, or else. Once in that crib for the night, she’d be alone until the next morning. She couldn’t stomach much more. Mommy! I want my— Oh shit!

Papa, We’re Back

Papa’s flat, London, Friday, 29 MAY, 15:42 local

KK parked Jane’s roll-away by the door and called out, “Papa, we’re back.” She ran from room to room, searching the seventh-floor luxury flat only to find it vacant. She returned to the sitting room to find Jane standing by Papa’s favorite chair. “But he promised he’d wait to meet you.”

She removed Jane’s black hijab. It was the same one she had on when they met in Dubai. KK had suggested she keep it. Just in case.  The door man never suspected. An Arab woman’s cover proved quite convenient. Papa’s flat was located in the heart of London’s Embassy district. The troublesome security cameras were everywhere.

“KK!  Did you play a trick on Miss Jane?” Hands on hips, her left eyebrow rose. “Well, young lady?”

“No!” KK hurriedly opened her purse, producing her mobile. She thumbed in a text as she continued, “Papa said he’d be in London until Monday. A meeting with Jack and—I know he’s fucking her!”

“Yes, sweetie. Air France, you said? What else do you remember?”

“Nothing, really. Maybe they went to her papa’s estate in Oxfordshire.” KK’s green eyes stayed glued to her iPhone’s display. “She saw me come out of the loo and stopped talking. He was still in the bedroom. I never saw him.” She took her eyes away to look to Jane and said, “That’s all I know. Ja. I would tell you if I could. Ja.”

“Right!” Jane was unconvinced. Noticing the monsoon forming in KK’s eyes, she put her hand in KK’s, who was still clutching her mobile. “Where would you like to go to celebrate our engagement?” Feeling the vibration, she let go.

KK consulted her oracle. Had to go to—“Paris! Ja, I want to visit the Eiffel. Take me to the top. We shall proclaim our never-ending love for the entire world to see.”

“KK, I’m very tired; the flight over.” Jane collapsed into the recliner, Papa’s recliner, comfy. “You should have let me sleep.” Truth was no one could sleep. Not on that plane. Every time Elsa went aft to tend to Papa’s little princess, she envisioned them as in the video.

4 hours earlier: The pink jet had just crossed the midpoint over the North Atlantic. Elsa had left the flight deck almost an hour before to attend to their passenger. She radioed their position to “Shanwick Radio” over the HF. Shanwick verified their ACARS (Aircraft Communications Addressing and Reporting System) data link switch over from Gander to Prestwick Oceanic. All was completed glitch-free. The ACARS coupled with the Gulfstream’s highly automated control and navigation systems relegated the flight crew to watchdogs during the cruise phase of an oceanic flight. With that completed, Jane Sterling grew restless.

Miss Jane was bloody tempted to go back and get to the bottom of all this Papa nonsense right then. Always the professional, the Cougar would leave that temptation for another time. Most definitely.

Elsa… Bloody hell… That bloody video… Elsa with KK, Catwoman and… my beautiful white swan, Natasha. Was it a dream? Am I still on the jet? Did I fall asleep? Bloody hell I did. It’s some plan cooked up by Krump and his party boys. Boris? Was it Kat… Can’t be. But who else? Is she really alive? Pete would have—should have told him about Natasha. KK… Can’t be KK’s doing. Clever girl. Did she expect a threesome with Elsa at forty-five-thousand feet over the Atlantic?  Threesome… Oui… Natasha… Elsa… Foursome… Oui… Focus, Miss Jane. Right. Pete…  Was it a Black Swan, all by some unpredictable chance? Dubai? Why did she call out “Papa?” Who changed the bloody assignment? Maybe it was Kat… Boris… Did she bloody turn on me? She’s bloody dead. Maybe she was the Black Swan? Right; it was just the perfect coming together of unrelated events in space and time? Just like nine-eleven? Those bloody boots—eBay…

“Rubbish!”

Elsa stepped back in the cockpit. “KK asked that I spell you.” She retook the right seat, strapped on the jet, then her headset.

Jane removed the oxygen mask. “Did she? Let her bloody wait.”

They reviewed their position, now just past mid way over the North Atlantic. There was no turning back now.

No there wasn’t. Eying Elsa,  asked, “Enjoying your new position, love?”

Elsa took hold of the control yoke and keyed her mike. “Yes, Mistress Sterling. I’ve long wondered if ever I’d have a chance to experience you in action.”

“Right then.” The rogue wondered too. Bloody hell! She released Jane’s belts. Turbulence—Mother Nature overruled. The moderate chop forced her back down. “Elsa, best inform the little princess to strap herself in as well.” Jane pulled Katrina’s restraints tight. That was that. The rough air and Pete dogged their ass all the way until they started the descent into Gatwick. Maybe next time, Miss Jane.

Elsa was surely disappointed.

Kat—Boris… It didn’t fit. Neither Jane had ever accepted Pete’s Black Swan theory. No! Shit happens only because someone intends it to happen. Sir Katherine taught her that truth. Boris, she proved it. So far, she hadn’t seen anything that changed her thinking. In her twenty years as a pro, Jane Sterling had seen plenty. It wasn’t enough. She needed to see her past life, the whole naked and bloody truth. The fog; Dame Jane had to search Katrina’s fog. She tried. Still, she couldn’t find her face in the fog. Disassociation and denial were keeping them apart.

Natasha, Katrina’s little Natasha doll was gone, dead. Boris is dead. “They’re all dead, Jane.” No, wait—maybe it was KK. Was Katrina in love with Papa’s doll?

Dame Jane would never admit to that, not to the real Jane. Not to Katrina. No KAT could ever be permitted to—not that. Love was forbidden. Simon said, “She’s only a doll, a cheap vinyl doll. A toy. Toys are for kids. You’re not a kid anymore. You are a Stiletto now.” He pulled. My Natasha doll! Her arm… “Papa! Stop him!” The monster broke her arm. Yes, Katrina, and the monster will cut your rubber doll’s real arm off too, if you don’t do as Simon says. Simon says, “Katrina’s tiger must kill—Papa!”

“Wake up!” KK was shaking, “Jane! You’re talking in your sleep again.”

“What’s that? Oh; must have—” Jane Sterling the Cougar was back, in Papa’s recliner. Good thing she still had her baby dragon strapped against her thigh. She felt secure knowing that at least one of her weapons wouldn’t discharge accidently. She reached for the remote.

“Don’t!” KK had straddled her Papa’s plush leather recliner. “Please tell me you’re not getting old on me already?” She tried to steal the TV remote from Jane’s hand. “Don’t tell me you want to stay in and watch the telly! What is it you like? That American football?”

“NFL? Bloody right! I might have me a pint or two.” Right, the flat. “Not to worry, love. The season doesn’t start until September. That’s when Miss Jane will be sitting on her old fat arse, front of the telly; but only on Sunday evenings. The Knotty Girl receives the DirecTV Sunday Ticket?”

“It will now!” KK leaned forward pulling the release lever. “That’s better.” For once, she did the topping. She took full advantage, sliding her pelvis over the lumpy dragon. “There’s no reason to stay in tonight; is there?” KK lowered herself, kissing waiting lips. Something didn’t feel right. She made a retreat to a more familiar position. “My treat!”

Dame Jane wasn’t that hungry either. She pulled KK back up and into her arms. “A remarkable logic you possess, my dear.” Kissed the two watery cheeks, and said, “Let Miss Jane go. The loo. I need a change too.” She pointed to the parked roll-away. “Will leather do?”

“Nein. Something water-repellent. It’s raining in Paris. Sexy too! Please. I want to show you off to Petra.”

“Right.” She suspected KK was up to no good. “Petra?”

“Yes I told you. My newest Hushgirl; remember? Papa insists that I entertain her this weekend. Her mama is coming to visit. She lives in Brazil. Her grandfather was a real Nazi general. Ja. Petra ran away at fifteen. She hasn’t seen her mama in three years. Tell you about it over dinner. Where shall we go?”

“Think I’ll surprise you. Mind if I pop in Papa’s room and freshen up?”

“Ja, me too. I know just the outfit! Papa won’t mind. It’s at the end.” KK pointed down the short hallway. “Watch out for used condoms and don’t forget to leave the seat up.” She giggled. “Men are so lazy.”

“Dress appropriate,” warned Jane as she wiggled her left index finger at KK’s crotch. “Remember love, we’ll be in public. I want that fanny covered. Understand? Don’t need us all over the bloody Internet tomorrow.” Bad for business.

Paris: always crawling with paparazzi. KK loved teasing them with fanny shots. Jane couldn’t afford any more publicity. Paris, why did it have to be Paris? Boris… I promised her I’d never—

“Oh, Miss Jane,” KK huffed. “You’re such a prude. Besides, it’s Paris. No one bloody cares.” She took hold of Jane’s bossy finger, pulling it to her waiting lips but stopped. “Oh ja, I almost forgot. No latex. Petra is allergic.” KK shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I trust PVC and leather are acceptable?”

“Yes, yes, very. Actually, all PVC is best. Petra told me she recently joined PETA.” KK leaned in and whispered, “Besides, she has our fetish for shiny things.”

“Smashing. It’s no wonder you want her. It’s raining, you say?”

“Ja. But, when I texted Papa, he said it was supposed to clear.

“Very good then. Where shall we dine, my love?”

“That’s for me to know.” KK sprang and raced off to her bedroom.

“And no before dinner sex this time. We have a train to catch.” Jane followed closely. Papa’s bedroom was at the end of the short hallway.

“Train?” KK stopped, turned, and frowned. “I don’t like the Chunnel.”

“Yes, dear, but you really can’t expect your Elsa to work again this soon. I will protect you.”

“Ja, I guess. Okay. I’ll have her meet us tomorrow morning, in Paris. Oh, ja. Papa says he’s going to be there, on Monday.” She handed over the oracle. “See, I’m not making it up. He’s to meet Petra and her mama for dinner, at—”

“Le Train Bleu. Monday evening?”

“Ja. They’re scheduled to meet the lawyers, Tuesday. If she wants to sign; that is, unless…?”

“I’m sure we can persuade her. We’ll see them, together?”

“You really don’t mind helping?” KK took back her mobile.

“Mind? Not in the least, my love. I’m sure Petra is a sweetie.”

“Oui, oui. Actually, very sweet, Miss Jane. We shall spend a holiday together? Ja. Can you stay until Tuesday?”

“Till Tuesday? Yes, love. A holiday would be marvelous.” She closed the door to Papa’s bedroom. It quickly opened. “No peeking!” It closed. Click.

While KK got more plastic, Dame Jane got busy, searching Krump’s bedroom and bath. There, in the trash bin, she found just the thing she was looking for. With the intel secured, she checked in with Mum’s London contact, arranging an immediate handoff. Since Dubai, Mum’s old KAT wasn’t taking any chances.

Papa was close. The intel was still warm—ja, and wet…

Quickly Miss Jane

St Pancras Railway Station, London, 16:54 local

“Quickly, Miss Jane; we’ll miss our train!”

“You go on. I need—a paper.”

The Cougar picked up the nearest paper and handed the young woman behind the counter her bank card and a small sealed envelope. KK didn’t notice and continued toward their train. The clerk swiped her card. The screen flashed twice.

“Please confirm.”

Jane entered six digits into the keypad.

“Right. It’s a rush then?”

“Bloody right. Priority Ultra.”

“Ultra? I’ll take it myself. You have a message. The clerk read from the display, “No joy Air France.”

“Thanks, mate.” Katrina took back Jane’s Smith’s card and turned. That little bitch. She’s already on the platform and drawing a crowd.

The clerk yelled over to a young Pakistani-looking man restocking the shelves, “Hey Mick, got to go. Mum’s sick.” She left in a hurry, taking the small red envelope.

It contained the bugger’s condom. Katrina found it while searching the lavatory in Krump’s flat. It was wet with still warm semen when she removed it from the trash bin. With any luck, they’d get two sets of DNA. She expected the test results would confirm her suspicions. We’ll soon know who’s fucking who.

“KK!” She quickened her pace. “Wait!”

“You said not to miss the train. Why’d you buy that bloody paper? Bored of me already?”

She looked at KK in her clear PVC trench coat, then at the paper. Katrina smiled. “Not yet love.” She tossed the paper in the bin—“Shall we, my love?”—and offered Jane’s arm. She’s all yours, Jane darling. “By the way, you’re a sight in that micro thing you’re barely wearing. Was the rain gear really necessary? I should think that vinyl dress would satisfy you.”

KK took a firm hold on. “You told me to cover my fanny! Remember? So you do like the dress? Elaine’s latest. It comes with matching panties.”

“Yes dear, very much.” They noticed their audience. “Please do keep those legs together on the train.” They were already attracting a crowd. “So you are wearing the knickers?”

“Oh, Jane, you sound just like Miss Christi.” KK proved it. “See!”

“Right!” Katrina turned away, shielding Jane’s face as the cell phones and cameras flashed. Bloody hell, I do. Her head shook. If Pete could see me now. She looked at KK, smiled, and held out her hand. “Let’s go, dear. Train’s leaving.” Another camera flashed, this time in her face. He probably will. Ja. We should have stayed cloaked in that bloody silk.

The Eiffel Reunion

The Eiffel Tower, Paris, France, 22:47 local

“Dinner was splendid,” said an overly visibly joyful KK as the lift came to a halt at the top.

“Yes, love, but how would you know?”

Since their chance meeting last December, KK had dropped ten pounds. Jane had picked up every one and five more.

“You owe me a steak.”

“But Petra will like your fishy breath.”

“Smashing… Where is she?” Katrina didn’t like either’s fishy breath. She reached in Jane’s bag for, my Trident White. She’d packed it and her special lipstick, just in case Papa showed. She popped a piece into Jane’s fishy mouth. “That’s better.”

The rain tapered to a sprinkle as they stepped out on the observation platform. KK clutched the railing. She wasn’t afraid but excited as she peered out at the lights of Paris. “It’s so beautiful, look, Miss Jane. Look!” KK couldn’t hold herself still. She bounced and tugged on the end of Jane’s arm. “Don’t you just love it up here?”

“Yes, love, so beautiful.” Katrina looked around, but didn’t see. “Your Petra; she is coming?” asked the preoccupied KAT. Feeling a chill, she fought through her fog. Boris with my doll… They were gone. “Natasha, wait!” She held the girl by the arm. “No, I can’t.”

KK tugged free. “Jane, darling? What is it?”

Paris was back in view. Paris. I hate bloody Paris. “How long do you plan to keep me hostage up here?”

“Until you promise to never leave me, ever again.”

“Can’t. You know that I—” She vaguely recalled once having a similar argument with Boris in this very same spot, ten years ago.

“But Jane, you promised?”

“What? No whining. You need to accept it.” I had; why can’t Boris?

“But I thought that once we are married, we—”

“Married! Bloody hell!” Katrina’s gum shot out, straight into KK’s open mouth. “She didn’t promise you that?” Did I?

KK turned away. “But I told Papa.” She turned back. “May I keep it?” She displayed the gum.

“What?  Nein. I hate bloody fish.” She paused, guiding KK’s hand back to her mouth. “Bloody well!  Here. There, there.” She gently wiped away the tears as KK chewed. “Can you be a big girl for Miss Jane?” She kissed her burning cheeks. “Stop that crying, young lady.”

Jane shrugged her shoulders. “I too wish it were different. I do.”

“You do?”

Jane turned and grabbed the railing. She looked out across, the city of light. “Yes. Damn it. But it’s not.” It was the city of love lost. After all, ten years was—Boris… How? They’re dead. I saw it. Pete said… He’s a bloody liar. Ja, don’t trust him baby. Not until—

“Please. I’ll do anything, anything for you.” KK turned away and looked over the railing, straight down. “I’d jump if you told me to.” She pulled herself up and climbed onto the rain-slickened railing. “Really, I shall.” Her designer heels dangled from her little feet as she struggled to climb.

Miss Jane was amused. “It looks to me like they planned ahead. Too many sad little love birds like you.” She chuckled as she eyed the anti-suicide fencing that enclosed the platform. “This cage looks bloody strong enough.”

Mistress Sterling also checked their security. “Yes, plenty strong enough to keep love birds like you, my sweet lovesick little princess, from flying off.” She took hold of the Stiletto’s doll.

“Don’t!” KK slipped off the railing and pushed her lover away. She stomped her feet then kicked off her heels. She stood there, head down, arms crossed, at war with her true self. Her tone sharpened. “You know I don’t like being called that.” KK sulked for a few more moments, then thought better and stooped to refit her fallen stiletto.

Maybe it was the altitude? Maybe? Jane dropped her guard and denial long enough to allow their minds to meet. The doll’s foot.

“Let me.” Jane took the five-inch stiletto from the vinyl doll’s fragile hand. “Why, my darling, was not your great, great grandfather the Grand Duke from the House of Krump and Old Saxony’s last true Sovereign? It is I, Dame Jane Sterling, the GoodKnight of Katrina Blachmann that must bow before you, my most beautiful lady and precious little princess.”

“Well, I suppose.” The Countess wrapped two trembling hands behind Jane’s neck to steady herself. “But I don’t want to be your little princess anymore. I want to be your wife and have your babies!” KK’s heart fluttered as her GoodKnight slipped the shoe back on. The Stiletto’s doll was living out her own fairytale. “Or, at the very least, keep trying, every night and day to make me pregnant.”

“I’m sure your papa wouldn’t like hearing you say such things. How will he let you take over the family empire?” The GoodKnight slipped on the other stiletto. “Not married to this old British rogue, he won’t.”

British? KK stomped her heels. “Fuck Papa! Fuck them all!”

“KK!” Her kill hand barely escaped impalement. Jane looked up, revealing a most unpleasant scowl.

“I’m sorry, but—” On went the Krump waterworks. “I never see him anymore. Always too busy building his stupid empire! Krump this! Krump that! Fuck him! I hate him! Let him be the fucking princess! The whole flight over to New York, I never saw him! Not once! On the same plane, never saw him. Not once! Can you believe that? Ja. They stayed locked in their stateroom the whole flight, him and her. Ever since Papa met her, I never see him. Told me he had the swine flu. Bullshit! Said he didn’t want to risk me getting it from him. Bullshit! He even had a separate car take me to the hotel. Can you believe that?”

“No.”

“I wanted to introduce you last night, at the Waldorf. Papa’s been acting so strange ever since—since that night in Dubai. Too busy, he says. Always too fucking busy! Always texting stupid orders. This time—it’s Petra. Doesn’t even call anymore to say hi or ask how I’m doing. Just sends me fucking texts. Ja. Fuck him!” KK hauled her arm back, preparing to throw her only link to Papa off the Eiffel.

Katrina sprang to her feet. “That’s quite enough, young lady!” Her powerful right hand clamped KK’s throwing wrist securely. “I think it’s past somebody’s bedtime.” She squeezed.

“Really?  Ouch! It hurts! It hurts!” KK felt the KAT’s grip soften. “Sorry, Miss Jane. It’s just that I want to tell him about us. I’m sure that once he meets you, he’ll understand.”

“Tell your papa…Mistress Sterling’s intentions are nothing but honorable. And, exactly how do you intend I should make you pregnant?” Katrina felt another buzz. “Papa?” She released her grip, freeing KK and Jane.

“No, not Papa. Want to go to the Chez Moune?” asked KK, reading the text.

“What? No!” said Jane, producing a tissue, wanting only to find a warm bed, not Paris’s oldest lesbian nightclub.

“But Petra is waiting below with Karla. She wants to hook up for the weekend. Please, Miss Jane? You promised.”

“KK!” Jane took hold of the mobile; almost eleven. “Don’t you ever get tired?” Katrina already knew the answer.

“Not when I’m with you, my love.” KK was her sweet-little-girl self again. “Besides, I slept on the plane. How come you hit so many bumps?”

“Right. Well then, what are we still doing up here?” She pointed to the lift. “Brilliant, love. Shall we go down and meet your Petra?”

“Smashing, Miss Jane, I’ll text her.” KK left her tears by the railing. They stepped into the lift. “Should I see if she can bring a friend?”

“No!” She whacked KK’s shiny bottom.

KK giggled. She loved public displays of her Jane’s affection. So didn’t some random guy that recorded the whole scene on his new NSA-issued iPhone.

Bloody hell! Sorry, Pete.

“Hey, girlfriend.” All five-ten of Petra stretched out on the BMW’s front fender. Upon seeing “Miss Jane,” she came to full attention in her edgy red leather mini dress with matching purse, and knee high boots with four-inch stilettos. All appeared to be made of crocodile hide.

Miss Jane took hold and growled, “Joined bloody PETA, did she?” Out bloody smarted again. I hate bloody fish. “KK!”

They all piled into the white BMW stretch.

Something Stinks

The nursery, Sunday, 31 May, 22:50 local

It was late evening when Baby Catherine found out what Or else meant.

Click…click…click.

Something stinks. As soon as Giselle entered she knew. “Someone has poopies?”

“No shit.” Someone needed more than a changing. Catherine had experienced a major blow-out. Intel oozed out from her vinyl panties. She truly was in a world of shit.

“Let’s go, sweetie.” Down went the side rail. “In the shower. Mommy will take it off.”

“Shower?” That was the best news she’d heard since stepping out of the Rolls. So embarrassed by her mess, she hadn’t noticed, Mommy G, pulling on the purple examination gloves.

“Yes, sweetie. I’ll take care of your—”

“Don’t say it! Please.”

Once inside the spacious glass and pink marble shower, she waited as Mommy undid the mini padlock, then pulled the zipper and helped her big baby out of the soiled dress. Catherine began sobbing uncontrollably as she pulled her brown cotton underwear down.

“Drop those in here too.” Giselle held the red plastic bag out. The international Biohazard symbol and below it, Medical Waste was printed in bold black ink. With the hazard safely contained, she turned on the shower. “Here, sweetie; use this on your pee-pee.” She handed Catherine the shower wand, then a small mirror. Giselle stepped back with the bag full. “It’s okay. See? It washes off.” As much as she wanted to stay and play, Mommy G couldn’t let herself get wet. Not yet anyway. “How about if Mommy runs us a warm bath, for afterward?”

Us… “Okay.”

“You finish up while Mommy changes the crib and takes this to the laundry. And take your time sweetie. Wash all that yucky poop off real good for Mommy. Don’t want our pretty baby getting an infection. Stay in here until Mommy get’s back. Promise?” Giselle adjusted the shower setting warmer then stepped out.

“I promise, Mommy. I know when I’m licked.” Or, about to be.

“Um, don’t forget your hair, or Mommy will have to cut it all off. Sorry. Be right back sweetie.” She took her smelly bag of intel and rushed to the lab before it was too late.

Catherine quickly undid the pigtails and lathered up. She waited a good five minutes before poking her soapy head out the shower door. No one… She pulled the door tight then turned on the steamer. Minutes later, a heavy steamy mist had filled the shower, fogging over the beautifully etched glass. The mist was like her blanket, both warming and concealing. She adjusted the nozzle to increase the pressure and aimed the wand lower. She sat on the marble bench and checked with the small mirror to be sure she’d gotten it all. Look at you.

Satisfied, Catherine settled back, bracing against the pink marble. It was time to purify the soul. She lifted her left leg, placing it on the stone bench. The stream of pulsing hot water pelted her swelling clit. She couldn’t take it at first, pulling the wand away and then back, closer, until the pressure was again too great. The procedure was repeated. Her clit grew thick with passion. She accepted the magic wand’s therapeutic pulsations and held it there taking its full force. Catherine’s pulse quickened. Her chest heaved. “Fuck yeah…that’s it… don’t stop…BP…Yeah, that’s it…Suck it! You…bitch!” His enraged cock throbbed as it grew larger and larger.

All too soon it was over. She opened her eyes. Her BP was gone and so was he. She touched herself. She was soaked with his climax. Catherine adjusted the magic wand to a calming spray pattern. She stood, returning the wand to its sturdy mount. My hair! A brief panic hit as she rinsed her hair again and again. She was waiting, hoping that her still enormous clit would go away, please, before Mommy G. Shit! She’s back.

Barely another minute passed when the shower door cracked open. Her clit nearly concealed, she twisted to see. No one was there. Fuck. That was close. She turned, still enjoying the warm water raining over her breasts. A moment later, she heard a voice.

“Always the pretty ones. Well, baby! Are you coming out or not?” Mommy G had lost her happy voice. And that wasn’t all she’d lost.

“What the—” said Catherine, stepping from the shower to find, whatthefuck standing by the tub, her hair gone, disrobing. Bald, totally fucking bald! There was significant scarring across much of her bald head, as if she had been scalped. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Don’t ask. You don’t need to know.” She shook her bald head and muttered. “It’s my fault. I should have been ready. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

Catherine could only stare. “Huh? Sorry.” Absolutely no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. MK’s eyes darted lower. No pubes, no nubs, no nothing. Yeah—Mommy was as bare as a newborn, baby. “What the—is wrong with you?”

Mommy G barked, “What? Never saw a girl without her hair and makeup before?”

“Sorry. What happened to you?”

“Tub’s plenty big for two.” Stepping in, Mommy G ignored her ears, letting her eyes follow the drips sliding from Catherine’s wet mop. “Looks like we’re past the shyness stage.” She settled into the tub. “Ah, perfect. Hope you like bubbles. I’ll blow you after.”

“What? Yeah.” You know that? Catherine followed, putting her hair up, sitting opposite Dani? She studied her features. “She is you?” Scar tissue covered her head instead of the Mommy G cutie blond wig. The rest was covered in bubbles. Kinda hot … “I mean, you are her, right?” She’s staring at you. Suddenly, MK feared she too would become, totally fucking bald!

Never seen a girl without her hair and makeup before? How lame was that. She’s totally freaked. I fricken blew it! Mommy couldn’t take her eyes off Catherine’s hair, that gorgeous wet head full of hair. “I’d kill to have your hair, baby.” Her stare was menacing. “Hey, baby—what’s wrong?” She reached out.

That did it. Those eyes. Yeah, but that threat, on top of her messy incident, proved Catherine’s breaking point. “Not my hair. Please.” Tears poured, filling the tub faster than any faucet could. “Please don’t! Not my hair.” She reached up, covering her head. “Please don’t! I’ll do anything! Mommy! I want my mommy. My real mommy. Please.”

“Geesssh, relax baby. I didn’t mean that.” Mommy? She feared they might both go under. She had to do something, fast. At the very least, the tub was certain to overflow. Miss Jane won’t like that. She started to sing, “Hush little baby, don’t you cry,” as she teased with Catherine’s legs and feet. She sang the whole song, and tickled the kitten’s toes too. It worked. Thirty minutes would pass by the time the bald beauty rose from beneath the bubbles and reached for a towel.

“Thanks. My mom always sang me that song.” Catherine’s sobbing had abated. She stepped out of the tub into the large fluffy white bath towel Mommy D was holding open. “Does my real mommy know what’s going on here?” She wiped her still drippy nose in the towel.

“I think so. Can I blow you now?”

“What?”

“Your hair, babe. I’d so love to blow it dry.” Danielle picked up the hair dryer and brush. “Come sit.” She tapped on the chair. She took her time blowing out each handful of Catherine’s virgin waist length hair. “There, that’s better.”

“Hey, you’re pretty good. Thanks for the blow job.”

“It was my pleasure, baby.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Come on. Let’s get you ready for bed.” She paused. “Almost forgot the powder!”

“Thanks, Mommy D.”

“Here, babe, I found this in my closet.” She helped the broken baby into a new baby dress. This one was blue, a powdery baby-blue.

“What happened? Run out of pink?” She was sick of wearing pink. Pink is for little girls.

Her new mommy didn’t answer, only smiled, slyly handing over a new pair of vinyl panties, also blue, and without all the ruffles.

Without any protest, Catherine pulled them on. “Thank God for these,” managing an honest laugh for the first time since being delivered.

“Can’t argue with that, babe.” With a chuckle, Mommy D fitted a new vinyl mattress cover. Nothing had leaked through. The telltale odor had dissipated. She added a new baby blanket and pillow before announcing, “Crib time. Sorry, we don’t have any blue baby blankets.”

Although only her fourth night in the nursery, Catherine perceived she’d been there at least a week, maybe two. More confused than ever, the situation seemed hopeless. The beautiful broken baby doll climbed into the crib and took the new mommy’s hand. “Stay with me.”

“Can’t.” Danielle reached to raise the side bar.

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry! I want to go home. Please, Mommy?”

Those sad eyes started leaking again. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She had given up. Then, Mommy crawled into the crib and held her. Catherine’s tears gave way to thoughts—thoughts of MK and, Mommy—

“I have to go, babe. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Wait.” Catherine wondered why Mommy hadn’t kissed her good-night yet. As her lips waited, MK surrendered, taking pleasure from the warm skilled hands that braided her hair back into pigtails.  MK wanted Dani to stay too. “Please, Mommy D. Kiss me.”

“I can’t.” She wanted to. “Okay; just one.” It was more of a peck than a kiss. Danielle quickly raised the side bar. “Don’t worry Kat. Your real mom still loves you.” Stepping back, she paused at the doorway and shut the lights. “Tomorrow is a new day. So get some sleep, baby. Night-nights, kitten.” Her bald babysitter chuckled as she left.

Alone again. Safely tucked away in her electrified crib, she couldn’t believe it. She kissed me. Dani kissed me for the first time. For real, I think.

Elsewhere that night, high above the Atlantic, others would not be so fortunate.

The Doctor Is In

The lab, 23:10 local

“Hi, Sam.” Giselle entered the lab carrying the red plastic garbage bag labeled Medical Waste. “Here’s that poop sample you wanted. Hey, that’s cool. What’s it doing?”

“Thanks, G. Yeah, it’s my new toy, fully automated. I’m running another DNA profile for Uncle Pete. Hey, you want to see what cum and poop looks like under the electron microscope?”

Giselle made a yucky face. “Maybe tomorrow.” She dropped the bag and pointed at the vial on the lab bench. “So this is the really bad shit?”

“You got that right, G. Turns you into a walking talking sex machine.” Samantha held up the small vial labeled L699-XX. “It makes Ecstasy feel like a Tic-Tac. And that’s when they get to dosing right on the money. Which in the baby’s case, they didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, that’s why she’s been so whacked. This shit has to be formulated specifically for each recipient. Krump’s love potion here can’t be mass-marketed like Ecstasy. If the dosage isn’t perfect—” Samantha made the same yucky face. “It turns your brain into Swiss cheese. We don’t use this stuff anymore. Well, except, you know; when there’s no other way.”

“Wonder who it was really meant for?” Giselle took hold of the vial.

“Judging by its high potency, I’d say someone older and much heavier. I’m still developing the last few genetic markers. But without a known DNA sample to compare it to, it doesn’t do me much good.”

“Wonder how my baby got it? Who would do that to my baby?”

“What?” Samantha thought Giselle sounded a little too weird. “That’s for Miss Christi and Miss Jane to get out of her.” After all, she knew full well what Mommy G was capable of.

“Hey, Sam, what’s that thing do?”

Samantha turned to see what she was pointing at. “That thing?”

“Yeah, that thingy?” Giselle made her move for the vial of Wet.

“That’s my new PCR sequencer.” The doctor turned back. “Hey, G, did you take your medicine today?”

“Yeah, it’s helping. How long before you know for sure if my baby’s all better?”

“I should have the results from this round of the gas chromatography-mass spectrometry testing by morning. Once I verify her excretion rate, I’ll be able to tailor a more precise counter dosage to help ease her withdrawal symptoms. I should have it done in time for lunch, tomorrow. The disassociation and hallucinations should already have diminished. We have to be precise. Otherwise, we run the risk of erasing her true memories along with all the false ones.”

“That’s so mean.”

“Sure was a lucky break you tried her perfume the other day. How you doing? Are your boobs still tender?”

“Yeah, a little. But it helps when I pump them, like you showed me. Glad you know what you’re doing with all this scientist stuff.” Giselle looked around the lab. It was filled with the latest in chemical and DNA analysis technology. A fully equipped medical trauma room had also been installed during the two-year overhaul. It was located just down the passageway from the interrogation center. Its official castle name was the Chamber of Dark Passions. Samantha called it the whine cellar. Every castle needed a dungeon.

“Hey, G, it’s still raining.”

“Yeah, it’s really coming down. ’Bye Sam; got to go. I left the tub running. Have fun with all your whatchamacallits.”

Giselle raced off and back into the private salon to find Miss Christi waiting, ready to intercept her. The doors leading to the master suite and the nursery were closed and bolted. Her watch had ended at 23:00 hours. She wasn’t due on again until 06:30 tomorrow.

“Great. I do the dirty work, and Dan gets the rewards.”

“Come sit with me, sweet child.”

“I never have any fun!”

“Oh, my dear, we both know that’s not entirely true. Doesn’t Nurse Giselle remember playing with Maria?”

Giselle gave a bashful smile. “Well, maybe a little.” She joined Miss Christi in a game of chess while they waited for Danielle to complete her training assignment.

“It’s your move ,dear.”

“Oh, yeah, checkmate! Dan had better be good to my baby.”

“I’m sure she’s taking very good care of our baby, dear.”

“Our?”

“Yes, dear. Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll find you a nice new baby very soon.”

“Goody!”

“Come, dear; why don’t we sleep in the Tower Keep tonight?”

“Really?  Okay, but Dan owes me.”

“Yes, dear. Come now; let’s go see what fun we can have.”

Do They Know

Catherine’s Crib, Monday, 1 June, 03:17 local

Blachmann’s newest kitten, Catherine Black, lay awake in total darkness, surrounded by the bars and denial. Do they know? Each night she cried herself into a restless sleep wondering why her parents sent her to this place. Why is my mom doing this to me? Tonight was different. She needed to find sleep. The shower and that bath helped to calm but it did not last. She wiped her runny nose in her pink blanket. How can I tell her? As the night wore on, it all became too much. Catherine lost it.

It was a despair she’d never known before. The pain of withdrawal was intense. She felt weak. The icy armor surrounding her heart had shattered. For more than four hours, she bled tears of true despair, soaking her little satin pillow. She couldn’t sleep. Her heart ached like never before. Her head ached like never before. She tried to make sense of it all. She couldn’t stop shaking. She felt so cold. She rolled over on her side and curled up, pulling the too-small blanket tight.

She reflected on what mattered most. Why is she doing this to me? It’s the boots, you stupid fuck, my boots. Everyone wants to know about my boots. Who gave me the boots? I don’t know. Just that they were on the steps—Christmas day. Maybe Santa brought them? Hah. They were in a long box, on the doorstep. With love, MK. Who’s MK? Was she that Arab chick I saw across the street? The old German ID; inside the right boot? Was she my real mom? She looked just like me. Katrina GoodKnight Blachmann. Oh yeah, the note. Why’d it have to be in German? Shit! What did it really say? Why’d she have to cry all over it? Fricken paper dissolved in her hands. Fuck it! Who cares? Natasha kissed me first. It’s not my fault. Right, kitten? Hey; if the shoe, I mean, the boot. They fit us both. Oh yeah. You wanted her first. Dani I mean, didn’t you, baby? Maybe. Too bad. Besides stupid; you got the BP. What do you care I have a little fun while we’re here?

From the moment we pulled them on and zipped, it was like a spell. She’s in love with me. No! She’s in love with the boots. Who cares? They gave me my special power: to dominate all who see me, Mistress Katrina, in the boots. I bet the old bitch told your mom. She must have told my mom. I’m gonna beat your slut bitch’s ass if I ever see her again. Oh yeah, her bitch ass is mine! Nighty-nights kitten. MK’s imposter left her to sleep.

Catherine’s thoughts returned to her BP. She loves me. I’ll never give up my rubber—

Click…click…click.

The door… Somebody’s coming. “Who’s there?”

From the darkness came a hushed voice. “Hey, baby.”

“What do you want?”

“I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“I’m fu— I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

Danielle stood silhouetted by the halo of light that marked the doorway. “Did you like our bath?”

“Did you?” asked Catherine.

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“Come over here so I can see you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Go to sleep. Your training starts tomorrow.”

“You go to sleep!” Catherine stretched. “What training?”

“I can’t. Hope you like to dance?” Danielle smiled.

“What?”

“Dance? Do you?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.”

“Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

“Hey, you okay? Are you crying? Dani?”

Click…click…click.

Danielle had secured the door, but would continue to monitor the large LCD mounted over the fireplace in Miss Christi’s bedchamber. She wondered if another cold shower would cool her jets. She needed to get her sleep too. Tomorrow was going to be a big day for everyone.

Catherine rolled over and reached for her secret weapon, beating off the despair. It was the only thing that could quell the pain. Afterwards, she wasn’t so sad. Regained of her inner strength, the young dominant in the boots returned to take charge. MK vowed to keep her little-girl-self safe in this strange place. She would outlast her wacky opponents in this twisted game they tricked her into playing. I can beat them. And I’ll crack that nut case Giselle or Dani. Oh yeah, that wacko mommy bald bitch-ILF is mine. Dance? Fuck me; I can’t dance. Her eyelids felt heavy. That BP… The lids slipped. Mom… She would allow herself some sleep. Just a little. She’d beat them. Tomorrow’s another day, stupid. Go to sleep. Dani… Fuck yeah, that sweet-lipped bald bitch is mine. Goodnight, Cat. GoodKnight yourself, Mistress Katrina.

Katrina—the KAT

Onboard the Knotty Girl, twenty miles off the coast of Cannes, FR, 12:20 Paris time

They had partied till dawn at the les club. KK instructed Karla to take them direct to the airport, where they met up with Elsa and the Gulfstream. A fresh KrumpJet flight crew had arrived in London early Saturday to deadhead the pink jet and Elsa over to Le Bourget. All safely collected, the flight down to Cannes lasted just over an hour. Jane was reluctant to close her eyes on the plane—slightly more than a little disappointed when nothing happened.

Their weekend was consumed aboard the Knotty Girl. Jane Sterling rested her weary bones while the girls splashed in the spa and played in the sun. All aboard found the watery views relaxing. Thoughts of, Papa, Boris, Natasha, and MK’s pretender bubbled through Jane’s troubled brain. That kid… Catherine? A KAT? Impossible.

It was later that Sunday when KK and Petra invited Miss Jane and Elsa below. Way below—for some R and R. About bloody time.

Meow…

Monday dawned bright. The R & R had proved most therapeutic. KK, Jane, Petra, and Elsa held each other steady on the upper deck as the helicopter settled onto the landing pad. Petra had borrowed a cotton summer dress with matching lifts from KK’s room-sized closet. Jane was surprised that KK owned such a practical garment, and in canary yellow at that. It would prove a comfortable choice, considering the five-hour train journey awaiting her.

“Good-bye, KK.” Petra kissed her hostess on the lips. “It was the best I’ve ever—” They embraced. “Bye-bye, girlfriend.”

“What?” shouted KK, straining to understand Petra in the mini windstorm.

Petra let go and stepped over to waiting arms. “Cheers, Miss Jane.”

The KAT took hold and planted her lips in Petra’s ear. “So nice meeting you, again.” She kissed the stick-thin barely legal fashion model on each cheek—“Ciao, sweetie”—adding a cheerful smack to the girl’s familiar bottom to rouse the Cougar. That’s queer…

“Too bad she has to be in Paris tonight,” shouted KK as Elsa climbed into the helicopter beside Petra.

Their voices couldn’t overpower the ear-piercing roar as the helicopter’s jet engine throttled up. They stood back as the rotor blades picked up speed. Jane held her hat with one hand and kept KK from blowing overboard with the other. KK’s just-brushed blond hair was a jumbled mop as they waved good-bye to Petra and Elsa. The helicopter lifted off and faded under the blazing sun as it headed west. The quiet serenity of the Mediterranean returned, leaving Jane and KK to each other.

“Don’t be sad, love. It will do Petra good, seeing her mama.”

“Ja, Papa wants her to meet the business people in Berlin tomorrow. Papa insists she sign an exclusive. We don’t want to lose her to the competition. That face, tits, and ass will sell a shitload of perfume and panties. Petra is to be the essence of Wet by Hush-Hush!”

Jane smiled. “No doubt. But she needs to eat more. You too!”

“I told Papa we would land her. Ja. You just had to whip her into shape. And, I promised her the cover of next month’s Hushgirl catalog.” KK could feel Katrina’s eyes scolding her backside.

“Yes, dear, I’m sure that helped a little too. It’s time to eat, love.”

“A little!” KK dropped to her knees.

“No, love. Something from the galley this time.”

“Oh.” She giggled. “Well, I knew she liked that gross stuff.” KK made a yucky face.

“And how did you know?” Jane helped KK to her feet.

“Well, last week, you left me alone with her. And you took my Elsa too. Remember? I had no one else to play with.”

She shook her head clear. “It was one bloody day! What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me!”

“Right!” Katrina took hold of her life-size German Barbie doll, desperately in need of a good brushing.

KK was beaming in her five-inch lifts and a neon pink bikini bottom.

“When do we meet with Papa?”

“It depends,” KK snickered, “on you.” She led her dangerous catch back to her expansive stateroom.

“Can’t we eat something first?”

“Oh, Miss Jane, I think you—”

“Silence!” Clever girl. “Someone needs another attitude adjustment.”

Whack!

“See! You do love me! Besides, I think it’s better if I eat afterward. I’ll ask the captain to have a big juicy wet piece of red hot bloody cow waiting at the table for afterward. Okay?”

Bloody hell, I do. “Ropes and rubber again, or whips and leather?”

“Ja, ja, ja, and ja. Und einige Vinyl auch? Bitte.”

“Perhaps.” You do too.

School Was In Session

The nursery, 06:30 local

“Rise and shine, kitten!” Giselle lowered the side rail. “Wakie-wakie, my pretty baby.”

“Huh? Oh, it’s you.” She rolled over and moaned, “What time is it?” 

“O-six-thirty.” Giselle was acting way too happy for 06:30. “Time to rise and shine, sweetie.” She lifted the baby blanket and tossed it in the crib’s corner.

“Hey! Six-thirty?” Catherine groaned, “That’s still nighttime.” She rolled onto her stomach, a position which left her rear flank exposed. “Go away!” She grabbed the little blanket and tugged it over her head.

“Noooo, silly.” Giselle couldn’t resist the bait. The hand found the pretender’s bare calf. It tensed. The hand ventured north at a leisurely pace. “Today’s a big day, babe.”

“Really? I get to go home?” Dani’s hand, glided over her thigh. One eye opened to see a puffy white satin tea dress leaning over. Yeah; she wants to play Mommy D again.

“You are home, silly,” giggled Giselle, sliding her hand up and patting Catherine’s blue vinyl panties. “Today you start preschool.” Her hand found its way in. She was getting closer. “Wet!”

“No shit, I’m wet. What else is there to do in here?”

“Mommy will change her naughty baby in a minute.”

Catherine’s other lid snapped open. “What?” Giselle came into focus. She was holding a sheet of paper. “Oh, it’s that you.”

“First Mommy must read baby kitten’s schedule.” She read it aloud in her grown-up voice. “O-six-thirty: Wake up. O-seven-hundred: Breakfast in the kitchen. O-seven-thirty: Get ready for school and put on a one-piece swimsuit and workout shorts. First lesson starts at eight sharp!  Dance class with Miss Danielle. Second class starts at ten. Swimming and diving with Miss Danielle. It goes to O-ten-forty-five. Then it’s morning break. It’s just enough time to shower and dress. Afterward, it’s sharing with Miss Christi from eleven till noon in the Panty Parlor. Then it’s lunch with me in the kitchen. Hope you like PB and J.”

“No crust!” She pouted out a, “Pweezzzzzz.”

“Can do.” Giselle continued, “Thirteen-hundred until fourteen-fifty—”

“Thirteen-hundred?  What time is that?”

“It’s one p.m., silly. Nap time is until two-fifty. Then, driving lessons begin with Miss Danielle from fifteen-hundred to sixteen-fifty. That’s three till four-fifty.”

“Driving?”

“Yes sweetie. And, after that; afternoon tea from five till six with Miss Christi on the veranda, weather permitting; her private salon, if not. From six to seven, we wash, get pretty, and put on a clean dress for dinner. Dinner is served promptly at seven-ten in the formal dining room. Make sure you’re in the dining room by seven-o-five at the latest. Otherwise, you get sloppy seconds. Eight p.m. is bedtime for babies and naughty girls. For good girls, it’s reading or writing until ten, then it’s lights out, except on Fridays.”

“What’s on Fridays?”

“Oh, Friday evening?  Fun and Games and Blachmann story time. Any questions?”

“Whatever.” Catherine climbed from the crib. Did she say driving lessons with Danielle?

“Did you sleep well?”

“Oh yeah.” She gave Mommy a look. “Like a baby. You?”

“Not so good,” pouted Giselle.

“I know.” She lifted her blue hem and said, “You can change me now. I know you want to Dani.” Cold black eyes. Fuck! The door, it’s open. Run!

Giselle grabbed Catherine’s arms and held her face down on the crib. “My name is Giselle!” She lifted her hand and brought it down with speed.

Whack!

“Say it baby!”

“Fuck you!”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Okay! I’m sorry Mommy G.”

“Say it! Say my real name!”

Whack!

“Giselle! Your name is Giselle!”

“That’s Mommy’s good little baby. Now, hold still while Mommy G changes her baby out of this yucky blue dress.”

“Yes, Mommy Giselle.”  I mean Mommy Fuckin’ Dearest. “Hey! That fricken tickles.” Mommy…

Dance Lessons

The Ballroom, 07:55 local

Giselle escorted the more compliant Blachmann baby downstairs. Located on the main level, the Ballroom was enormous, spanning forty feet wide by sixty-two feet in length. Catherine had passed through twice the day she arrived. That day, she hadn’t taken time to notice any of its eye-catching details. That day seemed like ages ago. She kept her head down, eyeing only the polished stone. The flooring was made of granite squares, more than two feet to a side: red, white, and black. No pink. Its center looked more like an oversized chessboard of red and black squares. A dance… What? Catherine looked up, way up, for the ceiling hovered high above her wide eyes.

“I said, wait here, sweetie. Mommy G has to go below and get your dance shoes. Be a good girl now, or else.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Good girl. Or else.

“Promise Mommy.”

“I promise, Mommy.”

Giselle darted out into the hallway and vanished down the stairs leading to the basement.

As Catherine waited, she busied herself exploring the Ballroom. It was massive: a rectangular space with three arched openings to the main hallway. Opposite the north wall, three sets of enormous French doors opened out to a matching granite patio. The room looked even bigger when she again looked up at, that ceiling. “Wow.” It was painted, and hung twenty-eight feet above her bare feet. She wondered if the painter was Italian. She agreed with the builder’s taste in art. The women were all naked. Some had wings, Angels. Some had horns and tails, Devils. And, some had whips and boots. Interesting. He sure liked um booby. Reluctantly, she pulled her eyes away from the ladies of the ceiling. What a fricken gigantic fireplace. Of all the ones she’d seen, this fireplace was by far the largest. Catherine moved closer.

She thought about her dad. He loved his roaring fires up at their ski place in Maine. He’d really love this one. She could stand in it. She looked up at the huge picture above the mantel. It was covered by a painter’s tarp. She gave it a little tug. “Oops.” She studied the faces. Meet the Blachmann’s. “Hey!” She pointed to an old face in the picture, “Miss Christi” she said as if she were talking to the picture. Catherine looked back over her shoulder. Giselle hadn’t yet returned. Let’s see. She gave another tug. Next to Miss Christi, she spotted Daddy? Mom? What the— The mother was holding a baby in her arms. “Me?” They did look younger. Their clothes are too old. What gives? There were many others. She didn’t recognize them. Much of the picture was still obscured by the painter’s tarp. She didn’t dare tug again. She swung around to see if Giselle was back. Nope.

Cool… Catherine headed west, twirling across the dance floor. At the far end was a massive bar. Its counter, like the spotless floor and fireplace, was finished in fine granite. Like all the granite used to construct the estate, it also had been quarried in Vermont. Mr. Blachmann had personally inspected each piece after being delivered by special train over the five-mile rail spur, which later allowed their wealthy guest’s private railcars to be parked in view of the Atlantic.

Only two minutes had passed. Giselle reappeared holding a pair of pink five-inch stiletto pumps, size nine and a half. “What’s with the cowboy boots?” asked Catherine.

“They were a gift. Ready for your first lesson, baby?”

No stupid, she’s the other one. In the two minutes it took to retrieve the dance shoes, Mommy G had changed: brunette with a ponytail? Oh yeah, it’s that hot bitch, Drill Sergeant Danielle. She was wearing a cute little workout outfit. A cut-off tank top. The slogan Just do me was printed across her shapely chest. She also wore fitted shorts and New Balance cross-trainers. Know what I’d like to do with you?

“Listen up, baby.” Danielle kicked off her trainers, then dropped and pulled on her boots.

“Hey! Nice top, Mommy, whoever you are.” Catherine had a new appreciation for…she wasn’t sure who.

“Hey baby. Enjoy our bath?”

Danielle. “Hey, what gives?” Catherine noticed the heels. “I can’t dance in those.”

“That’s affirmative, baby. The name is Miss Danielle and babies don’t get a choice!” She tossed the shoes at Catherine’s bare feet—“Shut your hole!”—and pointed to the shoes and growled, “Put them on, baby…now!”

“Fuck you, bitch!” Catherine stood her ground folding her arms. “I’m not your fucking baby.”

“Ever had your mouth washed out with soap?”

“What?” Catherine’s voice was sharper than a new razor.

“You heard me right, princess. We’re old-school at Blachmann.” Danielle’s tone spoke volumes. “Here, let me.” She crawled over and fitted the first shoe to Catherine’s left foot. “A perfect fit.” Danielle set the other shoe before Catherine’s right foot and looked up. “In you go, precious.” She tapped the empty stiletto.

“Hey, you wouldn’t hurt a baby?” She stepped into the other stiletto. “Would you, Mommy D?” This bitch would.

“I’m not your Mommy.” She popped to her feet. “It’s Miss Danielle! Understand, baby?”

“Yes, Miss Danielle. Baby understands, perfectly.” You wacko psycho, cute bitch.

“Do you really like to dance?”

“What?”

“Dance?” Danielle started shaking her hips. “Like this?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Like to watch you, anyway.

“Yes, or no, when you answer me, baby. No more of, yeah, I guess, I think, like, or whatever. Do you understand?”

“Yeah; whatever. I get it.” Her voice held its sharp edge well.

“Great!” Danielle put her hands on her hips and said, “Look. baby, you have four weeks to learn two waltzes and only two weeks to learn how to drive. Do you think you can manage that?”

“A car? You’re going to teach me to drive? Two weeks? You are? What kind is it? How fast can it go? When? Is it that cool old white one? Huh?”

“A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“Yes,” Catherine batted those big bright blue eyes. “Miss Danielle.” She purred for her new master. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Truth was: Catherine couldn’t dance a step. No sense of rhythm. She couldn’t keep a beat if her life depended on it. For the next forty-five minutes, Danielle tried to instruct her in the basics of a Viennese waltz. She led, with Catherine’s paw in hers, and held tight. Had there been any water under their feet, it would have frozen. They stayed close, but not too close; no eye contact. None. She had never danced with anyone like this before. Suddenly, Danielle pulled Catherine in tight. MK didn’t resist. It felt too good. Her eyes closed.

Memories of last night’s trauma faded into the darkness. She was really starting to like dance class. If only she could actually dance. She drew in closer, allowing her free hand to go exploring. Her mind drifted as they floated around the room; their long slender bodies clenched in graceful unison. Well, almost. Shit!

“Ouch!” Danielle stopped, dropped, and yanked off her boot and began rubbing her nearly pierced foot. “That fricken hurt.”

“What?” asked Catherine sitting on the floor beside, Danielle? The dent left by her spiked heel came into focus. “Sorry. I—”

“Thanks, doll.” Danielle was caught in those soft blue eyes. “You’ve never danced close before, have you, babe?” The softness faded.

“What gave it away?” Bitch. She smirked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you kept stabbing my feet?”

“Said I was fucking sorry!”

“Forget it.” She tried to hide her pain while refitting her boot.

Catherine shrugged and said, “Looks so easy on TV.” She looked at the impression her stiletto had left. “Does it hurt?” She started rubbing it.

“That’s affirmative.” Danielle picked herself up, and collected her cross-trainers and iPhone from the bar. “Right!” She tapped the display, killing the music. “I have a better idea. Come with me, baby.” She took Catherine by the hand. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” She tugged. In no time, she had her baby out in the foyer, and clicking her heels up the stairs to the second floor. “What’s the matter?”

“No!” Catherine froze. She wasn’t going back to that crib.

“The other end baby.” Danielle pointed down the long hallway. “Miss Danielle promises.” She smiled.

She released the brakes. “Wow! This place is fucking huge.” She hadn’t yet seen any other rooms on the second level. As they walked, their dueling heels echoed off the stone floor. She noticed the pictures arranged all along the wall to her left. “Who are they?” She stopped. “Hey; why are their faces blacked out?”

“Former students. Come on.”

She looked right. There were three arched openings that looked out over the ballroom, its painted ceiling, and the pool. She stepped to the railing. “Nice view.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Further down she saw some pictures that weren’t blacked out. “What’s with these ones?”

“Retired.”

“Huh… Hey is your iPhone tied in? The music? Can yours control stuff like Superbitch did?”

“Affirmative.”

They passed a large sitting room on the left. “What’s in there?”

“Kitten’s common room.”

“What? There’s more? Like me?”

“Not until Kickoff.”

“Huh?”

“Forget about it.”

They reached the end of the hallway. Catherine stood before a door. The copper placard read: Miss Danielle, Kitten first class. “Hey Dani, what gives? Is this place some kind of whacky Hogwarts rip-off?”

“Yes, it’s something like that.” She turned the knob and pushed. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Your bedroom?” Catherine was amazed to find that it looked, normal.

“Affirmative.” Danielle opened a cabinet and removed a Wii stomp pad. “You know how to play Wii, don’t you?” She connected it to the game console and pressed the power button. She grabbed a disk from the stack on the shelf, under the Wii, and loaded it. A tap to her iPhone lit the forty-six-inch LCD panel on the wall.

“Like duh… Doesn’t everyone?” Catherine glanced around, surveying, Danielle’s bedroom. It was a lot like hers, except for the flat screen, and all the pictures of Ferraris and the life-size poster of a Cowboys cheerleader on the wall. “So, you’re like, a dyke; right?”

Danielle ignored the jab. “I think that this should help you get the basics, and save my feet. Please remove your heels. They’ll puncture the stomp pad.” She started to straighten up.

“What?” Catherine looked down at her pink stilettos, “Oh yeah.” She kicked off the heels and started dancing, sort of, following along to the Wii.

“I’m not usually this messy,” said Danielle as she neatened up.

“What? My room’s way worse,” offered Catherine, watching Dani collect magazines. Road and Track… cool. Flying… yuck. Combat Handguns… interesting. Hush-Hush lingerie… very interesting. Trains? “You like trains?”

“Hey, you’re getting it.”

“What?” What gives? Is she a dyke?

“Nothing. You’re boots are really cool.”

“Yeah, I know.” She tried to concentrate. It took a while, but she started to get into a rhythm. This was the most fun she had in weeks. “I learned to wear them playing Wii, bowling, mostly.”

“Hey babe, you’re actually getting the hang of it. Nice.”

“Yeah, I haven’t played for a while.” Babe? Catherine’s feet slowed. Her head swung around to see Danielle sitting on her made bed. “Fuck me!” She nearly fell. “You’re fucking bald too?” They are fricken wigs. “I knew you weren’t two people.”

“What’d you say?” Danielle was brushing her cutie blond Mommy G hair and it wasn’t on her head. She muted the sound and with it the moment.

“Nothing. Sorry.” You did it again. Shut up! You shut up! I hate you. Pussy.

“Hey baby, you okay?”

Interesting…

The Knotty Girl, 3 miles off the coast of Cannes, France, 16:23 Paris time

Captain Ursula Hessler, German Navy retired, made her way through KK’s very pink stateroom. The yacht’s captain for a month, she paused to feel the side by side gold-plated stripper poles. Interesting… She knocked, announced herself before stepping into KK’s lavishly appointed bathroom. Empty. The gilded bath was covered in the same Italian marble used in the Castle. The fixtures were all plated with twenty-four-karat gold. The setting was inspired from the Castle’s master bath.

KK’s stateroom, bath, play-in wardrobe/dressing room, and secret adjoining keep had cost her close to a million euros when she had the Knotty Girl redecorated. Papa had given her the sixty-million-dollar yacht for her twenty-fifth birthday. One month later, Papa took delivery of a new yacht, The New Order. At one hundred and sixty-nine meters, The New Order was one of the largest privately owned yachts afloat.

A short passageway opened into her dressing room. It led to, the Keep. Captain Hessler had never before ventured this far into KK’s private quarters. She had no choice since Elsa wasn’t on board. When KK had the yacht refitted, she had the forward section modified to include a secret compartment. The sign on the watertight hatch said, Kristin’s Kloset & Keep. Underneath, in smaller print, No pricks allowed. Upon being hired, the captain had been instructed by Elsa, “Enter only if we’re sinking.” She pushed on the hatch.

“Sorry to intrude on you two, ladies. Miss Krump?”

Katrina unfastened KK’s ball gag.

“Ja, what is it?” KK twisted as Katrina spun her subject to face the captain. “Can’t you see I’m a little tied up right now?”

“My apologies, Miss Krump.” The captain found the sight captivating. She swallowed once, and stepped forward and prepared to hand over the message. Realizing KK’s state, she stopped. “Miss Krump, we just received this urgent communication from Papa. The aircraft carrying Petra’s mother has gone missing, somewhere over the Atlantic. Papa insists you return to Paris at once.”

“Petra’s mama?” asked KK in a panic, turning white with fear. “Not from Rio?”

“Wasn’t Air France, was it?”

“Why, yes, Miss Sterling. Flight four-four-seven. Rio to Paris. Went—”

“Oh, Miss Jane! Petra!” KK’s face telegraphed her anguish.

“KK, you must go to her at once.”

“But what can I do?” The floodgates opened.

“You need to be strong. Go and comfort her. I shall go with you.”

“You? Ja, I think that’s a good thing. Papa will know what to do.”

“Yes, sweetie, I’m sure it will be.” That bloody bastard brought it down.

KK took charge. “Captain, instruct the helicopter to return at once. Have my pink stallion ready to fly to Paris in one hour.”

“Actually Miss Krump, Papa has already arranged for everything. The helicopter is due to arrive in ten minutes. Before I entered your… I spoke with Elsa. Your jet is being readied for an immediate departure. There is one potential snag. Your pilots are on leave until zero-six-hundred tomorrow. Elsa asked if Miss Sterling would assist her in the cockpit.”

The KAT in black latex signaled Miss Sterling’s approval.

The captain said, “Elsa informed; flight time up to Le Bourget should be just over one hour. Karla has returned to Paris. Your papa insists she take you to meet Petra’s train. Hopefully, your Petra hasn’t seen the news reports.”

“Ja; thank you, captain. Leave us.” Katrina pulled the safety catch, releasing the elaborate suspension bondage device. KK hit the deck—hard. “I shall ensure Miss Krump is readied for our journey.”

“Very good, Miss Sterling.” Captain Hessler bowed. “Once again, my sincere apologies for disturbing you two, ladies.” The captain now understood what it meant all those times KK had said she was going down below with Elsa to get her kinks out. Elsa was truly a girl of many uniforms. Apparently so was Miss Sterling.

Ja…

It’s My Fault

Onboard KK’s Gulfstream, speeding towards Paris

The cockpit was stuffed to capacity. Jane flew right seat and worked the radios. Flying left seat, Elsa’s hands were firmly on the controls as Jane selected Paris Approach on the VHF and checked in with Air Traffic Control. Between them, KK continued her nonstop yapping. She bounced nervously over the jet’s jump seat. The small pull-out seat allowed for an observer to be up front with the pilots. They had stopped listening to KK’s emotional gibberish twenty minutes ago.

KK pulled Jane’s headphone from her ear and protested, “It’s my fault. You don’t understand! Her mama was on the flight. Petra isn’t really eighteen! She’s nearly sixteen.”

Jane and Elsa both turned to face KK and said, “What!”

KK could see severe turbulence ahead. “Ja, I know. She ran away when she was fourteen. She was on the streets until she met. You know the story.”

Jane engaged the autopilot. “Yes, go on.”

“She kept her; even hired a tutor. She introduced her to a friend in her sewing circle who knew I was looking for a fresh face. She’s to be the face of Wet. Isn’t she lovely?”

“Yes, dear. Get to the point.”

“Ja, ja, I am. Her mama saw a picture of us on the Internet last week. You remember? I lunched with her in Cannes that day you left me.”

“What of it?”

“The paparazzi snapped several of her and me together, and later, on the Knotty Girl, kissing. Her mama called the Hush-Hush offices in Paris and said if Petra didn’t call her right away, she would send the police to arrest me for kidnapping! Ja! Can you believe it? Well, I had her call her mama straight away. I talked to her too. Ja. She was most charming once Petra told her she was well.”

“Get to the bloody point, girl!”

“Well, I told you! She is to be my new face but she needed to sign the model’s consent and the contract.” KK looked about to burst, then spewed, “But Petra is underage. Her mama was on her way to Paris to meet with Papa and the contract people. Petra was so looking forward to her mama’s arrival. They talked on the phone every night. She’s going to be so devastated.”

“We don’t know if she’s dead yet. The plane was only confirmed missing, not crashed. Miss Krump! Get a grip on yourself, young lady! Petra will need you to be strong for her.” She took hold of KK’s hand and squeezed. “You must, my love.” Bloody hell.

“Ja, I will try. But it’s my fault.” KK wouldn’t let go.

“Nonsense, KK.” Jane shook free. “If it did indeed crash, it’s an unfortunate occurrence. We’ll all have to deal with it.”

Paris Approach cleared them for a visual to runway 03 at Le Bourget. “Contact tower on 118.925.” Their approach would take them in over the city and past the—

“Look Miss Jane, the Eiffel!” KK unbelted and stretched across Jane’s chest to get and give a better view. “Don’t you remember?”

She remembered. Plenty. She whacked KK’s bum, then switched to tower frequency. Le Bourget cleared them to land. Remember what? Jane keyed the mike. “Roger Le Bourget Gulfstream Six-Niner-Kilo-Kilo cleared to land. Full Stop.” Her right finger released the mike button. “KK! We’re a little busy. Flaps to land, and strap her in! Gag her too!”

“Sorry.” KK did her best honey-pot tease, sliding off and into her seat.

Elsa positioned the flaps. “Flaps to land. Runway in sight.”

“Roger, I have it too. Confirm Zero-Three. Gear down.”

“Why don’t you take her in, Mistress Sterling?”

Elsa dropped the gear and called the lights. “Gear Down. Three green.”

Katrina’s kill hand moved to the power levers. Now what? I can’t land this bloody thing. “No Elsa, I’ve had enough fun with her. You take her. Please love, she’s all yours.”

“Well, if you insist.” Elsa re-gripped the yoke then placed her right hand over the one still clutching the power levers. A press of the big red button under her left thumb disengaged the autopilot. “I have her now.”

“Brilliant love, she’s all yours.” Her kill hand securely locked in place, the GoodKnight took a moment to observe the understudy. The old Cougar liked what she saw. Cool, calm and confident—but most of all, capable hands. Yes, Elsa was the perfect match for after. Ja. Katrina’s grip eased.

“Do you want her back?” Elsa clenched down on Jane’s hand.

“Who’s back?”

Elsa squeezed harder, adding her manicured nails and repeated the command. “Arm spoilers!”

“Sorry. Roger, Captain.” Jane slipped free from, Katrina’s grip, then Elsa’s, to arm the spoilers for landing. “Spoilers armed. Three green, we’re cleared and configured.”

“Confirmed, three green, cleared to land. Zero-three, full stop.”

Elsa piloted them in for a smooth touchdown, exited the runway and taxied to parking.

“Well done, Elsa.” Yes, most capable. Perhaps, it was time. Nein!

Sharing Time

The Panty Parlor, 11:25 local

They’d been there for twenty-five minutes. Miss Christi was seated, centered on the sofa, sipping her tea. Catherine sat shivering in the loveseat. Since arriving, she had found it increasingly difficult to remain still. This was their sixth session. She had yet to utter a single word of kindness. She rocked and twitched uncontrollably; a side effect of withdrawal. Miss Christi asked her again to relate her feelings. She didn’t respond. More minutes passed.

“Do you still wish to become an assassin?”

“Yeah, I guess. When do I get my gun?”

“How long have you been using drugs?”

“What? I don’t use drugs. Honest!”

“Your urine tested positive for several.”

“No F-in way! I promise. Okay, maybe I smoked some pot, once!”

“The machine doesn’t lie. You tested positive for four compounds.”

“Okay, twice! Last summer. What?”

“Yes, dear. Ever hear of Ecstasy?”

“No fuckin’ way!” shouted Catherine, shaking her head in denial.

“Yes dear, MDMA. You know it, then?”

“Yeah, that’s like, the sex drug. Guys put it in girls’ drinks. No way would I take that.”

“Yes, dear. That’s close enough. We also discovered traces of Flunitrazepam and a militarized variant of LSD and trace amounts of MDPV.”

“What’s that? That M-D-P whatever stuff.”

“Methylenedioxypyrovalerone.”

“Whatthefuck?”

“Goes by the street name, Monkey Dust.”

“Monkey Dust? What the fuck does it do?”

“Its effects include stimulation, euphoria, hyper-sexuality, agitation, anxiety, and insomnia. Has an effective duration of three to four hours. There are also aftereffects such as tachycardia, hypertension, and mild stimulation, usually lasting another six to eight hours.”

“Fuck! Are you like, a doctor? You like, wicked sound like a doctor.”

“No dear, I’m like, a wicked good sexologist.” Miss Christi smiled. “I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re a fricken sex doctor?”

“No, my dear. I study and teach sexual behaviors.”

“You mean like Sex-Ed?”

“Yes, dear, something like that. Who gave you the perfume?”

“Why?”

“It’s how you’ve been dosing yourself. Your perfume was the delivery agent. It contains a cocktail of hallucinogenic and other drugs.

“No fucking way! You’re wrong! She would never do that to me.” Catherine was shaking, her voice angry and stressed. Not BP. She wouldn’t do that to me. Would she? No fucking way. My BP… It’s a trick. My Mom! She’s…

“I don’t mean to upset you, dear. I don’t think that she knew it contained the drugs.”

She didn’t. She has some too.

“I’m only trying to help you to achieve your goals.”

“What?” Goals? What is she talking about?

“You still desire to be an assassin, don’t you?”

“What. I don’t know. Yeah. Why would someone do that? Put that shit in our perfume. That’s sick. She’s not like that.”

“Yes dear. I agree. Would you like to help me find those responsible?”

Catherine pulled her legs up under her too-short baby dress and hugged them. She was shivering. The reality was frightening. BP, How could you? Tears dripped from her cheeks. My love betrayed me? No fucking way. “It’s my fuckin’ Mom!” Catherine shut down.

Someone needs a nap. Miss Christi called for “Mommy Giselle.”

Why So Sad?

Gare de Lyon railway station, Paris, 19:55 local

Jane handed KK another tissue. Petra’s train was just arriving. KK was a bundle of nerves as the TGV express from Cannes came to a stop at the station platform. It wasn’t a minute later when Jane spotted the crocodile kitten walking up the platform. Petra had changed. Other than the mini dress, Petra didn’t appear to be in any distress. It was obvious; she hadn’t seen the news reports.

Petra continued, her red heels clicking with each stride. She spotted Jane, waving her left arm while steadying KK with the other. Jane forced a smile. It didn’t work. Sensing something was wrong, Petra’s pace quickened. She was only steps away when KK started bawling. Her pace slowed to a crawl.

“Why are you so sad, girlfriend?” Petra reached out to give comfort. Still with a smile, she added, “Miss me already?”

KK backed away. “I didn’t know. Ja.”

“Know what? What’s wrong?”

KK didn’t answer. Her face went white as a sheet. She turned to Jane and started to wobble. Her eyes rolled back. The world went gray. Her legs dissolved.

“KK!” Jane caught her before she went down. She shook the doll. No use; KK had fainted. She lifted the ninety-eight-pound rag doll and carried her back to the waiting area.

“Petra! Some water.” Jane looked at KK, then back to Petra. She would have expected the opposite. Was this how KK would deal with the difficult moments?

Petra was soothing KK’s cheek. “Girlfriend, wake up.”

Still with, Papa’s little bitch, in her arms, Jane sat on a vacant bench and slipped the doll off her lap. “KK! Be strong, child!”

“Wait, I have some Evian.” Petra sat, searched her backpack, and produced the refreshment. She dropped her pack between her long lean legs, opened the plastic bottle, and held it to KK’s pink lips. “Drink some.” Petra held her hand under and poured a sip into the slit. “Miss Jane, why did she faint?”

KK coughed, “What?” Her nose had found the scent, Wet! Petra was wearing KK’s latest creation. She’d given Petra one of her own travel sized bottles as a thank-you present, back on the Knotty Girl. She opened her eyes. “Petra, I’m so sorry.” KK burst into tears.

“Sorry?” Petra looked to Jane, “What about?”

“Why don’t we talk in the car?” suggested Jane, pinching KK’s arm.

“Ouch!”  KK was sure. Someone else was also back in Paris.

“Come, darling. Karla is just outside, waiting.” Jane stood, bringing KK up with her. “Who’s in distress here?” Her warning was whispered through gritted teeth, heating KK’s ear as she smacked her bottom. “And no more drama. Do you understand, Mistress Sterling?”

KK didn’t answer. She knew what Mistress Sterling was capable of. Now she also knew what Papa was capable of.

Driving Lessons

Outside the Castle, 15:02 local

Danielle led her baby out the front door. “Like it, baby?”

“That’s it?” asked Catherine getting her first look at the neon pink car she would be driving. Her eyes dropped to her matching shoes. She was back in the pink stilettos. “Where’s the rest of it?” She walked around to the driver’s side of the Passion Cabriolet Smart Car. “Look, it matches my shoes. Is this a fuckin’ joke?” The car had been wrapped with decorative vinyl. It looked like a Hush-Hush shopping bag with wheels.

Danielle shot back. “What did you expect, baby, a brand spanking new lipstick red Ferrari F-Four-Thirty?”

“Fuck yeah! That would be so cool.” Catherine eyed the tiny pink car from end to end. “Did that K-K chick forget her Barbie car?”

“Just get in, baby.” Danielle opened the driver’s door.

“Whatever.” With a huff, Catherine slid into the driver’s seat. She started Drivers’ Ed classes at school, but quit when they told her she couldn’t wear her boots. They said it was dangerous. Now, she was about to drive in higher heels. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

Without bothering with the door, Danielle hopped into the passenger seat. “Buckle up, baby.”

“It’s stuck!” Catherine was pulling on the seat belt. “It won’t budge. Really!”

“What?” Danielle unhooked hers, reached across the student and attempted to free Catherine’s.

They were face to face. Catherine made her next move. Filling her chest, she leaned forward. She did her best to tempt Danielle to steal a kiss.

Danielle’s back bumped against the steering wheel. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, teach.” Less than an inch separated their naked lips. The words practically dripped right into Dani’s open mouth. You want some? Don’t ya, baby? I can almost…

“Got it!” Danielle pulled back, safety belt firmly in moist palm. “There you go, baby.” She clicked the belt in. “Now, I feel safer.” She sat back and buckled her own.

“Yeah, me too,” sulked Catherine, starting the three-cylinder seventy-horse engine. She searched for the gear thingy. The wind left her sails. “What the fuck?” She searched again. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Paddle shifters.”

“What?”

Danielle chuckled as she pointed to and then explained, “Smart Cars don’t have a stick, baby. The transmission uses an electro-hydraulic mechanism to facilitate gear changes. Just tap the right paddle to go up and the left to drop a gear. Like this. See?”

Baby looked on as Danielle selected first gear. “Whatever.” Geek.

“Try not to hit anything, baby!”

Flooring the gas she said, “Don’t fucking call me, baby!” The tiny car slowly accelerated, briefly spinning its skinny tires on the wet asphalt.

“Whatever, yourself.”  Danielle rechecked her belt, folded her arms then turned away. Baby!

“This way?” Catherine drove off, down the drive toward the main gate, never once touching the shifter paddle. The little engine screamed for mercy. The rev limiter prevented any physical damage. The drawbridge was down. She neared the closed gate, showing no sign she intended to stop. “Hey! What’s your problem?”

“The brake is that big peddle on the left.” Danielle swung her head around in time to see the massive gate filling her view just before she closed her eyes. Expecting the worst, she tensed her legs together. Hope the airbags work. “The one on the left!” The car didn’t slow. She shouted, “This is your car!” Too late. The accident occurred just as she had dreaded it would.

“Really?” Catherine stabbed the brake pedal. “This one?” The car squealed, and stopped a foot shy of the closed gate. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Not quite ready for the real world. The gate stays shut for today, baby.”

“Not in this stupid outfit!” Catherine sighed, “What are you looking at?”

“Back it up, baby. All the way, up the drive,” growled Danielle with a frown. Only a little. Thank God for vinyl and pads. The doctors all said it was genetic. That didn’t make her feel any better when it happened. Her face warmed. As the car backed, Danielle applied her favorite lip gloss, hot cherry, just in case.

The balance of that first driving lesson went by without additional drama. Catherine demonstrated her skills, on par with most new drivers’. She needed to think more, talk less to herself, and look further ahead. Tomorrow, Danielle would teach them how to park. Wednesday’s lesson would include a demonstration on the dangers of texting while driving. Next week's would include spotting a simple tail.

No!

Back in the BMW in Paris

“No!” screamed Petra in horrible disbelief. “Some sick fucking joke of yours?” She was looking directly at KK.

Jane placed her hand on Petra’s chin, gently redirecting it to hers. “No dear. Tragically, it’s no joke.”

“It’s true?” asked Petra, turning back to KK.

She managed only a nod before bursting into tears.

“Yes, Petra. It happened sometime last night. Your mother’s flight went missing, somewhere over the Atlantic. Very little is known. It just bloody vanished. Search teams are already combing their last known position. We mustn’t give up hope, love. There may be survivors.”

“I’m sorry, I keep bawling.” KK tried, but was unable to prevent more tears. “Where’s the tissues?”

“Here!” Jane planted the whole box in KK’s lap—“Keep quiet”—pulling a clump of tissues free while KK held the box with both hands. “Wipe your nose.”

“It’s okay. I understand. Such a sweet girl,” said Petra, taking hold of KK, soothing her back.

“I will be okay. Petra will be okay.”

“KK, you promised, Miss Jane. You need to be strong to help your friend.”

“I know.” KK took the tissue from Jane’s hand, wiping her eyes and nose. “I’m okay now.”

“Good girl. I see that we are almost at the hotel. Such a shame we must meet your papa now.” Bloody hell. “It’s just not the best time.”

“Maybe we should wait till tomorrow?” offered KK between sniffles.

“Yes, I agree. Petra will be our only concern. I’m sure we’ll have received the good word by tomorrow.”

“Bloody paparazzi,” growled Jane. A group of them were waiting outside the hotel entrance. “Karla, take us to the side.”

“No!” demanded KK. “I think Petra is okay,” wiping her nose with Jane’s hand full of tissues.

“Yes. But what of you, girlfriend?” asked Petra, taking over for Jane.

“Miraculous recovery,” said Jane with an overtly surly tone.

The BMW pulled up at the front of the Trianon Palace Versailles. The doorman opened the sedan’s rear door, greeted them, “Welcome to the— Ah! It is you, and Miss Krump. I shall have your luggage delivered to your suite at once.”

KK stepped out first. “No luggage. Just ourselves.” She waved at the gathered throng.

They spotted the prize. The place went nuts with flashes, pushing, and shoving. The shouting started, “This way! Look! This way! KK! Ja. Flash-flash-flash. Who’s your new friend?” The blinding strobes continued. “Show us some! Oui! More!” They showed no sign that it would end.

“Very good, Miss Krump. I hope your stay is most enjoyable. Hey you! Leave her!”

The crowd yelled for KK to show a little more. She slipped back in the car. “Close the door!” As Jane and Petra watched, KK did a quick rework of her costuming. “Trust me.”

She knew they’d all race back to wherever; each desperate to be first to file their photo and claim their prize. This time out, she paused, giving each a lens full of well-manicured kitten. One by one they stole the money shot and bolted. The value of KK’s close up was already going down as Petra stepped out onto the battlefield.

“Always works,” managed KK between sniffles. Suddenly she felt faint again, leaning on Petra for support.

DNA… Jane stuffed KK’s pink panties in her bag, kept her head down, and joined the fray. Hiding behind a pair of pink sun glasses, she held back until the bloody tourist’s flashes subsided. They escorted KK into the lobby and marched straight through, direct to the lifts. KK removed a golden key card from her small purse. Jane stuck it in the slot on the control panel and removed it. Dubai… What did she say?

“It works in all of Papa’s hotels.” KK pounded the highest button.

“Is Papa in this evening?” inquired Jane, her tone a little too even.

“Not sure. I’ll check.” KK removed her mobile from her purse. “Damn him!” her face burst into flames. She turned away. She couldn’t face Jane now. Papa had broken her promise.

“What is it?” asked Petra. She’d never seen KK so angry.

“KK! Calm down.” Jane waited a beat then said, “Take a deep breath. Remember, you promised.”

“Okay! All right!” She swatted them away. “He can’t keep doing this! I told him how very important it is to me.”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason,” said Petra in Papa’s defense.

The lift groaned then lurched to a stop. “Papa’s lift needs some mending,” said Jane as they waited for the doors to open.

“What’s wrong, Miss Jane? Make it go!” KK wasn’t angry. She was terrified.

“It’s okay, love. Miss Jane will fix it.” Jane pressed the floor button again. Nothing happened.

“Please make it go.” KK was shaking, fear overtaking her. “Now!” She was as white as her silk dress.

“It’s okay. Miss Jane is right here.” Jane inspected the control panel. “Everything’s okay, sweetie. I’m sure your papa’s people will have this resolved directly.” Not waiting for the next tragedy, Jane pulled KK into her arms. She hugged the doll tight, like one would a frightened child and began the diversion. “Petra, KK tells me you are to be Miss Wet. You must be excited, yes?”

Petra understood and joined in. “Why, yes, I’m so pleased that she thought me so deserving. Her other Hushgirls are so much more beautiful.”

“What?” Big KK was back, “That’s rubbish. Petra, you are the most beautiful of all my Hushgirls.” She looked back to Jane. “But I did meet someone, just the other night, in New York. That one has real potential.

“Oh?” Petra showed concern. “Who?”

“Ja, ja. It’s true! And, just like you, not yet sixteen. Miss Christi introduced her to me at our celebration dinner. I was very late.” KK glanced at Jane and smirked. “They already finished dinner. I had some oysters. I almost missed her. You should have seen her outfit. Deliciously Femdom. Ja. She was with Vicki. I only said hello. But still.” She licked her lip. “She had the look. And oh, she had the bod to kill for! Ja. I think Lady Jack got a hard-on. Ja.” She giggled, “Me too.”

“KK!” said Miss Jane, somewhat miffed. But the tingling and her rapidly stiffening nipples indicated otherwise. The real Jane was in complete agreement with KK’s most accurate assessment. Yum…

“Oui, ja. Miss Jane knows who I mean. Don’t you?” asked KK, winking at Jane.

“Yes, dear. That was Miss Christi’s granddaughter, Miss Catherine Black. But I don’t think she’s Hushgirl material.”

“Oh, really; Miss Jane? I think she has just what we’re looking for at Hush-Hush. And that outfit! Those boots! I wish I could have stolen her away, right then; so magnificent!” She punctuated her argument with a telling smile. “Don’t you think, Jane?”

“That’s Miss Jane! And no; I think Petra is just what you’re looking for.” She sensed KK’s funny brain was up to something. KK’s queer logic was always concerning. “Your papa; remember?”

The lift lurched and started moving. They reached the penthouse level. The doors slid.

KK let out a sigh. “I don’t think I could stand much more.” She hugged Petra and said, “I’m a little bit claustrophobic.” Her favorite color refilled her cheeks.

“A little!” Miss Jane didn’t believe that for a second. “She still sleeps with the light on.” Miss Jane gave her little one a love smack on her bare bottom, allowing her hand to linger.

“That’s okay. I’m a little bulimic,” said Petra. “Kidding!”

Bloody hell… The Cougar wasn’t so sure.

Tea Time

Blachmann Castle, Wednesday, 3 June, 17:01 local

Catherine stepped out on the veranda and into the afternoon sun.

“Come, sit, my dear.” Miss Christi pointed to the white wicker next to hers. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, Miss Christi. Please.” The kitten settled into the now familiar love seat.

 The Castle was located on one of the few high points in the otherwise marshy lowlands that dominated the New Hampshire coastline. From their second level perch, they enjoyed a commanding glorious panoramic view to the east. The estate’s original owners had insisted on unobstructed views of the Atlantic. The Castle sat atop a bulging mass of solid granite. The geography provided for both the desired views and the solid foundations to keep safe the Blachmann secrets that lay deep beneath.

“Is there anything more you wish to tell me my dear?” Miss Christi sipped her tea. “Have a scone?”

“No… What’s a scone?”

“Well, then, is there anything else you wish to ask me?”

“Yes.” She put her mouth on full auto and fired. “Is this place for real?  Why are you doing this to me? Was I here once before? When can I go home? When can I stop wearing this stupid baby outfit? When do I get to be an assassin? Can I kill my mom first? What’s with the Miss Danielle and Mommy G act? Is she like a Sybil or something? Is Miss Superbitch—Miss Jane here? Can I call my dad? Do they know what goes on here? Isn’t this fucking illegal or something?”

“Well, my dear, you have so many questions. If you slow down a bit, I will endeavor to answer all of yours. But first, will you answer just one, for me?”

“One?” Catherine eyed her bare feet. “What is it?”

“How did the boots come into your possession?”

“Why the fuck does it matter? Who cares who gave me my fucking boots?”

“I told you, just one. Those boots. How did you come to possess them?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell my mom?”

“Why does it matter?” Miss Christi sulked.

“Oh, it matters. She’ll fucking kill me!”

“Please my dear, have some tea.”

“Tea? Nah. Do you promise?  Do yah, Miss Christi? Huh?”

“Yes, dear. I can honor that promise. However, I shall only keep it as long as you remain open and truthful with me. Are you in agreement with these terms, my dear?”

“Yeah. I agree.”

“Very good my dear. Provide me with your answer. Who gave you the boots?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Explain yourself.”

“It was the day after Christmas, on a Friday, in the morning. My mom and dad had to work. Can you believe that? Anyway, the package was addressed to me, but was sent care of my friend’s mom. The shipping label said it came from Germany. You know, like FedEx.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, and there was this note.”

“A note?  How exciting!” Miss Christi perked up. “What did it say?”

“Not really sure; it was written in German. I googled the shipping address. It was one of those package drop-off places. You know? Like a Kinko’s.”

“Germany, you say?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I think. Okay! I lied. It was—day before Christmas. I think. And there wasn’t any fricken address. They’re my boots!”

“Yes, dear, they are. And the note?”

Catherine didn’t answer. She looked at the silver tea pot, so polished. She saw MK’s, too revealing, twisted, reflection. She crossed her legs and thought for a minute. How humiliating! She noticed Miss Christi glancing at her way-too-short baby dress. Fuck it! Tell her.

“I gave it to my friend. We’re like, best friends. Yeah, her mom tutored me in German. I so sucked at it. My mom made me go. It’s so stupid. We were in my bedroom. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying on the boots. They’re a perfect fit, you know.”

“Yes, dear. The note; who was it addressed to? What did it say?”

“Her mom came in and saw me in the boots and totally freaked.”

“Yes, yes, my dear; what happened?”

“Nothing happened!”

“Nothing?” asked Miss Christi in disbelief.

“Wait! You think I’m a fucking dyke or something? No. Well, her mom stared at me—them!  The boots, I mean. Like, forever. She couldn’t take her eyes off me—the boots!” Shut up.

“The boots? I see. Can you elaborate on the note?”

“Well, yeah, but this is where it gets a little weird. Her mom walked over and took the note. She read it to herself. I asked her what it said. At first, she didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes. We waited and watched, for, what seemed like, fucking forever.”

“Yes.” Miss Christi stated patiently.

“Yeah. When she finally opened her eyes, it was like—” Catherine looked out to sea and took a deep breath. “Like, she was in like—in a fucking trance, or something. Then she started crying. I mean like, she was like, bawling her eyes out. I got the note back. But it was too late. Her mom’s tears had like, dissolved most of it. Pretty fuckin’ weird, huh? I could barely read the last line. Just the initials at the bottom. K—”

“K-G-B.”

“Hey! How’d you know?”

“Katrina GoodKnight Blachmann.”

“Yeah. That’s the name I used on my fake ID too. I thought it sounded way cool.”

“I agree, dear; way cool.” Miss Christi was gazing at the portrait.

Catherine didn’t realize and kept going. “You must have seen it in my wallet, right? Anyway, we both laughed. Then, Natasha started bawling again.”

That brought Miss Christi back. She exclaimed, “Natasha!” Her heart was pounding. She’d just been ripped from her dead lover’s arms. She reached for her tea, spilling some. A minute later, she discreetly dabbed, and calmly asked, “Then what happened, dear?”

Still unaware, she continued, “After a while her mom finally chilled. She said the note said the boots were a gift. It also said that my parents didn’t want me to have them. Her mom said not to let my parents see me in them. Guess I should have listened?”

“Yes, dear. Then what happened?”

“Nothing. Really! My mom texted me. They were coming home from work to say good-bye before they left. Some last-minute emergency work trip. On Christmas! Who works on Christmas? Anyway, her mom said that I should leave the boots with her. So, I did. She said they looked so cool on me.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure. Did she tell you anything more?”

“Later that night, my mom said I could stay over her house. I asked her who this Katrina chick was. She said Mistress Katrina was dead; died a long time ago. She said I looked just like her, only younger. Don’t take this the wrong way, but— Well. The more I wore the boots— The more she felt—” She loves MK, not you stupid. “I can’t explain it. I never felt that way,” about anyone, “before.” Except—well, maybe Dani too.

“I see. Can you describe your feelings for Natasha?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Do you think Natasha gave you the boots?”

“Her? Na, I asked her. She said that the Katrina chick had them when she croaked?”

“Did she say how Katrina had died?”

“Yeah. She said that she was at ground zero when the planes hit. She could barely say it.”

“How old is your friend?”

“She’s like, fourteen. We have the same birthday, you know. June ninth!”

“I see. And her mother? Do you know Natasha’s age?”

“No, I don’t know. About twenty-eight, I guess. She doesn’t talk about when she was young. Gets all upset. Says she doesn’t remember. I think she was like, raped or something.”

“So you and Natasha talk a lot?”

“Yeah, maybe a little. So what? It’s no big deal. She’s friends with my mom.

“Do you find that odd that your mother’s friend tutors you in, German?”

“What the fuck! I thought I only had to tell you how I got my boots?”

“Yes, dear, but I don’t think you’ve told me everything.”

“Have fuckin’ too!” Catherine fluffed her dress provocatively. “What’s with this fuckin’ wacky baby game?”

“It’s no game, my dear.”

“Whatever!” She crossed her arms. “Why are you treating me this way?”

“It’s merely the first step in your education, my dear.”

“Education? How is making me pee in a fuckin’ cup and dressing me up like this, and treating me like some psycho baby, educating me?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Like a fricken baby! I fricken pooped myself, you know?”

“Yes dear; everyone poops. Do you know how a baby feels?”

“Well. I didn’t. But I guess, this must be like what a baby feels.”

“Do you like feeling that way, my dear?

“Well.” Catherine looked into her reflection in the silver tea service. “Not too crazy about the outfit. Pink? Come on. What’s with all the fricken pink? Didn’t like waking up covered in poop.”

“What do you like about being here?”

“Nothing!” What about that Dani? Catherine’s face brightened.

“Honestly, dear? You can tell me.”

Silence overtook. Miss Christi waited a bit, then rose and set about building a fresh cup of tea. Catherine studied, watching her add the touch of milk and two lumps before the tea. Miss Christi retook her seat and found solace in the hot tea. Ten minutes later, the baby showed the first signs of growth.

“Well.” Catherine uncrossed her arms and let her skimpy dress ride up. “I kinda like not being responsible.” She began flapping her way-too-short hem. “I’m hot. Are you?”

Miss Christi didn’t pay the hot pink vinyl any notice. “Explain yourself, my dear.”

“I’m hot.”

“Not that, dear.”

“Okay! I like that Mommy is getting spanked when, well. It should be me.”

“So you like that, dear?” The familiar glint in Catherine’s eyes told Miss Christi all she needed to know.

“Well, yeah. It’s kinda fun, seeing her ass getting whacked.” She shrugged. “A little twisted, huh?”

“I don’t think so. Do you plan to be a baby much longer, dear?”

“Didn’t know I had a fuck—a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice, my dear. We all choose when to grow up and when to be a baby.”

“Okay. I choose to grow up. Right now! Please Gran—” Shit! “Sorry, Miss Christi.”

“It’s not about asking, my dear. It’s about being honest. Our actions determine how we are treated at Blachmann. Do you understand why you’re in that dress now?”

“Yeah. Yes! I think so, Miss Christi.”

“Very good, my dear. Now please, tell me more about your friend and her mom.”

“You said one question. I’m hungry.”

“So I did, my dear. Please, try a scone.” Miss Christi took one and looked out to the Atlantic. “Perhaps another day?”

Catherine grabbed one and looked out at the breaking waves. “Perhaps.” She took a bite. “Hey, these are pretty fucking good.”

“Yes, my dear.” They always were your favorite… “Shall I have Miss Giselle bring the paddle?”

“Yes, please, Miss Christi. Rules are rules.”

“So they are, my dear. I believe you’ve earned her at least twelve.”

“Is that all?” No fuckin’ way. “I was thinking it was like, sixteen or seventeen.” Yeah.

“I see someone’s been paying attention.”

Catherine’s face had the look of a beautiful sunrise.

Target in Sight

Silverstone Circuit, Northamptonshire, UK, Thursday, 4 June, 10:13 local

Assignment or not, Dame Jane Sterling was determined to have two days’ practice for the upcoming Porsche Cup race to be held at Silverstone. The team’s sponsor had prearranged for her car and crew, the private motor coach, and two days of track time. She needed to clear her head. Nothing did that better than piloting a speeding car on a razor’s edge, around a high-speed circuit like Silverstone. The Porsche GT3 began the last lap of the morning test session.

A U.S. Army Blackhawk helicopter hovered a thousand feet overhead. Pete sat inside the open doorway watching as the Black Stallion came into view. “Target in sight. Make it count, Tiger.”

One day earlier: Jane woke before sunrise. Told the dolls she was going for a run. She ran alright—all the way to England. First thing she did was to shut her phones off, telling her plan to no one. Secondly, she ditched the shadows. Karla and her mate, and two men she didn’t recognize. She’d first spotted them in London, outside Papa’s flat, then again, at the Eiffel, and in the lobby at their hotel in Paris. Pete’s DSS boys were always harder to lose. She ended up hitching a ride on a lorry. The old Frenchman smuggled her across through the Chunnel for a kiss. Back in the UK, she paid a cabbie a thousand quid to shuttle her up to the track. Everyone had a price…

It felt good to get away from the bloody assignments. Day one went off without a hitch. Jane was back in the driver’s seat. She had always loved Silverstone. Maybe it was the speed. Maybe it was England. Maybe it was being around her racing mates. Whatever it was, she thought the time away would provide some restful sleep. It didn’t happen. Krump was making a fool out of them. They were no closer to Papa than, that night in Dubai. KK…

Unable to let go, she replayed the breakfast meeting with, Pete. Krump was a dead man. A ghost. Vanished last year… Body never recovered… I didn’t kill him. Did I? But why would KK put on such a show? Did KK kill Papa? How could she pull it off? True: the little slut was a drama queen. That knotty girl could act…steady girl… but, fooling Krump’s associates, all six, for five months? It would have taken someone bloody capable to pull that one off? Kat—it had to be Boris—

The squeal of tires losing their grip alerted her good senses. Hurtling down its long straights and powering through its blindingly fast and world-famous turns made Silverstone Circuit a favorite of racers and race fans around the globe. Jane woke that morning and sent word through Mum to her British client that she had had enough of the Krump assignment. After her day at the track, she would hand-deliver her assignment—incomplete. Dame Jane was done. Finished with Papa and, done babysitting his daughter. Well… She was done with Pete’s kinky senator. Definitely. Most of all, she was done fearing Krump’s dead Tiger. Boris is the bloody ghost. Dame Jane had made up Katrina’s disturbed mind. She was going back to DC to find my Natasha and—

Midway through turn one, a right-hand sweeper known as Copse Corner, taken flat at about 150 mph, her left rear tire blew without warning. Bloody—Fuck!

Seconds earlier: From a secluded position in the elevated camera platform at the end of the front stretch, Tiger66 completed the fifty caliber recoilless rifle assembly with the muzzle suppressor’s installation. The expert markswoman chambered the frangible tipped round. The platform was shrouded with tarps for protection from the expected weather, not to mention the expected shit-storm that would most surely rain down on them if she missed. Lined up on the reference mark at the apex curbing, she calmly said, “Call it, honey.”

Bullwinkle called the shot. “Five, four, three, two, one.”

The Black Stallion blurred her sights. Boris squeezed.  Sorry baby… It was a difficult shot. There was no noticeable sound or muzzle flash. At that speed, there was only one chance to get it right. Pete’s estranged bedfellow had made it count. Now they were even. The ex-KGB assassin, Boris, could crawl back under the rubble. Captain Schumacher couldn’t. She still had some unfinished business with Krump.

“Good hit. Move your ass,” Captain.

“Fuck you.” Kate quickly dismantled the tool of her past life as the Blackhawk swung around to make its approach to land at the infield heliport. The Tiger had been instructed, Make it look like an accident. Not an easy task, but that’s why Papa entrusted Boris with the Sterling assignment.

To Pete, Papa’s Tiger would always be his Kate. Boris? That KAT was a ghost, resurrected from his wife’s past life to protect the Blachmann legacy. Until Dubai, Kate had been his love. But Boris? He wasn’t sure who that KAT loved. First Natasha, then, “Rocky!” now, “Fuck!”… Love… Yah, it sure makes ya do—

“Bullwinkle, is Rocky alright?”

“Christ Tiger! This is an open channel.” Ah, fuck it! It didn’t matter now. He couldn’t afford to give a flying rat’s ass if, Rocky—Jane Sterling got her ass whacked or not. Not anymore. Not when they were this close to identifying the Breeder.

Pete wasn’t running this operation on the books. But neither was the competition. Too much was at stake. Just the same, when the Porsche left the track, there was no way he could guarantee if Katrina GoodKnight or Jane Sterling would survive their deception. He watched with widening eyes and wondered if he’d miscalculated. “Shit! Oh, fuck—Rocky!”

At a buck-fifty and change, there was no way anyone could save it. In an instant, the highly modified Porsche was careening off the track and tumbling end over end like a drunken German gymnast performing a strip show. Over and over she went. No longer in command, Jane was now a passenger, along for the ride. The Porsche kept up its mesmerizing strip tease, shedding bits and bobs, losing more luster with each pounding hit. After what seemed to take forever, the ugly remains of what was once a fine example of precision German engineering and painstaking craftsmanship came to rest next to the tire barrier at the exit of Copse Corner.

Krump’s old KAT was already on the move.

“Can you see her? Is she—?” My baby—

“Negative Six. Keep moving.” His ear and knee ached.

Thankfully, what remained of Jane had landed right side up. Shaken and perplexed, she instinctively pulled the small catch lever at her lap. The five-strap safety harness that still bound her tight in the driver’s seat released. KK… Having completed her morning practice session, she stepped out of what was left of Black Stallion Racing’s last Porsche GT 3.

Hot, sweaty, tired, and, with the exception of her pride, uninjured, she turned back to see. Jane was pissed—royally pissed. She took in the bloody awful sight. She couldn’t deny who was responsible. Stepped a bit over the edge. It felt like she’d injured a trusting lover. Sir Goody’s not going to like this… The chassis was a write-off.

Something caught Katrina’s eye. “What’s this?”

 “Rocky’s fine babe.”

“Are you sure? Is she out yet?” Boris dropped the disguised rifle case into the open rear bonnet of a waiting car. It started off. She kept moving. Captain Schumacher had somewhere to be. She had to meet Karla. Not to mention: Boris the KAT was persona non grata west of Berlin.

Pete didn’t answer. Come on, Janie! He signaled the pilot to orbit the scene. Move your ass!

Jane knelt beside the punctured rear tire. Bloody hell… It didn’t take two seconds for her mind to grasp reality. Fuck me. She poked a finger through the entry and exit holes made by the would-be assassin’s bullet. Boris… The medical team arrived on scene. Get us the fuck out of here, Jane!

She hadn’t gotten more than twenty feet when the Porsche’s fuel tank exploded, sending burning fuel into the cockpit and engulfing the whole mess in flames. Intense heat—the blast wave knocked her to the ground. Any more delay, and Dame Jane would have been, toast.

“Bullwinkle! Answer me, you piece of shit! What just happened?”

“You just saved her ass. Be in touch, babe.”

“I’m not your babe! You need to end this charade now!”

“Not yet, Tiger.” He terminated the secure communications link.

“Eat me.” She ripped the piece from her ear and dropped it in a trash bin. “Dickhead.”

Jane stayed low as the medical team came to her aid. She looked to the sky. The Blackhawk circled twice. It landed at the infield heliport. Judging by the bullet’s trajectory, the shot had come from above. She took one last look at the carnage. That should do us for today. The car was toast and needed to be replaced. Boris… Pete said she was toast too. Lying fuck! Easy, girl.

Her day done, Dame Jane Sterling was taken by the ambulance to the infield medical center. Once there, she handed the lovely attending her helmet and HANS device for the mandatory inspection. HANS stood for Head-And-Neck-Support. Its job was to prevent a broken neck from a major impact. With three active assignments, the last thing this disgraced GoodKnight needed was a broken neck. The good doctor recommended a thorough top-to-bottom exam. “Well, love, if you insist.” Meow…

Forty minutes later: a repaired Jane opened the door to Black Stallion Racing’s luxury motor coach. Stretched out on the sofa was Uncle Pete, reading Jane’s copy of, yesterday’s Times.

“Hey, Janie.” He was done buying the Dame Jane act.

No response.

“Saw your little mishap on the way in. Thought I might have to call in a replacement. It looked like you blew a left rear.” He scratched his two-day-old scruff. “Tough luck, Rocky. You really gave us a scare. Saw it blow…Hey, what kept ya?”

“Missed me so soon?” Except for the rosy cheeks, Jane appeared unaffected. She reached for the zipper of her one-piece driving overalls. Rocky? Only Boris called me that.

The old Kat needed a cold shower. Pete didn’t need to hear about the attractive physician. The good doctor insisted on a thorough going-over. She gave her Jane’s best, leaving the fine young lady with a hot stethoscope and a promise she would ring her upon her return for the race in two weeks. Katrina’s list of Jane Sterling’s promises was getting longer.

“The secretary wasn’t thrilled by your disappearing act. Don’t want the job? They can’t always look like Barbie.”

“That’s not the reason. I’m just stretched a little thin.”

“Look; would you’d rather do the babysitting?”

“No! You called me Rocky?” The zipper started down.

“Nah.”

“Yeah, you did, mate.”

Like he needed his memory stimulated. She slipped free of Jane’s tailored overalls and then peeled the flame-retardant undershirt over her head.

“Okay, I did! Just forget it.” His attention was back in The Times. “Your little Hushgirl is in a pile of shit.”

“Not again?” She kicked off her driving shoes and stepped out of the overalls.

“What?” Pete looked more than a little distracted by the already-unfastened bra.

“Doctor’s orders.… Says who?” She peeled Jane’s fire-retardant long underpants down her longer legs. That should do the trick…

“Says me! I see you started working out again. Good… Anyway, I did some more checking for you.” Pete felt a sharp pain in his right knee. He rubbed it. “Happens every time I see you.”

“Sorry.” She pulled on an oversized Black Stallion T-shirt and reached under, removing her bra. “That still a problem, is it?” She pointed to his knee.

“Yah. Never been the same since.” He looked at the rogue grimly.

“I said I was sorry! Did you learn anything more?” Off went a sock.

“Plenty! Your little Red Riding Hood? She’s German Intelligence.”

“BND?” The other sock followed the first into the pile.

“Deep cover. Germs inserted her last fall.”

“Elsa? Do say. Last fall?”

“Yes, I do say. And Janie; don’t get any ideas. The secretary reminded me to tell you; the big Germs in Berlin don’t want any headlines. They have elections coming up. They want Krump left vertical. If he still is vertical. Understand?”

“You Yanks involved?”

“Now, Janie, you know we don’t do that.”

“Right. Not since Obama. So what do you get out of it?”

“Me? Nothing. Krump’s their deal, not ours. We’re after Osama; remember?”

Janie didn’t like that joke either. She reached under and downed the knickers. “Want them?”

“Look, Cougar; I got one wicked pissed-off senator. I really need your Mistress skills. Tomorrow, O-nine-hundred. Room eight-seven-one. Just give me two hours. Someone’s got a real bad itch that needs scratching. Just give her a sample. Okay?”

She dangled Jane’s sweaty underpants like a treat.

“Na. Besides, Mom’s expecting you two for dinner tomorrow. Remember?”

“Right, that.” Ja, you promised.

“Yah, that that. So forget the damn dolls, grow up, and pull on one of those shiny rubber outfits everyone likes. Just give her a taste of that dominatrix stuff you’re so good at. Is that too much to ask? And make sure you wear them boots; the high ones; okay? She has a thing for them high boots. And don’t forget the rubber. That new stuff. Make sure it’s the new stuff. I left some in the top drawer; with them photos you gave me. Got it?”

“Right! Your intel was quite explicit on that point. Tell the rubber slut we’ll meet in the dining room. O-nine-hundred; sharp! Or else.” She gave a sly grin and tossed Jane’s god-awful knickers.

“Thanks.”

“Sure, mate.… Know anything about that missing Air France flight?”

“Yah, a little. It’s missing.” He tossed the sweaty pink cotton on the pile. “And Janie; no more hiding in the doll’s vinyl; understand?…Why Air France?”

“Papa was expecting one of the passengers.”

“Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Like I told you last week.” He flipped the page. “Papa’s history.”

“BDN doesn’t think so. What’s your bloody proof?”

“Funny you should ask, Miss Jane. No one’s seen Papa since last December; in Dubai. I’m told that every time he’s supposed to show somewhere, KK pops up and makes some dumb excuse. Lately, it’s the swine flu. Hey, have you been to Mexico lately?”

“No, mate. It’s too hot there for me down there.” She fanned the T-shirt. “Remember?”

“Oh yeah… Just making sure you are you. They still sore about that?”

She didn’t answer.

“Anyway—word around town is that your little pink doll is covering up Papa’s demise.”

“KK?”

“Yes, KK! She’s playing you, Miss Jane. Krump’s sister is running the show now.

“Sister?”

“You heard right, Miss Jane. Auntie Krump. The only problem is no one inside Langley or the Foggy knows anything about her. Chicks rule!” He chuckled and flipped the page. “It was the Brits, wasn’t it? They woke up your BFF, didn’t they?”

“Where’s the body, Peter?”

“Beats me.… We don’t have it.” He scratched the back of his head and pulled at his hair. “Who hired you?”

“No one bloody hired me. You need a haircut. Want one?”

“Come on, Janie. It’s me, old Uncle Pete. Dubai? Who let MK out?”

“So, you want to meet the client?”

“You shitting me?…Really?”

“Yeah. He used to be a regular. A girl’s got to stay in shape.”

Pete smiled. “Any front page stuff? I never figured you’d really retired after…”

“Nothing political. Strictly industrial. I’m mindful of your Cock-in-Arse rules. Six wanted proof Krump was really Krump. The assignment was scheduled for my—Jane’s birthday.”

“Nice present. Did you whack the old fuck?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Come on, Cougar; I’m not a moron. What have you two been doing for five months? The BND wants to know if you’re still working the Dubai term paper. And no bullshit this time!”

“Like you said, mate, babysitting. Won’t be much longer. Krump’s taking over the old Churchill estate. My—the assignment, terminates on the twentieth.”

Pete didn’t like the sound of that. “The orphanage? Weren’t you and—ah, forget it. That’s closed down, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Brilliant, ain’t it?”

“Sounds pretty twisted.”

“Not really. Sir Goody squandered the family fortune. The Royal Scottish Bank sent a final notice of foreclosure. His daughter—”

“Hey, Janie, you okay?” Pete sat up and showed concern he might lose her again.

“What, ja.” Her mind had hit a pothole. She reached for the can of Black Stallion and drank. “There; good as new. Jack is selling it off to Krump’s foundation under the provision her father can stay on until his death.”

“You mean she’s selling it to Papa’s sister. Papa’s dead. And so will you, if you keep drinking that shit.”

“So you say.”

“Whatever. It don’t mean shit to me. Or you! Get dressed, Dame Jane. I bummed us a ride on a Globemaster (C-17A) headed west. It’s bringing some boys home from Afghanistan. She’s due in at (RAF) Brize Norton.” He checked his trusty Blackberry. “We got two hours. And, just so you don’t get lost again, I’ll be riding shotgun all the way to the Mayflower.”

“Just like the old days. You plan on tucking me in, mate?”

“Yeah, something like that, mate. Hit the showers. I’ll tell you the rest on the plane. Hey, Janie—you want to get some lunch first?”

“Not yet.” She picked up Jane’s mobile.

“What now?”

“How’d you like to have tea with a very naughty royal? Mum’s arranged us a visit.”

“No! My job is to get you to the Mayflower, tonight!”

“It’s with Lord Churchill himself.”

“Really? Hey, isn’t he the same guy—” Pete picked up the paper, flipped back a few pages. “So that’s your client? Says here he’s selling the place to the Russkies.”

“Wrong. Krump’s German.”

“Whatever. It says he’s selling the entire ten-thousand-acre estate, lock, stock, and rusty barrel, to a commie. Apparently the locals aren’t too thrilled about having another ex-KGB commie billionaire in the neighborhood.” He showed her the page.

“Yesterday’s news. And Krump was Stasi.”

“Whatever.… Hey, Janie; wasn’t that place used by the Brits during World War Two as some kind of secret high-value prisoner interrogation center?”

“Right. His father headed up the whole program. Sir Katherine knew him.”

“That’s right! What did she call him? Professor O—Orgasm, wasn’t it?”

“Never to his face. Mum said the old bugger was quite the sadist. Good man, though.”

“Yah, sure. Guess Sir Goodwin didn’t follow in the family business,” said Pete with a grin.

“Guess not: obstetrics. I’ll just pop in the shower. Want to come?”

“Thanks; I’ll pass. What’s the link?”

“His daughter. She’s still on the Queen’s payroll.”

“MI-six? No shit?”

“Maybe a little,” smirked Jane.

“Huh?” Pete didn’t want details. He did want to have a little fun. “Okay; we got time. Make it quick. And don’t get any ideas, Miss GoodKnight.” He glanced outside. “Insurance.”

She peered through the blinds. “Only three?” Agents from the Department of State’s DSS London branch were standing outside the motor coach. “You really think you can keep this Kat on a leash?” Two looked familiar. Paris… Bloody hell.

“Like I said, Cougar. Plane leaves in two. I’ve got a brand-new Blackhawk waiting.”

“Right. Noticed you circling: Vulture.”

“Hey, Janie, that’s a good one. By the way, the Brits have you on a term sheet.”

You Won’t Get Me

The Churchill country estate, Oxfordshire, UK, 12:26 local

The Blackhawk set down on the front lawn. A second one, with the assault team, stayed in orbit above the grounds. Just in case. Next to them sat Sir Goodwin’s latest ride. A leased and well-worn Bell Jet-Ranger was dripping oil on the ratty grass. Pete pointed and mouthed to Jane, “You won’t get me on that P-O-S.” He could see right off, things didn’t look to be going so well for Sir Goodwin.

Born 1 January, 1916, Sir Goodwin was Lord Churchill, the Seventeenth Duke of Oxfordshire, and oldest serving member in the House of Lords. A full-time staff of nurses cared for him, confined to a wheelchair since suffering a stroke on his eighty-fifth. Unable to stand, and with no feeling or movement on his right side, the stroke had necessitated the use of diapers. Thankfully, his eyesight was still sound. His hearing had degraded, but was no worse than most of his advanced age. One other side effect of the stroke was an almost-constant stream of drool dripping from the gap in his teeth on the right side of his mouth.

Back during the technology boom of the late nineties, Sir Goodwin bet big on the dot-coms. When the bubble burst in April of 2000, he lost nearly all his family fortune—over two billion pounds sterling. Against his daughter’s wishes, he mortgaged the family estate, and other properties and assets, with the RSB. He put the entire proceeds, three hundred million, into an investment fund run by some Wall Street veteran named Bernard Madoff. Madoff’s fund was a favorite investment vehicle of many of the old aristocracy scattered across the European Union. Year after year, the fund returned at least 12 percent, more than enough to maintain their plush royal lifestyle.

Last December, while listening to the BBC news, Sir Goodwin had got the bad news. The American Wall Street financier, Barnard Madoff has been arrested, allegedly for running a fifty-billion-dollar Ponzi scheme. His daughter was still in shock when the Receiver’s letter arrived on his birthday. His entire investment was gone. Now, Lady Jacqueline was burning through her own rapidly dwindling funds to support her father and the centuries-old family estate.

They waited in a large sitting room. Like the oil-streaked Jet-Ranger, the place seemed to be in need of much more than just a good cleansing. It suffered from deferred maintenance. The Churchill’s were struggling to maintain a lifestyle that greatly exceeded their current means. Jane hadn’t been there since last fall, when times were better. In March, much of the thirty-thousand-square-foot house was closed off and the staff sacked in an attempt to reduce expenses. It looked to be a losing battle.

Pete did a double take when the sonsy young nurse named Lucy wheeled in what was left of the old man and parked him before them. To see him there, all shriveled up and twisted, it was hard to believe Sir Drooly, was once a spy master. Jane had neglected to mention that the poor old bugger in the wheelchair had spent twenty years as the Brit’s senior operative in Berlin. He traveled freely, crossing the Wall under a white cover of a doctor. He left the spy game in Berlin for good in 1973, returning to Britain after the death of his father. The crumpled old spy no longer appeared capable of mastering much of anything, including himself.

Nurse Lucy bent to set the wheel locks. She leaned forward, her hastily brushed hair falling against his old thin face. Jane was sure she caught Sir Goody looking as drool dripped from the right side of his mouth. Nurse Lucy took out a small white cotton cloth and wiped the drool away, all the while speaking to him like he was her little boy. He clearly enjoyed all the fussing about she was giving.

Pete enjoyed it too. Nurse Lucy’s slightly plump derriere was but two feet in front. The uniform wasn’t hospital regulation. Her big boobs practically fell out when Luscious Lucy leaned over to tend to “Sir Goody.” That’s what Nurse Lucy called him. Her round tush was staring them both in the face each time Luscious Lucy adjusted the small pillow behind his head, or bent over to wipe his constant drooling.

Pete leaned over and whispered, “What a shitty way to go?”

Jane whispered back, “Right; like locking a diabetic in a candy shop with no bloody insulin.”

“Christ, Janie. You sure know how to ruin the moment.” Pete slouched back, improving his angle on Luscious Lucy.

“Boys.” She nudged his knee.

“What?”

“Sit up straight, Peter.”

“Hey, Janie. Good thing you’re not in uniform. Probably send him over—”

“Does someone need a spanking?”

“Where’s the old Jane?”

“Got old and fat. Remember?”

Their hushed banter was interrupted by the sound of angry heels approaching. Pete was preoccupied, still fondling Nurse Lucy’s curvy bottom with his eyes as Jane stood and came to attention. She looked directly into the woman standing in the entrance.

Lady Jacqueline Churchill, sole heir to Sir Goodwin’s hopelessly indentured estate, and next in line for the family’s seat in the House of Lords, glared from the doorway. Clad smartly in her finest equestrian attire, she clutched a favored riding crop that was now being tapped against her boot. Pete took only brief notice, but did sit up straight when she removed her hat and puffed her broad chest. He then resumed his probing of Lucy’s nursing qualifications.

Dame Jane was less than impressed by the Lady’s display.

The Lady Churchill eyed Jane with disdain before turning to her father.

Whack!

That got Pete’s attention.

“Lucy! Stop that incessant coddling.” The Lady Churchill entered the sitting room. She struck the crop sternly against her boot. “I’ve told you not to overstimulate him. Go. Fetch some tea! Leave us!”

Pete was concerned—Lucy’s overstimulation was becoming noticeable. Just the same, he knew better than not to get up to greet a Lady—Churchill. So you’re Papa’s British bitch.

“Yes, Mum.” Lucy gave Sir Goodwin another quick wipe, leaving the sloppy drool cloth on his lap. She wiggled off, wagging her tail like a well-trained pet.

Pete and Jane heard a faint gurgled hiss. It sounded a lot like Zicke. They turned to see the smile still dripping off Sir Goodwin’s lips. Each gave the other a glance. He’d just called his daughter a bitch in German. Pete stifled a grin. He was starting to like the guy.

“To what do we owe this impromptu visit, Sterling? Come to beg Father for a new car?”

“It’s Dame Sterling,” growled Jane. “Lovely seeing you again too, Jack.”

Lady Churchill moved forward, stepping across Jane’s proud bow to greet Pete. Without removing the glove, she offered her hand.

Gunboat diplomacy… Pete felt a definite chill blow through his shorts. He took hold of the Lady’s hand. Her firm grip shook him. Not my type. Her skintight black leather glove sent a shiver racing up his spine. Sir Drooly’s blanket… Maybe that nurse? Lucy returned, blanket in hand. Her big tits jiggling, she bent forward and set it over his lap.

Lady Churchill released Pete. He kept his eye on the crop. She kept hers on the bulge. He lifted her hand and kissed the fine leather. She liked it. Little Dickey kept up the act. Jane didn’t.

Traitor.

“Is it now? What’s this visit really about, Sterling?” snapped the Lady as she sat on the throne next to her father, all the while maintaining a steady glare at Jane.

“Truth,” said Jane coldly, returning with Pete to their seats.

“About what?” retorted the Lady.

Pete rested a hand on Jane’s knee, then piped up. “Your boyfriend; that Krump fella. Ya—”

Bloody hell!

“Boyfriend?” Lady Churchill laughed, then directed a piercing glare into Jane and said, “He’s not my boyfriend. You’re the one screwing that disgrace of a daughter; aren’t you?”

Brilliant!…Dame Jane ignored the assertion. Katrina readied her claws.

Pete squeezed Jane’s knee. “Um, wasn’t that you I saw in the paper last week with them two reporter chicks? Hey, that was you, wasn’t it? You’re taller in person. Much prettier too.”

“Yes.” The Lady smiled, briefly tossing Jane another glare. “Herr Krump asked that I act on his behalf in the Korean affair.”

“So you actually met this Krump fella?”

“Yes. We met last week, in New York.”

“Where?” demanded Jane, coming to her feet in a flash. Pete’s black KAT was loose.

“On board his aircraft.” She gave Jane a peculiar look. “At JFK, and all the way over to London and—”

“The flat?” Jane already suspected.

“Yes, the flat! Not that it’s any of your concern, Sterling. He’s purchasing the estate. It’s taking some time to finalize the terms.”

“Terms?” Sterling laughed and stood tall. “Right. Whose condom was it? Yours or his?”

The Lady stood and readied her crop.

Son of a prick. Pete’s suspicions were right. Big hands. That neck. Those shoulders. Those feet. Ms Churchill ain’t no lady. He couldn’t afford his cougar getting all scratched up in a fight with a pissed-off tomcat. Jumping to his feet, he got between them before she—he could strike.

“Whoa! Easy, ladies.” He quickly placed his weak hand over her crop and smiled, then slowly slid it down her shaft. It felt a little stiff, but he sensed she would soften. He stroked it once, more than tickled the business end, and said, “Nice whip, Lady Churchill. Papers say you sold out to a commie; that Krump fella?” Pete had chills as he—she removed his hand for the crop. He braced for an expected backlash.

“Poppycock!” The crop lowered. “Krump’s no communist. No more than you or I.”

“Are you sure it’s really him?” asked Pete. His curiosity peaked; he studied, Lady Jack’s, lines. Not bad for a remodel job. Nice.

“Yes, very. What’s this all about—what’s your name?”

“An assignment,” interrupted Sterling, sounding less than official before bringing her hands to rest on her hips.

Lady Jack backed off. Pete stood down too, placing sweaty palms deep in his pants pockets for a needed adjustment. Thankfully, they came out dry.

“Who on God’s good earth would ever hire you? Not after nine-eleven. You were sacked, weren’t you?”

“Was I?” responded Jane, as if Jack’s bite didn’t matter. Her eyes wandered back to Sir Goodwin’s drooling lips. He had a twinkle in his eye. She went to lend assistance. Picking up the cotton cloth, she wiped his endless drool, doing her best to imitate Lucy. “How’s that, Sir Goody?” She tickled his left cheek.

Jane outdid Lucy by miles.

“Um, your Ladyship; how’d you know it was really Krump?” asked Pete, prying his eyes back away from Nurse Janie and back to the, wicked pissed, and stiffening—Lady Jack? Shit. She was sizing his up too. He was really in a sticky wicket now.

“Need I draw you a picture?” Lady Jack checked her watch.

“Oh, yeah, the condom; sorry,” answered Pete with a childish smirk. “Do you have any?”

“What?” Lady Jack returned her glare to Jane. “Who the devil is this bloody wanker?”

“It’s Long, ma’am, Peter Long.” He lifted an eyebrow and said, “It is ma’am? Or is it Mum?”

No response. His name gave her pause to reconsider.

“Pictures? Do ya have any?”

“It’s Lady Jacqueline, Mister Long.”

“Oh. Sorry, your Ladyship. But please; just call me Pete, okay?” He produced his business card and offered it with a puppy-dog smile.

She took it with a hint of enticement. Peter Long, United States of America, Department of State. Her eyes lifted to meet his. “Director of Human Relations?” A fake laugh, then she put on the charm. “How may we (MI6) be of assistance, Mister Long?” She added, “It is long, you say?”

“Yah, it’s long alright. Secretary sends her warmest. Recent pictures? This Krump fella; do you guys have any?”

“I’m sorry to say, we don’t.” She snarled at Jane.

Pete didn’t let up. “So, he really is your boyfriend?…I mean, that’s what it says on all them internet gossip sites.” He looked at, Dame Jane. “Right?”

Jane didn’t think Little Dickey needed any help. He gave the idled crop another stroke and made like that puppy dog. It was all Lady Jack could do not to blow. She brought the crop down swiftly into her own palm and gripped it safe.

“He values his privacy. As do I, Mister Long. So unless you have some official business?… No?…Then, I think it’s time you leave.”

“Oh, bummer. I kinda hoped you’d show me your tack room. I kinda have a thing for saddles.” He shrugged.

Jane was the one laughing now. Pete knew Jack’s weakness for pony play.

“Do you, Peter?” Her tune had changed. She was stroking her own shaft now.

“Yeah, can’t help myself; something about the leather.” He paused. “Oh yah, there’s one other thing, Jacqueline. You don’t happen to know anything about a one-armed senator named Winter? Thirty-seven. About your height. Maybe you met in New York?”

Her shaft was stilled. “Man or woman?”

“Woman, I think?” He shrugged. “Wait. I got this photo.” He played Columbo, fumbling through his suit. “Nice whip. Ah, here it is.” He pulled his out and showed her. “That’s you two, ladies, boarding Krump’s plane, together, right?”

Lady Jacqueline shrugged him back, than gave her shaft its final stroke. “As I said, Peter, we value our privacy. Why?”

“Well, if you happen to see, her; let her know that if she doesn’t show for tomorrow’s meet, the entire deal’s off. I’m sure you understand.” He smiled and tickled her crop.

“Perhaps I could show you the tack room on your way out, Peter?”

“Really? Awesome.”

“Really, Jack.” Sir Goodwin continued, his speech somewhat gurgled but still sounding very British. “Not now; I invited Miss Jane and her young man into this house and I shall say when it’s time to go.”

“But, Father! I—”

“Jack! Leave us.” The old bugger may have been down, but he wasn’t out—yet. He put his foot down—sort of. “Now!” The drool really flowed as he shooed her away—with his good hand.

“Next time, Peter.” Lady Jacqueline turned to Jane and growled, “Goodbye, Sterling.” She let free the instrument of her rage, cracking the well-worn crop hard against her riding boot and withdrew. Her hundred-fifty-plus-pound frame crushed the ancient flooring as her metal-edged heels sounded a pained retreat.

My Sincerest Apologies

“My sincerest apologies, Miss Jane. Jack’s become such a bore since— Well, not to worry, child; Lucy should be along any minute with tea. So, what brings you two here to see this old man, other than to spark up my day? Do join me in a nip.” The drool wouldn’t stop.

“Sir Goody!” Jane bent, picked up the soaked cloth, and wiped. “That’s my good little boy. We hoped you could answer some questions about Heinrich von Krump.” She pocketed the drool rag and headed for, the scotch. “Peter believes that Papa is dead.” She laughed politely, signaling disbelief as she reached for the virgin bottle of her favorite. “Ah, the twenty-one. Smashing. I see you remembered.”

Before Sir Goody could respond, Lucy entered with the tea trolley. She parked it beside Sir Goodwin and offered Jane and Pete a cup.

“None for me, thanks, love.” Jane poured two of the Old Pulteney, handing one to, Sir Goody. “Cheers.” Down went the scotch.

“Yes, please, Miss Lucy,” responded Pete eagerly. “I like mine creamy and sweet, wicked sweet.”

“Bet you do, sir,” responded Lucy with a naughty blush as she prepared Pete’s tea, making sure to give him a good performance. She turned and said, “Now don’t you be drinking that, you naughty boy.”

Sir Goodwin handed an empty glass back to Jane and said, “Dead, you say? No, not possible. Saw the old boy—just this morning in fact. Standing in this very room. You know he’s fucking her?”

Lucy was handing Pete his tea when she turned and scolded, “Sir Goody, that’s a very naughty word.”

“Sorry, Miss Lucy. Perhaps Miss Jane will put us over that lovely knee of hers?”

Lucy turned back to Pete and continued. “Yes, methinks my little boy could do with a good birching.”

Something about Nurse Lucy made Pete wish he was ten again. He got little and took his tea, with a healthy dose of Lucy.

“Not now, Sir Goodwin.” Undeterred, Jane asked, “Are you certain?”

“What’s that?” Sir Goodwin’s focus was elsewhere.

Pete piped up, “Krump! You saw him this morning?”

“Of course.” Messy lips waited while Lucy found a new cloth and wiped the drool. “Indisputable. I’ve known the old bugger since birth.” He looked at Pete and held up his dead hand with the good one. “Delivered him myself, with these.”

“Yes, sir, I heard.” Pete was sure Sir Goodwin’s doctoring days were behind him. “Could we see Krump’s rooms?”

“Rooms? No rooms. The filthy bastard doesn’t own the bloody place yet. Been using my study, though.” Sir Goodwin pointed at the hallway and grunted, “That way.”

“No shit! Sorry. Mind if we see it?”

“Don’t see why not, old boy.” He winked, and then grunted for Lucy to release the locks on his wheelchair.

Lucy pushed what was left of the crumpled old man into the study. She parked him behind the mammoth old desk, positioned before an enormous window. The commanding view looked out over the estate’s expansive rear grounds. Nearly a quarter mile away, on the far side of the estate, sat the old orphanage. Even from that distance, it looked to be in a sad state of neglect.

Jane didn’t care for the view. The little she did remember hadn’t been a pleasant experience. A glass display cabinet full of old dolls caught her eye. “Didn’t know you were a collector, Sir Goodwin?”

“What’s that? Oh, heavens no, Miss Jane. My daughter’s. Yes, Jack has collected them since she was a child. She’s kept every one we gave her. They’re not valuable, mind you. To remember, I suppose. Some of the older ones were her mother’s and sister’s. Too bad about your shunt. That was our last chassis, you know.”

Jane didn’t say anything. She wasn’t listening, just stared into the case. One doll in particular. It was an old Bild Lilli doll from the fifties, almost hidden, in the back right corner, behind the others. The doll was missing an arm. “Hers, you say? You gave her them?”

“Yes, Miss Jane. Some were gifts for the girls. They outgrew them. You understand. She even has names for each of them. Silly, isn’t it? A grown woman.” He needed a wipe.

“Yah, I guess.” Pete walked over to get Nurse Janie and to check out the dolls. He wasn’t impressed. He nudged her and said, “Forget the damn dolls, will ya?” Frustrated, he turned away and went back to join Sir Drooly and Luscious Lucy at work by the window. Looking out for Jane, he asked, “What’s with all them workers?”

“Yes, that? We’re preparing the grounds for Krump’s welcoming reception and the Hush-Hush fashion show. A condition of the sale; I insisted.” That thought got the drool flowing. “You will still be coming, won’t you, Miss Jane?” Sir Goodwin was drooling through his crack again. “Miss Christi promised you’d all come. Will the new doll be coming too? You know: the one Jack met in New York. How on earth did she get hold of those old boots? They went missing years ago.”

Pete stayed silent. Didn’t flinch; just kept his eyes pointed out that window.

Dame Jane responded, “Yes, Sir Goodwin, that’s the question, isn’t it? We’ll all be here. I look forward to finally meeting your mysterious benefactor.”

“Brilliant. I’m sure that Herr Krump will as well. You should join us too, Mister Long.”

“Hey, thanks, Sir Goodwin. Please, call me Pete, will ya?” He gave the old bugger a solid whack on his dead shoulder. “Sorry, I hope that didn’t hurt much.”

“Smashing,” loathed Jane, still fixated on, the doll—a different doll. Its arm was broken too.

It was Sarah’s Secret Agent Femdom Barbie. The little girl inside remembered: Sir Katherine had Scotch-taped it at the party, in a feeble attempt of repair. She had the boots on. She went white as a sheet, a vinyl sheet. That night. They were the same boots. And that shiny black jacket…

Pete gave the window a shout. “Hey, Janie!”

“What!”

“We got to get going.” Pete’s tea sat untouched on the windowsill. He found his Blackberry and started tapping. “Our ride just landed.” He hurried back over to see what was holding his Kat spellbound. He whispered, “Didn’t know you still liked dolls; not those ones, anyway.” His focus followed hers. “Shit, Janie, that one looks just like—” He froze stiff. “Hey!”

She elbowed him in the gut and growled, “Shut it!”

Lucy was pushing Sir Goody their way.

“What’s that you said, old boy?”

“Nothing, Sir Goody.” Jane moved to intercept. “Pete’s just not a doll lover. Sadly, we must be off. Perhaps, we’ll have more time for Miss Jane’s favorite little boy next time.” She fussed with his blanket, making sure to paw his good side.

“Oh, I do hope so, Miss Jane. I’ll have Nurse Lucy polish the armor.”

Lucy started to giggle.

Miss Jane kissed the drooling lip goodbye. “Right then, best have Lucy lube the rack as well. It was a wee bit squeaky last time, as I recall.”

“Come on, Miss Jane; we got to go, now.” Pete wasn’t amused.

They were off.

Not a minute later: Lady Jacqueline emerged from behind the secret panel. Seething with contempt, Jack approached his father, shouting, “Lucy, leave us at once!”

“Yes, Mum.” Lucy had seen that look enough times to know what was in store. She wasted no time in withdrawing.

“Now, Jack.”

The Lady struck her father across the face—the good side. The crop halted his protest. She waited for the doors to close. “You old fool. The Blachmann KAT knows.”

“How could she? Katrina can have no memories of that night. She was drugged, I tell you. The other dolls too.”

“I tell you; the Blachmann KAT is awake! She knows what you did.”

“Nonsense. I—”

She struck him again—a stinging blow. “Silence! You old pantywaist.” She struck him twice more, each just as harsh. His face looked clawed. It seemed that Sir Goodwin enjoyed the receiving as much as the Lady did the giving. “I see you two shared the scotch.” It was drugged. She knew her father would have no memories of his beating. And, with some luck, neither would Jane have of seeing Katrina’s doll.

Karla entered, her head bowed.

Lady Jack raised her crop and spoke in German. “Thanks to your continued incompetence, the doll’s KAT still prowls.”

Karla spoke to Lady Jack’s boots. “The blowout occurred before I could detonate the device. The Tiger was already out by the time I—”

Whack!

“Silence!” Lady Jack turned back to her nemesis. “No matter, Father; I’ll have the candy girl finish her tonight.”

Whack!

“Smashing, Jack. One more should do.”

Whack!

“Come now, Karla, we’ve given Father his fun. Inform Captain Schumacher; we leave for Dulles on Krump-One within the hour. I’ll see that our special guest is ready.”

Good Evening Miss Jane

The Town and Country, Washington DC, 21:20 local

“Good evening, Miss Jane,” said Nina, rubbing her bandaged arm.

“What happened, sweetie?”

“Oh, I’m okay now.” Nina’s eyes bulged. “My apartment blew up.” Her head shook with excitement.

“Fuck you say?” Jane hadn’t achieved enough sleep in the last few days. It was beginning to tell.

“Hard to believe, yeah?” Nina’s head bobbed. “It’s true. The fire investigator thinks it was a gas explosion.”

“Was anyone else injured?”

“My roommate.” Her eyes went sad. “She died. Burnt to a crisp. Like toast, they said. I was just getting back. I was nearing the door when, Bang! Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the ambulance. Something hit me on the head. They took a big piece of pink glass out of my arm.” She held the arm out. “It still hurts.”

“Right. A gas leak, you say?”

“Well, that’s what they said. I didn’t smell any.” Nina nodded.

“Did you not receive my gift?”

Nina’s eyes grew. “What gift?”

Wet… The perfume was a bomb. “That’s so awful, my dear Nina.” Jane tried to comfort her, “Can I offer you any assistance. Perhaps my room?”

“Uh, it’s okay. I was thinking about going back home anyway. Would you like your usual?”

“Please.”

“Right away, Miss Jane. Did you see who’s at your table?” Nina pointed to the corner table.

So taken by what Nina said, she hadn’t noticed, Natasha, sitting in the shadows. Miss Jane felt that old tingle as she moved past Nina to Natasha, beautiful sweet and most possibly, deadly, Natasha. Did Boris send you?

“Didn’t expect to see you again, Miss White,” snarled Jane sarcastically.

“I…I had…I don’t really know why I’m here.” Natasha wasn’t making eye contact. “I just—”

“Bloody happy you are, love.” Jane didn’t sound it. “May I join you?” Not waiting for the answer, she sat.

Natasha’s eyes rose to meet—only darkness. She hissed, “Please do.”

Nina brought the Old Pulteney.

“Another; make it a double, please.”

Both dolls stared blindly at the scotch, their daggers drawn, waiting. Nina sensed a catfight looming and backed off without another word. She noticed Natasha’s wine—still untouched. Though concerned, she didn’t dare ask if Miss Snow White wanted something else. Nina quickly returned with Jane’s double.

“I had to see you,” said Natasha, shattering the darkness between them.

“Yes,” growled Jane, reaching for her second glass.

“Wait!” Natasha reached out, covering the glass. “Not yet; I need to tell you something.”

“Not here!” Jane snapped, clawing Natasha’s hand away. With a death grip, she downed the double Old Pulteney like a thirsty sailor just back in port. It only fueled the fire of lust and revenge raging in her heart. That’s odd? The scotch didn’t taste quite right tonight. She looked at the empty glass, then Natasha.

Bloody hell… She pondered another? It would only make it more difficult.

“You know you shouldn’t.” Natasha reached for her wine. “I need to tell you—”

“I said, not here!” growled Jane as she rose from the table. “Leave it!”

“Yes, let’s get it over with.” Natasha stood, leaving the Chardonnay untouched.

They headed straight for the elevators. This time Natasha wasn’t Miss Jane’s little girl. She was leading the way. In the elevator neither spoke. Her lover wouldn’t look at her. She couldn’t. Pete was right. The GoodKnight had a job to do. She was back on the C17A. Pete was shouting in her ear…

You’ve Been Blown

On board the C17A, earlier that day

Jane was out before takeoff. Pete let her sleep it off for the next four hours while he decided what to do. It was like riding cross-country in the back of a refrigerated delivery truck. He’d listened to Jane’s pained mumbles about the monster and Papa for long enough. Someone had loose lips. He shook her awake. She wanted more sleep as they huddled under a blanket. Pete yelled in her bad ear and repeated those dreaded words, “You’ve been blown!  Either Sir Goody or Lady Jack let your BFF out of her cage. You really shouldn’t drink, kid. Remember the last time?”

“Not really.” Jane took in her new surroundings, including the six DSS agents. “How long?”

“About five hours.”

His Cougar had been drugged. He knew it the instant he spotted that one-armed Bild Lilli doll in the case. Cruising westbound at thirty-four-thousand feet, he told her everything his old KAT needed to know and no more, then shouted in her ear, “Face it, kid! Your augmented doll tried to kill you, Red, and—” He handed her the NSA transcript from the week before. “The box of Wet was a bomb.”

The intercept was a text message signed K… She couldn’t. Not KK… “Bloody rubbish!” Papa yes—not my KK. Kat—Boris!

It really was going to be a bumpy flight. His KAT looked sick. Pete began the intel dump. “The subject was tipped.” He pointed toward the head. “You better go.”

Jane returned, wiped her lips, and said, “Tipped by whom?”

“Your not-so-dead BFF. She talks in your sleep.”

“What about Boris?”

“Boris?” Pete shook his head and pointed to the six metal coffins. “Leave it alone, Janie! Want that to be you?”

His KAT wasn’t listening. “What do you bloody know? Who tipped her?”

“Let it go, Dame Jane. And forget the Brits. I don’t need another Dubai to clean up after. They want you put down. Besides; I need your better half on my senator. She’s been spending way too much time with the Lady Jack. Are you sure you never rubbered up with her before? She’s definitely a—”

“No! Now tell me everything you have on the mouse? That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

“Was it?” Pete opened his all-knowing case and produced another folder. “Here: read it and weep, Miss Smith.”

Jane Sterling did just that.

The first document detailed what the BND had on the TM. A Teufelmaus? Natasha. It was in German. Like KK, she had been a kitty—a child prostitute. A piece of Krump Candy. Bloody hell.

Jane went hollow. Natasha had told the truth about Berlin. She did leave out a few key details. Mistress Sterling continued reading. It filled in the missing pieces; all the sick details of a stolen childhood and her life with Papa.

Was Papa the Breeder? She studied the lone photo. Stamped ULTRA and dated 14 February 1989, it looked vaguely familiar. The boots… Is that me? The girl… She’s covered head to toe in white rubber. The rubber doll… Boris took her…that night… Was my Natasha also Boris’s Teufelmaus? Why can’t I remember that night? “Natasha.”

Pete shook her back. “Hey, Janie…you okay?” He knew she wasn’t. She was high on Krump’s Kat-nip. “Stay with me, Cougar.”

She nodded and pulled the next document from his hand. The old CIA report, stamped ULTRA, spelled it out. Since the Wall came down in late 1990, and until they were presumed KIA on 11 September, Boris and Natasha had worked exclusively for Papa. She flipped the pages. Bank records… Krump had purchased them all, from the Breeder. Turn the page. “Bloody hell!” Jane couldn’t believe it either. Not her, too? “Winter was one of Papa’s dolls?”

Pete didn’t answer. He handed—he wasn’t sure—another intercept.

There it was: Pete’s intel, sanitized and decoded. Jane stared at the NSA transcript of another Krump intercept: dated 9 September, 2001. Katrina’s last action order: Subjects in lounge. Traveling as Lady XXXXXX (Jack) and niece. (KK.) She laughed. Wait at safe house. XXXXXX (Boris) to arrive next evening with the rubber doll (Natasha…) as agreed. Exchange to occur at XXXXXX (Blachmann Securities in the North Tower) on 11 September at 0900. PS: Someone’s in love. It was signed, Papa-two. “Who’s Papa-two?”

“Who was Papa-two? He’s buried next to Sir Katherine, remember?”

Jane’s head shook, Nein. She was totally lost in the gray mist of Katrina’s denial. That night in New York. The entire assignment was another black hole. Why can’t I bloody remember? “What exchange?” Boris had the boots. “What did she—we do?”

He decided Jane needed some stronger medicine. Anger. He began shouting, “Infiltrate, deceive, corrupt, blackmail, use, kill, then reward!” Pete’s yelling blew a hole in Katrina’s fog. “You know how this shitty game is played. Find your opponent’s weakness and exploit it. Face it, Kid, you’re blown. Two days before Christmas? You were at Sir Goody’s? He realized you recognized Snow.”

“Natasha… Christmas…” Can’t bloody remember anything? “Why the fuck can’t I bloody remember?”

“Your brain is Swiss cheese, that’s why. They’ve been pumping you full of Lima-six-niner-niner. You’re way out of whack…We saw the dolls, in his study.”

“Dolls? What dolls?” She didn’t remember the study or the doll case. L699… “Fuck you!” She reached for the KGB stiletto.

His DSS teammates were on their feet and approaching fast.

“Easy, Tiger.” His eyes locked on the blade. “I’m just trying to help your friends get whole.” He waved the help off and handed her a folder containing the Term Sheet London authorized following the Dubai affair.

“Are you Peter? Or—” She opened it. Jack’s signature. She stared at the head shots of, Boris and, Jane Smith. “Are you playing a bloody game on us too?” It made no sense. She closed the folder in disbelieve and stared at the razor-sharp blade. K-G-B… It’s Sir Katherine’s.

The veil of denial slowly lifted. Katrina–Jane Sterling was whole again. For how long, she couldn’t know. She faced him. “You need a shave. Does Mum know?”

“She knows… Hey, Janie: do you remember the last thing Sir Katherine told you? That day she got on that plane? You remember that day? The day she died?”

“Yeah.” We may think we’re kings and queens. But we’re not, Miss Katrina–Jane Sterling. We’re all just bloody pawns in someone’s dirty game. Live long my brave and trusted GoodKnight. “Papa knew…I killed her.”

“You didn’t kill her. Sir Katherine knew the game. You, me, Red, Snow, your vinyl doll. We’re all just pawns in this fucking game. This shitty mind-fucking game called Humanity. The game never ends, Janie. There’s no good, no right side. All the sides are bad.” He looked her in the eye. “You two made a mistake in Dubai. You killed a noncombatant. Guess you’re human after all. It’s okay…Janie?”

“Shut it! Just shut it, mate!” She drove, Papa’s blade, through the folder in her lap and held it out. “Take it! I’m through with it. All of it! I won’t do it. Not this one.”

Pete took the folder and the blade, tossing both in the diplomatic case, sealing it shut. “Let Papa go back to her grave, will ya Janie. You’re the Headmistress Jane Sterling now. Leave what happened in that orphanage to the past. And don’t worry. The Council will handle Lady Jack-off and Karla. The kid never has to know about Katrina Anastasia Teufelritter, Boris or Papa or Krump.”

Pete had never before called Jane by her true name. Not to her face anyway. He’d never called Sir Katherine by her KGB code-name, Papa, before either. What else didn’t she know he knew? She stared at him for a long cold minute.

Bloody hell… “Sorry; I haven’t been myself.”

“Yah, we noticed. Now get some sleep, Mistress Sterling. I need you on your best game tomorrow. And stay out of the T and C. Understand? And no bird watching or candy tonight. I’ll have a steak sent up; hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet. That is still how you like ’em?”

“That’s right, mate.” She snuggled against him. “You got our back. Like old times.” Jane’s eyes dropped shut the second she leaned into the once-familiar shoulder.

“That’s right, Jane. Like old times. Now get some sleep. Please?” He pulled the blanket up over them both and shut down.

Right… Jane wouldn’t stay down for, Long. Someone’s bloody pawn? Not Pete’s and not Jack’s… Not anymore. Rocky? Why in the bloody hell would he use that old code name? He’s been talking to Boris. She’s bloody alive.

She didn’t let on when he pawed her. He’s got something. Sir Goody’s drool rag… How did that get there? What in the bloody hell is Pete up to? The GoodKnight fought hard to retain the intel as the sleep overtook.

Awakened by the thud of the landing gear extending, Dame Jane struggled to remember how she came to be on the plane with Pete… We were talking in the RV. Maybe we did bump our head. Must have that lovely physician give us a good going-over on our return. Ja.

Well, Miss Teufelmaus

Room 869, 21:34 local

The GoodKnight stood her ground, legs spread, back against the door, and stone-faced, waiting. “Well, Miss Teufelmaus. Out with it!”

Natasha didn’t speak. She was shaking as she set her clutch on the table and removed her stilettos.

The Cougar advanced, dropping her Louis Vuitton next to, Katrina’s Prada. That’s queer… How’d she get that?

She towered over, Snow White. Pete’s intel was convincing. But, was it true? Had she been played by Krump? Teufelmaus meant devil-mouse alright. Krump was responsible for Natasha’s stolen childhood. Was she still under Papa’s spell? Was she the reason for Boris’s ghost? Jane was still putting the pieces together when she produced Natasha’s iPhone and held it up. “Or should I say BP?” Had Boris played them both with that twenty-year-old code? She stepped toward, that scared little girl. How could it be? “Take it, BP.”

“I had no choice!” protested Natasha, taking BP’s iPhone. “I thought you were dead.”

“Right then. What more do you wish to confess, Miss Teufelmaus?”

“But Papa—” Natasha tried to steady her emotions. She backed away. The bed was against her calf.

“Sit!”

Natasha obeyed, clutching the sheets—the vinyl sheets, not the soft satin they’d made love in only a week before. Another sheet of vinyl was at her feet. Forever… Just like “New York.”

“Yes, what about New York?” Jane went dizzy. Her stomach tightened with pain.

“No, please, don’t. She sent me.… That night; I wanted to—” Natasha was lost; back there. “To be with you! She promised us.”

It was you, that night. “She? Boris is dead.” Confused and sickened, Jane fought off the pain growing deep within her gut. In that moment, she too felt lost, somewhere in her own dark past. She slammed the doll down on the bed. Jane leaped on top of Natasha and pushed her slender hands above her head. She heard the terrible sound of delicate knuckles smashing into the headboard. Only last week, I kissed each, so tenderly.

Jane’s voice turned dark. “Not this time, sweetie.” In an instant she had Natasha pinned, her arms stretched beyond her head. The GoodKnight didn’t care. Her insides felt about to explode. “You lied. Boris is dead! They’re all dead!” Her eyes closed. She couldn’t witness it. Mistress Sterling would finish Katrina’s assignment. Eight years overdue.

“What?” Natasha squealed. Stinging fingers reached out, grasping for life. They found the headboard. Long sharp nails clawed the old wood. Jane was too powerful, so wonderfully powerful, just like, “MK!”

“Who is the pretender?”

Natasha froze, locked in fear, as the kill hand neared. “Please. Wait!” She clenched the headboard in a true death grip. One by one, each finely manicured nail failed. The sound chilling, the pain unbearable, she felt powerless. “Mistress…Katrina…your daughter…lives.”

Her eyes popped. Jane was back. The scene before her was awful. Her mind was a jumble. She heard Sir Katherine’s voice, “That’s right, sweetie. They’re dead!” She couldn’t bear to see those innocent blue eyes, now bulging from that terrified child. Jane shut it all out. It’s a bloody trick. Suddenly, images of last week appeared in the gray mist; their meeting, their dinner, and their lovely time in bed. Krump’s Beautiful Pawn… BP. She drifted further back. The one-armed doll, asleep in my arms. BP was the child in bed. No one will ever hurt you again. I shall keep you safe. “Time to go to sleep, my princess.”

“Katrina!” Natasha pleaded in German, “You’re hurting me.” Her head propped forward by pillows, she felt the full weight of “Katrina” against her diaphragm, forcing the last air from her lungs. She had no way to remove the hand from around her neck. Natasha trembled as the KAT squeezed, tightening the death grip. Tears streamed from their eyes. Fear and mucus filled their throats. Struggling for one last breath, and barely able to see, the darkness had begun to close in—suddenly the grip of death loosened. She somehow managed to speak, “Ja! It was me that night. I remembered you…that night. I had to—”

Bloody hell… That pain growing inside her dying gut was now excruciating. She faced her dead past and shouted back in her native tongue, “You were sent to do me, again!” Dripping with sweat, Katrina released Jane’s death grip and slapped Natasha, striking her white left cheek forcefully, turning it red. “Just like that night.” Her kill hand returned to take, the doll’s neck.

What’s bloody wrong? Katrina struggled to maintain focus. Necks were her specialty. “It was you…that night… with. . .  Bo-rissss.” Her speech was slurred. Her kill hand went numb. Then, everything went numb. Bloody hell… She called out, “Jane, don’t leave me.”

Something terrible had happened. This time it was Dame Jane who had receded. Katrina was remembering. Boris told the truth. I had a daughter. One day later, Boris—I was betrayed. They were gone. Boris and the rubber doll were always gone when—she tried to regain her New York past. Nein! Fight it, baby! Remember… The other candy girl… The one in the bar… New York… KK… Ja. Jack! Jack had secured the tiger’s leash with her daughter’s teenaged charms… My hand—“Natasha!”

Katrina was sick—sick to death. Her neck…so thin and delicate. “My little princess. Where is she? My baby? Is she dead?”

“I knew it was you!” Natasha flashed back to that Monday night in New York eight years before. She couldn’t speak. She struggled to regain a voice. “They told us you both were dead.” That was it. The beautiful princess had barely any breath left.

“Yes, I . . .” She fought against a slowing heart, pushing away her deepest emotions. Just another assignment. “Who told you MK was dead?”

Besieged, Natasha mouthed her final word. “B-ull-wi-nk-le.” A gray world went black. My baby. . . Anastasia, Mommy loves you—

Bullwinkle. The GoodKnight’s heart jolted Katrina’s lungs back to life. Jane shouted, “Bloody hell!” The KAT’s grip slipped from, Natasha’s neck… A final burst of adrenaline convulsed her. It wasn’t enough to change their fate. Her muscles all went soft. Her heart slowed. She could no longer find breath. Something’s wrong. Feel bloody awful. Her lungs were done. The room started spinning, faster and faster. Tailspin…going down…Katrina…help me…

Katrina couldn’t help. She had split. She left Dame Jane to help herself. Jane collapsed over the side of the bed, puking her guts out. Her insides wrenched, over and over. She stared at the vomit-smeared vinyl covering the carpet. Jane couldn’t understand it. The Tits and Clits… The scotch…The bloody scotch… Her hand… Natasha had spiked it. Jane tried again to speak. Her lips weren’t behaving. Come back. Dame Jane was slipping away too. I’m wet… Nothing was bloody behaving. Bloody h—

Natasha fought to regain a breath. The word fell from her lips in pieces. “Bu-ll-win-kle.” She reached out and squeezed. Her mistress felt so cold. Katrina’s dying. The thought made her heart break.

Bull…shit…we’re done. Jane couldn’t move a muscle. I’m being turned over. Somebody… Natasha. You did…You killed us…alone…dying. She had been blinded by her own love. Pete was bloody right. “I love K—” The lights went out.

Pleasant Dreams

Blachmann Castle, 22:01 local

Catherine stood before the sink, brushing her teeth. The after effects of Wet’s influence had greatly diminished. She still couldn’t believe she been under Wet’s effect for so long.

Miss Christi entered to wish her, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“You too; good night, Miss Christi.” She gave a wink. Their eyes stayed locked in the mirror.

“My dear; I wish to show you something before bed.”

She rinsed then wiped her lips dry in the hand towel, Dani’s been holding out.

“May I come too Mum?”

“Yes, dear,” said Miss Christi holding out both hands. She led them out into the hallway. “Do you see those?”

Catherine studied the portraits. “Yes. Why are some blacked out?” There were too many to count. On the frame, their name and years of service were listed, followed by the day they had arrived at Blachmann, the oldest dated 1948. The handful still in silhouette were labeled KAT, followed by the arrival date.

“Their identities must remain secret.”

“Why?  Are they assassins?” Catherine laughed, as she stared at the last KAT. The date was telling.

“Some yes, some no. But you are partially correct. They were conceived to kill.”

“How come some aren’t blacked out? Shouldn’t they all be secret?”

“They no longer need us to mask their identity.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re dead, my dear.”

Catherine’s throat went dry. That last Kat is—Fuck me.

“That’s all for now. Run along to bed dear. Pleasant dreams.”

She started off, but turned back to see Dani fixed, staring at one photo.

“Dani?”

“You go.… I’ll be there in a minute,” snapped Danielle, a tear in her eye. She waved Catherine off.

“Come, dear, she’ll be along. Just saying good-night to her mum.” Miss Christi escorted the stunned kitten back to the nursery.

Cougar Down

Room 869, 22:02 local

Side by side on the bed, each faced the other. Jane was in a gray mist of her own. The same mist as that Monday night in New York. She couldn’t do that doll either. She had let another of Krump’s devil-mice live. That’s twice, Jane. She continued staring into Natasha’s eyes; the same eyes. His beautiful princess was alive. Are they all alive? Jane laid there, her body paralyzed by a massive drug overdose.

Natasha was that same candy girl, who, eight years earlier, had kept Katrina GoodKnight from her own date with destiny. Had she not been drugged that night, Katrina-Jane would have been at Blachmann Securities head office in the North Tower when the first plane hit. Now Jane Sterling owed her life to that girl. That same lovely girl—all grown up. Mistress Sterling was in big trouble. Trouble would have to wait. Katrina’s ship was sinking—fast. Bullwinkle… Bloody hell.

The connecting door opened. Bullwinkle rushed in, wearing latex gloves. “No mate, never heard of her? Bull-fucking-shit, Dame Jane!” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a syringe. Pete worked fast. Time was short. He tore open the antiseptic swab, flipped her skirt up. “Nice leather.” He tugged on the, “red silk,” and swabbed, “Figures.” He whacked that big blue ass once. “Katrina!” No response. “Fuck it!” He jerked off the safety cap and let the cougar have the full load—Flumazenil. “I tried to warn ya, kid.” He rolled her and brought his fist down hard, pounding new life into Jane’s quiet chest as she lay beside the Natasha doll. Her eyes fluttered. Figures…

Pete turned his attention to Katrina’s lovesick doll and shouted, “Hi-ya, Snow!” Pulse weak, but steady. Natasha’s eyes opened. “Fuck, I thought we lost you.”

Her pupils darted, side to side. She pulled in some air and uttered, “You heard me?”

“Yah, Snow, I heard everything.” Pete placed his fingers against her bruised neck, rechecking her pulse. “You’ll live.” He sniffed the foul air. “Thank God for vinyl.”

Natasha’s lungs filled. She sat up and coughed. “I didn’t do it. I love her.”

“Save it for her, princess. Here; give her this and we’re even.” He left the small bottle containing more of Papa’s special blend on the nightstand.

Natasha nodded.

He recapped the spent syringe, policed up the used swab, found its wrapper, and started to withdraw. He turned back to snatch the iPhone off the nightstand. “Is this it?”

She nodded and said, “Will she be okay?”

“Yah, she’s a Kat. She’ll probably outlive us both. Hey, Snow, do me a big favor and clean her up, will ya? Dame Jane’s got it bad for you. And Snow, I told you two to stay out of that damn honey trap for a reason.”

“Nina?”

“You catch on quick. Don’t worry; she probably won’t remember anything. Let’s try to keep it that way. Whatever you do, don’t tell her anything about the kid.” He checked his KAT. She was still out. “Make her believe Boris, and her kid are dead. Understand?”

Again, she nodded, but she didn’t understand. “Why?”

“Just do it; if you want them both to live! And remember, Boris gave you the baby in Paris, not Katrina.” Pete left the same way he came, quick and clean. He had given Katrina-Jane Sterling new life, their sixth. They could all thank him later.

“Pete…” Jane's drugged mind began to drift aimlessly. For an instant, the thirty-year fog cleared. My dollies… Princess Natasha and Sir Katherine. She was ten and holding them both in her arms. My little princess, I’m sorry. Don’t make me play that game. Simon says… No! That knife, so sharp… No! The monster…You can’t take her. I’ll save you, “Sarah!” It was too late, the monster had her. The fog closed in. So cold… She continued to drift in the sea of Katrina’s bloody memories.

“KK!” The antidote was kicking in. Jane took a deep breath. Vinyl… She couldn’t remember where she was or who she was. She could feel, something, no, someone… The fog cleared. “Natasha!” Bloody hell…

Lucky for Jane, Katrina hadn’t eaten either. The massive overdose of Flunitrazepam proved too much for their empty stomach. It had caused her to vomit. Had she eaten, or drank Papa’s scotch slower, she’d probably be saying hello to Sir Katherine and all the other dead GoodKnights by now.

“Pete …” It was no use. Too sleepy. Her eyelids fell with a painful thud. Should have stayed out of that bloody honey trap. What was left of her Swiss cheese brain fought on. Pete was right. I was the bloody assignment. She felt something, warm and wet. Her heart surrendered.

Who’s Pete?

Room 869 Friday, 5 June, 02:16 local

For the first hour, Natasha lay holding her Jane, deciding if she should take her own little princess and run. They would have hunted her. The one-time TM was done running, done hiding. She knew they would find her. The evil bastards had to be stopped. She undressed, cleaned up the mess, took a long hot shower, found some ice for her neck, then phoned her daughter at boarding school to apologize. She had missed the swimming finals. She’d never missed any of her daughter’s events before. Natasha crawled into bed and hugged her resurrected lover tight. She held her beloved mistress with KK for the next two hours, as Boris, Bullwinkle, and Papa waged their war for Jane’s abused body, the KAT’s abused mind, and someone’s lost soul. Room service called. It was time to face the music.

“Who’s Pete?”

“He’s Long!” Jane’s head ached, bloody awful. A few seconds later, her eyes blinked on to find Natasha hovering over her in the softly lit room. “I must be dead in heaven, or is it a dream?” Her throat was full of, mothballs. She spotted the glass. Trust her.

“You talk in your sleep, a lot. Here…drink this. Who’s Pete?” Natasha held the glass to Jane’s lips.

She took a sip of, water… She waited for the dream to end. It didn’t. “Thanks.” The fog was clearing. “He’s a dead man. What happened to your neck?”

“You’re welcome.” Katrina’s doll stood by the bed, wrapped in a white hotel robe, holding a toothbrush. “Here, you stink: brush!”

With that done, Jane noticed the cart. Room service—at this hour? Right; Pete…“Plan to kill me with kindness this time?”

“Me? It wasn’t me.” The robe opened, revealing the sparkling lingerie. “Still want to kill me?” She was pouting, a most inviting pout. She let it drop.

“Maybe later.” Jane could see more clearly now. The bridal lingerie. The sizes were correct. “I need to know everything. What happened to your neck?”

“I thought that you were dead.” Natasha bent over to pick up the robe.

Jane growled, “Leave it!” She felt that old tingle.

“For whom?”

She checked the time. “Shit!” She tried to get up. “Fuck!” Her head felt ready to explode. The room started to twirl.

Natasha pushed her Jane back down onto the bed and straddled her. “Stay put. Lately, I’ve been working for a senator named Winter. She has me translating old birth records, East German.” She gave Jane another sip from the glass.

The room slowed to a crawl. “Thanks. Do you translate for anyone else?”

“No!”

“Not Bullwinkle?” She grabbed the doll’s arms.

“Yes, but—”

“He has you tutoring the pretender?” She pulled the doll down, holding her tight, their lips only inches apart.

“You know?” Natasha blushed. “But—” Interrupted by powerful lips, hers offered no defense. A moment passed to let the smoke clear.

 “Yes, more than you think, my lost princess.” Jane’s grip released as she licked her lips.

The doll tasted just as sweet as—she remembered New York. Those diamonds were stimulating some memories too. She hadn’t been topped in a long time. Not since, “Boris.”

“I thought you were dead!” Natasha pulled back vertical. “Ja. Both of you, that day, with the others! It was so horrible. We came back here to start a new life. You—I mean, Boris, left me some money and the DC condo. She was good to me. She was always good to me. I loved her, once.” Natasha dismounted her former mistress and went to the table, picked up her purse, and pawed at her wallet. “We have a daughter. Boris gave her to me.”

Bloody hell. Miss Jane was ensnared by the image. Two girls in swimsuits; one, the spitting image of BP. “Who’s that?” She pointed, “The tall one with the long dark hair? Know her?”

“Her? Ja, another girl from the swim team. They’re friends.”

“Right! Amazing resemblance. Know her well, do we?”

“Yes. She stays over when her parents travel.”

“Does she?” Jane sat up. Shit. She felt like it too. “How much did I drink last night?” She couldn’t remember last night. The room began to gain speed. She latched on to, “DC Rubber-doll-six-niner-niner.”

“Yes. That’s how I received the instructions. Last October. I wanted not to believe it. But the code; it was the old code. Boris taught it to me. The message said that if I didn’t meet the senator, they would take my baby back. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. Don’t you see? I had to. She had your note. It said you, I mean, Katrina. You two were dead. She had the boots. You, um, Boris made me promise. I love you—her.” Natasha pleaded, “Please, Mistress.”

“Right! Did Papa tell you to seduce me?  Again?”

“Papa? Who’s Papa? I was here the other night to meet the senator.”

“Threesome?” Jane had yet to be totally disarmed. Katrina’s fire still raged. She was starving.

“Ja; she’s into that. Likes to watch, mostly. Tie and tease. Nothing too bizarre, just the latex. What does it matter? You’re back.” Natasha reached around and unzipped Jane’s skirt. “Lift! I’ll have it cleaned.” The girl was efficient.

“Right. Well then, I see you’re all grown up.” She asked the final Jeopardy! question, “Wet.  How’d you get hold of that bloody awful perfume?”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

Her voice stiffened, “Wet!” Her head was pounding. Voice lowered, she growled, “Who gave you the perfume?”

“It was Herr Krump’s, um, lady friend.”

“Jack.”

Natasha smiled. “Ja. Lady Jacqueline. The day before Christmas. She said it contained an ancient love potion.”

Jane laughed.

“Kristin said they were actually test samples of a new perfume Hush-Hush was working on. She’s very sweet. Do you love her?”

“What else did she say?” pressed Jane, who wasn’t in the mood for sharing.

“Just that it was a little holiday gift from her Papa. KK insisted we put some on, right then. It’s nice, no?”

Papa… “No, sweetie, it’s very bad. You met with Krump?”

Natasha appeared disappointed. “Yes. We met with him at a large estate in England. He said that he was thinking of buying it.”

“I thought you went to Berlin?”

“We did, after lunch. Don’t you remember? Kristin told us her papa was in the UK. You—Katrina flew over with us. How come she gets her own jet? It’s very nice.”

Us… “Anything queer happen, on that flight?”

“Queer? Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t remember it much. Champagne and pink lemonade. Kristin’s idea.  Sorry, I got a little drunk and fell asleep. The flight attendant woke me up just before we landed.”

“Cute little blond? Tight little bottom? Elsa—”

“Yes!” Natasha perked up. “You know her too?”

“Never mind that. Got pissed, you say? Don’t remember anything?”

“I’m not much of a drinker. Remember?”

“Yes, sweetie. Was Krump on the plane?”

“No. Just his daughter, Kristin, the senator, and her security officer. Her name was Daniels, Agent Daniels, and, of course, the pilots and Elsa.”

“Right. Promise me, love.” Jane took her by the arm, sniffing her wrist and behind each ear.

“Anything,” professed Natasha.

“Don’t use any more of that bloody awful perfume.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t suit you, my sweet.” She kissed Natasha’s broken nails, gently sucking on each finger. “Have any with you?”

“Yes, right here.”

“It’s been drugged, sweetie. Give it to me. Makes good little girls do bad things.”

Natasha turned white. “You know?”

“Yes, my dear, I know. Have you noticed anything odd since you started using?” She sniffed the bottle, and snarled. “Wet!”

“Are you sure it’s drugged?” Miss White hadn’t told Jane everything.

“Very sure! Now promise Miss Jane. No more Wet. Not even a sniff.”

“I promise.”

“Good girl.” She kissed her beautiful princess. Jane wanted to take Katrina’s sparkling doll right then. “Now be a love. Let’s help Miss Jane out of her things.”

Natasha did as she was told, then offered Miss Jane the robe. It was refused.

Jane fell back in bed. This time she was the one propped up by the pillows.

“Now, you eat.” Natasha set the tray over Jane’s lap with a kiss, then attacked the good ear. “Who’s Pete? You kept saying his name and KK’s in your sleep.”

“Pete?” Jane kissed the seriously bruised neck. “Must be a guardian angel.”

Natasha lifted off then pulled the plate’s cover, “Hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet.”

Ja, she is.

Jane noticed the broken nails but didn’t ask. “Be a dear and cut for Miss Jane, my love?” She held out the knife.

Each pondered the blade. It was now or never.

Natasha climbed back aboard and made the first slice.

“I don’t wish you involved with that naughty senator or Bullwinkle any longer.”

“But she’s expecting me to join you two, tomorrow. She just likes to watch.”

“You shouldn’t be involved in such grown-up affairs.”

“I don’t understand.” Natasha forked the cut meat and brought it to her lost lover’s hungry lips.

“Nor do I, love—yet.”

Jane tasted the first bite of Katrina’s juicy thick New York strip. Their Natasha doll was alive, and all grown up. She continued to eat. The doll continued straddling her legs, naked, but for the tiny bits of diamond-studded white satin. Likes to watch? That wasn’t in Pete’s intel either. Or was it? I should have been on that flight. The rogue stayed silent as Natasha worked her magic charms. They devoured the steak one mouth-watering bite at a time.

“I’ll run you a warm shower.” Natasha, the beautiful princess pawn, was back in play.

“You must be an angel too, love.”

“Almost!”

Jane stood. The room swayed. A long, slow walk led to the too bright bath. She didn’t dare look in the mirror. She brushed her teeth again and kissed Natasha who helped her into the shower. Fuck, that’s bloody cold. She trimmed up the temperature. When the rogue emerged ten minutes later and ready to play—Natasha was gone. So was her iPhone. What’s this, a note?

Miss Jane, (ha ha)

You shouldn’t be drinking.

Remember: Don’t hurt her. She mostly likes to watch. Call her a slut.

Be careful. Boris isn’t dead. Ask Bullwinkle. He knows.

Always yours,

Natasha.

PS: Someone’s in love.

Lovely. She placed the note with the perfume in, Jane’s Smith’s bag, and fell into bed. She’ll be back. They always come back. Meow…

08:00 local

Ring… ring…

Awakened from a most pleasant dream, Jane had no recollection of last night. She took sight of the service cart and tray. Though well rested, she didn’t remember anything after arriving. Nina… The Tits and Clits… I must have stopped in for a drink. The residual amnesia would die off by breakfast; one of the downsides of Flunitrazepam. The other, a killer headache, would dog her all day.

Ring… ring…

Bloody hell… Her head was pounding when she answered the phone.

Sorry to wake you, Miss Smith. It’s Peter in Guest Services calling.

Bam! Bam!

“Bloody hell! I’m coming.”

Peter was at the door with the leather blazer and skirt. Jane couldn’t understand why she wasn’t hungry. Pete was no help. He waited, reading The Times, while Mistress Sterling showered and suited up for business. She hadn’t slept that soundly in months. His Kat would never remember exactly what transpired that night, or how that note and that awful perfume found its way into her bag. And that was exactly what Uncle Pete wanted. The note was on red stationary, from Natasha’s hand. The iPhone? It was gone. Katrina must have met Natasha… It was a dream. Wasn’t it?

Winter Came Late

The main dining room at the Mayflower, 09:13 local

Mistress Sterling’s back was against the wall. Like Pete, Jane waited, cooling her jets as she sat at the same table where they met a week and two days ago. Eight years… Her head was more than a little cobwebbed. Ten minutes later, she still waited, impatiently. Mistress Sterling didn’t like to be kept waiting; certainly not by a two-term politician. Don’t hurt her… No slut of hers would ever keep Mistress Sterling waiting. The pretender has a lot to learn. Pete’s naughty senator was thirteen minutes late. About bloody time. Jane stood and offered her hand.

“Miss Winter? What a pleasure to finally meet you.” Right… She withdrew her hand.

“Didn’t we meet—” The subject glanced at the iPhone resting on the table next to the plate—one sausage and no potatoes. Just the way she liked them.

“Please, do join us, Miss Winter. I do so love the Mayflower. It’s the one place in town where one can enjoy a proper English breakfast.” Jane sat.

“It’s Senator Winter.” The subject acted put off. That was, until Slut Winter noticed the bit of rubber corset peeking from Jane’s blouse. Winter sat, immediately pulling out her Blackberry. “I was told you were a friend.” Her eyes were on the device, her best friend lately, her only friend. She fingered in her thoughts and sent her chief of staff the message, then stole another glance of Jane’s rubber.

“Yes, most friendly, when the mood strikes.” Jane spoke softly and very British, her stiff lips partially hidden behind the coffee cup she was holding. “What type of friendship do you require, Miss Winter?”

No response.

“Natasha informed Miss Jane that you’ve been a naughty girl. Haven’t you?”

“Do we have to play this little game, Miss Jane? Not that it’s your real name.” The subject still wasn’t making eye contact. “Where is she?”

“As real as any.” Jane lowered her coffee, returning it to its saucer. She undid a second button then studied her plate for a moment. “So thick.” She stabbed the lone plump sausage. “Don’t you think, slut?”

The slut had to look. “Yes.” Her attitude had been corrected.

Holding it near her mouth, Jane asked, “Wouldn’t you just love to taste my juice?” She bit the tip off, returning the remainder of the forked sausage on her plate. “Quite tasty, and wet too.” Jane knew what she was doing.

The subject was already aroused. “Yes, mouth-watering.” Lost somewhere in the rubbery cleavage, Slut Winter had been unable to keep her rubbery fantasies contained since receiving the invitation. A friend, the wealthy wife of the British ambassador to Germany, knew of her special needs and had told her to contact a Peter Long and request a Mistress Katrina GoodKnight. Winter had had a not-so-brief affair with the woman ten years earlier when they lived in Washington. Winter didn’t know that the woman was a confidential informant for the BND.

As the secretary had requested, Pete was to let Winter think she was running the show. First, the accidental meeting of the translator Natasha at the clit trap. Next, the old girlfriend arranging a last-minute trip to Berlin, where she met Mistress Katrina for lunch. There had been a snag in Berlin. Winter wasn’t the least bit happy after the third last-minute brush-off the week before. That’s when she sent Pete word she was prepared to resolve the matter herself. After seeing Jane in that rubber corset, all was forgiven.

“Sure you won’t join Miss Jane in some breakfast, Miss Winter?”

“I’d rather it be the GoodKnight service I was promised, Mistress Katrina. I have to be on the Hill for eleven.”

“Pity. I had hoped you’d want to play with Miss Jane all day.”

Winter checked her Blackberry. “Maybe another time. What room?”

“Eight-seven-one, slut.” Jane handed the subject the key card. “Run along, slut. Mistress Katrina shall be along directly.”

“We’ll expect you soon, Mistress.” The rubber slut headed straight for the elevators.

Jane signaled for the bill as Katrina stepped out from her shadows. Bloody hell…

Meow.

Sharing Time

The Panty Parlor, 11:00 local

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Good morning, Miss Christi.”

“I watched your swim today. Your breaststroke has really improved.”

“Thanks.” Catherine smiled briefly then slumped. “But Dani still kicked my ass in the four hundred.”

“You still need to work on your endurance. It will come, dear.”

“It used to be my best event.”

“I’m sure, with continued training, it will again.”

“May I fix your tea today, Miss Christi?”

“Please do, my dear. I wish to ask you about your girlfriends. May I?”

“Yeah. What about her?”

“Don’t you mean them?”

“What?”

“Tell me when you first started doing it together.”

“What? We’ve never done it.”

“Not your friend and her mother, dear. Tell me of the other woman you call BP.”

“What?” She spilled the tea. “Shit!” Catherine shrieked.

“Please, my dear; you did promise to be open with me.”

“But I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I promised I wouldn’t say.”

“No trouble awaits those who speak the truth. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, kinda, but I can’t. I promised my—” MK bit her tongue.

“It is the mother that you love, is it not?”

Catherine’s eyes closed. “Maybe.”

“Do you love her friend too?”

“Na… but I totally love the rubber. It’s feels so good.” MK snuggled with herself in the love seat.

“Good rubber is hard to beat. Please continue, my dear.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Catherine took a deep breath and continued. “It really started last fall. I went to her house. Natasha was supposed to help me with my German. My mom said I had to take it. It was the first time I’d met her. I tried to say something in German. Like, that she looked hot. I don’t think I said it right because she laughed. She said something really fast, in German. I didn’t get it; she talked so fast. It was, like, something about wanting to give me a real lesson. Then, she gave me a look, you know. She’s so beautiful; like a princess, beautiful. You know?”

“Yes my dear, I know the look.” Miss Christi reached for her tea and sipped as Catherine told her how it really began.

“Well, I went back over that Saturday to see my friend. My mom dropped me off. I was staying over for the weekend. My parents had some trip. A football game, I think. Anyway, her friend, that senator from the TV, was there. My mom doesn’t know. Well, Natasha said she had to give me my first lesson. That’s when she asked me to come to the bedroom. So I grabbed my book and followed.” Catherine perked up. “Wow! Who fricken knew! Her mom gives great German! She really knows her stuff, if you know what I mean?”

“I think I do, dear. Not too vanilla?”

“Nooooo.” Catherine blushed, “We usually hook up like, once a week, unless she’s traveling; Thursday evenings, at her place. But she just watches, mostly. Really!”

“Her friend?… Well, my dear, you do have a pretty grown-up problem, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess. Funny thing is, after we’re done, she pretends like nothing happened.” Catherine sighed and slumped lower into the love seat. “Maybe she’s crazy or something.”

Miss Christi leaned forward and whispered, “Is Natasha a good kisser?”

“Miss Christi!” Catherine scrunched up tight in the love seat. She tried not to smile.

“Well? Is she? Just between us girls.”

“Yeah, really good.” She touched her lips and added, “Not that I have a lot to compare it to.” She felt Natasha in her arms. “Are you going to tell my mom?”

“Certainly not! Mum’s the word. And, it’s not like you’re a whore. Now is it, my dear?”

“No! I’m not her little whore.” Catherine started to cry.

Miss Christi had hit a nerve. She set her tea on the tray. “Be right back, dear.” She went to her desk. On top was a photo album. Returning with it, she sat next to Katherine in the love seat. “Here we are. Look.” She opened the album, and pointed to the photo. “This was my Katherine.” It was an eight by ten black-and-white print.

“That’s her? That’s your Katherine?” Catherine wiped her eyes, “She looks like me.”

“Yes, she does.” Miss Christi dabbed her own eyes. “Oh dear. She was seventeen when that was taken. It was her first assignment.”

Assignment… Not much older than me? “When was it taken?”

“Nineteen thirty-seven.”

“Hey, is that the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes dear, she was in Paris with her father. A secret mission. They had just come down from the top.”

“Too high for me.” Catherine shivered. “Can I see some more?”

Miss Christi turned the page. “This one was taken in Munich, later that same summer.”

“Who’s that blonde chick with her?”

“Her?” Miss Christi pointed to the woman in the picture, sitting with Katherine. “Miss Braun, Eva Braun. Ever hear of her?”

“No.”

“She made many of these pictures, dear. Eva loved her photography.”

Catherine turned the page. “Who’s that?” She pointed to the man on the right. “He looks like my dad.”

“Yes dear, but that’s Katherine’s father, James.” Miss Christi pointed to the other man in the photo. “That’s the evil Duke, Simon von Krump. He’s a very bad soul, that one.” She flipped the page.

“Hey, that’s your Katherine again.” Her eyes glanced to the right. “Is that that Hitler guy?” He’s that Nazi.

“Yes it is, my dear. That’s him.” Miss Christi flipped to the last page. “Here’s a lovely shot with her mother, Victoria.”

Catherine studied the old photo. “Hey, she looks like my mom, kinda, only sadder, maybe.”

“Yes, maybe a little. This was taken in nineteen-forty-one. She’s about your mom’s age there. Katherine had returned for her father’s funeral.”

“What happened?”

“I told you on the train, dear; James died in a plane crash.”

“Not him. Victoria?”

“Victoria; she died of a broken heart.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s enough for now, dear.” Miss Christi closed the album.

Catherine looked up to see Mommy G waiting with the Enforcer…

“Fuck—where did you come from?”

F-B-I

Room 869, 11:55 local

The rubber romp with Winter had Katrina pacified for the time being. Jane was showered and dressed. This time it was black leather. Her departure now scheduled for 13:30 out of Dulles. About to leave, she heard someone at the door.

“FBI, open the door!” announced a male voice, trying without success to sound intimidating.

“Please, miss, I’m with the Secret Service,” seconded a female voice, sounding much less authoritative.

“FBI who?”

Mr. FBI barked back, “Open the damn door, ma’am.”

Through the peephole Jane could see a pudgy older man and an attractive athletic-looking younger woman. Both had their credentials visible. She pulled the door and said, “Something amiss?”

“May we come in miss, please?” asked the woman, her tone sweetening at the sight of Jane in a pencil skirt and boots.

“Please do, love.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss—”

Mr. FBI cut Ms. Secret Service off. “Do you know a young woman—” He checked his notes. “A Miss Nina—”

“Why, yes, I saw her last week. She works in the Town and Country.”

“We know that, ma’am.”

“Has something happened to her?”

“Something?” inquired the female agent.

“Yes, love. What’s this about?”

The FBI took charge. “Last night. Didn’t she inform you that her apartment was destroyed in an explosion? A gas leak, I believe she said.”

The female agent broke in. “It was no gas leak, Miss—”

“Please, love, call me Jane. Jane Smith.” She offered her hand to the trim female agent.

Mr. FBI cut in. “We know who you really are, Katrina Teufelritter.”

“You were saying?” asked Jane, looking down at the FBI man drawing his weapon.

“I’ll ask the questions, ma’am. Did you give a Miss Patricia Cockney a gift-wrapped package Wednesday morning? We have it on video. You asked that Cockney deliver it to her roommate, Nina.”

“Yes, the gift. What of it? I really must be off.”

Agent Daniels said, “I’m sorry Miss—Jane. Miss Cockney is deceased. She was killed in the explosion.”

Bloody hell…

Jane showed no reaction as they pictured the dead woman. Bloody waste.

“Katrina Teufelritter, I’m placing you under arrest.” Mr. FBI reached for his cuffs. “Anything you say may be used against you.” He slapped the second cuff around Jane’s wrist.

“Bloody Christ! Unhand me at once!”

Mr. FBI hadn’t been advanced in three years, and now he’d just bagged an actual living breathing foreign agent. This had to be worth something. He reached past his inflated balls for his cell phone. He’d been tipped by an anonymous e-mail, received at nine this morning, giving Jane’s description, age, passport number, and present location. A query of the passport number against Homeland’s watch list led to an expedited meeting with an Agent Daniels from Secret Service and an unidentified individual from State whom he assumed was a spook. It was nearly two hours later when Agent Daniels informed him she’d once met the assassin last year while on a protection detail and asked to tag along since she could ID her. On the ride over to the hotel from the DHS complex, Ms. Secret Service had spoon-fed Mr. FBI what Homeland’s file contained on the suspect.

“Jane Smith’s birth name was Katrina A. Teufelritter. Age forty. Born East Germany, sixty-nine, orphaned. Adopted by a GDR Diplomat named Blachmann at age three. It was a cover. This Blachmann character was a Stasi double agent, stationed in London. The false parents were killed in seventy-nine. Someone’s birthday. Crime scene was a real bloodbath. The kid—our K-A-T, was found holding a little girl’s severed arm. The arm’s owner was never located. MI-five stashed her under a Jane Doe in some all-girls orphanage for the highly disturbed. Four years later, MI-six selected her for some black program called Project Stiletto and shipped her to the CIA for reprogramming. Her CIA case officer came up with the surname Sterling. The British and CIA designated her Cougar-seven-three-S; for stiletto. Turns out our K-A-T, now Jane Sterling, had been a Goddamn KGB sleeper agent—a Hushgirl.”

“Hushgirl?”

“Yeah; Hushgirl. As in child assassin. The KGB had some nutcase doctor breeding them. Called them his Kats—as in K-A-T. Get it?”

“Yeah, go on.”

“The Kats were cultivated in Petri dishes and raised in a secret facility inside the GDR. Psych drugs and conditioning. KGB called them Tigers.”

“Them!”

“Yeah; them. No one knows how many were produced. Ours was originally designated Tiger-Six-Niner. According to MI-Six, her first KGB handler went by the pseudonym Papa. Homeland’s liaison in London could provide no other details on Papa. Langley and NSA were no help. A friend at State said this Papa someone is protected. Following Nine-Eleven, and her blackballing by MI-Six—they didn’t say why—the Tiger did occasional contract wet work for some Berlin-based multinational; a Krump Industries-GmbH. My friend at State says Krump is really an old joint CIA, MI-Six, BND false flag left over from the Cold War gone legit, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Daniels sipped on her third coffee then continued with the brief. “Homeland recently acquired a leaked BND file stating that K-A-T usually operated under the cover of a high-end dominatrix. Calls herself Mistress Katrina GoodKnight.”

He interrupted, “Goodnight? Or Good, Knight; like in swords and shields?”

“Both, I think.” She smiled then sipped more coffee, expecting some response. He didn’t give any. Agent Daniels continued, “In street clothes she goes by Dame Jane Sterling. When she’s not killing, she divides her time between million-dollar-plus apartments, and lovers, in London, New York, and, since last fall, Monaco. Claims to be a child psychologist. Some recent chatter inside Homeland suggests Krump’s tiger went rogue last December, on her fortieth. The British think she’s lost it. CIA won’t acknowledge any Jane Sterling or Project Stiletto ever existed.”

He shook his head no and repeated from the e-mail: “Ms. Jane Smith, British, age forty-three. Wanted by Interpol—Red and Black folders—in connection with three suspicious deaths in Dubai. Faked her own death by blowing up a jet after a brutal killing. The Vic was found castrated…”

That last nugget was still giving him pause when he blurted, “God himself can’t help you now, you terrorist bitch!” Mr. FBI was feeling his oats.

“That language isn’t necessary, sweetie. You’re making a grave error. I have diplomatic immunity. I insist you unhand me at once.”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

“You shall unhand me at once!” demanded Ms Jane Smith again. Katrina drilled into his eyes and got all British. “I will be most cooperative in your bombing investigation, provided we reach a little understanding first.”

Agent Daniels asked, “Where’s your passport, Miss?”

“Smith. In my bag, love. Next to my dragon—my sidearm. If you’ll please? Right, do be mindful not to shoot Miss Jane, won’t you, dear.”

Agent Daniels opened Jane’s bag. “Lookie here.” With care, she pulled out the Glock Model 26C fully automatic handgun and held it up for Mr. FBI to see. “You do have a nice piece, Miss Smith.” She started to laugh.

“Shit!” stammered Mr. FBI upon seeing Jane’s weapon. “Only German intelligence issues those.”

“Yes, I do. Thanks, love. Would you be a dear boy and remove these?”

Agent Daniels smiled as she removed Jane’s passport. “This says she’s British alright—diplomatic issue.” She inspected it and the suspect closely. She’d been trained to spot a fake. “Looks legit. Better cut her loose.”

“Brilliant idea, love.” Jane waited as Mr. FBI inspected the passport. His training appeared recent. He copied each of Agent Daniels’s moves until he read the DoB. “Fourteen-Feb, Sixty-six. Told you.” He seemed more than a little disappointed as he handed back the passport. “Okay, Miss Smith, what’s going on?”

“I’m on loan to your government, sweetie. The bomb was most likely intended for me, a liquid explosive, most probably CMX. On a time delay, my guess, triggered by lifting the bottle from the case, which no doubt contained the timer and detonating explosive. Probably North Korean. Same type used in their nasty toy mines. They make them by the thousands, every day,” said Jane, shaking her head with distain.

“In retrospect, the case did seem a little too heavy. Bombs, that’s the way Krump operates.”

“Krump? Who’s Krump?”

“When I find out, sweetie, I’ll let you know.” Jane had her eye on Agent Daniels.

“What do you mean, Miss Jane?” asked the trim and fit Miss Secret Service.

“He’s a mystery man, love. Krump’s never been definitively identified by Six, the BND, or your Cock-In-Arse associates.

Mr. FBI said, “Yeah, so why would this Krump fella want to kill you, Miss Smith?”

“Yes, that. His daughter thinks she’s in love with me.”

“Really?” The answer juiced Mr. FBI. “So you’re a lesbian too?” He turned to his soon-to-be ex-partner and glared smugly. “Maybe you should take over, Ms. Daniels.”

She gave him the same smug look and did. “Miss Sterling!” Her cover blown, Ms. Secret Service got all butch and said, “You’ll need to give us a contact that will endorse you.”

“So, I’m going to be a guest in one of your illegal interrogation centers?”

“Now, Miss Sterling. We don’t operate that way.” She backed off the tough-girl act.

“Right then!  If you would be so kind and retrieve my mobile.” Jane’s eyes tilted, showing the way. “Inside, breast pocket, love.”

The female agent reached in, patted her down, then up. “Where?”

“Other side, love,” encouraged Jane, leaning into the firm pat-down. “Do take your time.” She took a deep breath, more than filling her blouse. “Lower, dear, I have an itch.” She smiled as the agent’s free hand entered her blazer, and began roaming, feeling for the device.

“Just checking for weapons, miss.” She gave Jane’s bra a thorough going-over.

“Brilliant idea, love. Sadly, you won’t find it in there. Shall we lift the skirt as well?”

The agent deliberately took the long way. “Got it.” She withdrew Pete’s iPhone and handed it to Mr. FBI. “Sorry, it’s protocol, Miss Sterling.”

“Please, love, I think after that pleasantry, you may call me Miss Jane.”

“Hey, why can’t I see anything on this?” He shook the iPhone and held it out toward her.

“It’s special. Only works for Miss Jane. Biometric, voice and eye scan.” She held out cuffed hands. “Thanks, love.” She tapped on the display, and waited for the authentication challenge to appear. She raised the NSA special issue iPhone 3G-S to her face and entered the access code. The contact list appeared. There weren’t any names or numbers, only a list of colors. She selected blue and waited for the hookup.

A female voice answered. “Secretary of State Rodwell’s Office.”

“Hello, love, Miss Jane Sterling calling. Terribly sorry for ringing unannounced. I’m in a bit of a pickle. Is Miss Rodwell available? Thought I’d cut straight through. Save everyone the embarrassment.”

“Yes, Miss Sterling,” said a second voice everyone immediately recognized. The secretary sounded a little under the weather.

“Didn’t interrupt anything important, did I, Miss Rodwell?” They could hear what sounded like sheets rustling and someone giggling in the background.

“Just my assistant. How may I be of service, Miss Sterling?”

“Right, that. Would you be so kind as to speak with one of your FBI boys? I reasoned he might listen to your voice.” Jane raised her brow at Mr. FBI. “I’m sure it shouldn’t take but a minute more of your time, Miss Secretary.” She handed her iPhone to Mr. FBI and whispered, “Don’t call her madam.”

“This is Special Agent William Miller of the FBI, madam.”

“Yes, Miller, what can I do for you?” The secretary sounded hurried and a little winded.

“I have this Sterling woman in my custody. She’s claiming diplomatic immunity. She says you can back her, madam.”

“That’s correct, Miller! Miss Sterling is a dear friend, and a most trusted ally of our great nation. She is here on a top-secret mission of the greatest importance to our nation’s security. On behalf of the president, I order you to release her at once and forget that you saw her. You met with no one. She wasn’t there. Do you understand, Special Agent Miller?”

“Ummm, yeah, yes, I understand. Thank you, madam.” The line went dead. Special Agent Miller looked a little pale and less special.

“I warned you, sweetie. She truly despises the Madam label.” Jane held out her hands.

Mr. FBI produced the key and handed it to Agent Daniels, who promptly unlocked the cuffs, handing them, but not the key, back to the disappointed little agent.

“Thanks, sweetie. Now, Miss Sterling would be delighted to brief the Secret Service. Over lunch, perhaps?”

Agent Daniels took her queue. “Yes, this appears to be a Secret Service matter. Don’t you agree, Special Agent Miller?”

“Yeah.” He threw his hands up and said, “I’m pretty sure you can handle Miss Whoever without the FBI. You owe me one, Daniels.” Mr. FBI scraped his bloodied balls off the carpet and left, leaving Jane in the good hands of the fit able-bodied Secret Service.

“Room service or the dining room?” asked Jane, picking up the room phone.

“I was thinking room service.”

“Smashing.” Jane dialed, and handed the phone to “Miss Daniels."

“Hi there, I’ll have…” she ordered, and handed the phone back.

“Hello, love, please add a bottle of your finest champagne, two flutes, a plate of fresh strawberries with plenty of cream, and a selection of cheese. Oh, and a pot of hot tea, milk, and sugar for two as well.” Jane listened as Pete read the order back. “Lovely, 13:10 will be fine. Cheers.”

Click…

So, Miss Jane

Room 869, 12:22 local

“So, Miss Jane, what’s this really about?”

“Sex!”

“What?”

“Sex for secrets, love.”

“Is that your best line?”

“Not you, sweetie—the reason for my visit. Can you keep a secret?”

Daniels sat on the bed, both eyes trained on the black leather skirt. “Why do you think it’s called the Secret Service?”

“Right. Well, then.” Jane removed her blazer. Eager to get back to work, she began undoing her blouse. “Little less formal, don’t you think, Miss Daniels?”

“Miss Daniels? You used to call me Carol.” She pouted. “Did you really have to call the secretary?”

“I thought you’d find it amusing, Carol darling. When did you start working with the FBI?”

“Lucky for you!  Your name came up this morning on an FBI threat list. I called the investigating agent and stalled him for as long as I could. I asked if he’d let me tag along. Your old Uncle Pete sent me. Said he didn’t need the FBI breaking down your door this morning, did we, Miss Jane?”

“Good god, Carol! Our naughty senator would have shit herself.”

“Speaking of which?”

Jane stepped aside. “The loo is that way, love. We had a lovely first session.”

“Good. When’s your flight?” Daniels stood and went.

“It depends on you, love.” Jane was sending old Uncle Pete a text. The flush gave her pause.

“I see.” Daniels had returned and took charge, loosening the last of Jane’s buttons, “I’ve missed you, Miss Jane. You never called.”

“Show Miss Jane.” She stepped forward, accepting the hungry tongue.

“Why haven’t you called?” Daniels kissed the exposed abdomen. “It’s been nine months.”

“Sorry, darling.” Jane unfastened her bra’s front clasp, exposing her breasts. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“The secretary has you doing more of her dirty work?” Daniels’s hands found Jane’s bottom, then her zipper. “So, was the senator a very naughty girl this morning? What did she want?”

“Can’t say.” Jane’s skirt fell, capturing Daniels’s full attention.

“Why not, we’re on the same side.” Daniels’s hands were now exploring. “Aren’t we?”

“Easy on the nipples, sweetie.” Jane winced. “It’s been a busy week.” She took hold of Daniels’s hands, guiding them to her waist.”

“So, you’re one of those spank-’em and forget-’em spies?”

“Not at all, darling, I did want to call, but—”

“You’re too busy fucking that little slut, countess.” She pushed Jane away. “I’ve seen you in the press, all hand in hand, lovey-dovey.” Daniels stood and unzipped her trousers. They fell, revealing her pink cotton boy shorts. They didn’t go unnoticed. She stepped out of her flats and trousers in one efficient motion and stepped forward, embracing Jane. “I know you’re on an assignment. It’s my senator? She’s investigating Krump, you know.”

“Miss Daniels…if you keep on this line of questioning, I’ll have no choice but to put you over my knee.”

“Promises, promises.”

Jane led the twenty-nine-year-old trim fit masochist to the bed. “Off with those right now, young lady.” She motioned with her left index finger as she sat on the edge of the bed. Standing before her, Daniels complied. “Good girl, now come here.” Miss Jane patted her lap. “Like a starter?”

“Please.” Daniels got all giddy with anticipation as she lowered herself across Jane’s lap.

Knock, knock.  From the door came a voice, “Room service.”

“Brilliant! They’re much too bloody efficient here.” Jane directed the bottomless agent’s still-white ass into the bathroom to fetch a robe as she walked to the door. “Oh, it’s you.” She stood by, topless, as Pete set up the service. “Looks smashing, don’t you think?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He wasn’t looking at the setup. “Would you like me to pop your cork?”

“Not today, sweetie. Thanks for asking.” Jane pointed Pete to the door.

“Be careful, Cougar. I didn’t send her. Something’s up.”

“Right then.” She swung the door, almost hitting him. More work to do…meow.

16:05 local

“Bloody Christ,” we’re late. Jane glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed. “Carol darling, I really must be going.”

“It’s only…” Daniels looked across Jane’s bare breasts. “Where did the day go?”

“Very funny, young lady.” Jane smacked Daniels’s firm bottom.

“I thought we could go to dinner, and?” When Jane didn’t answer, Daniels added, “I’m off duty until Sunday at eighteen hundred hours.”

“Not today, love, I have a home-cooked meal waiting for me at the Castle this evening.”

“The Castle?”

“It’s nothing, love. Just helping an old friend with someone’s little brat,” said Jane as she picked up Daniels’s boy shorts. She checked the label. Russian: Made in Turkmenistan. “Perhaps you’d like to join me? I promise Miss Jane will have you back in time.”

“Sounds like fun. You’re sure no one will mind?”

“Never love, I’m sure they’ll be happy to set a plate for my date.” Jane sized up her foe.

Whack!

“Ouch!” Daniels rubbed her nicely pinked ass.

“Still keeping fit, I see.”

“Not for you. You’re in town and you don’t even call.”

Whack! Whack!

“Get moving, love, mustn’t be late for dinner.” Jane pulled on Daniels’s strap-on, prodding her to move. “There’s a game of Chessex on tap for tonight. How’d you like to be the prize?”

“This must be my lucky day. I’ll need to pack.”

“Negative, love. No time. I’m sure that we have everything you’ll need. Why don’t you pop in the shower for a quick rinse? And don’t forget your knickers, love. We mustn’t be late for dinner.” Jane waited for Daniels to enter the bathroom, then enabled her iPhone and typed in a text and sent:

Set an extra plate / bringing a special guest / 34B-25-34 / 5-8 / 130ish

“Shall we, love?” asked Jane over the shower as she verified that her dragon was loaded, before strapping it to her thigh.

So, What’s the Deal?

Blachmann Castle, 17:00 local

The morning’s sharing session had gone well, but Catherine hadn’t offered up any new details about the boots. Miss Christi didn’t press, except to stress that anything she revealed would never be divulged. From her chair on the upper veranda, Miss Christi smiled as Catherine neared for afternoon tea.

The love seat was dripping wet. Catherine set the towel down and seated herself in the usual spot. The sky to the east looked threatening. The New England spring had so far been cold and wet. The day had started out warmer with a pleasant breeze blowing from the west. As the day progressed, it turned to rain. A cold front was now pushing a line of thundershowers off shore. The July mugginess was still a few weeks away, if it was to come at all.

“So, what’s the real deal with Giselle or Danielle or whatever her real name is?”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“I mean.” She stopped, looked around, took a deep breath, and fired, “How come every other time I see her, she changes from being mommy lovey-dovey Giselle to that bitchy drill sergeant Danielle, and then poof, she’s back to mommy Giselle. I don’t get her. Why doesn’t she like me? You know, when she’s Dani? She always likes me when she’s Giselle. Why? Even when I do something that gets her ass spanked; she still is nice to me. What’s with her? Is she like a Sybil? It’s something wacko like that, isn’t it? Is she? Tell me. Please, Miss Christi.” Catherine was out of breath and bullets.

“So you would like me to explain the girls?”

“Girls?” Nodding yes, she sat up straight. For once, she was all ears.

“Because, you see my dear, they are two distinct and individual personalities. Mommy Giselle as you now know is childlike, very outgoing, and gets much enjoyment from being a mommy. She loves taking care of babies. As I’m sure you’ve learned by now, she does have some anger management issues we’re still working through. Now, Miss Danielle, on the other hand, is the older personality. In many ways, she is a capable and mature young woman, but she is also somewhat shy. She doesn’t like caring for babies. Think of them as polar opposites. Each personality being the mirror image of the other.”

“Why does she hate me?”

“Why does who hate you, dear?”

“The Danielle one. She totally hates me.”

“Does that trouble you, if indeed she does hate you, dear?”

Catherine would not answer. Miss Christi used the pause to pour each a cup of tea.

“A good hit of cream, and four cubes. Is that right, my dear?”

The frown melted. “Yes, please, Miss Christi! You’ve been watching?” Her sun was shining.

“Yes, dear, I’m very observant of behaviors.”

She accepted the tea, took a sip, and set it on the table. “Thanks. I just think she doesn’t have to be so mean. Dani, I mean.”

“Have you ever heard of multiple personality disorder?”

“Well, yeah. That Sybil thing, right? But I thought that it was only in the movies. Is it real? Is that what Giselle or Dani has? Which is her real name, anyway?”

“Well, my dear, first let me try to explain what multiple personality disorder is, or at least, what the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the DSM, defines it as. That’s like the rule book for us sex doctors.”

“Oh.”

“They call it Dissociative Identity Disorder; or DID for short. DID is the psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a single person displays multiple distinct identities or personalities. They’re known as alter egos or alters, dear. Often each alter is within its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. The diagnosis requires that at least two personalities routinely take control of the individual's behavior, with an associated memory loss that goes beyond normal forgetfulness. The DSM also states that the symptoms cannot be due to drug use or any other medical condition.”

“Hey, you sound like a real doctor.”

They both chuckled, and then picked up their tea.

Miss Christi sipped, and then asked, “Katherine, do you ever feel like a different person?”

“Hey! What do you mean?” She held the tea at her lips.

“Do you ever feel like you’re someone else? Ever had any memory loss?”

“No fu—way! Sorry.” Catherine’s tea spilled, splashing the hot liquid over her chest, triggering an explosion. “What the fuck! Do you think I’m some kind of fucking whack job? Is that what you think? Did my fuckin’ mom tell you that? That’s why she fuckin’ sent me here? Isn’t it?” She muzzled herself, using the cup of tea. Her pulse out of control, her face burning, she found it increasingly difficult to control her boiling emotions. She caught site of Miss Christi observing.

Eyes focused into the teacup, Catherine managed to stop her mouth before her words became hateful. She didn’t want to hurt Miss Christi, her mother, or herself. Not anymore. Miss Christi’s methods were time-proven, and getting off the mind-bending drugs helped. She continued to press the teacup to her lips. MK slowly lifted Catherine’s eyes and stared out towards the Atlantic. She focused on the whitecaps, deciding if she should tell. Several minutes passed when, off in the distance, a bolt of lightning shot from an angry cloud.

“Wow! That was intense. It hit that plane. Maybe we should we go inside?” Catherine realized she had spilled her tea. “What happened?”

Sweet Dreams Love

41,000 feet over New York City

Jane sat across from Agent Daniels in the Blachmann family aircraft. The Cessna Citation X was a midsize business jet that seated eight comfortably and was capable of transatlantic flights. Today’s fight made use of the Citation X’s greatest claim to fame, speed. The X was the fastest business jet flying. It could achieve a maximum cruise of .92 Mach—almost the speed of sound. Those Russian panties had Jane’s mind moving faster. She needed to get Daniels back to the Castle. The flight time from Dulles to Pease (KPSM) was expected to be about one hour and twenty, given the fifty-knot tailwind. But there was the weather to contend with.

The Cougar had worked an assignment with Daniels once before. Their brief affair had taken place in DC ten months earlier, a routine compromise screen. Her task was to come on to her at a party at the German Embassy. It was to test Daniels’s loyalties. The country had no problem with her sexual preference. It was concerned whether or not she could be compromised. Jane did the job, completed her assessment, and returned her findings to her unnamed client. She had marked Daniels as susceptible to compromise. Daniels never suspected a thing. Apparently, she still believed Jane’s cover: a British agent on loan to the DSS. Once Jane had Daniels back at the Castle, she’d have all the means necessary to properly interrogate her old girlfriend.

She handed Daniels the vodka cocktail. It contained a little something extra, Midazolam, a powerful and fast-acting sedative, hypnotic, and amnesic. Ten minutes after finishing her drink, Daniels was in la-la land.

“Sweet dreams, love.” The Cougar removed Daniels’s weapon, ejecting its magazine. She moved forward to the flight deck. “Good afternoon, ladies. Need a dummy mag for a SIG Sauer P229 pistol, chambered for .357 SIG cartridges.” The copilot reached into a satchel, producing a replacement magazine. It was loaded with dummy rounds, real bullets inserted into empty cartridges. She swapped the dummy magazine for the live one and returned the P229 to Daniels’s shoulder holster. She then picked up the dreamy sleep cocktail, replacing it with a glass of water containing a stimulant. Her work done, Jane returned to her seat and strapped in.

The captain had told her that it could be a dicey approach, thunderstorms. One look out the window confirmed that. A cold front was descending to the southeast from Canada, creating a line of thunderstorm cells. The towering dark clouds stretched all the way up the coast from New Jersey to northern Maine. They would have to poke their way through the front using the onboard weather radar.

“It’s your call, mate.” Jane didn’t want to miss dinner. After all, she had made special arrangements for Agent Daniels. “Wake up, love.” She was shaking Daniels’s shoulder.

Daniels was coming around.

“We’re on final. You fell asleep. Some water?” Jane took a hit then offered the glass.

“Huh… Oh, yeah. Guess I’ve been working too many nights.” Daniels drank. In minutes, she felt the counter-effect of the Benzylpiperazine the water had been spiked with.

Benzylpiperazine (BZP) was also known by its many street names, including “A2,” “Benny Bear,” “Frenzy,” “Nemesis,” “Sunrise,” or “Hummer.” BZP was a widely used recreational drug because of its euphoric stimulant properties. Its dopamine and serotonin agonist mechanism of action was similar to MDMA (Ecstasy.)  BZP’s aftereffects were similar to a hangover.

Daniels was going to have one hell of a headache when she reported for duty on Sunday evening. That was, provided that she didn’t do anything that might get her ass termed before then. She had just downed the water, when the jet was hit by a bolt of lightning. “Shit, that was close,” stammered Daniels, quickly pulling her shoulder strap out to attach it to the lap belt.

“Not close. Hit us,” responded Jane calmly. “Not to worry, love. We’ll be on the ground soon. And I promise you an evening you won’t soon forget.” That was reassuring, but the jet was going to need a complete inspection once they got it on the ground.

Up front, the captain called, “Gear down.” The jet was level at two thousand four hundred feet, and had almost captured the glide slope.

The copilot reached over and moved the gear lever. A moment later, she called, “Three Green, Down and Locked.”

All the way down, the jet pitched up and down and swayed from side to side. The captain was right. It was a nasty day for flying. They flew between two cells as they made their approach. They were now on a five-mile final. Jane looked out her window. For an instant, the clouds parted. She spotted the Castle and smiled. No place like home. They were back in the game. Ja.

A moment later, the copilot called out, “Feet dry,” as they crossed the shoreline. The autopilot was working hard to track the localizer and the auto-throttle had all it could do to keep them centered on the glide slope. The visibility went to nil. They were back in the crud, descending through another rain cell. “Three miles to touchdown.”

The captain called, “Flaps to Land.”

The copilot performed the task calling out her confirmation.

“Arm spoilers.”

“Spoilers Armed.” The jet was now in its landing configuration.

Pease Tower called, “Citation Six-Niner-Niner-Bravo-Alfa, Pease tower. Check wheels down. Cleared to land. Runway three-four. Number two behind a KC-10. Caution; wake turbulence for the heavy. Ceiling, one hundred with heavy rain.”

The captain replied, “Three green, Cleared to land, Number two behind the heavy, Niner-Bravo-Alpha.”  She released the mike key and said, “Disconnecting autopilot.”

The KC-10 Extender was based on the Macdonald Douglas DC-10-30 airliner. A massive plane, the KC-10’s primary use was as an aerial tanker, a flying gas station. The Citation’s captain was Air force Reserve, attached to the 157th Air Refueling Wing of the New Hampshire Air National Guard, based at Pease. The 157th operated the Boeing KC-135R Stratotanker aircraft. The Extender was visiting from another unit. She knew it could be trouble following a heavy that close, like flying between two tornados. However, their subject was late for dinner.

The captain continued, hand flying the final, staying one dot high on the glide slope in an effort to guard against the KC-10’s wake turbulence. Pease had an 11,321 foot runway; more than sufficient to allow for the safer high approach. She wasn’t taking any more unnecessary chances. She eased the power levers forward, adding ten knots, just to hedge her bet.

Over the radio came the bad news. The heavy just went missed, and was climbing out at max power. So much for tempting fate. Ninety seconds later, fate bit their ass—hard.

I Promised

Back on the veranda

Catherine placed her teacup gently on the table. She returned to the present, facing Miss Christi, who was waiting quietly, calmly sipping her tea. She smiled nervously and sat back in her chair. “I promised,” I wouldn’t tell.

Miss Christi shared in Catherine’s anxiety. She too had seen the lightning hit the jet. Several minutes passed, as each allowed time for their inner stresses to ease.

“Well then, my dear, tell me about your driving lesson today?”

“Oh, that? It was okay, I guess. I can park forward, backward, and even do parallel now. I can drive around the estate without hitting anything, and I mostly stay on the road now. Danielle says I’m still a bit of a ditch driver.”

Miss Christi giggled.

“But I’m getting way better. Sometimes, I still forget to look far enough ahead. She told me I’m almost ready to go out on the roads.” Another lightning bolt struck; this one just off shore.

Miss Christi jumped in her seat. “What do you think about that?”

“I think that was close.”

“Not the lightning dear, driving on the roads.”

“I think there’s no fucking way in hell I’m going out in public. Not dressed like a big baby. It’s bad enough, I have to wear this stupid stuff around here twenty-four-seven. This stupid baby dress doesn’t even cover my bum.”

“Yes, I do see that, my dear.”

“Oops.” Catherine crossed her toned legs. “What if we get in a crash or pulled over by a fuckin’ cop, or something? I mean, look at me!”

“Whatever do you mean, dear? You’re a beautiful young woman.”

“Yeah, right! I’m wearing a fucking baby dress and you can see these stupid vinyl panties too.” She looked down, “Even with my legs crossed.” She huffed, “Hello! I’d fucking kill myself on the spot.”

“Remember dear, it’s not the outfit that makes the woman. It’s the woman who makes the outfit.”

“Yeah, right. That’s what I’ll tell them. Yeah, when they’re all laughing at me. She flipped her well-done hair. When are you going to let me wear some real clothes?”

“We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see. Soon.”

“Please! I promise. I won’t act like a bratty little shit anymore.”

“Yes, that. When Miss Danielle informs me that you’re not a baby, the time will be near.”

“Oh, that’s just fricken great! The one personality in this place, who totally hates my fricken guts by the way, gets to decide my fashion fate. I’m so totally fucked! Sorry!”

“That’s quite all right, my dear. I’ll send for Miss Giselle. She’ll take you in and get our special young lady dressed for tonight’s special dinner. Prime rib with baked potatoes.

“Hey, that’s my favorite!”

“Yes, Miss Jane’s too.”

“Great! Superbitch is coming?”

“Yes dear. She’s bringing a date too. Her name is Carol, Daniels.”

“Daniels!” Catherine turned white. I’m so fucked…

“Yes, dear, Special Agent Carol Daniels of the Secret Service. So do be a dear and remember to keep those lovely legs crossed. Don’t want ourselves getting arrested tonight, do we, my dear Miss Black?”

“No, we don’t want that, Miss Christi.” Fuck me. Me too.

“There’s Mommy’s pretty baby.”

Giselle had arrived with the Enforcer. Catherine’s mood brightened, but only slightly.

“How many whacks did my pretty baby earn Mommy G this time?”

Catherine looked up and said, “Fucked if I know! A shitload, I guess.”

Part IV

Beat Their Game

I’m Going to Die

Blachmann Castle, 18:40 local

The beautiful baby doll stared back from the evening lit makeup mirror in the master bath. “I’m going to die.” Catherine hadn’t felt so good after learning of the special guest coming to dinner. She grew increasingly anxious as the hour neared. The prospect of being seen, by that Daniels woman, in the big baby outfit sickened her to the core. She wished the glamour doll’s face pouting back from the mirror would just disappear. Please, MK.

Giselle’s bottom was still a little tender as she added the finishing touch of blush, stepped back, and said, “Look at Mommy’s pretty kitten now. All grown up!”

“Yeah, just look at her,” in this stupid pink dress.

“So pretty.” Giselle pranced around in her tea dress. It was clear from the moment she arrived and collected her baby from the veranda, someone was excited to meet Jane’s special guest. “Help Mommy put her new grown-up dress on.”

“Mommy Geeeee. Um, I don’t feel so good.” She finished zipping Giselle, then rubbed her tummy. “I don’t want to go to dinner. Can I stay in my room? Please. Can I?” She gathered her long hair and held it up as Giselle unfastened the tiny padlock securing her dress. She viewed their reflection in the mirror. Mommy G looked totally hot and all grown up, dressed in a fitted white sparkly and satin cocktail dress. Clearer thoughts were on the other Giselle. “How come you’re so mean to me when you’re Miss Danielle? I know it’s really you.”

“Miss Danielle isn’t mean. She likes you, a lot. Mommy G knows she does.” Giselle removed the tiny padlock then pulled the zipper. “Let’s go; off with the baby dress, sweetie.”

She pouted, “No, you don’t,” as Giselle tugged the frilly sleeves. The dress slipped, surrounding her narrowed waist. Swimming was already paying dividends. She stood, took in a deep breath, and lifted her arms and gave a hip shake. Pink satin hit the floor. One step had MK fully out and closing. In her naughtiest baby voice she asked, “Doos you-sses likes mee-sees lots too?” She rubbed against Giselle’s well-fitted dress. Undo her zipper. “’Cause I likes yousses toooosss.” Seductive kisses were drizzled over a cold bare shoulder and up the lightly perfumed neck.

My perfume… Sweet temptation blew into Giselle’s ear. “Please Mommy, can’t we stay? Want to take another bubble bath?” Her topless self aggressively wrapped around Giselle. “Please Dani—”

A wild mouth engulfed the kitten in lustful rage. Ice-cold hands raced around the bare torso forcing the baby KAT into the nursery.

Click…click…click.

Safely inside, Giselle’s cold hands strolled gleefully up the stiffening spine then reappeared from under her shampoo-model-perfect hair. Sharp fingers traced a roguish path across her firm square shoulders. Teasingly, those dangerous fingers descended, pausing to enjoy the firming nipples, stimulating each with a forceful pinch as the lip-lock continued. MK felt someone else stiffening. They desperately needed air. Giselle’s hot breath filled the kitten’s lungs. It gave both a strange pleasure. One either was now powerless to stop.

“You want Dani…don’t you, kitten?” Giselle had lost her mommy. “Don’t ya, Kat?”

Satisfied by the kitten’s moaned response, the calculated cold-handed journey resumed. They were seeking pink treasure. Slowly, the right teased a distracting path along the elastic edge of the pink wall that protected the prize. Stymied, Miss Giselle’s eyes grew dark. The kitten grew weak. That cold left hand snuck around, chilling the small of Catherine’s back. It stroked the, soft, hot, vinyl, protecting, hotter, cotton. Yes, Dan’s slut was ready for her next lesson.

My perfume… Catherine’s mind was spinning. It’s Dani. Kiss her back. An instant of panic then, she did. MK’s left hand managed to slide down and latch onto Giselle’s seeking hand, halting its advance. It’s the love drug, Cat. You sure she’s drugged? Who cares, stupid, she won’t remember. It happened. Catherine’s lips parted.

Strangely, Catherine’s tongue and right hand also proved unwilling to aid in any defense. But MK needed to be sure. Her grip on Giselle’s left softened. Catherine’s hand commenced stroking Giselle’s as if to encourage, “Dani,” just do me.

An advanced tongue-dancing lesson progressed unabated for several minutes. As did Miss Giselle’s caressing of the kitten’s soft hot vinyl. It was only a warm-up. All too soon, the senior kitten’s delicate resolve slackened. A frenzy of lust pulsed within Miss Giselle’s twisted psyche. Suddenly, it all became so clear. Dan’s manipulating slut kitten needs to be taught a bloody lesson. The avenging right hand advanced in a flash. Down inside it went. Dan’s little whore is soaking wet. One forceful tug tore down, the slut’s armor. In a blink, the left was cocked and loaded. She withdrew the hungry tongue. Uncle Pete’s little princess was in need of a healthy dose of Blachmann passion. “Do you want it, baby?” Giselle’s breath was steamy hot. Her heart pounded, her eyes turned black then blind with rage.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

“It’s Mistress Fucking Giselle! Understand?” She needs more. “Don’t ya, baby?”

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Shocked back to her good senses, Catherine gasped, pulled free, gritted her teeth, then shouted, “Hey, what are you—” It was then she saw the true Giselle. Catherine knew that look. She’d seen it in the glass, that night with Vicky.

Giselle’s entire bean was aglow in sadistic bliss.

“That fuckin’ hurts you sadist bitch!” Shit!  Thinking smarter, MK backed Catherine away and rubbed their stinging red bare bottom. Oh shit! Her eyes! Fuck me. She’s Mommy Fucking Dearest again. The vinyl… Baby—Catherine reached, grabbed, and pulled. Nice one, Cat. Back in the safety of the cotton and, the vinyl, MK reverted to full baby mode. “Mommy, that hurtsess baby!” Goo-fucking-goo. “Baby really-really sorrr-rryyyy.” She waited, hoping. Her back was hard against the door. “You’re way—more prettier than—” I’m so fucked. Catherine held her breath and cringed.

“That’s Mommy’s good little girl.” As if neither had transgressed, Giselle asked, “Would you like to put on a sexy big girl dress for dinner?”

Click…click…click.

What the fuck? She felt for the door. Open. MK’s courage blossomed. “No shit?” Shit. “I mean, yes, Mommy. Pweeeeezzzzz.” Brother…Wait!—Mommy Psycho called me a girl. I think she’s back to Mommy Lovey-dovey. “Mommy Gee, Baby’ss coldzzzz.”

“Yes, Mommy sees.” Giselle left, stepping into Miss Christi’s enormous closet. Actually, it was more like a room. The row of dressers and wardrobe cabinets seemed endless. She had already pre-staged the kitten’s ensemble for the evening’s dinner and more.

Feeling safe, Catherine peeked in and said, “But my tummy really hurts.” Noting their distance, she quickly removed her pink vinyl and heavy cotton panties in one swoop before kicking them high in the air, in the direction of the hamper. “Score!” She quickly reached for a new set.

Giselle popped from the doorway and held up the dress. “See, sweetie. Mommy G made you this today, for tonight’s special dinner.” She proudly displayed her latest creation. “But, if my baby doesn’t feel good…”

Catherine pointed to the other hand. “What’s that?” Fuck me. She’s like—a total kinky sadist bitch. MK knew exactly what that was. See ya later, Cat.

“What? This?” Giselle held up her other hand, displaying the oversized enema bag made of clear silicone rubber, complete with a hose and a large and sinister-looking inflatable nozzle. “This will make baby’s tummy all better.” Her grin grew as wide as the bag. “Holds a full gallon. Want Mommy to fill it?”

“No! Wait!”

“You’re sure you don’t want an enema, sweetie? Maybe just a little one? Only take a minute to get it ready. Mommy thinks her baby should.”

“Please, no. I’ll be a good girl.” She took hold of the dress. It was not babyish, not at all like the others she’d been forced to wear since arriving. This dress was trendy. A zippered wrap-style cocktail dress, fashioned from a shiny black satin. It had exposed shoulders and much to her relief, was cut just mid way above the knee. Finally! Something to hide these stupid vinyl panties.

Reluctantly, and against well-seasoned judgment, Giselle relented and retrieved a new Hush-Hush patent leather extreme lift push-up bustier from the dresser. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us for dinner?” She dangled the polished black bustier as if it were a treat. The eight attached garters danced before their eyes. “Prime rib with baked potatoes. Somebody’s favorite… Oh yeah, Mommy almost forgot. There’s a yummy dessert too!” She gave a rub to her tummy. “Well?… Which is it? This…or…?” Giselle pulled the bustier back and offered up the enema bag. Her preference was obvious.

Some choice. With this dress? That bustier? Yeah, I could hide behind a pair of perfectly presented boobs. She fondled the silk. Prime rib? Fuck me! How’d she know?

“But, if you want to stay in your crib?” Giselle held the bustier out. “Well?  Do you?”

Leather. Eight garters. Fuck, that’s so hot. “I’m okay, Mommy.” Out went the arms, encouraging Giselle to fit her with the front zip bustier… “Yeah, I feel way better now.”

“Perfect fit. Like it?”

“Fuck yeah, I like it! Thanks, Mommy G.” She felt herself. The new bustier was the first piece of leather Catherine had worn since she arrived. “It’s freaking awesome. Do you like it on me? Did you make this too? Did you design this?”

“Someone’s excited. Yes, looks good, and no, I only made it. It’s one of Kristin’s new designs. She e-mailed me the sketch the other day from Paris. She was killing time while she waited for Miss Jane.”

“Super— I mean, Miss Jane lives in Paris?”

“No, sweetie. She lives in Monaco now. The countess was visiting her papa in Paris. She lives on her enchanted floating castle off the coast, near Cannes. She promised to let me come and visit later this summer. Come sit. Let mommy get these pretty stockings on you. The countess owns Hush-Hush. My baby has the longest and prettiest legs.”

“That tickles.”

“Miss Christi told Mommy, the countess met my pretty baby in New York. Remember? Hold still, silly.” Giselle fastened the next garter clip.

“Oh yeah, that anorexic blonde chick. KK, right?  Hey, that wicked tickles. Yeah, I remember her. She looked like a total Barbie freak show. All that hot pink. Yuck!” Catherine stuck a finger in and gagged, pretending to throw up.

Giselle paid her kitten no attention and reached for the other stocking.

“Hey, I know how to put those on, you know.”

“Really? Here…show Mommy…good girl. Make sure to get the back seam straight. Hey!” Giselle stood and thrust her hands to her hips. “What’s wrong with pink? KK always wears pink. She loves pink; especially slippery shiny hot pink. Mommy made her a new dress just like yours, except in PVC, neon pink. Mommy can’t wait to show her.”

PVC… “Vinyl? Really? Well, thanks for making mine black. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. A royal black for a royal princess. Right, Miss Black?”

“Whatever. Are you sure it’s okay with Miss Superbitch?” Shit. Brace for impact.

Giselle stifled a giggle. “Yes, Miss Jane approved it upon her return from DC.”

“Washington? Why was she there? Did she see my mom and dad? Tell me? Please Mommy G? I need to know. Please tell me?” Catherine moved closer to provide some physical encouragement.

“Oh, sweetie.” Giselle retreated. “Somebody’s being naughty again.”

Catherine pressed. Firmly adhered, she kissed Giselle’s easy lips. “Please, Mommy?” She continued the advance, adding an encouraging pout to the hair flick. She licked her lips. “Please, Mommy.”

“Nooo sweetie, Mommy mustn’t spoil the surprise. Besides, Mommy G isn’t allowed to speak of what Miss Jane does when she leaves the castle.” That didn’t stop her from accepting another kiss: one deeper, and much more probing.

“Does she go there much?” asked Catherine, hoping the assault would penetrate Giselle’s good senses.

“I can’t…ah…oh…not supposed to.” Darkness raged in Giselle’s eyes. She counterattacked, pulling Catherine into the nursery. She released her grip just long enough to drop the crib’s chrome metal sidebar. She forced her half-dressed long-legged fetish doll onto the crib.

“Hey! Stop it!” Catherine shoved back but Giselle had her good. “Don’t, Mommy. I—” She gagged as the wicked tongue probed. Wow. That was deep. Why fight it? She was pinned; tongue, hands, legs. She gave up the fight and let it unfold.

“Happy now? Any other questions?”

Catherine, still out of breath, could only nod. Yes and no.

“Good! Now let’s finish getting you all dolled up to meet Miss Jane’s special guest. Would you like to wear some of Mommy’s new perfume and shiny jewelry?”

“Perfume? Um, no thanks. Do I really have to wear those stupid baby pants?” She pointed to the black vinyl panties in Giselle’s hand. “What’s with those things anyway? It’s not like I’m going to pee myself.”

“Yes, sweetie. These panties are special. They will protect our little princess. Come now; pull them up over your pretty pink cotton. That’s Mommy’s good girl. Now let’s get you in this pretty new dress and those special boots of yours.”

Little princess? Good girl? She glanced in the mirror. In this outfit? Boots? “You have my boots! I can wear them?”

“Yes, silly. Stay here. Mommy will get them. Who gave them to you, kitten?”

“I—don’t know.” Nice try, Mommy. “Did you make them, Mommy G?”

“No, sweetie. Those boots were made long before Mommy G was.”

“Huh?”

What the—

19:04 local

Heels clicking, Blachmann’s newest kitten led Giselle into the formal dining room. Its table was large enough for twenty. Catherine did feel special in MK’s special boots. “What the—why’s it set for seven?” She assumed there should be only five plates: Miss Christi, Mommy G / Dani, Superbitch—her date, and me—us. Okay, us. Catherine turned to question Giselle.

“Momm—” Catherine’s jaw fell. It kept falling, crashing onto MK’s rising cleavage. She stopped stiff. Twin chrome heels gouged the granite. It was total shock. Not unlike Natasha’s first kiss. She never saw that one coming either. She just stood there, her mouth, a gaping black hole, desperate to be filled. Dani? She was face to face with Danielle and still holding Giselle’s cold hand. Just like that first day in BP’s bedroom, she knew her life would never be the same. “What the—Fuck me.” Her overwhelmed brain started to shudder and skip. Just shut it. Her eyes closed. Okay, I can do that—me too; she’s hot.

“Right back at you, baby.” Danielle beamed. She covered the open mouth with her hand. “Don’t, babe. Please; not tonight. Promise me.”

Alright already. In the company of the Wright sisters for the first time and with mouth restrained, she checked out, Miss Danielle, for several seconds. Pulling free, she reached up, grasping the warm hand with both of hers. So warm, so soft. Catherine offered no resistance as MK lowered, Dani’s hand. “Fuck me; you’re hot.” Shit. She couldn’t let go. “Sorry! Just slipped out. Nice trick, by the way.” Twins… Nice.

“I’m really sorry I deceived you. Miss Jane’s idea.” The very femmed-up and blonde bombshell shrugged.

“Yeah, sure.” Seeing Danielle in that cocktail dress was intensely distracting. Catherine had totally forgotten her surroundings. Stimulating, the slinky, skimpy, sparkly blue number was similar to the one Vicki had worn in New York last week.

“Really!”

“Wow!” She eyeballed Danielle again. Blonde… Did she know? Catherine licked her lips and said, “Nice—to finally meet you, Miss—”

“Miss Wright.”

I’ll say.

“Though, I’d hoped you might call me Dani; just for tonight, if you’d like.” Danielle had compromised, changing her wig to dirty blonde. It wasn’t in a boring ponytail either. The now-past-chest-length hair was done up in a sexy yet sophisticated come-try-me look. “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Black.”

Miss Black? Yummy. Catherine reached out, touching it. So real, so soft, and soooo Dani—She’s hot.

Another first: Danielle was all glamorous in makeup and jewelry that included earrings, a small heart-shaped necklace and a bracelet, all covered with sparkling diamonds. Her feet filled a pair of shiny black strappy seven-inch stiletto platforms. The skyscraper stilettos gave her an ever-so-slight height advantage. Tonight, she wanted every advantage she could get.

“Like I said, nice—trick, Miss Wright.” MK leaned in and whispered, “Fuck, you’re actually pretty hot!” Her appetite was back and more. She licked Catherine’s lips. “You owe me one, Dani—”

“It was all Miss Jane’s idea, really.” Danielle said it again. “Honest.” She wanted so much to take the silky soft black satin kitten in her arms. She couldn’t, settling for the touch of Catherine’s flowing hair as it brushed across her face. She shuddered then took Kat’s hand.

“Whatever. I knew it! You had to be two people.” I should have figured…

“We’re twins. Siamese. I mean, we—”

“What!” Catherine pulled free.

“It’s true! We were separated—soon after birth. Our heads—”

“Yeah, sure; like I’m going to believe—” MK gave Dani another hair flick; very effective.

“It’s true! Really! You’re so beautiful.” She took Catherine’s hand. “Here’s our seats.”

Jane entered with the special guest. “Terribly sorry, everyone. Allow me to present Ms. Carol Daniels.” Jane’s eyes sought out, MK. “Well then, who is this . . .” Meow! She stepped near, “lovely young lady?” to inspect, the pretender. “Miss Wright, please introduce your lovely date.”

The Temptress entered.

“Date? I’m not—” Holy shit! We’re still holding hands. Look at her. Why is she trembling? “Hey! Let go.” Who the—are you? Nice tits…

The Temptress, a long lean redhead, was mumbling under her breath and fussing with a stubborn earring. Her dress was a daring lipstick-red leather number that left little to the imagination. “Hi, everyone; sorry I’m tardy.” She gave “Miss Jane” a distressed look then blew on her still-wet matching nails. “Too much on my plate these days.” She’d just come from the lab after starting the analysis on the perfume.

“My fault,” confessed Jane. Natasha’s perfume. She found it in her bag, earlier that morning while searching for some Motrin. Funny thing was she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten it. Last night was a complete blank.

Danielle announced, “Everyone, it is my honor to present the third Miss Katherine Black, daughter of the Mistress Katrina GoodKnight and the second James Richard Black and the rightful heir to the House of Blachmann.”

“What the fuck—did she say?” Catherine stood there in the room full of staring eyes. Leaking thoughts. Shit. Her face grew warmer. She reined in her lips.  It’s another trick. Just play along.

Catherine regrouped and offered, Miss Jane, a kind smile then said, “Sorry, everyone, I just never heard my mom called GoodKnight or Katrina before.” Her cheeks cooled. “Her maiden name was Smith. Kate Smith.”

Everyone except for Agent Daniels tried with little success to conceal the humor in their faces.

“What’s so fuc—funny?”

“Not a thing. Don’t you look fit, Miss Black,” offered the Temptress, her tone sultry, taking note the fitness training was baring visible results. That form-flattering Hush-Hush bustier did warrant an honorable mention. She asked, “May I call you, Katherine, Miss Black?” with a steamy formality Catherine found surreal.

“Yes, please. That’s my name. I mean, thank you, Miss—” Is this fricken nightmare finally over? “Who the—are you?”

“Who, me? I’m the resident lab rat, Doctor Samantha Resnik. But please, just call me Sam.” Out went a slender hand. “We met once before, briefly. Nice boots! Remember?”

Lab rat? “Sorry, doc—I don’t re—Freckles!” You’re that chick at Uno’s.

“Enough chitchat. Let’s eat,” instructed Jane, her stomach reminding her that she’d worked up quite an appetite today.

Agent Daniels slid the head chair out. “May I seat you, Mistress Sterling?”

“Thank you, darling.” She sat then lightly touched Agent Daniels on the inner wrist. “You must not be so formal, Carol darling.”

“Thank you, Miss Jane.” Daniels remained at attention, waiting for the others to be seated.

Danielle quickly did the same for Miss Christi and then offered to seat, “Miss Black.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Miss Wright.” Miss Jane’s making Dani nervous. Good!

The table was elegantly set with Lenox fine china, heavy sterling silver flatware, and the finest leaded crystal. One by one, Danielle, Giselle, Samantha, and lastly, Agent Daniels seated themselves. Jane was seated at the head of the table. Agent Daniels was to her right. Catherine sat to Jane’s left then Danielle and then Miss Christi. Giselle sat to the right of Agent Daniels. Beyond her was Samantha. Three elegant crystal chandeliers hung above, providing a warm illuminating glow.

They’d been seated only a moment when in walked the House Mum, Margaret Braun. She carried two bottles of wine and was closely shadowed by her little helper, who carried the water. Maria looked all pretty and so young in her frilly French maid’s outfit. She was a shy mouse of a young woman who barely made a sound. Catherine had met Maria Monday in the kitchen at lunchtime. She learned from Danielle that Maria was orphaned. Her mother was an aid worker who had died shortly after giving birth. The father’s identity had never been determined. How sweet little Maria came to be at the Castle was not divulged.

Jane praised Maria for having arranged the table so precisely as she filled the water goblets from the large glass bottle of Poland Spring. Miss Braun opened then poured a taster’s sample of tonight’s wine. The wine, a Cabernet Sauvignon from the Chateau Margaux in the Bordeaux region of France, was simply labeled Margaux; the bottle represented the 2005 vintage.

Jane held the large glass up before the light and swirled it. Next she brought the wine to her nose and sampled its pleasant charms. The 2005 was full-bodied, its color a deep black, almost endless in depth. She placed the glass to her lips. Although still a bit young, Mistress Sterling found it exceeded her pallet’s strict standard. At thirty thousand dollars a case, it had better. With a dip of her eyes, she instructed Miss Braun to pour the first and open the second, “To allow it some time to grow up.” Raising her glass to Catherine, she offered a toast. “Here’s to a weekend we shall always remember. Cheers.”

The baked potatoes delivered, Maria returned to present the main course. Positioned conspicuously to Jane’s right, waist bent slightly, she held the still-covered serving platter. “Miss Jane.”

Maria’s forward position afforded Catherine an unencumbered up-close view of her exceptionally well toned legs and, “Nice little caboose too.” Oops.

Concerned, Catherine swung round to see if anyone had picked up on MK’s accurate assessment of Maria’s behind. She swung back to see Maria glancing over her shoulder. A pleasant smile was exchanged. Sooo busted.

Jane lifted the meticulously polished cover from the equally fine sterling silver serving tray Maria held before her. “Hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet!” exclaimed Jane with a mischievous glint directed at Catherine. Her words were loud and drew the gathering’s full attention. She swayed Catherine’s way and said, “Yes, indeed, love. That’s how I like mine. Just as the Good Lord intended.” She brought her gaze to Maria. “Isn’t it so, my little sweet mouse?”

“Oui, Miss Jane,” giggled Maria, almost spilling the tray of medium-rare prime rib in Jane’s lap before regaining her composure.

In full view of Catherine, Jane had given Maria’s frilly white silk panties a firm pat. Her hand returned to view but remained aft to fondle the many layers of equally frilly pink and white silk petticoats that embellished Maria’s provocatively styled uniform. Finished her sampling of Maria’s not-so-under-wears, Jane selected the bloodiest cut. Her eyes encouraged Catherine to give the silk a go also.

“Splendid, is it not? Well, don’t you agree, Miss Black?” Jane gave Maria one more gentle whack.

“Well, kitten?” Jane wasn’t kidding as she eyed the pretender on and continued her own fondling.

A jolt of adrenalin rushed Catherine. She lifted her hand to join Jane’s in sampling the soft silky—

“Miss Sterling!” admonished Miss Christi, adding a disapproving glance Catherine’s way.

Shit! Catherine’s left hand made a hasty though disheartened retreat; her eyes, however, stood their ground. Oh yeah, very sweet. I’d like to spank that kitten.

Maria continued her nervous giggles as she stepped back bumping Catherine, “Excusez-moi, Miss Katrina,” before rounding “Miss Jane” to serve “Miss Carol.” Tilting to ensure her trim bottom was positioned just so—to please Miss Jane. She waited till Jane tapped her silky bottom then tiptoed around to serve “Miss Katrina,” then pivoted like a ballerina and bent to serve “Miss Dani.”

Miss Dani seemed to be taking forever to select hers. Miss Christi was engaged with Miss Carol. Gag me—Please don’t. MK had her chance. She glanced to Jane, who quickly signaled her approval. Here goes. Holy shit! This girl’s ass is too sweet. The stealthy hand found Jane’s still-warm trail and followed. Oh yeah. Maria shifted left ever so slightly. Yeah, the right cheek needs some too. Reluctantly, she pulled out from Maria’s silk garden. Thanks, Miss Jane. Stop it!

Catherine and Jane watched intently as the French doll tiptoed around Danielle to serve “Miss Christi,” then returned close by as she stepped to “Miss Sam.” Lastly, Maria positioned herself before a pouty “Miss Gee-Gee.” It all took some time, given sweet soft Maria’s cautious little steps.

Everyone, except Giselle, was most impressed by Maria’s ability to hold the large serving tray steady and maintain her balance. Quite a feat, given the tightly laced seven-inch spiked heel ballet boots that enslaved the tiny stubs that remained. Her toes and much of both feet had been blown off by a small, air-dropped toy-shaped land mine. Only five when it happened, she had also lost the pinky and ring finger from her left hand and the sight in her right eye. It had taken her two years to learn to walk without assistance in the specially constructed ballet boots. She offered a gentle smile and waited.

Giselle fingered her curls as she surveyed what little beef remained on the large platter. “Rats! Why do I always get last picks?” She stabbed the two thin slices, holding them up to prove her point.

Jane ignored her. “Maria dear, please inform Miss Braun the entire rib was cooked to perfection.”

“Oui, Miss Jane.” The beauty of France shuffled off toward the kitchen, pulling Jane’s and Catherine’s eyes along, until the door to the butler’s pantry swung back, hitting them both between the eyes.

“Miss Braun? No fricken way!”  Oops. “Sorry. Who’s Miss Braun?” asked Catherine, a shade pinker, still in awe of sweet, soft, Maria and her incredible ability to just stand in those diabolically hot boots; let alone walk and carry that heavy platter.

Miss Christi tilted behind Danielle to discreetly inform, “She’s Miss Margaret to you, my dear. Keeps the house in most excellent order; and, as you can see, keeps everyone well fed.”

Danielle blurted, “Dinner looks soooo good. I could eat a horse. Pass the butter, please.”

“Hey!” Catherine frowned as MK complied, handing Dani the butter. “I ride horses—”

“Really, babe? Me too.” Babe… Danielle’s face brightened. She commenced damage control, taking Catherine’s right hand. “Sorry, Miss Black; didn’t mean it like that. So you like, to ride?”

“Yeah.” Catherine brightened. “I remember your riding outfit.” She quickly dimmed. “Anyway, I used to, until—” Her face and shoulders sank. You fricken blew that too.

“We have horses, you know,” sang Danielle, adding an encouraging nod and then a tug.

Catherine found her hand in uncharted waters. Her momentary sadness disappeared with the hand. She glanced at Danielle. Ball’s in your court girl.

“Yes, my dear,” said Miss Christi. “Three chestnut geldings and Major the fifth. He’s a direct descendent of my Katherine’s handsome black stallion. Perhaps you two should go for a ride together Sunday, after church. I believe Major would welcome you on his able back.”

“Church! You go to church?” Catherine stared at Danielle then came to her other senses. Fuck, that didn’t come out right. With a quick flick, she hid behind her own trusty mane.

“Yes! Every Sunday,” said Giselle, sounding a tad too sanctimonious. “Unless we have an assignment. Sorry, no babies allowed.”

“What do you mean…assignment?” Mommy Fucking Dearest goes to church? Go figure.

“Assignment? Oh.” Giselle froze up for a second. “Nothing. I—” She sounded worried.

Jane stepped in. “What Miss Giselle meant to say is; if we are away from the Castle, or, when we have a naughty little baby staying with us, then it isn’t appropriate to leave the Castle grounds. Isn’t that correct, Miss Wright?”

“Yes, Mistress Sterling.” Giselle sounded like a girl just spanked. “Yes, that’s correct. Please accept my apologies, Miss Black.” Her head dipped. “That’s what I meant to say. I’m very sorry.”

Catherine turned to Danielle and whispered, “What’s that about?”

Danielle shot back under her breath, “It’s a long story, babe. You don’t want to know.”

“Your sis—”Babe? Catherine jumped. “Hey!”

“How was Washington, Miss Jane?” asked Danielle, discreetly nudging her playful kitten to shut up.

 “Full of surprises. But I think we got off at just the right hour. Didn’t we, Carol darling?”

“Yes. Yes, Miss Jane. It was so kind of you to send your jet, Miss Christi.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” She offered the subject a warm smile. “It’s the least one could do for such a special guest of Miss Jane’s.”

“Miss Jane; you had business in DC?” ventured Catherine. She jumped in her seat. “Hey!” That hand had smacked her under the table again. This time she got the full meaning, telling her other self to keep it zipped for the rest of dinner. Her hand was soon being guided back to soft, softer, vinyl…Dani wears—

“Yes, Miss Black, pleasure business.” Miss Jane thought the kittens under-table games amusing.

Her answer prompted Samantha. “Did you bump into that cute little blonde swan again?”

“Sadly, no,” said Jane straight-faced, taking hold of her wine. “However, I did find the room service to be excellent.” She gave Agent Daniels a polite nod then turned to give “Miss Black” a wink and drank down a hardy dose of France’s finest.

“I’m sure it was,” added Samantha, now laughing, sending a knowing look Agent Daniels’s way.

Catherine couldn’t restrain her other self any longer. She latched onto Danielle’s bipolar hand and held it tight to Dani’s inner thigh then spurted, “Miss Jane. Did you see my mom and dad?”

“No, Miss Black. I had no cause to visit them again, yet.” She redirected herself to Danielle. “Unraveled anything interesting this week?”

Danielle’s strangled hand was starting to tingle. “Unfortunately, not yet, Miss Jane. A level five shredder program was installed on the hard drive.”

Jane pondered Catherine’s obvious uneasiness. “Level five?” Her brow rose. “Interesting.”

“Yes. We thought so too,” added Samantha, removing her narrow rimmed glasses. She too looked directly into MK. “Where does a fifteen-year-old get a shredder that sophisticated?”

Why’s she wearing—“Huh? What’s a level five shredder?” Catherine didn’t have a clue. Distracted by the discussion and other things, MK totally lost her grip. Crap. She reached around under the table, searching for the AWOL hand. Much to Danielle’s pleasure, she checked everywhere. Where the frick is it?  Yeah, she’s definitely wearing baby pants. She cast her date a knowing look. Frick me Dani—you’re hot. Their under-table antics promptly resumed. Someone was feeling her old self again.

“Not to worry, Miss Black. I’m sure someone will get to the bottom of it all very soon.” Jane turned to tonight’s subject. “Isn’t that so, Carol darling?”

MK’s eyes met Agent Fuckin Daniels dizzy gaze full on for the first time. She smiled and gave the BP’s butch dyke her best pouty look then bit a lock of hair. She finished the butch off with a cleavage-inflating breath followed with the well-practiced hair flick. She had seen that look before. Yeah, Carol fricken darling is still hot for me. Dani’s hand… Oh yeah, your turn again.

Dazed, the agent in Daniels made it impossible not to stare. That striking face, that hair, and that healthy set of kiddy KAT tits. The Black KAT’s kitten didn’t look fifteen-anything. Not in that outfit. The Secret Service agent shook her head back on duty long enough to say, “Does sound suspicious. Would you like me to interrogate her?” She wasn’t kidding. After all, Jane had promised, the one in the boots.

“What?” Catherine surveyed her audience. Why is everyone staring? Danielle’s hand squeezed her thigh, just above her stocking top. It lingered. Yeah that’s it. Don’t stop now. Please Dani. Courtesies aside, that was as far as the good Miss Wright went. God! Does she need an engraved invitation? Fuck! Will ya interrogate me. Will ya? “Please Dani.” Oh shit!  “Sorry I—” Shut it.

Jane spoke up in her most British voice. “Yes, Carol darling. Perhaps you could be of some assistance in our understanding Miss Black’s recent past.” She stroked the subject’s hand. “If you wouldn’t mind too terribly, Carol darling?”

Catherine tensed then clammed up tight. Superbitch is back. And she brought the BP’s butch dyke to help. Smile.

“I’ll do my best to help get to the bottom of it, Mistress.” Agent Daniels purred, her fire lit. She waited as Jane topped off her wine glass. Daniels had always dreamed of a weekend assisting Mistress Sterling in the fine art of female domination. After dinner she would sign the necessary contracts. Daniels drained her glass as an eyeful of Miss Black filled her head.

Mistress… Just laugh it off Cat. Not too much. Now give the dyke the hair flick. Yeah, that’s good. Now the lips. But she’s a total dyke. Relax Cat; there’s no fucking way I’ll let her do you. You promise?

Jane poured again and whispered into Daniels’s ear, “Yes, my pet, I’m sure we will.” She gave the special guest another stroke, adding a touch of claw to encourage the glass be emptied. “Now, slut.”

All juiced up and eager to get on with it, Daniels squirmed in her own wetness. “Miss Christi, I’m beginning to think Mistress Sterling lured me here with a false promise of an evening full of fun and games.” The wine was softening her nicely. She continued, “But she left me no time to pack.” She stood and patted her crotch. “Not even a backup pair of panties.” That finely woven Turkmenistan cotton valiantly guarding her treasure was in desperate need of reinforcement. “Maybe something more leak-proof.” Daniels focused on Catherine and said, “Yeah, some vinyl or, better yet, how about some rubber, Miss Black!”

It was clear to all, Agent Daniels’s pump was primed.

Mistress Sterling poured out the last of the second bottle. Not that tonight’s subject needed it. “In due time, my darling slut. Drink this wine for Mistress, won’t you.” Jane wasn’t asking.

Miss Christi intervened. “I’m sure Miss Giselle has something most appropriate to suit our needs. Don’t you dear?”

With a glare, Giselle quickly sized up tonight’s subject. “Yes Miss Christi. I’m sure, I have; something most appropriate. Do you fancy pink, Miss Daniels?”

“Pink? Yes, I adore pink! But, never when I’m on duty.”

Catherine gave a nervous laugh. Giselle didn’t find either subject the least bit funny. And soon neither would her subject.

Daniels chuckled as she lifted the half filled glass. “This wine is—gulp-gulp. All gone.” She made a sad face and put her glass down, tipping it. “Oopsy. I think it’s game time.” Her eyeballs bounced across the table and landed in Catherine’s cleavage. “You want play with me, Miss Black? I heard you play rough. I like it rough. Did you bring your rubberrrr Mistresssssss Katrina—” Daniels mouth had been silenced by Jane’s hand.

Mistress Katrina… Catherine cringed. That butch dyke bitch is gonna out us.

Dame Jane stood and offered an arm. “Come, my pet; let us see if we can’t find something of Miss Black’s to take care of that naughty fanny of yours.”

The wine was done. It was time to get the fetish ball rolling.

“Rubber? What? You two—” Danielle stopped and turned to see Kat was hiding behind Catherine’s hair.

“Not just yet, my pet.” Jane had raised her hand, to which Danielle wisely heeded. The new Headmistress of Blachmann Castle escorted her latest subject upstairs and into the nursery for a well-needed change.

19:45 local

Miss Braun and Maria finished clearing. They returned, offering fresh brewed coffee and tea. Miss Braun supervised. Maria poured then served: first, “Miss Samantha” and “Miss Gee-Gee” took coffee. “Miss Christi,” then, “Miss Dani,” took tea. And finally, with a excited giggle, Maria asked, “Miss Katrina?”

Katrina… MK perked up and answered, “Coffee, please, Maria.”

Maria lifted a coffee. Miss Braun’s hand intervened, shooing the coffee and Maria away.

Miss Braun said, “Terribly sorry, Miss, babies aren’t allowed this coffee. It keeps them up all night.” She offered a tea.

“Hope so.” Catherine took the tea.

Miss Jane had returned with “Baby Daniels.” MK had to laugh. Carol Fucking Darling was in one of my baby dresses. Though tight around the waist, it fit the agent’s lean fit frame well. BP’s butch dyke sure seemed excited by the attention.

Daniels hiked up her pink satin and said, “Guess I’m off duty. Want to touch it?” She showed off her frilly pink vinyl panties. “Please, Miss-tress Katrina.”

Danielle said to pay her no attention then excitedly asked Miss Braun about dessert. “Is it my favorite?”

The sixty-something and well-fed house mum crossed her arms and answered in German. “I thought all my treats were your favorite?”

Danielle and Giselle answered in unison. “Ja, they are!”

“Right, then. Miss Black has touched it enough for now, sweetie. Please take your seat, Miss Black.” Jane guided the subject into her seat. “Ja, what have you whipped up for us this evening, Miss Braun?” Her German sounding a bit more youthfully spirited as she pinched Maria’s soft little bum. “Oui.”

Maria yelped then sang out in French, “Hot apple cobblers topped with a scoop of castle-made French vanilla. Oops. Pardon, Mama.” She did have a complete vocabulary after all.

Her surprise ruined, Miss Braun frowned then scolded her little helper in rapid German as they retreated into the kitchen. Once there—just as Miss Christi instructed earlier—they had prepared a very special cobbler for their special guest. It contained a little something extra from Sam’s lab. Something intended to keep the subject awake all night and the next. It would also serve to loosen her resolve, though Jane was certain the wine and her false promises had already seen to that. The sight of Miss Black in those boots and that dress didn’t hurt.

Jane waited for the subject to take her last bite. Using Daniels’s napkin, she wiped the subject’s lips. “Well done sweetie. It’s time for the fun and games Mistress Sterling promised. First we have the necessary paperwork to attend to. Come, my pet.”

Daniels’ eyes stayed glued to MK’s boots as she took Jane’s hand and tried to stand. Jane and Giselle bodily escorted their special guest to the library. Miss Christi suggested Danielle and Samantha should escort Miss Black to the Panty Parlor and wait there for them. The next lesson in their game was about to begin. Daniels was to become a teaching aid in the weekend’s assignment.

Ever See One That Big

The Panty Parlor, 20:03 local

Danielle, Catherine, and Samantha relaxed by the fire while they waited for the others to finish their business. Samantha, her arms crossed, was half seated on the edge of Miss Christi’s desk. The two kittens sat in the now familiar love seat, Danielle nearest the fire. Before them on a pedestal table was an elaborate oversized chessboard with four-inch squares. On the coffee table sat two large wooden cases.

Danielle retrieved then opened one, presenting its contents for Catherine’s inspection. “Ever see one that big before?”

“No!” She lifted the heavy king. “Hey, he’s wearing a dress.”

Danielle said, “Looks more like a skirt to me.”

“But he is like, the king, right?”

“Actually, pretty sure he’s, a she,” offered Samantha with a questioning eye. “Note the boobs.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Samantha then motioned to tilt the piece. “Go ahead, take a peek.”

She did. “No F-in way! Is that a— that’s rude!”

“What! Everyone knows in chess the king has no balls.” Samantha nodded. “The queen has the balls. You want to see them?”

“Never mind that,” said Danielle, taking back the king. “It’s not the clothes or hair, or what’s between their legs that matters. It’s what’s inside that counts; right Miss Katrina?”

“Yeah, I guess.” What the—

Samantha shot back, “When did you become the big expert, Dani?”

“Since I got to know the real you, Sam.”

“What are you two talking about?” Catherine picked up the queen, tipped it slightly, just to be sure. Thank God. “Nice boots.” The queen’s costume left little for the imagination.

These chess pieces weren’t like any she’d ever seen before. Carved more than a century before from elephant ivory, each skillfully painted and fitted to a heavy base chiseled from black marble. Like the king, the queen stood about nine inches tall and sported intricate detailing. Her stance, legs spaced smartly apart in boots that were remarkably similar to Catherine’s, prompted immediate respect. She wore only a corset, a short skirt with a wide belt, and a hooded cape. Showing from her boot was the jeweled handle of a dagger. In her hand was a knotted whip. The gold and jewels that adorned each piece were real. They looked more like some kind of expensive erotic figurines than chess pieces. The pawns were also fashioned in erotic feminine forms. Danielle said each represented a different nymph from Greek mythology.

“You know, Dani, I’m still a little pissed about that Sybil trick of yours.”

“Like I said, Kat, it was Miss Jane’s idea.” Danielle opened the other box. The pieces were the same except their bases were white marble. “She thought it would teach you a lesson about how easy it is to fool the eye.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t fooled. Hey, why is that Daniels woman here? Did my mom send her?”

Both answered with a shrug. No one wanted to be the first to let that KAT out of the bag.

“Come on. You guys know something. You’re like, in trouble with the Feds, right? I mean, like, this place is pretty weird!”

Samantha brought her index finger to puckered lips. “Mum’s the word.”

“So it’s, don’t ask, don’t tell?” asked Catherine in jest.

Danielle broke her silence. “Yes. It’s all very Hush-Hush.” She started to laugh.

“Miss Black?” asked Samantha, stone-faced. “Join me in a game of Chessex?”

“What’s Chessex?” Catherine turned to Danielle for guidance.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea Sam!” exclaimed Danielle, eagerly rising on her seven-inch platforms. Like Sam, Dani liked the view of Miss Black from way up there too.

 “Oh, it’s just like regular chess,” said Samantha, casually adding, “with a few twists.” Her eyes probed the kitten for signs of interest. “You know what I mean?”

Catherine sensed roaming eyes mauling her. She squirmed in her seat, turned and looked up at Danielle, whose eyes were just as mauling, and asked, “A few twists? What kind?” She adjusted her bustier’s zipper up—down. “Hey, it’s stuck.” No, it wasn’t.

“You’ll see, babe.” Danielle sat and took hold of the zipper. “I’ll be your little helper if you want? Please, Kat.” She tugged.

Little helper? Turning back, a more-exposed Catherine queried Samantha. “What kind of twists?” MK caught the Temptress staring. “Enjoying the view?”

“Very much so.” Samantha added, “Ever done any modeling?”

“No way! My mom would fucking kill me. She says models are all lesbian sluts and whores.”

In walked Miss Christi arm in arm with Jane who said, “I’ve done loads.”

Danielle appeared startled and quickly raised the zipper.

Figures…

“Does anyone wish to hear a Blachmann tale?” Miss Christi asked, taking her usual place centered on the sofa. Across the room lit only by the gas fireplace, Jane remained standing.

Samantha pushed off from the desk, stepped near Catherine, and said, “Not tonight. I—”

Danielle quickly interrupted. “Yes, we do! The Titanic, please! Will you? You’ll love this story, babe. I always do. She’s such a good storyteller.”

Babe? She called me babe, again.

Samantha went on, “Miss Christi, I have invited our Miss Black to join me in a friendly game of Chessex and Miss Wright here has requested to serve as her little helper.”

Miss Christi appeared surprised. “Do you think it fair we invite Miss Katherine to take part in our parlor game without the opportunity to observe how it’s played first?”

“Well, I thought it might be fun.” Samantha removed her glasses to steam and wipe.

“Right.” Jane sensed the Temptress was up to something. “Fun for you, Sam, I’m certain; however, I think our Miss Black is not quite ready for your kind of fun.”

Samantha restored her vision then said, “Sure looks ready to me.”

Mistress Sterling put her foot down. “I shall oppose you. The Black kitten shall assist as my little helper.”

Little helper? “What’s a little helper?” Catherine’s head was swinging back and forth so fast she thought she was witnessing a tennis match.

Danielle frowned. “But Miss Jane, I wanted to be yours.”

Jane didn’t respond. Mistress Sterling’s eyes stayed fixed on the new doll as she continued. “Well, Sam. Do you accept my challenge or do you not, Mistress Resnik?”

Samantha released Catherine from her sticky eye-paws to have it out with Jane. “Very well, Mistress Sterling, I accept your challenge. I shall oppose you, and the baby. I request the other baby serve as my little helper.” She was pointing at Danielle.

Baby? I’ll show you.

Miss Christi’s eyes acknowledged her approval.

Danielle’s frown lifted.

“Hey! What’s going on? I thought Chess had two opponents.”

Danielle could barely contain her excitement. “Don’t worry, babe; Miss Jane’s a blast to play with.” She laughed then looked victoriously to Samantha. “I hope we lose!”

“Great! Just what I need; a little pussy. Maybe I should have requested your wicked sister.”

Samantha’s remark put the frown back on Danielle’s face.

Jane said, “Too bloody late Sam! And—the wager?”

Giselle was quick to offer, “I know, Miss Jane. The Chamber of Dark Passions, with our special guest.”

“Fair enough, sweetie. The victor shall enjoy total control for one hour.”

“Make it two,” ventured Samantha.

“Done! Two it shall be. Only Giselle; not the kittens.” Jane paused to reconsider. She conferred with Miss Christi. Though no words were spoken, their eyes were agreed. “Right; much too soon for that.”

Samantha protested, “Oh please, Jane. I’m sure these two babies would find the experience most educational.”

Two babies? Catherine caught Danielle’s evading eye. Not as advanced as your sister? Interesting…

Miss Christi stood. “Miss Resnik! You know Blachmann lore. We shall play by kitten rules this night.”

“Yes, Miss Christi,” answered a confident Samantha, not looking at all happy the kittens wouldn’t be part of the fun now planned for later that evening down below.

“Come on, babe. Let’s go see what’s on the rack.” Danielle held out her hand.

Rack? Her voice hushed, Catherine asked Miss Christi, “Why are we changing?”

“You shall see, my dear. You two run along and prepare yourselves.”  She shooed them off.

“See you all back here in twenty.” Danielle guided her babe past Miss Christi’s desk. They stood before the bookcase. “Danielle Wright.” Suddenly, it swung out. “Voice activated. Pretty cool, huh?” Behind was a dimly lit circular stairway. “Watch your step, babe.” Danielle led the way as the two kittens disappeared into darkness.

This was Catherine’s first visit to the Castle’s lower level. They descended, emerging through another secret panel door. They were standing in a small lounge complete with tables and chairs. A long wooden bar ran along the east wall. A large fireplace was centered on the opposite wall. Paintings of women, some nude, others topless, hung from the walls.

“Hey, is this place a porn museum or something?”

Danielle laughed. “Not yet. Back in the day, it was known as the Meeting Place. Miss Christi calls it the Social Parlor.” They were one level beneath the Panty Parlor. The decor was distinctly Victorian, circa 1890s, with simulated gas lamps and dark red velvet draperies. Danielle explained, “The red velvet chairs at the bar were for the ladies and those big dark brown leather ones by the tables were for the gentlemen.”

Ladies… “Like at a strip club?”

Further away, Catherine had spotted them, four poles spaced equally, all in a line. Located directly under the library, it was the fitness and dance area, its walls all mirrored so nothing went unseen.

“The ladies would—”

“Stripper poles!” Catherine was staring at the fitness poles.

“Yeah, babe.” Danielle could see Kat wasn’t interested in a history lesson. “Gives a great workout. Want to see? Remember. Never wander around down here alone. And never with my sister. Never! Do you understand me? Katherine?”

“Yeah, I got it.” She pulled free and started toward the poles. “What’s this place?” Why’d she call me Catherine again? “Well, let’s see it, Dani.”

Danielle took hold of the closest pole and gave an impromptu demonstration in the basics. She had Catherine’s undivided attention as she spun and gyrated. “You’ll find out tonight.” She righted herself and dropped off the pole then took her by the arm.

“Hey, you’re pretty fricken good at that.”

“Nah. It’s not that hard. Let’s go find our costumes.”

Yes, it is. “So Dani, is anyone going to clue me in? What twists? What’s Chessex?” Costumes? What the fuck.

“Come on, babe. I’ll explain the rules while we’re dressing.”

Dressing?

They backtracked through the lounge, passed the fire, and hung a sharp right into what looked like a Victorian-era woman’s fetish fashions shop. Catherine mused that it looked a little like an old Victoria’s Secret store. The room was filled with rack after rack of erotic lingerie and several life-size figurines dressed in sexy outfits of various fabrics.

“That’s funny. It used to be called Victoria’s Closet. She was your great grandmother, you know.”

“Yeah, right—holy shit! Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Mommy’s baby mustn’t use naughty words,” scolded Giselle, appearing through a doorway in the rear, behind a velvet curtain near a display of several corsets. “Some were made by Mommy and some are from Miss Elaine’s boutique, Kristin’s Kloset. Didn’t you visit when you were in New York? Miss Kristin designed these corsets. Do you like them? The off-the-shelf pieces are all Hush-Hush too.”

“Yeah, but there are so many. Whoa.” Catherine lifted a glossy white nurse’s dress. PVC. “Aren’t some of these outfits a little too, Halloween? Don’t you think, Mommy G?”

“No, sweetie, I don’t.” Giselle took it and said, “I think they are all quite pretty costumes. This will go good with my new white boots; in the appropriate setting, of course. Don’t you agree, sweetie?”

Costumes? “Yeah, maybe for a PCD music video, I guess. Is everyone wearing one?”

Danielle tugged. “Come on, Kat. Let’s find your rack.”

Kat…“My rack?” I have a rack? “Why do I have a rack?”

“We all do, silly.” Giselle tugged back, pulled Catherine over to a circular rack in the center of the room. It was dripping with outfits.

Mild to wild. “Remember that Elaine chick that felt you up?” Yeah, I remember. “Not what I meant.”

“I know, silly. See, my baby’s own rack.” On top of the rack stood a pair of sexy shoes. Beside them was a polished copper plaque.  Giselle read it for her baby. “Miss Katherine Katrina Black, Kitten, third class.”

“What the—”

“Look, sweetie; Mommy made this special, for you. It’s for next week.” Giselle pulled a strawberry red leather corset dress off the rack, “Like all the zippers?” She showed Catherine, before returning it to the rack. “And this, and this—Oh, this too! Don’t you just love them?” asked Giselle, now proudly holding up a white silk blouse and a black PVC skirt and matching cropped jacket.

Catherine took the skirt. She examined it before looking inside to find the label. Kristin’s Kloset: Makers of Fine Fetish Fashions, Berlin, Paris, and Milano. She flipped it; For Miss Katrina GoodKnight by Giselle. She turned to Giselle. My fake ID.  Her head shook, no f-in way. She pulled it together and asked, “You really made all these things?”

“Yes, silly, I love making pretty costumes. Why do ask?”

“Because…they’re really—nice. Yeah, a little kinky, but nice. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, kitten.”

Danielle tugged, “Come on babe, let’s gather our things.” She pulled several items off the rack and handed them to Catherine. Danielle moved to another rack with both hers and Giselle’s name on it. She picked out a set of garments that looked very similar to those in Catherine’s hands. “That should do us, babe. Come with me to our dressing room. It’s right through this doorway.” Danielle again led the way.

They entered the dressing room. It was more than ample enough for the three of them. There was a two-seat makeup table, its twin mirrors surrounded by those big round light bulbs; a free standing wardrobe; an old-fashioned tub; a toilet; and a bidet. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors filled every wall.

“You be good for your Auntie D. Mommy G has to go help prepare the new baby.” Giselle left them, and disappeared back into the dim hallway.

“You can hang your dress and boots in this wardrobe, babe.”

Each helped the other to disrobe.

“Now what, Auntie Dee?” asked Babe playfully, overwhelmed by the view. Hundreds of naked babes were staring back from within the mirrored walls. This is it.

“What? Now, we get dolled up for the game, babe.”

“Oh.” Maybe she’s not as gay as I thought. Catherine picked up the thick panties. “What’s with these?”

“Use two pair.”

“What?”

“Trust me, babe.”

Both pulled on a second pair of heavy white cotton panties over which they pulled on a pair of white vinyl rumba pants. Next, on went their push-up bras, followed by the Victorian-era corsets. Each laced up the others.

“Is that too tight, babe?”

“I can still breathe, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good.” Danielle tied her babe off with a fancy double bow. “Okay, your turn… You have to pull harder, baby… Yeah, that’s good. Yeah, harder! Once more… Yeah, now tie it, babe.”

“Okay.” Catherine tied the now-squeezed Dani doll off using a simple double bow. “You’re all set!”

As they continued dressing, Danielle gave her Katrina doll an overview of the rules of Blachmann Chess, or Chessex, as it was known within the Castle. “Each kitten—that’s us—moves the chess pieces as her mistress instructs. Don’t make a mistake, babe. Because, if you do, the move still counts, just like in regular chess. All moves are final. Once you touch it, move it or lose it. Understand, Kat?”

Kat nodded at the hundreds of way-hot Dani dolls.

“When a piece is captured, an article of clothing must be surrendered. The kitten’s clothes are represented by the eight pawns. Except if you lose your queen. The other pieces are symbols for your mistresses’ armor. The goal is to strip your opponents of their armor.

“You mean our clothes?”

“Yes. You look awesome, by the way.”

“You too, doll.”

“Thanks, Kat.  As each piece is surrendered, the designated article of clothing is removed and you become more and more exposed. In the end, your mistress must either retire or risk exposing herself for all to see. Once you accept the challenge, there is no turning back. You must play the game to the end. Your mistress may surrender her whip at any time, or if you lose, you’re stripped naked and taken by your capturer to fulfill the terms of the contract. Get the picture?”

Whip… “I think so, sort of.” Catherine shrugged. MK blurted, “It’s like, strip chess! Right?”

“Well, yes, kind of—more like a frolic. But there’s a little more to it. You’ll see.”

“What do you mean, frolic? And—what about the queen?”

Danielle continued dressing. “It’s just theater. Like a play? There, almost finished. Just need to put on our girly gloves.” She sounded all girly sweet, not at all like Drill Sergeant Danielle. She sure didn’t look like her either.

“But. . .what about the queen?” Bite me.

“You’ll see, babe. I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

Both wore matching “little girl” outfits. Not surprisingly, neither looked very little in the extremely short black PVC skater’s skirts and low-cut, sheer white silk blouses. Their skirt’s volume was enhanced by two multilayer petticoats made of white taffeta and trimmed with pink satin ruffles. Assisting their waist-cinching corsets, each wore a white satin push-up demi cup bra that seemed way too small, but proved more than up to their cleavage-enhancing task. Down below, each also wore a white satin garter belt holding up a pair of sheer white stockings over which they added frilly pink cotton ankle socks. Their shoes, by Domina, were black patent Mary Jane’s with locking ankle straps and six-inch platform heels. Both finished off the look with a wide shiny black belt and a pair of frilly white silk servants’ gloves.

“You ready to get your ass whipped, babe?”

“Me? No fricken way! You’re the one who’s going down tonight, Miss Dani.”

“We’ll see, baby; wait, let me fluff your hair a little.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bet that’s not all you want to fluff? MK head whipped around, giving all more than a little thrill as Catherine’s hair brushed Dani’s, doll face.

Chessex, Anyone?

The Panty Parlor, 20:45 local

Dressed like dolls, the girls waited for the others to return. Miss Christi was still dressed for dinner. She began telling the not-so-little girls of the first tragedy to beset the owners of Blachmann Castle.

“Sadly, neither would ever set eyes on their finished Castle. You see dear, they had set sail about the HMS Titanic. Hailed as unsinkable and the greatest ship afloat, she was taking them to attend a gala celebrating the completion of the Blachmann’s Castle. As I’m sure you know, events would soon change their lives forever. It was April the fourteenth, the night of the black berg. The gentlemen were in the game parlor. Wait. Let me think. Oh yes. They were all there. The Grand Duke…”

Seen that movie. Catherine’s interests wandered back to the dressing room. Her view drifted over the Chess-sex board to Dani, bent only at the waist, positioning the pieces. Oh yeah.

“There, everything’s perfect.” Danielle glanced back over her shoulder to find Catherine staring. “Did I miss much, babe?”

No response.

“Catherine dear, are you listening?

“Huh, what? Yeah, definitely.”

“As I was saying, dear. The two wealthy men were competing for the ownership of the Castle and all its Mistresses—”

“Mistresses? All?”

“Yes, dear. There were to be six in all.” Miss Christi had Catherine’s ear now. “They were midway into the fourth of a five-game match. The Count had the advantage and led two games to one, when, they heard the great ship groan. They had hit a massive iceberg. Word soon came that all woman and children should take to the lifeboats, as a precaution. The Grand Duke of Saxony and Herr Bachmann agreed their designees should finish the game in New York. They never got the chance. Oh dear, I see our two antagonists have arrived.”

Six mistresses… At first, MK didn’t believe Catherine’s eyes. Holy shit!

Jane and Samantha entered from the foyer.

She really is a Super—hot—bitch. Both were dressed like, a fricken dominatrix. Whips too. Mistress Sterling, covered in a shiny black patent leather military styled belted jacket that ended mid thigh. It was complete with officer’s insignia and gold medals. Her thigh-high boots, also black patent leather, sported five-inch chrome metal heels. Look an awful lot like mine. She topped it all off with a polished officer’s cap. This music video has everything except the music.

“Awesome jacket, Mistress Sterling!” Catherine guessed Jane’s getup must have cost a small fortune. The crafting was of the highest degree, the tailoring, exquisite.

Jane unbelted the jacket.

Catherine’s heart skipped. MK stared, in awe of Jane’s equally striking black rubber corset with five chrome buckles. And look at the shitload of garters! They secured thin black rubber stockings. Rubber opera gloves… O-M-G! Yeah Cat; I’m getting freaking “hot” too.

“Yes it is, Miss Black.” Mistress Resnik unzipped her jacket.

MK tore Catherine’s eyes free to check out Sam—Mistress Resnik, was well fitted in a red leather bustier, matching skinny mini, and cropped biker jacket. All featured zippers. She also wore a wide black vinyl belt and cap like Jane’s. They waited for, Freckles. Sit. She did, crossing her, nice legs.

Oh yeah. Under the skinny mini an eyeful of red leather garters held up sheer red stockings, each secured by four clips that enhanced her long, slender runner’s legs. Samantha rose from the, lucky chair, standing tall in a pair of equally red five-inch stiletto pumps. God! Those tits look so good. Fake?

Samantha continued her advance toward the dolls.

Yup. But… “Nice.”

“Yes, nice outfit, Sam,” said Danielle, with a hint of concern.

Fuck me, Cat. This is way better than that concert your mom took us to for your fourteenth birthday. Fond thoughts of Christina’s singing and that act filled their head.

“The dolls are positively stunning.” Jane turned and saw, “Nurse Giselle, well done.”

Giselle entered from the foyer clad in the glossy white PVC nurse’s outfit and said, “Thank you, Miss Jane. I made everything myself, except the shoes.” In her charge, was this evening’s subject. Still in the pink baby dress, Daniels’s waist was now squeezed narrow by a corset. Around her neck was matching poster collar. She struggled for balance in her seven-inch ballet boots connected together by a short length of chain. In her mouth, a ball gag, held secure by a thick leather strap, ensured oral obedience. Her arms were bound tight behind her back by some kind of leather arm binder. And, much to Catherine’s immediate relief, Baby Daniels vision was restricted by a pink satin blindfold.

Catherine took another long look at Agent Daniels. That corset. Her lower chest and waist were squeezed so tight it didn’t seem possible. She appeared to struggle for each breath. “Wow! What did she do?”

Giselle giggled, “Nothing yet, kitten. I hope you win, Miss Jane.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I’ll do my upmost best to keep your baby safe from the evil Temptress.”

“I know, Miss Jane. Our special guest is all ready. Like it?”

“Yes, very. How lovely,” answered Jane, lifting the blindfold slightly, giving the subject a peek. “Shall we begin, darling?”

Daniels could only grunt.

“Splendid, darling.” Jane returned the blindfold. “Danielle, if you would be so kind.”

Danielle picked one black and one white nymph from the board and placed her hands behind her back. Standing between the two adversaries and just in front of the fire, she mixed the little nymphs between each hand. She slowly brought her head up to face the room and said, “Katherine-Katrina, please step forward and select for your position. Hold it without showing anyone.”

Catherine lifted from beside Miss Christi and made her way the few steps over to where Danielle stood with her back to the fire. The extra height of their heels made for quite a sight when they stood face to face. She could feel the heat rising from between those well-spaced legs. She reached between and touched, the right. The little nymph dropped, Wright into her hand. She clinched her piece tightly and withdrew, careful not to let anyone see its color. Like taking candy from a baby.

Miss Christi rose and identified herself as the keeper of time and rule then instructed, “Katherine dear, please step forward and reveal.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” She opened her hands. “Black!” She moved with excitement to show “Mistress.” They would have the advantage. Mistress dipped her eyes.

“Let the games begin,” announced Miss Christi before retaking her seat centered on the sofa.

Jane and Samantha took their place in the opposing chairs, opposite the sofa, to either side of the ever burning gas fireplace. Giselle and her new baby sat together in the love seat. The game commenced. Samantha first, then Jane, called for their little helpers to approach. Each communicated their moves secretly. Danielle then Catherine would go to the chessboard and move their piece as instructed. As each piece was captured, each doll would assist the other in removing the designated garment. And so it went.

21:56 local

“Come now,” prodded Miss Christi. “Rules are rules. Off with that lovely blouse dear. No need to be shy; is there, kitten?”

Is there? The six snaps securing Catherine’s remaining vanity were about to pop. Give Freckles a show. One by one. She stood there, arms back, chest out as Dani graciously helped. She made her way to where, “Mistress Resnik,” remained seated to shamelessly surrender the blouse. It joined the hat, jacket, and belt. Time for Mistress Sterling to have her fun. Skirts lifted, she lowered across Jane’s lap. Sure is taking her sweet time.

It took a moment to inspect each leg. Mindful of the rule—no touching, the crop slowly dragged along each tensed calf. “Oui,” the swimming was paying dividends. “Most impressive.” That done; the crop raised.

Good thing I listened to Dani—

Whack!…Whack!…Whack!…Whack!

Catherine wished for two more pair as Mistress Sterling’s crop made its mark. “Ouch!” Having received her due—and with Danielle’s support—she righted herself. “Thank you, Miss Wright.” They sat beside Miss Christi. Catherine was pretty sure that when this game ended, one or both of them wouldn’t be able to sit.

Miss Christi whispered into Catherine’s ear. “You don’t have to lift your skirt, dear.”

“Now you tell me?” Thank God for these extra-heavy granny panties. Now for the best part.

Daniels was already squirming. Her turn was next. She was to receive her punishment bare-assed. Giselle guided Daniels over her lap, lifted the pink satin, then slipped the vinyl and Russian labeled Hush-Hush boy-shorts down. Samantha rose from her chair and approached the subject.

Whack!…Whack!…Whack!…Whack!

The crop had been unleashed without restraint. Even Miss Christi cringed with each thunderous strike. Daniels screams of pained pleasure barely escaped her ball gag. Excitement hung in the air as “Mistress Sterling,” rose and provided for the other cheek.

Whack!…Whack!…Whack!…Whack!

And so it went. Move for move, piece by piece, whack after stinging whack, their game was played. By the top of the hour, Daniels was favoring a glowing left cheek. Freckles clearly held the upper hand. Mistress Sterling, topless and on the ropes. Yeah, we’re screwed. The outcome appeared all but certain. Like those doomed souls left standing on the decks of the Titanic, Superbitch is going down.

Jane refused to surrender her whip. She looked the red temptress in the eye and said, “I’m not going down without a fight.”

Samantha replied, “Just as long as you go down.” She signaled, “Miss Wright.” Their next move was obvious. No words were spoken.

Queen to queen’s knight-six. We’re fricken done.

Danielle stepped forward and laid her hand upon the white queen.

“Checkmate!” claimed Samantha, not waiting for the treachery to reveal itself.

“Not so fast, my fair red temptress.” Jane stood proud, directing Samantha’s attention to the chess board and proclaimed. “There seems be a traitor present.”

All noted the white queen’s position, one square removed from her king and not the two as it should.

Dani had intentionally left freckles totally exposed. Way to go, Dani.

“Dan! How could you?” cried Samantha as the timid traitor approached. Her doll was due ten stern whacks for the obvious disobedience. Quite certain it was intentional, Samantha would give them all the same way she had Agent Daniels’s, without restraint.

The traitor’s head dipped. “Sorry, Sam.” Long since relieved of her skirt and petticoats, only the wet Turkmenistan cotton of two Hush-Hush panties and the thin layer of her soft white virgin vinyl armor were all that stood to protect the already tender bottom from Samantha’s angry crop.

Whack!

Treachery, like dishonesty, would not be tolerated at Blachmann. Danielle didn’t flinch. Nor did she utter a sound, taking nine more without protest. Upon her return to the sofa, tears tricked proudly from her eyes. “I think I’ll stand for a while.” She did, her head bowed in shame.

Always one to make good use of an unexpected gift, Jane calmly instructed her practically topless doll to capture Samantha’s queen. The black king’s knight did the honors.

Danielle lifted her head to see. Catherine’s stiff nipples were approaching.

“Ready to follow the rules.”

Danielle always followed the rules. The price for Samantha’s queen? The exposing of her breasts—just as Catherine had learned, three moves previous. With a little help from her babe, Danielle presented her bra to “Miss Jane.”

Two moves later, White’s fate was sealed. Danielle’s bottom was burning red with the agony of defeat. She stood and waited as Catherine stripped her of all but her wet panties, vinyl, and wig. She’d never thrown a game before. Why had Danielle done it? This was certain to be one game of Chessex they would always remember. They do say at Blachmann, you always remember your first conquest.

Samantha knew when she was licked. She rose and faced “Mistress Sterling.” Dropping to her knees, she offered her whip. This single-game match was over. Her mind raced with the prospect of what was to follow. She contemplated the near future.

With both dolls’ help, Miss Christi came to her feet. “Why don’t you two go up for a long soak together in the Cauldron?”

“Cauldron?” Catherine looked at Danielle.

“Hot tub. You know, with jets and bubbles? It’s really cool.”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” Fuck me! To the victors go the spoils.

“Thanks, Mum. Let’s go, Kat,” said Danielle, tugging her conquest.

“Why’s it called the Cauldron?”

“You’ll see; it’s on top of the south tower.”

“Great!”

They left as they were, Danielle clad only in her wet panties, having surrendered everything to the game. Catherine fared slightly better, retaining her skirt and heels. Danielle led her back through the secret panel. This time she raced up the circular stairs the two levels to the roof; Catherine trailed, somewhat reluctantly. She reached the door.

“Oh, crap.”

“Something wrong, babe?”

“Nothing.” Something.

Danielle took charge and led the reluctant babe out onto the tower’s exposed deck.

The Chamber of Dark Passions

Deep in Blachmann’s bowels, 22:47 local

Mistress Sterling entered the dungeon to find, Sam and her rubber doll, already at work. Nurse Giselle had changed. Her new uniform sported a head-to-toe black latex catsuit. Over that she had on the new nurse’s dress and her stiletto boots—both of pristine white PVC. The outfit had her shining from hooded head to booted toe. Things were about to get a wee bit messy. Ja.

The subject was now hooded and hanging, business end high. Suspended by the bondage apparatus, Daniels’ wrists and ankles were securely cuffed to two spreader bars that hung from pulleys attached to an electric hoist. Nurse Giselle adjusted the ropes, skillfully positioning the subject’s gagged mouth before Mistress.

That won’t do. Katrina was ready to get on with it too. She instructed Giselle to remove the subject’s hood and the ball gag before asking, “How is my useless little whore? Enjoying your stay, darling?”

Daniels’s eye opened. She got an eyeful too; huge tits less than a tongue’s stretch. “Yes, Mistress? But you promised me the girl—”

“Silence, whore! First, tell Mistress Sterling how you came by these knickers?” From Samantha, she took the small clear plastic bag that contained the intel.

“What, Mistress?”

The pink boy-shorts dangled before glassy eyes.

“Oh, my panties.” Daniels expression warmed. She started to giggle. “This is more fun than I—”

Samantha stepped in, spinning Daniels round and round to face her and demanded in fluent Russian, “Why is a Secret Service agent wearing panties with Russian labels? You’re a dirty spy! Who is your Master?”

“What? Spy! Ah, No! They were a gift, Mistress Resnik.”

Katrina motioned for Giselle to lower the subject. “That should do nicely.”

Mistress Resnik proceeded to guide herself dangerously close to the frightened lips, demanding to know, “From whom? Who is your Master?”

Daniels thrashed about in an effort to stay clear of the evil pulsing beast between the red rubber-clad legs. Giselle’s expert bondage held. She was at their mercy. She had to give…something? “It was the Krump woman’s idea. Please Mistress—”

“Where, slut!” Samantha pressed for details. “Answer Mistress! Or we shall leave you here all alone.”

“At Senator—” Daniels found herself, spinning, around and around until—the scene was shocking. She wished she’d eaten more. “I beg your mercy, Mistress.” The masochist that ruled Slut Daniels’s soul hoped they would show none.

Katrina’s eye lowered. A quick survey: dripping black stallion. The strap-on dangled within a breath of the subject’s messy lips. Focus, old girl.

“I was her detail. That trip? There’s been threats. Your—the Tiger—Please, Mistress. No. Don’t go. Let me.” Daniels tongue stretched, trying for a taste of flavored cock. “Let me lick you clean.”

“Easy, my hungry darling. My, what an eager little whore.” Katrina slipped the thick sloppy black dildo into the wanting mouth. “Do impress Mistress, for she may reward the whore with the one in the boots.” She teased with the dripping black temptation, slapping it against Daniels’ face. “Just a taste, love.”

“Yes, Mistress, I’ll try, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” Daniels contemplated the offer. “The flight back to DC. The senator invited everyone to join her for Christmas. In Maine? She had arranged for a Coast Guard helicopter to ferry us over to her island. It was just the five of us. The Krump woman, her assistant and—”

Natasha… “You waste my time, slut!”

“No, Mistress. It was—” Daniels’s eyes bulged. “The pilot! She—”

She? “Her name? What was the pilot’s name, slut?” Katrina tickled the subject’s clit for a bit then took a firm hold. She applied pressure, all the while still dangling the drippy cock before the subject’s salivating lips.

“Her name? You know her name, Mistress.” Daniels started to giggle.

Always was a happy drunk. Ja. Bit of a pain slut too. Right… Powerful fingers pinched tighter and tighter until—

“Schuuuu …mark…errrrr,” screamed Daniels in joyously painful pleasure.

Captain Schumacher… The silicone cock thrust deep into the puke slut’s throat. Daniels was given some time to ponder her next admission while Katrina chewed on that revealing nugget of intel. Dame Jane took a step back to think. KK… You devious little slut.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Katrina addressed her gifted apprentice. “Nurse Giselle, Mistress Sterling is leaving to rinse and refresh her rubber.”

Daniels begged, “No! Wait! I beg you Mistress, your captain—”

Giselle rammed home the ball gag, plugging the leaky puke slut before more damage could be done.

“Right then. You have pleased Mistress sufficiently.” Apple always was her favorite. “Yes, perhaps a small reward.”

Giselle took the cue and spun the traitor to generate her next reward. “Now open wide sweetie.” She pulled the gag free.

Daniels spewed more dessert. She eyed the implements neatly arranged on the workbench. “What are you going to do with me now?” She went for another spin.

Katrina stopped at the door and said, “Depends. Nurse Giselle, be a good little helper and prep my new slut for a more penetrating examination. Mistress shall send Maria down with a plate to gather up this unfortunate bit of dessert.”

“Oh goody, Mistress. May Maria stay and feed while I fill?”

“Yes dear, but only for a short while. See that my darling slut enjoys all of her dessert.”

“Yes Mistress. Oh Miss Jane, please tell our baby, Mommy G can’t kiss her little GoodKnight tonight.”

“Yes dear, I shall.”

The eager apprentice wasted no time in transporting the subject to the preparation area. During the refit, the dungeon had been outfitted with metal tracks in the ceiling that allowed for movement of the subject without any heavy lifting. The whole thing was controlled by an iPhone App. Danielle got the idea last summer while watching an old episode of Monster Garage on the Discovery Channel.

The subject’s eyes went wide. She saw what “Nurse Giselle” had prepped and already hanging by the large copper tub. “Wait! Why are you doing this—Mistress—Jane! This isn’t what you promised. You promised…the one in the boots.”

Once more, Samantha stepped in to plug the leak.

Katrina spoke. “And so you shall, darling. Until then, do enjoy Nurse Giselle’s thorough cleansing. You mustn’t pout darling. Mistress Resnik has been so kind to supervise until Mistress Sterling returns.” She examined the mess on the floor. “Perhaps, more wine with your dessert? I’m sure sweet Maria can help with that too. Shall she bring an empty glass?”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you.” Daniels wasn’t kidding. She needed to go—bad.

Katrina left the subject to her able-bodied assistants. She had other plans. Yes, a little time in the rooftop Cauldron was just what, Miss Jane needed. She hoped to make it up there before it was too late. But first, Mistress Sterling needed to shower off the vomit and strip out of, this bloody rubber KAT suit. Bloody hell… Ja. Meow.

The Cauldron

Atop the South Tower, 22:49 local

The air was moist but cool. The spa was indeed shaped like a large witch’s cauldron. Miss Christi had ordered it custom built soon after the Wright twins arrived following the last great tragedy. Neither young beauty took notice, nor did they notice the full moon and the twinkling stars. They were too busy to notice anything but the other.

Danielle finished relieving Catherine of the remains of her Miss Katrina doll costume, followed by her most treasured blonde wig—a parting gift from Miss Jane. First over the side, she sank into the cover of the cauldron’s warm bubbles. Catherine held back. Danielle slipped lower, hiding all but her inviting face and two round tits. “The water’s totally awesome, babe.”

Fuck yeah. One, then the other long leg lifted over the side and slipped into the ninety-nine degree water. “This is—nice.” Yeah.

“Helps take away the sting of defeat.” Danielle laughed.

“Sooo—why’d you do it?” Someone’s mercury was rising.

“Do what, babe?”

“Come on, Dani! You had us by the balls. We were so going down. You totally threw the game.”

“Can’t say. You talk funny.”

“Won’t say!”

“Whatever.” Danielle decided it was time to take in the moon. “Nearly full, I’d say. Nice, isn’t it?”

They swam over. Just to see. “Yeah, way nicer—over here.”

“Do you like me, Kat?”

“Don’t you know?” Tell her!

“Just forget it.” Danielle lost her luster and said, “I can’t. You know…Okay?”

“Okay. But…you like, do. Don’t you?” Catherine felt the serpent. MK struggled to conceal the effect of Dani. The panic was growing. Do something, Cat.

“So baby, enjoying your stay at Blachmann?”

“No! But you are, aren’t you, Miss Wright?” She splashed. “Tormentor!”

“Hey!” Danielle splashed back. “Maybe.”

“What’s with that Daniels chick? She couldn’t sit still at dinner. Like a kid on Christmas morning. And, what’s with the ball gag?” Good thing. Think she told them?

“Can’t say.”

“Yeah; what can you say?” Kiss her. Please, MK.

“Nice moon.” Danielle adjusted the spa’s controls. “You like ’em? The jets, don’t you?” She skillfully applied full power. “Powerful, aren’t they?”

Holy shit! They are—you little slut. “Yeah, I’m—” MK slid Catherine forward. “Oh, shit!” She had been breached. “I got to go.” Terrified, she leaped from the cauldron, “Now! Sorry Dani.” grabbed Danielle’s robe and ran. Maybe I should’ve let her give me that—“Crap!” Bet you don’t make it, baby. MK snickered. “Fuck you!”

Danielle followed in hot drippy pursuit. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothing.”

Not five minutes later: a revived Dame Jane arrived dressed only in her robe to find the cauldron’s bubbles boiling, the doll’s vinyl, and—Bloody hell! Foiled again. She disrobed, slipped in, and enjoyed the stars. Jets of bubbling warm water assaulted her with a soothing hand as, Miss Jane, contemplated what might have been. The dolls proved a welcomed, though short-lived distraction. What mess have we gotten ourselves into now? She soon felt that tingle. “Oui…Oui!” KK…

Where’s Agent Daniels?

The Castle, the morning after

At Blachmann, Saturday was student chores day: laundry, cleaning one’s bedchamber, and after lunch, polishing the flatware and tea service with Maria. There was a lot of silver. Catherine’s fingers ached. Maria never offered a word. Danielle said Maria wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone without her Miss Jane’s permission. As always, time was set aside for physical fitness, the promised dance lesson. Today’s lesson: pole dancing 101. Then it was swim time. Possessed with new attitude, Catherine was determined to beat her tormentor’s pace. Regaining her old stride and pushing—harder. She came close. Oh so close.

Sunday, 7 June, 08:30 local

The morning’s urine test verified the kitten was drug-free for a week. Her thoughts and memories were true and her actions were of free will. She spent the morning enjoying a light breakfast of fresh fruit with Danielle and, Doctor Resnik… A name badge was on Samantha’s lab coat. While Catherine enjoyed a drug-free environment, Nurse Giselle stayed busy assisting Mistress Sterling doing God-only-knows with their subject deep within the Castle’s bowels.

Catherine decapitated another strawberry then asked, “Where’s Agent Daniels?”

The good doctor said, “Still tied up in the ‘whine’ cellar.”

Danielle knew Samantha was being funny. Catherine didn’t.

For once, it wasn’t raining. After breakfast, each donned skimpy work-out attire. They jogged down the drive. The gates are open. Catherine was free to run. They crossed Ocean Boulevard to an overlook known to the locals as Little Boar’s Head. Before them was, Plaice Cove—two miles of postcard perfect gently curved sandy beach.

“Tide’s almost out,” said Danielle.

“Race you girls to the rocks,” challenged Samantha, making a dash down the path to the beach.

The two kittens followed. Soon they were running neck and neck. Samantha lit the afterburner and pulled a good lead. The display of athletic prowess was much to the delight of a scruffy beachcomber. As they passed, he dipped his old New England Patriots cap. AFC Champions 2001. The temptress twisted round and smiled. He returned the greeting tipping his cap. The kittens didn’t appear to notice. Samantha’s shrinking backside held their undivided attention.

 The beachcomber went on searching the sand with the metal detector. His faded swim trunks appeared a might wee bit tight. Good thing that ratty old Bud T-shirt was oversized. The weapons-of-mass-distraction ran toward the firmer wet sand. He could taste the salt they kicked up in the breeze. It wasn’t long before the three Blachmann beauties were out of range, dodging the gentle waves of a slack tide. Pete dropped his wand, but kept squinting, trying to maintain a visual, until his operative faded from view.

The kittens really weren’t giving it their all. Samantha didn’t care; she just wanted to unwind a little before the meeting. She didn’t slow until reaching the rocks at the far end of the beach.

Hands-on SM dungeon work wasn’t the doctor’s cup of tea. She wasn’t a pro Domme like Jane, and she wasn’t born with a borderline schizoid personality disorder, like Giselle. Nor was she ever possessed by L699-fueled, intensely sadomasochistic erotic urges like the one-time assassin, Katrina GoodKnight. The doctor did however, have a not so secret appreciation for a certain long-lost someone now named Jane Smith who once lived the Domme lifestyle.

No, the good doctor was just your typical closeted PhD and temptress that had the misfortune to come face to face with a psychopathic serial pedophile when he was seven years old, one morning at the summer camp for orphans. They found Samuel only an hour later, holding the bloody pruning shears and in shock. His testicles had been severed—still missing. Sammy wouldn’t—couldn’t remember anything about what happened after waking the next day in a hospital. That was twenty-two years ago. In Samantha’s case, life really began at seven.

They took a short break to down some water and watched a group of kids with buckets. One was struggling to turn over a watermelon-sized stone—searching for crabs. It all seemed a little too déjà vu to MK. Catherine went over and started flipping boulders—for the kids. She acted years younger. It felt great too. She knew it was real—as real as those feelings for, Dani. No shit. “Let’s go.”

On the jog back they came upon some shirtless muscle guy with his daughter—maybe four or five. The little one held up a piece of green sea glass. “Look at my treasure.”

They bent to see. On the ground, before the girl, Danielle spotted a small piece of blue sea glass. She quickly snatched it from the sand and held it out before Catherine. “Look at my treasure.” She handed the rare find to an excited little girl then ran off shouting, “Come on, Kat, race you back to the shower!”

Catherine took off after Danielle, bringing a broad smile to the Bud-man, still combing the beach with his metal wand as they bounced past. Samantha didn’t try to catch up. She had some overdue work waiting. She detoured over to meet the Bud-man.

“Dig up anything interesting?”

Pete removed the hat and bug-eyed sunglasses, wiped his brow in the sweat-stained Bud, and said, “Maybe. You?”

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“Yah, saw what kept ya up all night.”

“I don’t like deceiving her.”

“Relax, Sam. It’s only till the subject proves we can trust her.”

“The subject? She has a name.” Sam was relaxed. The doctor wasn’t.

“Just tell—tell Jane what I said. And give her the stuff.”

“Still don’t trust her?”

“Just do it.”

“You’re the boss, Uncle Pete. What’s in it?”

“Taste it. Don’t worry; it’s just some of Papa’s horse piss.”

“Black stallion?”

“Yah. Gives you stones.” He grinned.

“You better hope she doesn’t try it.”

“What about that drool rag? I need confirmation.”

“Get on it, first thing tomorrow. I’m off duty, remember?” She ran off shaking her red head.

Drink it? Never thought about that. Pete packed up and headed for his car. He had a senator waiting and a plane to catch and he didn’t need Katrina, Jane, or their BFF beating him to either.

I Beat You!

09:42 local

Oozing with new energy, Catherine raced passed the gates and up the drive, outpacing her tormentor into the foyer. Looking back at Danielle, she shouted, “I beat you!” She kicked off her running shoes, flew up the stairs, pushed the door, and burst into Miss Christi’s private salon. “I won!” Forgot to knock.

“Miss Christi! I beat her! I beat Dani!” Nearly spent, adrenaline still squirting, Catherine’s excitement was as genuine as the smile she wore until she spotted her. What the—“Oh! I didn’t know. Sorry. I—” Miss Christi and Superbitch—were doing it? Gag me.

She was reclined in the chaise, still dressed in Mistress Sterling’s rubber dominatrix gear. Miss Christi was hastily refitting her robe, standing behind the chaise. She’d been rubbing those huge—

“Bloody hell!” Mistress Sterling sprang to her feet and into action. “Back so soon?”

Catherine could only stare. MK couldn’t shut up. Fuck me, they’re huge. Granny likes the kinky stuff too—

“Congratulations, my dear! You look positively spent.”

Mistress Sterling looked a little spent too. Understandable, given the circumstances: After that solo soak in the Cauldron, she’d returned to the erotic interrogation of Agent Daniels. Going at it, nearly nonstop for the last thirty-six hours, Daniels’s masochistic psyche made for a difficult subject. She hadn’t cracked, only loosened. It might take days, maybe weeks, to penetrate Daniels’ inner psyche and get her to flip sides. Unfortunately, Katrina didn’t have the luxury of weeks. She was facing up to a hard deadline. Two weeks left, Jane.

Catherine’s alter couldn’t resist. “Sooo—why you still dressed like that? Hey, aren’t those are my boots?”

Jane remained silent as Friday’s traitor entered, red-faced, hands on hips, chest pumping.

Danielle said, “I’m sorry, Mistress Sterling.”

MK spoke up. “Miss-tress Ster-ling. Um, may I ask, why are you wearing my—”

“Silence!” The roar cut the pretender off at that unnaturally trim waist. Jealous eyes locked on, “Miss Wright! Teach your kitten she’s never to enter a lady’s private chambers unless granted permission. Is that understood, Miss Wright?”

Kitten? Oops. Forgot to knock.

“Yes, Miss Sterling. Won’t happen again, Miss—tress.” Without any protection, Danielle couldn’t hide it. Not it those tight little runners shorts. Their synthetic weave was soon overwhelmed. Warm liquid trickled down her thighs. Her face went ablaze. She fought back tears. “Sorry, Mum.”

Oh, bloody hell. “Well? See to it, Miss Wright! You are dismissed. Well? Leave us!”

“That’s quite enough, Miss Sterling.” Miss Christi came to Danielle’s rescue, a bath towel in hand, she wrapped. “It’s perfectly understandable, dear.” She stepped back and advised, “You two should take some steam with your shower?” She turned to Miss Sterling and added, “I think it would do us all some good. Right, dear?”

Jane snarled, “Right, then.” Then growled, “See to it. Now, please!”

“Come, Miss Black. Let’s get wet.” Danielle took her girl by the hand and made straight for the master bath and the finish line. “Very good, Mum; I’ll see to it at once.”

Without undressing or removing her crop top wig, Danielle stepped in first, quickly turning the valves. Cold poured down and shot from every direction soaking her sweaty yellow tank-top and already wet shorts. Certain she’d covered up nature’s little flaw, she turned back to see Catherine still outside the shower and peeled. “Guess I won. Right, baby?” Her little lips stayed parted.

“Race you to the showers—you so suck!” The kitten stepped in, clothes and all.

“You really need to listen better; don’t you, baby? Now drop those shorts and close the door.” Danielle stood back, hoping MK would pounce. “May I wash your hair? Please, Kat.”

“Whatever.” Kat pressed the steam-on button and waited while Danielle got her all lathered up. “Maybe a little more? I know how much you like it.”

Miss Christi remained still until the steam could be heard escaping then asked, “What did the subject inform you about the senator and that flight from England?”

“Nothing new, Mum.” Mistress Sterling removed the robe and sat. She too was in need of a good shower. A long hot steamy one followed by a—GoodKnight in bed with her doll. A distorted image flashed before her eyes.

She settled in for the well-earned shoulder rub and continued the After-Action debrief. “That’s it, Mum. There. Yeah. Rub ’em harder. Claims she stayed in the crew area the whole flight. Said the senator insisted they weren’t to be disturbed. Other than Elsa, the cabin door was not breached during the flight.”

“Very good, dear. Peter insists the subject be released into his custody at once, with our apologies.”

“Does he now?”

“Yes, dear. He’s had Agent Daniels and the Natasha woman under scrutiny for some time.”

“Why didn’t he inform me?”

“Said he did. You’re so tense. Perhaps a little lower? Shall I, dear?”

“Please. Oui. When?”

“On the plane dear. Back from England?”

“Rubbish!”  Oui—“England?”

“Yes, dear, Peter thinks you two have been somewhat distracted and detached since your return.” The nipple massage wasn’t helping. “Please try to relax. Just let the past go, dear.”

I did let her go. Why can’t she let me go? This is bloody ridiculous. I’m being stocked by a dead assassin. “They’re all bloody dead.” More of Krump’s doing. Natasha… Oui…

It took a while but Jane finally let go. “See you haven’t lost your touch, Mum.” Tilting her head, Katrina raised her gaze to meet Miss Christi’s. “He’s bloody playing me too isn’t—” Katrina allowed Janie to be swallowed up in long-ago familiar eyes and arms. “Mamma?”

“Yes, my dear.” Miss Christi held the child in Jane bound tight and said, “I fear our elusive Herr Krump is playing us all.” She massaged away at Jane’s aching nipples. “Doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy the game. Come now, dear; up you go.” She lightly secured each heavy breast back into the rubbery armor, sealing each buckle with a kiss. “Now does it, my brave GoodKnight?”

Dame Jane regained her presence and cinched her robe. “Me Lady.” She bowed.

“Remember dear, Peter is expecting you both at the hangar, promptly.”

“He was bloody here!”

Miss Christi remained cool. “Yes, dear. He arrived with his guest, just after dinner. Wanted to observe the subject. And, I think our new student.”

Bloody fuck. “Didn’t know we had a paying audience. What? Didn’t think I could keep away from the kittens? He does bloody well know I’m only here because you summoned me?”

“I don’t think it’s that at all, dear. He cares for you too, dear.”

Someone was on the move.

“Miss Sterling! Where are you going, dear?”

“Going? To make my sincerest apologies to Carol darling. I’ll explain it was all, just good fun. After all, I did promise her an unforgettable weekend. Once, I think.”

“Very good, dear. I’ll be along with her gift bag. I want to check in on Miss Danielle first. You gave her such a fright just now.”

“Right. Why do you coddle her so! Sorry, Mum. Please inform your drippy submissive to be ready to depart at the top of the hour.” It’s no wonder she’s still intact. “Good-day, Mum.”

Katrina grumbled something indiscernible as Jane closed the door and headed directly to the secret elevator. Dame Jane’s thoughts were in that steamy shower all the way down to the Dungeon level. She knew the cure those unsexed kittens really needed. It didn’t help. Katrina was still pretty steamed when they rounded the corner to see “Giselle” dressed in glistening—black rubber! “Bloody hell!”

“Like it?” Giselle held the massive tool up with two hands. “It’s my new Big Boy.” She pulled the trigger. Whirrr…Whirrr… “Dani made it for me.”

“Did she now?”

The power tool was still throbbing. In Giselle’s skilled hands was a Bosch model number 1651K 36-volt variable speed reciprocating saw. Modified, it held an assortment of dildos instead of saw blades. The custom-engineered adapter increased the length of each powerful stroke by a factor of four while slowing each to a more pleasing though pounding pace.

Perhaps I underestimated Dani’s true potential. “And how is our special guest?”

“Still stretched out on the rack; sleeping. I needed a fresh battery for my Big-Boy.” Giselle pulled off her hood. She looked thwarted. “Already drained two. Thank god for these new fast charging lithium cells. Each is good for about two hours.” She held the delightfully sinister device up and pulled its trigger.

Whirrr…Whirrr…

Right… That is bloody impressive. “Is that so?” Pete’s not going to like this. Ja.

“Yes, Miss Jane, she did! Can we keep her? She’s a fun one. Please Miss Jane? Please?” begged Giselle.

“Not just yet, sweetie. But I think perhaps she’ll be returning very soon.”

“Goody! I like playing with her. She’s way more fun than the last one you brought me.”

“I can see that. However, play time is over for today. Sorry, sweetie. Uncle Pete’s orders. Agent Daniels and Miss Jane must leave soon.”

“Rats. I’ll go unchain her and get her cleaned up and dressed.”

“Very good. You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

“Yes, Miss Jane.”

Knock It Off, Tiger

Blachmann Hangar at Pease International Tradeport, 11:36 local

Unshaved and in desperate need of a barber, Uncle Pete waited onboard the Citation X with the guest. Knock it off, Tiger. Thanks to Maria, he was suited up in a freshly steamed and pressed Brooks Brothers. Cooling his heels—one hour and a pot of black coffee late—his guest was pretty steamed too. Standing outside the jet, Pete observed: the subject kissed Carol-Fucking-Darling good-bye.

He welcomed a well-worn but still smiling “Agent Daniels” aboard with her Hush-Hush gift bag. Daniels seemed none the worst, or wiser—after thirty-six hours of rigorous clandestine interrogation masked in heavy-duty SM sex play. Yah, Katrina GoodKnight was good. Pete shook his head. Christ, she was wicked good. Maybe the best. But he still wasn’t convinced his old KAT was entirely back to her good self or that, Jane Smith could be trusted to complete the assignment. Not yet.

Pete excused himself from the ladies and invited “Miss Smith” back in the Rolls.

Danielle held the door. Pete stepped in behind Katrina and growled, “You’re late!”

“Bloody hell I am!”

“Give us a minute, will ya, Dan?” He yanked the door.

Slam…

His scowl tore at her like a bad waxing.

Each waited for the other to start.

Bloody hell!  “So, what brings you here, Uncle Pete? Internet porn not working? Missed seeing me in action? Well!”

“A little.” He shrugged. “Me?” Shaking off the scowl, he told her the truth. “Papa sent me.”

No response.

Still Swiss cheese. “Kidding. Nah, just wanted, you know, to check on my girl.” He squeezed the KAT’s right arm. “Missed you on the beach.” He gave a once-over. “You could do with a run.”

She snarled, “Right.” Prick…

“Sam mentioned bumping into you.” The ring’s gone. “Who was she? Have her termed too.”

Pete stared at the white strip on his ringless ring finger for too long, then muttered, “Don’t go there.”

Touchy… Always thought it was just a bloody cover.

Not that it mattered. Pete wasn’t this GoodKnight’s type. His wasn’t detachable. True, He could be a real prick at times. But mostly—he’d acted more like a big brother than my Cock-In-Arse case officer. That was fifteen years past. Who could stay in bloody love with one person that long? Miss Christi. . . Right. She was still in love with a dead woman? KK? Apparently she was in love too. Boris? Was Boris still in love with Jane? Ja. But Pete? He was never in bloody love. How could he? Boris once said something about him having a kid. Bloody hell. “Does she live with your ex?”

“Knock it off, Cougar! Listen up, Mistress Sterling. Right now I don’t trust you or your BFF! Ever since Dubai, you’ve been a total whack job. Mom ordered you to stay away from KK and the Brits; and what did you do? And I’ll bet you don’t even remember letting Miss Snow White fuck your brains out last week?”

She gave his crotch a glance to ensure honesty.

“Hey! Like you don’t know who she is, Miss Smith?”

“Know bloody what?” He’s lying. Nein. “What!”

“Drop the bullshit, Tiger!”

Natasha… She focused on, Jane’s boot. “Leave her the bloody hell out of it!”

“Come on, Janie. Do I look like a moron? Hey! Up here. Look at this me!”

Katrina GoodKnight sized him up—a bit longer than necessary. “Maybe a little. Your zipper’s down.”

“Huh?”

Someone more grownup had to take charge. Zip. It was over in a blink.

Pete cracked first—a smile. “Thanks. Glad to see you’re getting back to your old self.” He gave her knee a pat. “Mom said you just needed a break.”

“Smashing, thanks, mate.” She locked onto his pat hand, gripping it tight. Her claws extended.

“Hey! Knock it off.”

“Knock it off—I want to cut it off.”

Pete toned it down. “I’m just trying to tell you.” He paused. “Jane?”

Had that same suit on the other day. “In the flesh. Why?”

“Come on, you know why. She told you.”

“Told me what?”

“The girl in the photo; remember?”

Remember what? She searched the scruff for a clue. “You could do with a shave.”

“No shit—she has a daughter.”

“Rubbish!” Dame Jane turned away. “Past that.” Her words lacked conviction.

“Yah, sure. And I only grab my dick to pee!” His didn’t. He gave her a minute to collect herself then asked, “Why are you screwing with me?”

No response.

“Why?”

No response.

“Why should I trust either of you? You lied about the other night.”

Jane couldn’t remember the other night. Katrina didn’t respond. For the second time in their life, Katrina wanted her tiger to, grab his dick. Grab it, slice it off, along with those big bloody stones and shove the whole dripping lot of it right down his gagging throat. Nein! “Bloody hell!”

“Yah bloody whatever. And knock off the phony British bullshit.”

“Can’t.”

“She’s jailbait. We both know what always happens. And I won’t be able to get her, round, British ass out. Not this time kid. There isn’t going to be any al-Qaeda smokescreen to hide behind! Not this time kid. Katrina? It’s you, all grown up; isn’t it?

“Fuck you, Pete!” Her head shook. Affirm. “I’m not like that anymore.”

“Is that so?” He looked her dead in the eye. He kept looking. “Dame Jane?”

Fuck!  The real Jane sat there, lucid but silent, unable to face up to the one man in this life that could help pull her two worlds back together. Uncle Pete had just confirmed her worst fear. Tiger69, Katrina the KAT, wasn’t dead. She was, K-I-D. Katrina-in-denial. Shut it! Dame Jane Sterling’s—entire existence was—a bloody lie. The GoodKnight of Sterling, Dame Jane couldn’t keep Katrina’s childish needs repressed forever. Someone needs her rubber doll. Uncle Pete has her. Make him—

“Yah, prove it. Look at me…Hey, Mata Hari!”

Katrina didn’t. Jane couldn’t.

“Sure. Listen up kid. I’m just saying—”

The rogue KAT reached for Jane’s left boot.

“Easy, Tiger. Christ Janie, can’t you see? They set you up.”

“Who!” The stiletto was in her kill hand. “What in the bloody hell is this really about?”

Pete thought Long, hard, and quick, before he answered, “Krump and, Boris, and the doll.”

“You bloody bastard!” Eight years of the KAT’s repressed anger exploded. Katrina pulled him down and lunged for his jugular. “You swore they were all dead!”

“Dead?” He thought he was a dead, Dickey. “Jane, don’t—”

“Well?” Her blade pressed into his. “I believed you! That’s why I went back in.”

“I lied.” He added that stupid little boy grin of his.

“Tell me, why…why I shouldn’t disgrace you right now?”

“Wow! That hurts. Come on, Janie? Do you really want to ruin Mom’s new interior?” He stroked the Roll’s pristine white leather. “Don’t you love the scent?”

She sniffed. She hadn’t seen that side of Uncle Pete since—bloody hell—he is telling the truth. The other day—Sir Goody’s. She couldn’t remember anything after seeing, “Jack! You piece of Cock-In-Arse shit! I trusted you.” Ja, once.

“First, I’m not CIA anymore. Second, I’d feel better without your BFF.” He flapped those puppy-dog blue eyes—“Please, Dame Jane”—and gave her some time to grow up.

The KGB chrome pressed. “Spill it, mate.”

He spewed, “I think your Sir Goody is also the Breeder.”

Bloody hell… Headmistress Jane Sterling ordered her stiletto doll back to the crib. “I’m bloody listening.” It was like someone had flipped a switch. Cougar73-S was solidly back, in charge, and this Jane was all business.

Pete sat back and recounted the events of their visit to the Churchill estate. He left out the part involving Lady Jack-Jacqueline. Why push his luck, he thought.

“Have you informed Mum or the Council?”

“Na, haven’t told anyone. Not yet. Except…Boris knows.”

“Continue, Peter.”

He took a much-needed breath. “She’s been covering your ass since Dubai.” A long pause ensued. Satisfied Jane’s Tiger was safely penned, he got back to facts. “Winter loved the audition.”

“Did she?”

“Yup. Oh yah, I meant to tell ya. She’s wicked impressed with your whip work. By the way, she loved the thing you made the stand-in do with the buckles.”

No response.

“Anyway, afterward, I hurried over to tell you she’s a go. But you already had Daniels on her knees. I didn’t send her. Honest. I waited next door and observed.”

“Right, that.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

I’m bloody spent. Could do with a real holiday. Maybe Nina—

“Anyway, I couldn’t wait forever. Promised the wife I’d meet her at Brooks Brothers.”

“The one on Connecticut?”

“Yah. Says the old tux is looking a little too snug.” Pete looked to his mid section and made a sad face. “Ended up getting a new one. Wait till you see it. Cost me twenty-five-hundred bucks! But that’s with the shoes, two shirts and, I even got one of those cool white dinner jackets.”

Wife… “Bloody hell!” You’re in bloody love too. How long have—

“Yah, I know; wicked James Bond.” He laughed. “That is what they wear to them royal things, right? The party? Sir Goody invited us; remember? …Na. Hey, do ya think this suit is too tight?”

 “What?” You do have a bloody wife. All these years…“What the bloody else don’t I know, Peter?”

“Never mind. So, did ya crack the butch last night? I turned in early. Bunked in the Red Room with Sam. She said I snored.” He shrugged. “Sorry I missed round three. I was really beat. Hey, the new beds are wicked comfy. I think Sam misses you—her. How long’s it been?”

“You bloody well know, and we didn’t have enough time. She’s dirty. I’m bloody certain.”

Pete paused to reflect on, Nurse Nasty’s, relentless probing of the suspected agent, Daniels… He glanced at the new upholstery. “Look Jane, I really gut-a get back to town before this blows up. You sure, you’re sure about Daniels?”

Married? Who would bloody marry you?

“Listen up, Cougar. We can’t risk tipping our hand until we know their end game. So Mum’s the word. Mum. Understand?” He gripped the door handle. “Hey, I almost forgot. How was that steak?”

“What steak?”

“Served the way you like it? Cooked it myself ya know.”

“I don’t remember any bloody steak?” Flunitrazepam causes anterograde amnesia.

“Too bad. Do you remember anything? The flight back; or after I dropped you?”

“I remember, you snoring and—”must have stopped in the T and C. Nina… Natasha… “Just one drink mate. I swear! Took a warm shower and went to bed. Didn’t I?”

“Didn’t you?” Pete wiped the grin then popped the door. “Hey, I really got to go. Not you. Doctor’s orders. Don’t worry. Winter’s not expecting you two until tomorrow. Oh yah. She requested I tell, Mistress Sterling; make the motherfucker really beg for it this time. Her exact words—not mine. And show your BFF’s blade more too.” Pete got a chill.

Katrina stayed silent.

“And don’t be late! Stay out of that damn bar, will ya. No more playing with that Nina doll. And, no drinking! Anything! Understand?”

Jane nodded, affirm. Tell him. Katrina grabbed his jacket. “Wait!” Natasha. “What about Boris? She’s still alive? You’re sure, I mean, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t kill her or anyone else that night. Boris still has her claws out too. And she’s really pissed. So watch your backside, Mata Hari. Tuesday. Breakfast? Might have a new assignment for you two. Copy?”

“Check. O-nine hundred, sharp. Thanks, mate.”

Pete was out the door. His head popped back in. “Hey, Janie, give your selves a little holiday. You’re batteries need charging. Understand? Oh yah, one more thing. Do us both a really big favor, will ya? Ease up on the kid a little. That perfumed shit fucked her up enough, don’t you think, MH?”

Slam!

Uncle Pete, hugged Dani, goodbye, gave MH, one last look. He boarded the jet.

“Yeah, sure Pete.” MH… Her eyes slammed shut. What did you do?  MH wasn’t talking.

Wet… Katrina reached for the door. Mata Hari—Jane stopped her KAT from splitting. She needed MH to remember, the assignment…

Tailspin!

2,000 meters over East Berlin, summer of love, 1990

Jane was strapped into the front of the two-place Russian stunt plane. Boris was teaching Mata Hari to fly. I was flying blind in a storm. “Tailspin!” Wasn’t sure which way was up. Looked over my shoulder. Katrina! Her hands were up, away from the controls. Panic overwhelmed. Katrina split. She always split when things looked bleak. “Katrina! Wait!” Jane found herself alone again. “Help Boris! Please.”

MH’s lover was blowing in her ear, “Calm down, kitten. Trust only the eyes. First verify your instruments. Trust only the instruments. Your instincts and other senses are easily fooled. Crosscheck your instruments, baby.”

She did. Inverted, nose low. In a left bank. Death-spiral.

“Good girl.”

What’s next?

Power back. Now roll out. A little more right rudder. Jane regained straight and level just above the tree tops. Boris growled in my ear, “That’s my girl.” Panic and emotions are for passengers and pussies. You’re Pilot-In-Command. Don’t ever forget it baby! Now act like it, and take us back home, “Mistress Sterling—

12:06 local

The roar was deafening as the jet started its takeoff roll. Danielle touched Jane’s arm.

“Say again?” Jane’s eyes flicked. “Boris.” I was—drugged.

“Mistress Sterling. Do you wish to drive or, shall I.”

“What? Yes, Miss Wright; that would be lovely.” Jane was a different woman. Softer. “Thanks. Please, sit with me.” She slid over, encouraging a timid, “Miss Wright,” into the backseat.

“Miss Jane owes—Correction; I owe you an apology, my dear.” She took Danielle in her arms and hugged her and whispered, “You may kiss Miss—kiss me, Dani; if you wish it so.”

She wished it, so, so badly. Their kiss was filled with unrestrained passion. Danielle knew that Mistress Sterling was indeed sorry. Her heart jumped then raced. She let loose her tongue. It drove deep into Jane’s wanted mouth. The kitten pulled her first love closer. She wished her Miss Jane had never left. She loved the way Miss Jane kissed her kitten—that night. She had always thought it was her fault when Miss Jane left for good the next day.

Their lips parted.

The GoodKnight tasted her Dani’s lips once more. “Still the best kitten I’ve ever had, Miss Wright.”

Danielle was blushing. “Bet you say that to all your dolls.” She sat back and crossed her arms, then huffed. “Miss Jane, why won’t she kiss me?” Your little princess, “She won’t. I don’t—”

“You’re not a doll. Why won’t you take her?”

“Because—I can’t! It’s not appropriate. She’s my kitten.”

“And were you not my kitten, once?”

“But that was, different.”

“No, love, it wasn’t. I took advantage of my position, and, I’ll do it again. Come here, Kitten First Class Wright.” The Cougar smiled slyly and pulled, the kitten, back in to taste the hot cherry and, strawberries, once more. “Ja, I was correct. Sweetest lips I ever tasted.” KK…

“But what if I…wet myself?”

Wet… “You must take that risk. In love, and war, one must take any risk. If it is true love; or, perhaps, is it you that desires to be taken?” Meow.

Both kittens surrendered to the rogue’s talented tongue and roaming paws.

“Yes, me thinks our sweet little Dani would like that; would she not?”

Lips burrowed deep under Mistress Sterling’s dark locks and breathed out Kitten First Class Wright’s secret love plan so that only her bad ear could hear.

“Right.” Katrina mauled the cuddly kitten then pulled Jane’s safety belt tight.

Mata Hari’s Holiday

Sunday afternoon

A somewhat more reconnected Jane Sterling had driven back with a more at-ease Miss Wright. After a light brunch of mostly fruit they showed off a few of Mata Hari’s old competition dives from the ten meter platform. Only Boris called me Mata Hari. Both KATs had competed in the 88 games in Seoul.  She had missed qualifying for the 92 Summer Games in Barcelona by a bloody tenth. Boris wasn’t there. Why? Boris always took Katrina’s tiger away with the doll. The doll took Jane’s pain away that night too. Ja, I was there for an assignment. Katrina hadn’t stood with Jane on a ten meter platform in five years. Not since leaving for—the Jane Smith assignment. Going down was easy. Climbing back up those bloody-never-ending-stairs wasn’t.

Danielle outpaced them back up every time. Each did her best to get the kitten to try it too.

Catherine looked up, shook her head and shouted, “No Fucking Way!” then locked arms.

No bloody use. The pretender wouldn’t budge. They needed to devise another strategy. Tonight.

Each time they stood atop the concrete platform, Katrina looked down to find, the new kid, staring up at her in awe. Those bloody eyes. She saw someone long ago repressed. First, Sir Katherine, Then, Boris, and finally—their last night in Paris. Can’t be! Unsteadied, she reached out for the railing and, the sea. KK… Jane slammed Katrina’s eyes shut. You have to remember. Berlin. Tell me what happened in Berlin. The ice-cold fog shrouding their memories dissolved.

East Berlin… Ja.

That night: It was to be the Stiletto’s first assignment without training-wheels. Sir Katherine had been the architect. But she had been killed. The Breeder… He was the Primary. Krump’s Berlin candy shop was the means. Pete was the in. “Cougar-Seven-Three.” We were the bait. Thought we’d made it in okay. Ja. Wrong! We’d been drugged. Pete too. The Breeder-he was there. He sat in the shadows. Ja, with his two dolls—the little ones. They were just little girls—six and nine. Katrina spotted, the Secondary. There, on the bed. The boots—Sir Katherine’s boots, and—the blade… How did he get Papa’s boots and blade?

My wrists—bound and stretched high above my head. My ankles too, cuffed wide—a spreader bar. Could hear them, whispering. Two henchmen in black leather hoods. They handed each doll something. It was the drugs. The heels! The sick fuck is going to make me kill the dolls with Papa’s boots.

Katrina shouted, “Bullwinkle!” She wanted to run. Jane held her tight to the railing and helped her remember.

The Breeder laughed at you. The Black Hoods held you. His dolls uncuffed each ankle, fitted the boots. The Black Hoods moved you to the bed, bare but for the vinyl sheet. They bound you spread eagle with rope. He ordered the Black Hoods out. For some time, you—I watched as he played the game… Simon Says, with her—my dolls. He gave one, the taller doll, the KGB dagger. His words… What were his bloody words? Tell me!

“Simon says, be Papa’s good little Hushgirl. Go slice that nasty Black Kat’s skin off.”

Thanks, baby. I remember; the doll refused. He promised her more unspeakable harm. She wouldn’t. The boney one came near. She would. She was crying… She took hold of the blade and crawled atop my shiny black skin. I shouted “Bullwinkle!” This time louder, but Pete still didn’t come. The mother fucker laughed. Said little Dicky was busy coming in a different room.

Years later, Jane would learn that Krump’s Stasi friends were jamming the CIA listening devices. It had been a trap. The Breeder had always known the Stiletto’s true identity. Jane Sterling was a composite. Using Project Stiletto and the British as cover, first he, then Sir Katherine had groomed the Stiletto’s multiple identities from their most gifted KAT.

Katrina felt the blade’s first pinch. His doll was rubbing it over, then between my breasts. What did she say? “Papa sent me…to do this.” Ja. The doll made the slice. She gasped at the sight. The doll’s first move—right between my bloody tits. That was bloody close. Two more quick cuts spilled them. I strained to see. That’s when I noticed the initials etched in the chrome. K-G-B—Papa’s stiletto…

Katrina, overcome with denial, pulled free and bolted, leaving Jane Sterling to fend for herself.

The Breeder’s princess doll giggled, then cut. Jane felt the rope’s tension ease. The ceiling was mirrored. Focus girl. Right…the rope. That doll had bloody nicked it. Their eyes met. Miss Jane promises to take you if—his doll kissed, my lips, then continued skinning my rubber. She made the same concealed cut to the other wrist binding then slowly sliced away strips of skintight latex. Her little hand was shaking. Her tea dress was spotted with my blood. Only a few strips of black covered my treasure—still intact.

The too-eager doll began her final assault. Blood flowed. Too much blood. She had sliced too deeply. Inner thigh—not good. The doll screamed, dropping Papa’s ceremonial KGB stiletto. Fuck! It had fallen, dangerously close, resting between warm wet thighs. The now hysterical doll climbed off and ran to “Papa?”

She called him, “Papa!” The Breeder was her Papa. “What’s wrong, my little pink princess?” She had his complete attention. “Now, Jane, Run.” Jane broke free from the weakened restraints, picked up Papa’s blade, then grabbed the taller one by the neck. “Pete said the tall one.”

A split second to choose, she started for the Breeder. Fuck! A Walther PPK pointed at the doll’s head—his little pink princess? “KK sat in his lap,” sobbing. She clutched his gun hand. An explosion. The pink dress grew dark. She screamed, “Papa!” The door opened. Black Hoods—Time to scat. Clutching the white rubber doll by the waist, “Cougar-Seven-Three” raised her heel, pivoted, and kicked open the French doors leading to the balcony. The rubber doll in hand, “Cougar-Seven-Three” leaped. They landed two stories below on the adjacent snow-covered rooftop and tumbled. The blade… I picked it up and ran; the doll still in her other arm.

The escape route… Sir Katherine, then Uncle Pete, made me rehearse it a hundred times. Down the fire escape and—run! South, two blocks, then east to that statue, then south, then…  Fuck! I’m bloody lost! The pockmarked streets were deserted, bitterly cold and dark. It was bloody snowing again. Alone, and nearly naked, with a crying and wet—doll. Fuck, we’re leaving a bloody trail. Piss and blood? My blood. Bloody hell! The dogs… I could hear the GDR border guards. Fuck. Now she could see them. Think! The safehouse—what about the searchlights? The Wall—it’s bloody suicide. They’ll cut us to ribbons if I try the Wall. I grabbed the rubber doll and ran. The corner. That truck pulled up and stopped. A dozen men—all with grease guns, jumped out. Stasi—Fuck. Me and that bloody wet white rubber doll were done. “Nein, Jane!”

Out from the cold mist, snow and darkness came a black Mercedes. Snowflakes melting on the polished engine cover created a smokescreen. Over the front fenders—Soviet flags— diplomatic. Right. The driver got out. Tall. Ja, nice boots—The heavy green leather coat opened. Those boots—That corset! She was striking—ja, deadly too. She had a gun.

“You must be the new Mata Hari.” Her English was precise.

“M. H.” The code; what was the code? Right. “The time! Do you know the time!”

“Yes love, five till one.” The Stasi approached, Boris stayed calm. She was always calm. Why couldn’t you be like her?

“You’re Boris?”

“Yes, love. Bullwinkle sends his apologies.”

“But you’re a bloody woman!”

 “Disappointed?” Gun shots… “Get in, baby!” The foggy veil of Boris engulfed her.

The distorted window into Jane Sterling’s connection to Katrina GoodKnight’s dark past closed as quickly as it opened. Jane fought to remember more. She needed Katrina to remember, the rest of that Berlin assignment. Katrina’s first and, until Dubai, only KGB sanctioned assignment.

The rest came from reading Pete’s After-Action report. It was two days later when Jane awoke in the West Berlin safehouse. Pete was there. Drink this. He handed her the water and told what happened. Boris is a double agent. Pete said Boris had taken her but not the rubber doll through Checkpoint Charlie to the safehouse. I never saw the doll’s face Janie, he said—bloody liar.

Neither had Janie… Bloody hoods. Boris had in fact delivered her back to Pete. Jane didn’t remember any of it. He said I was alone. The white rubber doll? The boots. Boris had taken her—the boots too. That’s when Pete handed me the stiletto; K.G.B. was etched into the blade. He said they were my initials. Boris said you earned it. But not the boots. Not yet anyway. He got away Janie. No trace. We missed him.

It was another six months before the two KATs next crossed paths. As it turned out, Boris liked her candy cold, hard and rubbery. Yes, Boris was attracted to the scent of the two-headed KAT. Boris took the still green stiletto doll she called Mata Hari, under her wing. And so began a most strange love triangle—two KAT’s, the Cougar, and their dolls. Each KAT possessed an undeniable hunger for the other’s doll. All would meet from time to time; a reward of sorts, for a job well done. Twenty bloody years later, one of those two-headed KATs was now Dame Jane Sterling, and she now finally knew who the Breeder was. “Sir Goody.” What about Jack?

A gust came out of the east. With all the force of a rogue wave, it slapped “Dame Jane Sterling” hard across the face and back into the “GoodKnight Katrina of Blachmann.” Her eyes opened wide. One again. She stared out at the Atlantic mist. “Some bloody holiday.” Face it, old girl, Pete’s lying about something. That kid is no pretender. She’s Sir Katherine’s clone. It can’t be—Ja, it can Jane. Katrina threw her good self off the platform. Katrina! Let me remember what you did. Please. Nein.

Splash…

Later that afternoon, Mistress Sterling invited Miss Black and Miss Wright to accompany her on horseback. Their ride took ninety minutes on the secluded trail that once served as the old rail spur’s roadbed. Some bloody holiday. She certainly didn’t mind the fact that Catherine still wore the pink baby dress, but those bloody vinyl rumba pants. There was no getting past that. It was Blachmann lore. Was it really her? Jane wasn’t sure. Katrina wasn’t talking. Not yet.

Catherine didn’t think her outfit looked so awful anymore. Not after adding a pair of Danielle’s riding britches and, my boots. It was her first time on horseback in months. Her mom had given a choice: Britches or short skirts? She insisted she could ride just fine in a miniskirt. Mom… That was the first sign of trouble. Her mom thought otherwise. Teenagers… The storm was brewing.

Jane enjoyed the distant vision the kitten in Papa’s boots provided, but would have preferred, Dani’s britches left on the bloody rack. Upon their return to the stables, her neck was as sore as their tired older ass. Too bad Elsa wasn’t there. Someone was in dire need of one of Elsa’s expert rubdowns. They headed straight for a soak in the cauldron bubbling atop the South Tower. It was to be followed by a long cooling shower with, Papa’s dolls…  Pete did say to have a holiday… Ja.

I love your

The Headmistress’s bath, 22:15 local

Fifteen minutes past lights out, yet Catherine still sat before the dimly lit mirror. Danielle stood behind, rhythmically brushing all that hair.

“I love your—”

“No kidding. Definitely think you teased me enough, don’t you, Dani?”

“No! A little more, please, babe?”

“Okay. But you know I can do it myself.”

“But I—”

“Yeah, I know. I get it.” Catherine embraced the hand and gave an enchanting look. “Hey Dani, what’s with Miss Superbitch today? She’s been acting way different since you guys got back from the airport.”

“Different?”

“Yeah, like, way too nice. And, I sooo caught her, eyeballing me like, twice! She almost fell off her horse once. Didn’t you, like, notice?”

Danielle’s bald head shook, no. “Beats me, babe, maybe she’s into you.”

Babe… “Yeah right, sure she is.” Catherine stood, taking, the hairbrush. Is she… She examined the heavy implement. It seemed key to her tormentor’s fetish. The brush, hand carved from Ceylon Ebony, a very dense and intensely black wood native to southern India and Sri Lanka. Catherine tested its stiff bristles. These might give her a special little pleasure. She gazed into Danielle’s cautious eyes and said, “I seem to have that effect on someone else too. Don’t I, Miss Wright?”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed, Miss Black.” Her lying eyes stayed fixed. The hairbrush—“Don’t!”

“Liar!” Catherine twisted the implement then slapped it smartly to her palm. She admired the brush’s polished backside, stroking her free hand across its fine detailing. So familiar. She felt a strange connection. She grasped its handle tight. Fit and felt so perfect. MK had to try its magic for herself.

Whack!

“Hey! Don’t… That was your great grandmother’s. Don’t! You’ll break it.” Danielle held her hand out. “I’m serious. Give it. That’s an order, Miss Black!”

“Miss Black? Jeesss. What happened to babe or, Kat?” MK relented, surrendering the implement of both their not-so-secret pleasures. “Sorry, couldn’t resist trying it too.”

Danielle took the still-warm brush, examining it closely for cracks. “You could have broken it!” Satisfied, she set it gently on the table. “She left it to your Grandmother Katherine.”

Catherine took Danielle by the shoulders. “Sir Katherine? No way! Really? Hey Miss Danipedia, what can you tell me about Super—”

“Bitch?” She smiled. “Plenty! Come on, babe. I’ll tell you in the crib.”

Crib? “Yeah, sure.”  Progress… Catherine pursued the powder blue silk cami and tap pants past Miss Christi’s king-size bed into the nursery and into her crib. ’Bout fricken time. “Hey, move over. I’m—shouldn’t we close the door?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t move! I’ll get it.” MK was out and back in a blink. Seconds later, the nursery went black. “Hey, I can’t see.”

Danielle whispered back, “And neither can Miss Superbitch.”

“Oh.” Yeah.

Someone’s Reality Check

The Headmistress’s bedchamber, 23:13 local

A reconnected Katrina-Jane was sprawled on the bed seeking answers. Miss Christi sought only sleep.

Pete was bloody right about one thing. Someone did need a holiday. Yes, a little R and R with the dolls. The room’s only illumination came from her iPhone. She continued peppering “Mum,” with questions as she viewed the live feed of the nursery. Been staring at these fuzzy thermal blurs for near an hour. Still, she had no hard answers.

“Please dear, no more. You agreed when I sent for you. No questions of her past. I can tell you nothing more unless she willingly gives back the boots. Now please, dear, it’s well past our bedtime. Please…Miss Sterling, put that evil thing away. I need my rest. And so do you, dear. You have a busy week ahead.”

“She’s not dead, Mum. Boris. Pete said you knew.”

“Yes dear. You should be sleeping. Close your eyes dear. Shall I sing Papa’s song?”

“Nein. What really happened in Dubai?”

Miss Christi rolled closer and took her hand. “Your tiger was awakened, that morning. I think by someone you both trusted.”

 “Awakened?” Jane found herself awakened, and burning—the vision of her past was interrupted by the white hot mass glowing in her iPhone. “You mean activated. By whom?”

“Why does it matter, dear? Katrina’s returned to your good side now.”

“Who is she really?” She let go the blurry three-way techno porn fantasy, rolled to her side and put an aggressive grasp on Miss Christi’s exposed forearm. “Tell me, damn it!”

“Miss Sterling!”

Jane realized it was the KAT’s grip. “Please, Mum.” Disgraced, she fell back. “Please forgive her, Mum.” Katrina snatched Jane’s iPhone from the bed covers and resumed the surveillance.

Miss Christi waited until “Jane” had regained control. “Her mom is not that person you once knew. Not anymore. Neither are you, dear.”

“Has she seen me? Like this?” Jane’s face saddened.

“Oh, yes, dear.” Miss Christi brightened. “Union station, at the bar, and on the train.” She chuckled. “I spotted her right off.”

“Boris was on the bloody Acela?” I am getting bloody old.

“Yes ,dear. She sat with you. The airline pilot?”

Bloody hell!  “She had a bloody beard. Don’t tell me she changed sides, Mum?”

“Oh, no, dear. Nothing so drastic. Just a rubber mask, a false beard, and some padding.” A soothing hand stoked Jane’s cheek. “My Katherine always said, costume and hair was a girl’s best cover.”

It shook Katrina—Jane back together. I sat next to my not-so-dead sister and your bloody stalker for two hours, from DC to New York. She felt that old tingle. “I’m not so dead yet either.”

“No, but you did come close, dear. This last one makes five. You’re running low of lives.”

“Pete said she’s working for Krump now?”

“Yes dear, but it’s not what you think.”

Jane darkened her iPhone. “I saw her again, Mum. Today on the trail. On Major. I see her all the time now. Jane was back on the trail and in her own baby dress. Sir Katherine was at her side. “I don’t know if I can.” She was lost in a frightened child’s past. “Papa, are you there?”

Miss Christi carried on in a calming voice. “Don’t worry, my dear. You just need some rest. I’m certain. Close your eyes my sweet child.” She waited.

Katrina came back. “Why was I put back on the assignment? Jane loves her you know.”

“It’s the drugs dear. It will pass in time.” Miss Christi wasn’t so sure it would—not this time.

“But it violates all protocols.”

 “Yes dear, it certainly does. However, a traitor—”

“Traitor?”

“Yes, dear; Krump’s limitless wealth has corrupted one of us.”

“Who Mum?”

“That’s not our concern dear.”

“Tell me Mum,” The case… British. “Who tipped you—I was there?”

“Dubai? Jack phoned. She suspected your assignment had been tampered with.”

Bloody hell… “And, KK?”

“Yes, that. Something had to be done to stop her, dear. Well, it was Jane’s birthday.”

“Smashing. Should have sent a bloody card. You do know she’s in bloody love too.”

“Yes dear. I’ve always known. Fortunately, Kristin intercepted you before it was too late.”

“But it was.”

“Yes, that. Most unfortunate dear; London’s man, Chief loan officer for the Royal Scottish Bank’s Dubai branch.”

“R-S-B. Brilliant. Poor bugger.” Jane’s eyes burned. “She looks just like her mom?”

“Yes dear, our Katherine has returned to us. We must help her understand her gift. Don’t worry yourselves about London’s lapse dear. His family was informed, heart failure.”

Sir Katherine… Katrina relit Jane’s iPhone. “Come now Mum, you don’t really believe in all that reincarnation rubbish?”

“I do. With all my heart, I do dear.” Miss Christi gazed into the thermal image. “I’m sure it’s her. The DNA is a one-hundred percent match. And there is the—”

Katrina tried to speak but Jane interceded. “Why Mum? Why now? Why’d you bring her back?”

“Because it’s time, dear. Did she enjoy your day together?”

“Yes, very much Mum. I hope to earn her another chance, some day.”

“Perhaps. We shall see. Now go to sleep dear.” Mum’s words were a comfort but also a warning. The holiday was coming to its end.

Jane permitted Katrina only a glimpse of the white hot image—Dani spooning my pretender, in the crib. Turned on that bloody baby music. Whispering. The hair—ear. Right. “Pete doesn’t trust me. Do you Mum?” The GoodKnight Katrina of Blachmann was back.

“Yes, I do dear. In fact, I had hoped a brief visit tonight. Should do us all some good. Don’t you think, my dear?”

Danielle slid from the crib, lifted the side bar and moved towards the door. She was startled to see, “Miss Jane,” still there and, still awake. She sighted the iPhone. Her face went beet red. Mistress had to know: she hadn’t pulled the trigger. She hadn’t claimed her first kitten.

“Right. Well, if you think it best, Mum.”

Miss Christi’s words remained hushed. “I do dear. And I think you owe our Miss Danielle a most proper apology.” Her voice rose. “Goodnight dear.”

Danielle backed off. “A GoodKnight indeed, Mum. Happy dreams. You too Mistress Sterling.” She left them, racing down the hall to the security of her own bedchamber.

Jane settled into a KAT’s slumber and waited until Miss Christi drifted off. She felt that old tingle. Eleven minutes later, Miss Jane rose from the Tempur-Pedic and headed straight to claim her prize. The Cougar’s heart was racing like a teenager’s.

The door creaked.

“Who’s there?”

“Don’t be alarmed, love. Did we wake you?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“I want you to do me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. And I think we must go all the way this time. I’ll just pop in the shower.”

Danielle almost couldn’t believe her ears. She leaped from her bed. One of her oldest fantasies that involved Miss Jane was about to come true.

Maybe We Shouldn’t

Blachmann Academy, Monday, 8 June, 10:15 local

The conditions overnight were positively soaking. The morning sky dawned gray and foggy. The forecast called for improving conditions. As swim time neared, remnants of the cold shower still lingered. Two kittens stood just inside the ballroom by the open French doors. A steamy cloud was all one spied where the pool should be. Neither dared be the first; to brave the pelting chill and unseasonably cool moist air. Danielle yawned, then made mention of being a little too spent and said, “Maybe we shouldn’t today?”

“No way!” Catherine exclaimed. “You still owe me big time for yesterday.” Once more full with spirit, she wanted redemption. The cold rain eased. Her robe fell to blanket the warm granite. She dashed. Long toned legs disappeared into the blinding fog caused by the heated patio and dove. Thank God the pool’s heated.

Danielle lost sight of those legs but heard the splash. She’s wet. She shouted, “Here I come!”

Splash…

Forty minutes later, both mermaids regrew legs and emerged from the eighty-eight degree salty fog. Catherine’s competitive spirit was back with a vengeance. She had matched her tormentor stride for stride, out touching Danielle for the first time. Swimming was fun again. Hell, everything was fun—with Dani.

Though chilled and wet, the atmosphere in the bath looked most inviting.

“Hurry Dani, start the steamer; I’m fricken freezing.”

They stripped off their still dripping one piece rubbery swimsuits. A steamy shower with Danielle after finally whipping her in the pool was the icing on the weekend’s sweet cake. Shower time lasted much longer today. Danielle claimed to be testing a new color-safe conditioner and had done the kitten’s hair twice. “Really.”

“Really?” Yeah right. “We’re going to be late for sharing.”

Danielle was in fact dragging. She’d pulled another all-nighter.

“Can’t you just put it in a ponytail?”

“No way, baby!  There. Almost done.” Her insistence on finishing the glam-style job had them running well behind schedule. “Quick, pull your dress up.” Danielle didn’t bother with hers or reattaching her wig. “No time, babe.” After helping Catherine into a new pink baby dress, Danielle ordered, “the pumps too.” She tossed on her still-damp short powder-blue terry robe, grabbed her Ferrari cap, and made for the door. “Let’s go, babe.”

Catherine tugged her tormentor back. “My zipper!”

“Sorry babe, forgot.” Danielle dropped her cap, pulled and secured the zipper with the padlock. “Got it.” She fluffed those gorgeous long locks once more. The girl couldn’t keep her hands off that hair. “There. Let’s go. Wait! Let me fix that.” She reached for the fancy hairbrush. “Perfect.”

“Yeah, from the neck up,” said Catherine with a laugh as she admired her tormentor’s handiwork in the mirror. The site of, Dani, her scalp bare and scarred, no longer struck her as odd. As far as she was concerned, Dani was just as attractive as the blondes she fantasized. Even better. She didn’t have to close her eyes to see her, to smell her, to touch her. Best of all, Dani gave great blow jobs. One kiss. Why won’t she kiss me? Why—She did stupid. “What?”

“We’re late!” Danielle surrendered the brush. Forgetting her cap, she hurried her well-blown shampoo model down the stairs a full twenty minutes behind schedule.

Perfectly Understandable

The Panty Parlor, 11:21 local

They entered to find Miss Christi already seated on the sofa with Jane, admiring the new portrait hanging over the fireplace. It was an earlier portrait of Blachmann’s first headmistress.

“Perfectly understandable, dear. A woman’s hair takes time.”

Jane caught sight of her bald ally and said, “Right. Perhaps a slight schedule revision is in order?”

“Told her not to bother.” Catherine’s hands were on her hips. She stood tall in her five-inch pink stilettos. “I told her to put it in a fricken ponytail.” Her focus was Super—Bitch-in. Fuck me! She’s totally different. She’s blonde. Dirty—Jane Blonde…

MK unstuck herself just long enough to query, Dani, who was making goo-goo eyes at Miss Jane. You hot little two-timing sticky pawed bitch. That’s just great. We’re all in trouble now.

Miss Christi attempted to cut through the goo. “Miss Wright; we’ll begin as soon as Miss Giselle returns with a fresh pot.” She clapped her hands twice. It did the trick.

“Sorry, Mum, won’t happen again.”

“No worry, dear. These things happen. She’ll be back in no time. Come sit.”

Catherine found her own way to the love seat. Danielle trailed, beaming as she snuggled in beside her, closest to the fire. Outside, the gray overcast finally broke. The first rays of sunshine burst through the two large windows to either side of the sofa and danced around the room. Like Jane’s hair, Catherine’s outlook had brightened considerably since their first session together in this room. The pent up anger and confusion had given way to curiosity. The chess table was still there. She fell back into Dani and then returned to Friday evening. A strangely familiar, though distant voice entered her thoughts.

“Well, Mum, I must be off. Please, don’t get up Miss Wright. Sam’s offered to take me.” Jane knew Katrina had a rendezvous with someone’s past to keep. “Thanks ever so much for inviting us back, and for yesterday. It meant the world, Mum.” She embraced Miss Christi. “See you soon.” Katrina wasn’t so sure.

Last night: Catherine was awakened by that same unrecognized hushed voice. Just play along love. You’ll soon be out of this bloody awful crib. At first, she thought it was another steamy dream. It was pitch-dark and she was half asleep. And, she had been fantasizing. She called out but no one answered. She didn’t dare move for fear of the electrified metal bars of her crib. Was it, Miss Jane? Keeping her hands right where she had them, she whispered, “Dani was that you?” There was no answer. It had to be a dream…

Catherine settled deeper into Dani: that cute little baby blue robe. Her puffy lips! Those same lips she wanted MK so much to kiss. Pretty sure. Was it just another dumb dream? She closed her eyes and felt the kiss again—full on the lips. A kiss so forceful and so direct, it left no doubt. Ah, what a kiss… Wake up stupid! She fricken wants me, not you. It took her breath away. And those wandering hands. Hands so sure. “Oh, Dani—” Something shook her. Something, had smacked her in the nose. The smell… Last night. Her dream lover had smelt of, coloring… Fuck me! It was—“Super—Bitch!”

“Hey, Kat. You okay, babe?” Danielle had shaken her babe out of another wicked daydream. “Miss Jane is leaving. Go say good-bye.”  She gave a pinch of encouragement.

Catherine was still lost in Dani-land. “What?” Super-hot, waving goodbye from the foyer.

“Well then, cheers everyone.” Jane wavered, giving Katrina a last peek of, my replacement…

“Fuc— Sorry. Must have spaced out for a sec. Goodbye, Miss Jane. Wait!” Freed from Danielle’s paws, MK popped her tight ass off the love seat and strutted to “Mistress Sterling” for a goodbye hug. That’s right Superbitch, I know. Catherine broke free and whispered into Jane Blonde’s ear. “Will I get to see you again?”

Katrina wrapped the cuddly kitten up and whispered, “One never truly knows, does one, love?” They separated. Mistress Sterling took in one last yummy eyeful. MK… Is the kitten mine Jane? “Perhaps.” With that, Jane Smith was off to Pease. The Blachmann Citation X was waiting to deliver Jane back to another life… the senator, Pete and hopefully Natasha…

Catherine went back to sit with MK and, Dani… No fricken way! You did it with her? It had to be a dream. No fricken way that was a dream, stupid. Okay, you-we fricken did it! What?—Frick me, I’m hot for a cougar. Cool your jets kitten; I saw her first remember? It was Valentine’s at that restaurant with your mom and her slut BP—“Huh?”

Dream or no dream, Catherine felt something. She glanced towards, my boots, and twitched. She needed to be getting off too. Pretty understandable after Friday’s dinner. Meeting the real Miss Wright. She squeezed Dani’s curious hand. Her introduction to Chessex. Learning a few juicy details of the Castle’s and Mistress Sterling’s past. Dani had told her that Miss Jane used to get into the crib and spoon her every night until she fell asleep. Catherine had learned that, just as her own mother had, both Giselle and Danielle’s parents had died on 9/11. Yeah, that weekend was a real eye-opener, for both of them. Yes, just as Miss Christi expected, the weekend had proved both refreshing and awakening. Catherine’s Katrina had awakened, and wanting to be her true self. Only one little problem remained.

This stupid baby outfit. Oh, there was that other matter. Did that slut bitch of yours really drug me? No fucking way! Funny thing was, other than the pink, she didn’t really mind her baby outfit so much anymore. She didn’t look so bad now that she had the stiletto boots. My boots… And, not after seeing those other costumes. Yeah, especially that Daniels chick, bound and ball-gagged. Boy, that dyke sure got off on it. Catherine glanced at her pink baby dress. Pretty harmless, I guess. Her eyes drifted around the room. Pink, pink and more pink. Hey, they changed the portrait. Yeah—Except for the blue eyes, she looks like your mom. More head games. She’d never wear that outfit.

This place is so stupid. Sure wasn’t like any boarding school I’d imagined; if it ever really was a boarding school? It doesn’t matter. The basement, that matters. Dani—on that stripper pole, that wicked matters. Knowing that Dani and Giselle were nearly identical twins, that matters shitloads. Twins, total opposites with the same hot bod, almost. Giselle has hair. That was way-the-fuck better than being one girl with two personalities. Threesome? Shut up—last night. Someone that hot. No way! It had to be—Dani. She must have done Miss Jane and then came and did me. Yeah that’s it, stupid. Yeah, sure, “Dani! You’re fucking dreaming.” Wonder what else is going on in this wicked cool place. Wait—What if it was both! Oh, my fuck! They all want me.

Catherine had expected more from her other self Friday night. I was so ready. I so blew that. I thought for sure it would happen yesterday in that steamy shower. Nothing…  She washed my fricken hair. If only Dani would just make another move. And, today? I should of—no time stupid. I wish Dani was more like your BP. My BP? Natasha hadn’t been there. Did she really care about me?

What’s your problem? I bet it’s Superbitch. Maybe. Come on, Cat; that totally hot rubber dominatrix outfit. Rubber… BP… Vinyl… Natasha… Dani… Let MK help—

“Good morning Miss Christi, here’s your new tea.”

“Huh? What?” Shit. MK! I’m dripping wet. Don’t blame me, baby. Catherine snapped out of her damp patch to witness Mommy G flashed her sister a level five dirty look. Giselle stepped past with haste to set the fresh pot and the silver tray on the game table. Back from her forbidden dream, Catherine looked at Miss Christi and mouthed, Think I just figured out what this vinyl’s really for.

“Yes dear, helps keep the cleaning bill down. It was my Katherine’s mother’s idea.”

Out the window, a FedEx Freight truck rolled past.

“Goody! My new Katherine-Katrina doll is here.” Giselle turned to Danielle and shouted, “Mine! Understand, sis!”

Catherine pretended she missed that sisterly exchange and crouched down on her knees to prepare a cup of tea for Miss Christi while Giselle hovered above. She took her time, listening as Miss Christi instructed Giselle to begin work on an entirely new ensemble.

“One more appropriate for a public setting, dear.”

Giselle thought the perversely innocent attire was already most pleasing for any setting. She protested for a bit then had Catherine stand. “Okay, what if, I…” She paused to draw a mental image and continued, “Drop the hem an inch, maybe two. Open the neck with a keyhole. Lose these cutesy sleeves and maybe slash it up a little; here, and maybe, here too.” She paused, turned to Miss Christi and said, “What? Don’t tell me. She doesn’t like pink.”  She shook her head. “You two really were made for each other.”

Catherine lifted her head and frowned. “Please. No more pink!”

“Well. I could do it in strawberry red leather? Elaine sent it last week. Tough as nails; soft as butter too. It’ll go great with the boots. Maybe, if I add a zipper or three and a shiny black belt? Very strict! What do ya think Kat?”

Catherine shrugged. “Zippers? Yeah. I like zippers.” She nodded excitedly. “Maybe a little jacket too?”

Miss Christi smiled and instructed Giselle, “Not too short. Remember dear, we want her looking royal, elegant, refined, sexy, not streetwalker slut sexy.” Her eyes met Catherine’s. “Those days are in MK’s past now.”

“Okay, okay! I get it! I have to unpack my new Katherine-Kat doll.” Giselle got all prissy. “I had her made to match the new you exactly. This way I won’t interrupt your tutelage with too many fittings.” She looked to Miss Christi. “Sure you don’t need me to help too?”

Catherine-Kat couldn’t hold it in any longer. “You got a Catherine doll? What? I’m a fricken doll now?” Life-size? “Can I see it?”

“Yes sweetie. Maybe afterward—if Miss Christi says.” Giselle smirked at her sister. “And you can’t steal this one, Dan!”

Catherine swung her mane and then gave, Dan, a questioning look of her own, then whispered, “What’s with her?”

“Put your claws away, sis. You bloody know I didn’t steal her,” insisted Danielle, wishing Giselle would leave before she said or did something they’d all regret.

“Thank you, dear,” said Miss Christi, dousing the flames before they became an inferno. “That will be all for now, sweetie. I’m sure our kitten will behave. Won’t you, my dear?”

All eyes zeroed in on Blachmann’s newest stiletto doll.

“Oh, yes, Miss Christi. Baby Catherine promises to be a good little girl and not act out.” Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? She handed the prepared cup to Miss Christi and nervously retook her place on the love seat; but not before fluffing her skirts for Giselle’s benefit. “Don’t worry Mommy G, Aunty D is a real good babysitter.” Hey, this mind game shit is kinda fun.

Unlike last week, Catherine chose the side nearest Miss Christi. She pulled her long legs up, hugging them to her chest in an effort to keep warm. She gave Mommy G her best little-girl face. One more fluff should do it. She tossed her pink satin into the air and let it fall with a wave. “Bye-byes, Mommy.”

“Fine! I’ll be in the sewing room. Call out, if you need Mommy.” Giselle gave Catherine one of those, I’m-still-your-mommy-and-you’d-better-be-good-or-else—Mommy Dearest looks before exiting though the doorway connected to the sewing room. It was Giselle’s second most favorite room in the Castle. Since coming to live there with her sister at age twelve, Giselle loved spending hours creating her own fetish fashion designs.

Out in the enclosed porch, Maria looked on as Giselle took the heavy pry bar to the large wooden crate. Inside, was an anatomically correct life-size sex doll. Custom molded, it matched Catherine’s newly fit measurements right down to her oversized clit. Giselle used her dolls as dress mannequins. She liked to play with them too. The new Katherine doll was her fourth. The other three were of, herself/Danielle, KK, and a one-armed princess hidden in the closet that only Miss Christi knew who. When not needed as fashion dummies, the dolls also doubled as teaching aids. Maria helped lift silicone Katherine-Katrina from her repose.

“Run along, Maria. Miss Giselle can’t play today. She has important work to do.”

A gifted seamstress, Giselle was well on her way to becoming a sought after fetish fashion designer. Her preferred mediums included fine leather, vinyl, natural silk as well as satin weave synthetics. Due to Miss Christi’s health concerns, she’d never yet worked with latex. As she laid out the soft patent leather on her workbench, Giselle feared her little one was growing up quickly and would soon leave her Mommy G without a baby. “Refined! I’ll show her bloody refined!” Taking her sharpest shears, she slashed away at the ten-thousand-dollar hide. A peaceful bliss rushed through her veins.

That Was Delicious

The Panty Parlor, 12:05 local

Miss Christi set the empty teacup on the table. “That was delicious, dear. Now, tell me about your lifestyle choice?”

“What do you mean?” asked Catherine.

“Do you enjoy being a baby?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Christi.” She fluffed her dress and fidgeted with its hem. In a voice loud enough to be heard in the sewing room, she added, “I soooo love it.”

Giselle shot back, “Mommy knows when someone’s fibbing.” A most unhappy face poked from the doorway.

Catherine put on her best goo-goo face. Mommy G wasn’t buying the act. Giselle frowned and disappeared. The Panty Parlor went deep silent as each strategized the empty game board. “Here,” Catherine handed, “Mum,” a new cup and retook her seat; this time without the fanfare.

“Well, dear, it’s perfectly acceptable if you wish to remain at this level.” Miss Christi paused, blowing waves in her tea. She waited a good minute more before she continued. “If, however, you wish to advance to the next level, complete honesty and trust is required. You do desire to get out of that crib? Do you enjoy wearing that cute little baby dress?”

The kitten looked first to Danielle. Another trick?  She slipped back to last night. The crib. She nodded in a circle. Got to take my chances. “Will Dani still tell me bedtime stories?”

Miss Christi pressed, “Do you understand me, Miss Black?”

“Yeah, I get it.” She clued up, dropped the baby face, and turned to “Dani, I mean, yes, Miss Wright. I’ll try a little harder.” She turned back to face Miss Christi. “I promise. Okay?”

“Splendid! Well done my dear.”

“Yeah.  Easy for you to say.” She felt something warming her thigh. I feel better already.

“First, tell me dear; why did you choose to wear that outfit you had on when we met?”

“Because she—I like it. I—” Catherine held back, shifting her focus to the picture on the wall behind Miss Christi. “Who’s the fricken knight?” She pointed to the portrait. She tried her best to distract Miss Christi. Ten minutes passed in silence. She broke first with, “Miss Christi, may I please have some tea?” Another deflection, but it was the first time she had asked for anything during sharing. And, she did ask politely.

“I’ll get it, babe.” Danielle released her love grip and moved to prepare the tea. “Cream and sugar?” She poured, halting before Catherine’s late signal. “Two lumps?”

Four fingers tickled the air.

Miss Christi patted a spot on the sofa. “Please come sit, with me, my dear Miss Katrina.”

Danielle blended in three as Catherine—Katrina went to Miss Christi’s side. She placed the tea cup with saucer and tiny spoon on the end table to the right of the sofa then waited, offering an inviting pose. But it was too late.

“That will be all for now, Miss Wright.”

“Understood, Mum. I’m going below to see if I can get those P-O-S video sensors for the nursery working. They went out again, early this morning. Yours too, Mum.” She pointed to the golden Cinderella carriage music box centered on the mantle. “See ya around, babe.”

“Video!” blurted Catherine with a gasp as she remembered the concealed camera. We’re sooo busted.

“That’s affirmative,” said Danielle. “But they keep losing focus. I still say that subcontractor raped us.”

“Yes dear. Perhaps you can return the gesture one day.” Miss Christi glanced at the doors.

“Sorry Mum.” Her face aglow, Danielle headed off to the library, closing the pocket doors.

Alone at last. Catherine moved closer. As their sessions had progressed, she let go much of her baggage. Most of her teenaged aggression had faded. She’d begun to accept that at least for the next few weeks, maybe having no responsibilities wasn’t so bad. I don’t need to worry about my parents or that slut bitch politician. After all, none had done anything to help. They haven’t called or tried to visit, or helped me get out of this wacko place. What if they tried? Super-hot-bitch and the Enforcer—Yeah, “I’ll bet we could show that slut bitch—”

“Show Senator Winter what, dear?”

“Huh?” Catherine regained her focus, studied the wrinkles in Miss Christi’s forehead. Is she a mind reader too?

“Miss Katrina, please try to stay with me. Now tell me, my dear, why did you dress that way? Was it for her?”

“Because.” Catherine’s eyes went dark. MK knew damn well why. She liked her provocative edgy outfits, but was still reluctant to tell Miss Christi. Cat’s princess Natasha and that slut bitch senator loved to see me wearing flaming hot outfits. She looked at the raven-haired portrait that hung over the mantel and began, “I wanted to be seen as a sexy, dominate woman.” She pointed to the portrait. “Like her! The outfits are, kinda like, a way to do it. I guess. And when I got the boots—well, it’s like they had some magic power or something. I kinda got off on it.” MK went deep silent.

“When did you start dressing yourself that way, dear?”

“Huh, um, last fall, I guess. Yeah it was, like, after school started, I think.”

“Relax your other self, my dear.”

“I’m okay, I guess.” Catherine spoke with a somber tone. Her eyes grew heavy. “My mom said I looked like a little whore. You won’t tell her, will you?”

“I promise you this, kitten. I shall never disclose any of what you share with me in confidence.” Miss Christi placed her finger to her lips. “You know, I am the keeper of many important secrets. All very hush-hush, you know.”

Don’t tell her, Cat! “I kinda like, to show off. It’s like, a total turn on, getting, people, hot. But, like, you know, they can’t really have me. You know, they can look, but no one like, touches me—unless I say so.”

“Do you ever let the senator touch you?”

“No!” Catherine had to catch her breath. It felt the same as staying under three strokes too long. She sucked in deep and her eyes grew bright. “Only my princess.” She looked at the picture above Miss Christi and started to drift. Lost in a maze of disconnected thoughts, her head began to ache. She held it in her hands and closed her eyes. A moment later, MK was back in charge. “What about my mom’s one-armed fuck bitch?”

Miss Christi had made the connection she was seeking. “She told you the power of the boots?”

“What? Yeah, like, I guess so.” Catherine got up and checked the sewing room. No one. Her chest rose then fell and then rose again. MK lowered her voice. “It feels good when, you know, when I’m turning that rubber slut on, just standing there in those stiletto boots and—you know. Kinda like, like having sex without really doing it, I guess.”

“Relax yourself, my dear. You are always safe within these walls.” Miss Christi reached out, soothing Catherine’s arm, guiding MK back to the sofa. “You like to be in control, during sex?”

“Yes— No! What-the-fuck?” She shrugged then picked up the tea. “I don’t know, maybe.” Unsure in voice, she went on. “Well, yes, and no. I guess.” MK quickly emptied, Cat’s cup. It occupied a troubled soul, studying the soggy tea leaves that clung to the bottom. A minute passed. She fricken knows.

Miss Christi took hold of the distraction and placed it on the table. She hugged Catherine close and said, “Please explain, MK.”

A deep breath later, MK continued, “I mean…I don’t like…Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise you both, my dear.”

“I can’t, you know, make the first move. I just can’t! I’m like, wicked afraid to ask someone out, or kiss them first. You know? Anything. It totally sucks.” Catherine’s head hung. Her heart raced. The wall between them was crumbling. You tell her.

“But once someone makes their move on me”—MK picked Catherine’s head up off her rising chest and said, “Bam! That’s it! It’s like I become this whole other person. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m like, I’m—” Mistress Katrina. The cold grip of fear froze her lips stiff.

“Yes, dear? Who? Who do you become?”

MK pushed her other self to go on. “Some fu—a different person. Older too. I’m not afraid anymore. It’s weird. I start to want to do things too.” She looked away. “Weird things.”

“Please continue, dear.”

“I want to take them—” MK halted the session.

“Is this person male or female?”

Miss Christi’s words cut deep.

“Come now, dear; let’s stop this beating around the bush.”

“What?” She fricken knows that too? She looked at her crotch. Shit. Catherine covered herself.

“Not there, dear. In your head. Your inner self. Your alter? Is MK a girl, or boy?”

Her eyes popped. “She’s not sure!” I am too! MK pulled free and turned away, hiding behind her trusty mane, staring at the fire, wishing it would burn her eyes out. She felt the heat. The flames licked her. Her body was on fire. Her heart pounded, about to explode. Fuck it!

Sucking in deep, almost emptying the room of air, she shouted at the portrait, “I don’t fucking know what I am! I only know what I fucking want! I want to do bad things! Really bad shit! Why? Why am I so fucked up? That’s why my mom hates me, isn’t it? That’s why her picture is there.” She pointed to the portrait. “She fuckin’ hates me!”

Catherine returned to see Miss Christi still sitting there calm as ever, sipping her tea. Fearing the worst, she swung her head around and slammed her eyes shut. She couldn’t face herself.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. What do you mean by bad things? Tell me exactly. What bad things do you like to do? And to whom do you want to do them?”

Catherine waited, straining with all she had to keep MK’s eyes shut tight. Her chest swelled, and swelled. Then, nothing. She was locked, in a struggle with herself—her other self. The test of half-wills continued for some time.

Concerned, Miss Christi said, “Breathe. You’re not my first, my dear MK.”

Really? Well then! Fuck it! Here goes. “I like to spank them, mostly.” One eye opened.

“Still here.” Miss Christi hadn’t heard anything too concerning yet. “More tea, dear?”

More tea? Relieved, Catherine’s chest released. Once more and their lungs were filled to beyond capacity. As Miss Christi prepared two fresh cups they began to spew.

“Okay! There! I fucking said it! Happy now? I— I fucking like to spank girls. Shit! Sorry. Can’t help it. You know, like, on their ass! Girls? It gets me so hot. I make them suck my tits too. Girls? That always gets me so wet. Sometimes I even come. I love coming. Makes me feel so fucking, like, you know? Girls? When I, like, you know, that way. Sometimes. Well lately, lots of times, I just have to think about doing those things with, like, you know, I can make myself come. Girls? Fricken weird, isn’t it?” Their lungs were drained.

Catherine sighed, then sucked in the freshest breath she could ever remember taking. It tasted as sweet as their first time. Natasha… That was finally off her heaving chest. She picked up a shaky teacup. Using both hands, she sipped. She didn’t dare look at Miss Christi. Her courage had run dry. Looking into the tea, she wished she could jump in and hide under the thick layer of sweet tasty cream. Natasha… “My mom caught us doing it.”

Miss Christi sipped her tea a moment longer.

Did she fuckin’ hear you?

“No, my dear, you’re not weird. What if you enjoy what most sexologists refer to as alternative sexual stimulation? It’s no big deal, my dear kitten; at least, not in my book. And my book is pretty full. I take it then, you enjoyed our little theatrics Friday evening?”

I know, you said it. “Yeah. But what happened to Superbitch’s dyke—Sorry. Yeah me too; but Carol-Fucking-Darling sure seemed to like it.”

They all laughed.

“Miss Daniels? She’s fine, dear. You’re certainly not the only young person with a taste for something other than plain vanilla in their sex life.” Convinced, Miss Christi turned her focus to the portrait over the fireplace and thought: It truly is you, my love. Your body has been returned to this world once more, my Mistress. “Tell me my dear, does your Katherine like to kiss girls too?”

“Kiss? Oh yeah, she likes to kiss them too.” Natasha…

Better Find Her Soon

Pease International Tradeport, Portsmouth, New Hampshire (KPSM), 12:26 local

Samantha held tight and relayed what she’d discovered. The perfume Katrina had given her last Friday was laced with Compound L699. This batch had been formulated to match Senator Winter’s genetics exactly. Hers had been engineered to produce quick acting bouts of disassociation with anterograde amnesia. The duration was on the order of three to six hours. Katrina still couldn’t remember how it got into Jane’s bag as she parked Sam’s Red Z06 Corvette.

Samantha walked the restless KAT to her plane, and did as Pete instructed. “You better find her soon. Your old doll must be in pretty bad shape by now. If she quit the shit cold turkey she’ll come unglued, even suicidal.” Samantha handed over the small bottle containing the special brew Pete whipped up yesterday and said, “Give your doll six ccs, orally. Every nine hours. Understand?”

“Got it. Six and Nine. Check.” Katrina slipped the small brown bottle into Jane’s bag. “Thanks, Sam. I owe you one.”

“No! You owe me for two. Remember, you two have to get back here ASAP, or it will be too late. No matter what, get back here, only here. Understand?”

“Right. A—sap.”

They were at the plane.

 “And, Sam, do keep this under wraps.” Katrina hugged their old friend. “Goodbye, Sam.”

Samantha spoke into Dame Jane’s ear. “Someone’s in love.”

She pulled free. “Bloody hell she is!”

“Bloody hell you are! More that you know, Jane Sterling. Hope their worth it. Got to get back. Your old Uncle Pete gave me a rag full of drool he needs analyzed ASAP. I put it aside to test your doll’s perfume.”

“Right, well. Cheers.” Drool…

Once onboard, she tried to contact Natasha. Number not in service. “Bloody hell!” She tried again. Pete. She saw the case—British… The Blachmann KAT sniffed…Latex.

Click… Click…

“Bloody—fuck me!”

KrumpKure

Unlike the minimal dosage of Compound L699 given to Senator Winter, the highly enriched cocktail of synthesized psychoactive drugs found in Catherine’s system had been blended for someone else—Katrina GoodKnight Blachmann.

Initial development work on the LSD-based compound was begun in the 1940s by Nazi scientists working to perfect it as a weapon. L699 was only one part in an extensive mind control program operating in a secret laboratory deep under the outskirts of Dresden. As the Nazis’ end neared, the laboratory, its scientists, their data, and several test subjects were captured by the Soviets. The project was immediately placed under a joint Stasi/KGB team and folded into the unacknowledged KAT program.

By the mid eighties, these scientists had perfected the drug’s protocol, making it programmable based on a recipient’s DNA and body mass. When the Wall was torn down in November of 1989, the Soviets immediately pulled their funding and left the whole toxic mess to rot in the first cold winter of the former East Germany’s new freedom. But it was not to be.

In January of 1990 the scientists were all hired by the newly established Biotech startup called KrumpKure GmbH. A mysterious individual named Krump had secretly purchased them, the building in Dresden, and their research from the Soviet’s GDR puppets. It was to be only the first of many such Krump investments in the former Eastern Bloc. Krump was quick to retask the team of scientists. Their new mission was to heal the minds of those harmed by the Breeder’s previous successes. No expense was to be spared.

Over the two decades since, KrumpKure’s R & D labs developed several new generations of Benzodiazepine-derived psychoactive drugs. KrumpKure grew at a rapid pace to become the established market leader throughout Eastern Europe and Western and Central Asia. This was mostly due to their much lower pricing than similar Western drugs. The bribing of corrupt government officials in many of the newly independent ex-Soviet states did certainly help. Now nearly every upper-class housewife across the old Soviet republics, Iran, and, most recently, North Korea, trusted the KrumpKure label. This year’s sales were expected to top 60 billion euros. KrumpKure had become Krump Industries largest profit center by far.

Someone inside KrumpKure was running an off-book R & D project. They were able to produce specific behaviors when properly matched to the recipient’s DNA. It was clear that someone was using Hush-Hush’s new fragrance Wet as a delivery system for the most powerful mind-altering sex control drug ever developed. Soon every woman in the free world would be aching for a dose of Wet—due to go on sale in three weeks. If word of this unfortunate affair ever reached the media, Krump’s entire Empire would come crashing down. Hopefully, Catherine would make a full recovery. Given Katrina’s situation, that was now a most unlikely outcome.

Dr. Resnik had explained it all to her employer months ago. There might be side effects. One consequence was that the high dose of hormones would keep her extremely sexually aroused. Especially the nipples, but it couldn’t be helped. Compound L699 had some other, very nasty side effects. It was highly addictive but worse yet—prolonged use caused progressively greater disassociation, anterograde amnesia, leading to schizophrenia, irreparable brain damage, and ultimately suicide. Like the good doctor said, Turns your brain into Swiss cheese. Very bad shit. Makes good girls do bad things.

Back at the Castle, Miss Braun was preparing a peanut butter sandwich, making sure to cut off all the crust. Maria happily filled Catherine’s sippy-cup with the special concoction the doctor had brewed. It did more than help grow strong bones. The cocktail of mommy milk, cream, sugar, anti-psychedelic drugs, and synthetic endorphins also contained several hormones. It needed constant adjusting, but would allow Catherine a chance for a full recovery. The anti-psychedelics were to counter potential brain damage and the hormones were to help wean her from the addictive nature of Compound L699. Mainly the mixture reduced anxiety and helped her to sleep. Brain trauma healed best without stress and plenty of sleep. The last thing someone needed after taking L699 was any stimulation.

Catherine’s natural hormones were still way out of whack. She desperately craved stimulation. The wildly mismatched dosing of Katrina’s L699 combined with Natasha’s nipple sucking over the last few months had caused large amounts of oxytocin and other endorphins to be released. It all combined to make her overly trusting and dramatically boosted her need for orgasm—a potential problem, but that couldn’t be helped.  It was better that she masturbated several times a day than die from a brain hemorrhage. Dr. Resnik had explained it all to Pete, Kate, the Senator and Mum early Sunday morning. The fantasies were just nature’s way of healing. Not that there was much else to do alone with herself in that crib, except for when she received her secret visitor.

Six and Nine’s Reunion

On board N699BA, departing Runway 16 at KPSM, 12:55 local

Katrina felt the gear. Retracting… Jane held her breath. Still climbing… Katrina sighed then picked up the iPhone and authenticated. “Six and Nine.” She read the Council Action Order (CAO). Was it legit? She wasn’t going to be made the fool again. Katrina opened the second, larger case. Everything was there including, Papa’s boots. A third case… She opened it. G’s Big-boy… What in the—bloody hell!

The cockpit partition opened. The jet bucked and so did her kitten. It’s legit.

 “Hey, baby. Want to go for a ride with Papa?” Captain Schumacher entered. This time she wasn’t concealing her face. “Better sit, Elsa warned to expect a few bumps.”

“Right.” Katrina sat to take a much-needed break. The stiletto doll everyone at the orphanage had called Janie who was once the KGB Hushgirl Katrina Blachmann emerged. “Papa?”

Papa’s ghost stepped aft and sat opposite in the club seating. She wasn’t little Katrina’s Papa. Sir Katherine had died in the Lockerbie bombing. Jane Sterling’s drug-ravaged Swiss cheese mind was projecting the distorted memories from thirty years before.

“You okay? Janie, is it you? I need the GoodKnight, Katrina. I need Tiger69.”

She nodded and waited. It didn’t take long before the Tiger responded, “Boris.”

“It’s Papa-Six now, remember, baby?”

“Ja.” She didn’t.

“You up for this?”

The captain’s civilian name was Kate—short for Katerina. After her elevation to the Council in 2001, Kate’s code-name was changed to Papa-Six. Kate did not possess Katrina-Jane’s gift of controlled disassociation. Nor was Kate subjected to years of undocumented sexual abuse that came with Sir Goodwin’s unauthorized use of Compound L699 while Janie was at the orphanage. Compound L699’s true magic only worked on the gifted few. Until their plastic surgery mandated in the wake of 9/11, it was Kate and not Katrina who could have been a younger Sir Katherine’s double. She removed the brown contacts, Kate’s eyes still held enough of Papa’s soul to retake control of Sir Goodwin’s stiletto doll.

“Meow.” Katrina smiled like her old self.

“Easy, baby; I’m a married woman. Remember?”

“Ja. I keep forgetting.” Paris… She began to drift.

Kate switched to German. “Hey, baby; what you been up too since last time?”

Tiger69 switched on. “Me? Not much. Killing time, mostly. You?”

“London wants you euthanized.”

“Mama said we had until the twentieth.”

“Plan’s been changed. It’s this week. Sorry, baby.”

“Ja, me too. Thanks for not killing me in Dubai."

“You’re welcome. Thanks for not dying at the track.”

“Ja, nice shot. Thought you retired.”

Kate didn’t respond.

Katrina switched back to English Jane. “Thanks much for letting us visit with our kitten.” Dame Jane Sterling was back on horseback enjoying a wonderful Sunday with their daughter. “She’s almost grown. Can’t believe you married him.”

Kate stayed silent.

Jane didn’t know her daughter’s true birthday; only that Katrina was the birth-mother. Jane had given their little princess up to Boris, two weeks before her first birthday—that rainy winter night atop the iron lady in 1993.

“Paris wasn’t your fault, Jane.” Kate reached for the CAO. “Neither was New York.”

“Right, that’s what I told her. So it’s this week then? I’d hoped we’d be at the party. Do tell our princess Mistress Sterling is sorry we couldn’t return.”

“I will. But first—Papa needs her Mata Hari for one last assignment. Promise.”

Katrina returned and said, “Pete says Sir Goody’s been a bad boy. What did Jack do?”

“Jack? She hijacked Papa’s identity and worse—”

“Wet! My Jacqueline?” Jane Smith was back. “And the three pigs?”

“They helped themselves to more than KK’s vodka.” Kate managed a lukewarm smile. “You owe me for that one by the way. You do love her, don’t you, Jane?”

Katrina interrupted. “She can’t say.”

“I was talking to Jane.”

“Fine.”

A moment later, a more somber Jane returned. “Will I remember her?”

“Do you want to?” Kate got up and went forward.

“Maybe a little.” KK…

“It’s better this way.” Kate’s words sounded hollow as she returned with a glass of water.

Katrina spotted, the pills. “Is it! For who? Me and Jane, or, you and Peter?” Someone was angry.

“Doctor Sam’s orders.” Kate handed the glass with the pills. “They’ll make you better.”

She downed them all. “Can I be black this time?” She sounded childlike. “Please, Papa?”

“Good girl. Now get some sleep baby. We got a long ride ahead.”

Thirty minutes later, Kate went aft to check on Katrina. The powerful sedative hadn’t taken effect. She was cold, shaking, and mumbling, lost deep in the delirium of Janie’s traumatic childhood. Kate sat and held Papa’s little GoodKnight tight and safe from the monster until it was time to change planes. Krump One was already fueled and waiting at the abandoned U.S. Naval Air Station at Keflavik, Iceland. The monster’s trap had been set.

Vanilla?

The Panty Parlor, Tuesday, 9 June, 11:03 local

Miss Christi had won a small victory—trust. Catherine’s other self was out and she wanted answers.

Vanilla? “What do you mean, sexologist?” The kitten found herself smiling. “Make mine three scoops with hot fudge and lots of cream.” She laughed and finished her tea. Miss Christi’s is empty too. Is that a tear in her eye? She knelt before the coffee table and smiled. “A splash of milk and two lumps, then pour the tea.” She had been watching, and listening. MK rejoined her sexologist on the sofa.

“Thank you, dear. Mmmm, most delish.  Where were we?”

“Sex—ologist.”

“Yes. Sexology is simply the study of human sexuality. Most everyone has sexual needs that go beyond having sex only to reproduce. When it comes to sex, no two people have exactly the same needs and wants. Everyone’s different.”

“Even twins?”

“Especially twins.” Miss Christi smiled. “Some need so little; others can’t get enough. Some like theirs plain vanilla, while others must try all the flavors. Some like it soft, others need it hard. Then there are all the various toppings to consider. Do you have any other fetishes?”

“What?”

“Come now, dear. There’s really no limit you know. Not when it comes to each individual person’s taste in sex. Just like ice cream. At least that’s what I’ve come to realize after many years of study in the field of human sexuality.”

“What does sex have to do with ice cream?” Catherine appeared puzzled as she tried to comprehend the metaphor. “So sex is like ice cream?”

“Yes, my dear MK, that’s just what I mean. Ever noticed how everyone has a favorite ice cream treat? And how they feel when they get it exactly the way they like it?”

“Yeah! Creamy French vanilla with lots of hot fudge and whipped cream. It’s heaven.”

“Sounds delish, my dear. That’s right. Yes, they’re in their personal paradise.”

“When do I get to—” Catherine paused. MK didn’t. “You know, have some?”

“Exactly, my dear. Ice cream is just like sex.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Why doesn’t she like me?

“Ever tried a flavor you didn’t like?”

“Yeah, once. Rocky Road. It wicked sucked! I so hate nuts.”

“Not what I meant, my dear.”

“Oh…  No, not really. Bet it’s no fun, though.”

“Definitely not. When it comes to sex, no one wants to eat what they don’t like. It can be a living hell when it’s not your flavor or not served the way you like it; too much, too little, the wrong time, the wrong setting, the wrong person or persons. Everyone has a different view of who, what, when, and how much is right or wrong for them. For most, good is good. But for some, bad is better. Do you understand, dear?”

“Never thought of it like that. I just thought I was some fucked-up freak of nature.”

“Not at all, my dear. I certainly don’t think that. You’re as normal as anyone else.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I do.” Miss Christi placed her cup on the table and motioned for her kitten to do the same. She opened her arms. They embraced for a long, loving hug. “Well my dear, I think we’ve had enough sharing for today. Don’t you?” Miss Christi rose from the sofa to make her exit.

“Miss Christi? Um, May I be allowed some, private time?” Catherine’s eyes glided around the Panty Parlor. Maybe all the pink wasn’t so bad after all. The soft white leather was so inviting, and its intoxicating scent continued to ply its magic on her good senses.

“Yes, my dear. You’ve earned your kitten a little reward. Please wait here when you’re finished. It will be lunch time soon. Oh, just one more question dear. When did you first receive the perfume?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Interesting. Do you know what it’s called?”

“No. My mom’s friend—” didn’t tell me.

“That’s quite alright, my dear. I already know from whom it came. You stay. I’ll be back in a moment.” Miss Christi left quickly through the secret stairway. She needed to reach Peter and Lady Jacqueline before it was too late.

For the first time, Catherine had told someone of MK’s dark desires. She felt sick. All the same it was a relief. She settled back into the soft leather’s seduction and took in the view. The Academy’s time proven methods were working. She had opened up, revealing her true self. Someone she had, until now, worked so hard to keep hidden, especially from her mom and dad. My mom! You told her it was my mom.

Those reckless thoughts had been racing around that head for too long. Was it really worth the toll it had taken on their relationship? Those strange thoughts returned; thoughts that involved, the mysterious Arab woman meeting with that slut bitch senator and my mom. She sensed the woman in the portrait was watching. That night… her eyes! She had the same eyes as my mom. No way! It was Superbitch. The mysterious rubbery visitor from Valentine’s night returned and engulfed her. Ah, ooh … “That’s my sweet little—”

“Kitten? Need any help?”

“What-the—” Catherine’s eyes opened. “Oh, it’s you.”

Giselle was standing by Miss Christi’s desk. She’d come from the sewing room.

Catherine looked up then down to find her dress up and both hands deep in vinyl. “Shit!” Busted… This time she didn’t remove them. Someone else caught her attention. “Oh! Hi, sweetie. I didn’t hear you knock. Come here at once, you naughty little girl.”

“Pardon Miss Katrina,” Maria giggled, standing by the open pocket doors holding a tray with lunch.

Giselle said, “Do you want to see the new dress I’m working on for this weekend?”

“Maybe after.” Catherine smiled invitingly and said, “Please, set it there, Maria.”

Maria tiptoed over in her seven-inch ballet boots. Giving another display of grace under adversity, she bent only at her waist and positioned the tray centered on the coffee table. Hands still on the tray, she held the pose.

Giselle continued, “You’re going to like it. Mommy G used loads of zippers.”

“Already do. Ah, yeah, but, not now. Okay?”

“Dani’s probably watching too, you know.”

Hope so. Now, that’s one fine piece of—Crap! Busted again. Catherine stayed locked on.

Giselle waited while she finished inspecting Maria’s bottom, legs, and bottom.

 With no hint of imbalance, Maria looked over her shoulder and said, “You finni, Miss Katrina? Permettez-moi de vous servir les repas belle Mama qui vous a fait.”

“Oui, Maria. Please come sit with Miss Katrina, sweetie.”

“That will be all, Maria.” Mommy G had put her foot down. The French lesson would have to wait.

Catherine was starving. Sharing sure could make a girl hungry. The kitten Kat had progressed; now at ease with the bizarre nature of her indoctrination into the Academy. She found her Mommy G could be more than a bit amusing. As long as she wore the stupid pink vinyl and didn’t piss her off.

“Drink your milk, young lady.” Mommy Dearest waited until she’d downed the last drop. “That’s our girl,” then proudly sang out, “Nappy time.”

“Goody, I’m beat.”

“Yes. Mommy is too. Let’s go, Miss Katrina.”

Game Time

Aboard Krump One at RAF Brize Norton, UK, 17:23 GMT

Katrina woke in the king bed well rested from the second leg of their journey to find a third KAT ready for action. The one-armed doll that lay by her side still wore her white rubber well. Jane needed a minute in the loo. She returned—still nauseous, but carried on. This was one rubber monster ball neither KAT planned on missing.

Kate was holding a black latex KAT suit. “He’s expecting a two on two. I believe you’re already acquainted with his new Petra doll.”

Katrina answered, “Have you been spying on someone?”

Kate said, “The Petra doll is off limits. Lucy too. Only Jack and Karla. Understand?”

“Affirmative. What about Sir Goody?”

“Sorry, baby, he’s protected. Council’s orders.” Kate’s voice rose. “Is that understood, Six and Nine?”

Katrina growled then nodded, affirmative. Her eyes brightened, then came a sweet smile. The little girl had returned. She said, “Ja, Papa.”

“Good girl, let’s help get Papa’s boots ready.”

“Dreamy sleep in the left. Forever sleep in the right.” Katrina seized up.

“Yes, sweetie.” Kate was sure that Katrina was losing herself in the past. “Hey, you okay?” Kate shook her aggressively.

“What? Papa?” Her words still had a childlike quality to them.

Kate removed her boots from their case then removed both heels. Inside each was a compartment containing an apparatus for injecting the drugs. The stiletto prick was always the KAT’s weapon of choice for a clandestine assassination. Kate loaded the right with a lethal dose of Midazolam. Katrina loaded the left with a much lower dose—the same fast-acting hypnotic used on Agent Daniels.

“All done, Papa.”

“Good girl.” Kate helped Katrina into her dress and fixed her face and hair. It was just like old times. Except—both knew it wasn’t. “Time for your go pill, baby.”

Her go pill contained a powerful stimulant. Doctor Resnik had concocted the experimental compound herself to counter the effects of Katrina’s L699 addiction. At best, the drug would help her regain control of the gift and hold the hallucinations at bay for a few hours. At worst? Kate tried not to think about that. Either way, if need be, Papa-Six was prepared to execute Katrina’s unacknowledged assignment herself. The senator was there only to observe and report her findings back to the Council.

Right… And maybe for some payback.

The London Affair

Papa’s flat, London, 18:55 GMT

Katrina GoodKnight entered the flat cloaked in black silk. “Jacqueline darling, I’ve come back, my love.”

“Have you?” Jack sounded only a little surprised. “Miss Christi phoned. So, you finally had enough of the little slut, have you?”

KK… “Yes, darling. I’m so terribly sorry. I went off my meds. Shall you ever forgive us? Please darling.” Ms. Jane Smith emerged from the cloak. “I’ve brought a gift.” Jane opened the box. A heart-shaped candy dish. “Hundred percent sterling. From Tiffany’s, my love. Mum helped us pick it out.”

Jacqueline gave her estranged lover a long, cold look. Satisfied, she turned to the dish. The inscription read: Eternally yours, 9 June, 2009. Her eyes lifted. “Back on your meds, you say?”

“Yes, love.” Jane removed a pill bottle from the Louis Vuitton. “See. Mum’s set us right. I’m so sorry we disappointed you. Was she very bad to you this time?”

“Yes,” pouted Jacqueline. She quickly warmed and opened her arms. “Come to Papa my darling. I’ve missed you terribly.” She embraced her long-time lover warmly, but the kiss to Jane’s cheek lacked her true affections. Jacqueline stepped back and said, “Your hair? Come now, Jane darling. Aren’t we getting a little old for that color? And that mini dress, and those bloody old boots? Did that little slut daughter of mine give you those?”

Katrina checked the mirror. “Right.” The hair… “Perhaps.” Everything looked right except the face. That face wasn’t hers. “Now shut it and kiss me, darling.” She pulled, the Primary, tight and gave Jane’s Smith’s lover one to last a lifetime.

“Oh my darling, it really is you?” Jacqueline opened her eyes. “You—”

“Sorry we missed each other in Dubai, Jack.”

Jacqueline tasted. “Katrina.” Her lips went numb. She went stiff. A rush of adrenaline belted her brain into overdrive. Heart pounding, body and soul pulled back—too late. She was locked in the Black KATs death hug. Her increased heart rate only made the lipstick’s hypnotic effect come quicker. “Bittersweet; it being you, they sent.” The words slowed to a drip. “Strawberry…”

“Always was Papa’s favorite. Please sit, love. It needn’t hurt.”

Jacqueline knew the real Jane, Katrina the GoodKnight of Blachmann, was about to go down on her for the last time. Already dreamy, she settled into Papa’s favorite recliner. Ms. Jane Smith and the Lady Jacqueline had shared Sir Katherine’s old London flat, on and off for nearly a decade. Death was coming—giving in. Those lips had done their part. Lady Jack’s eyes revealed a brief panic. A calming bliss soon overwhelmed her anxiety. “I did, love you—her, you know.” The makeup was losing its grip. She gazed into her executioner’s eyes, beckoning them to the dining area. Since receiving Miss Christi’s call, Jacqueline had spent hours preparing for her Jane’s return.

Jane Smith did return, to see the table set for two. But that was all she saw. Two candles burned—must’ve waited till we landed to light them. Their best China. The champagne, chilling in that sterling ice bucket, a gift from Sir Goodwin on their first anniversary. The ice was only slightly wet. KK…

Katrina refocused. “Yes love, your Jane told me everything. As did Sarah.”

“He’s my father.” Jacqueline’s anger was brief. “I’m so sorry. I—”

“Yes darling, go to sleep. Simon says.”

“Forev—”

“Yes, love, forever.” The kill hand reached for the neck. Pulse—slow, eyes—dilated, breathing—slowed. From the pill bottle, Katrina removed the ampoule of, Forever. She readied the syringe and placed it in Jack’s glove. The dosage was enough to kill ten. The injection was direct into the chest. The death scene was to be staged—a love-lost suicide. She checked Jane’s watch. Ten past nine. It gave her pause. Jack had given it to her for last Valentines. Katrina remembered: We’d been in DC that night. I can’t remember, why. I must ask Mum, someday. She felt a strange sadness. You’ve never been on one subject this long. Jane let go of the lifeless hand. Still—Katrina felt something. It was Jane reaching for a tissue… Bloody hell. She allowed Jane a few minutes to be alone in her grief.

The GoodKnight soon smelled the signs of death—bowels and bladder… Have to be certain. Subject’s neck—cool. Pulse—none. Eyes—black. The bitch is dead Jane. Wasting no additional time, Katrina placed the lover’s dish in Jacqueline’s lap. How lovely. Now the vile and syringe, in the dish. They departed immediately for the Jet Ranger waiting on the roof. The pawn had claimed her queen. It was now time to kill the evil monster.

Operation Kickoff

The Churchill estate, 9 June, 21:12 GMT

The Jet Ranger dropped in and set down on the front lawn. The sale to Krump Industries GmbH was completed earlier that day. Kate’s instructions were brief and crystal clear. Sir Goodwin was protected. The assignment was Karla. “Only Karla. Is that understood, Six and Nine?” First Jane, then Katrina nodded, Affirm.

Lucy opened the front door. “Welcome back Mistress Sterling.”

“Thanks love. Is Karla in?”

“Yes, Mum. She’s entertaining Sir Goody with the new doll.” Lucy gave a giggle.

“In the doll room, are they?”

“Yes, Mum, they’re expecting you.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yes, that naughty American and her security escort.”

“Agent Daniels?” asked Jane.

“Yes, Mum. I believe that’s her name.”

The blonde tiger removed her silk. Before Lucy could squeal, the Black KAT struck. Lucy’s right tit felt the full force of Sir Katherine’s left stiletto. Lucy lay stunned on the dirty rug, jiggling like a ten-stone, four-pound lump of spilled jelly. Katrina stepped close then lifted her boot. A twist of the heel’s cap freed its prick. The boot lowered, its exposed tip coming perilously close. Starting at her ankle, the pointed heel dragged a run in Lucy’s stocking, up the calf, then past the knee. A flick had the skirt up—over the waist. The stiletto advanced—to the stocking top, stripped the garters with a swift slice. Her treasure was covered in white Hush-Hush silk. Natasha—KK! She teased with, Lucy’s treasure. “Meow.”

Lucy came too with a coo. Then came the gasp. She realized it was “the boot.”

“Just in time, love.” The inner thigh should do.

“Please don’t. I—” Lucy felt the Black KATs prick. The jelly was stilled.

“Happy dreams.” Katrina capped the left heel.

Kate checked Lucy’s vitals. “She’s out. Let’s get your doll.” She led the way to the study. “Fuck!” The doll case was empty.

“I’m telling,” said Janie. Katrina’s time was running out.

“Sorry sweetie. Can you show Papa where the monster lives?”

No response.

Kate removed her Captain Schumacher mask. Her cover blown, she shed the rest of her padded pilot outfit. A second Black KAT emerged in skintight black latex.

“Boris?” Big Katrina was back—but for how long?

“Hey, baby. Where to? Where’d he use to take Janie?”

“This way, Papa.” Janie took Kate by the hand and led her over to the secret panel and felt for its catch.

Click… The panel squeaked.

Needs some lube, too. Violins… Music beckoned. Behind the stairwell was black. Far below was a dim glow. Katrina knew the way. Sir Goodwin had shown Janie once thinking she was drugged. She wasn’t. Kate followed with the large case. Down they went. At the foot of the stairs was a corridor. It went on and on.

The old metal door. Janie froze. Katrina didn’t. Sir Goody’s secret playroom… During WWII and for much of the Cold War, the soundproofed underground chamber had served as an off book MI6 secret interrogation center. The door had been left cracked. She peered through and purred, “Daniels is hooded and secured to the rack.”

“Good they bought it.” Kate reached into Katrina’s left boot. “Mind if I have the first dance?” The shaft of light illuminated the chrome stiletto.

Janie needed to see—the monster’s face. “He’s there, Papa.” The monster was the Primary. Karla’s head was masked in the same inflated black and red latex horn spiked hood. Karla and Sir Goodwin were well engaged in the debauchery of—bloody fuck. Katrina recognized the young doll’s body. Like Daniels, Petra’s head was encased in a well worn leather sensory deprivation hood. The same one Janie had been made to wear as a child. Petra and Daniels had no idea anyone else had joined the party. They entered just as the violins paused.

Kate said, “Come at a bad time, did we?” Sir Katherine’s KGB stiletto was shown prominent.

Katrina turned to Sir Goodwin and added, “Mum sends her warmest, as did Jack.”

Karla caught sight of the boots. The uppers were laced all the way up Katrina’s thighs. The twin gold shields and swords were on display. Their significance registered. This was a KGB revenge kill—and long overdue to boot.

Karla shouted something unintelligible in Russian then withdrew, wiping her greasy fist against Petra’s sore ass as she searched for a weapon—any weapon. Spotting a spreader bar, she grabbed it and swung. The silver heel filled her line of sight. The residual anal lube made her hand too slippery and numb to maintain a secure grip. Kate’s right boot easily deflected the bar before puncturing the inflated hood. Karla wretched in pain as her left eyeball exploded like a grape against the inside of the hood. A split second later, the monster’s latex horns had deflated—not a pretty sight. The monster went down, but not for the last time.

“Ouch!” said Katrina the GoodKnight, advancing to find Petra still astride, “Uncle Simon.” Her kill hand lifted, taking Petra by the wrist. Hot and clammy. Pulse—rapid. Nipples—stimulated—L699. “You bloody bastard!”

Petra appeared heavily drugged. She kept riding Sir Goodwin, who was still tickling her flat stomach. Katrina’s kill hand quickly found its mark and choked. Sir Goodwin gagged as more drool dripped past his ball gag. Payback’s a bitch. Katrina closed her eyes and listened. The London philharmonic was playing, Elgar's Violin Concerto in B minor. Eyes open—past the old hi-fi and the stack of old records—

Jane Sterling returned and saw her first love. Her one-armed rubber doll was alive and seated on the old leather sofa. Thirty years of repression fled. She recognized her long lost childhood playmate from the orphanage. Sarah… She let go of Sir Goodwin’s neck.

“I’ve waited two lifetimes for this.” Senator Winter got up and stepped into the light.

Katrina responded. “Us too. Sorry we kept missing each other.” She went to pacify Daniels, still bound to the rack and oblivious. “Not very sporting, is it love?” She gave the deaf, dumb and blind double agent a quick prick and got back to, the Game…

Sarah was already moving toward the case. “Did you bring it?”

“We did; and the extra batteries, as you requested.” Kate opened the Big-boy’s case.

“Good. Get the motherfucker ready.” Sarah wasn’t bitchy, just assertive.

Katrina and Kate pulled the Petra doll off, “Sir Wimpy.” Kate checked that his good hand was cuffed solidly to the chair. They lugged Petra, legs kicking, to the sofa and left her with a little prick of her own.

“Nighty-nights baby doll.” Katrina removed Petra’s isolation hood and gave her a GoodKnight kiss.

Kate turned back to— “Fuck!”

Katrina released from Petra’s soft lips to see—Sir Goodwin had sprouted a new leg and arm. He was standing, pants down, drawn and cocked; his old PPK—the muzzle flashed. He had fired, striking Kate in the chest. Katrina shouted, “Papa!”

“Katrina!” Kate went numb. She couldn’t believe it. She’d been shot by, “The Breed—”

Papa-Six was down.

Katrina charged. The dragon shot fire. A second round sizzled by so close it melted the rubber at her neck. The Black KAT kept coming. He pulled the trigger. Nothing… His old weapon wasn’t up to the task. The old relic of the Cold War had jammed. Stay calm girl. Katrina closed the short distance in a blur. Her left leg flew and so did the PPK. Papa’s GoodKnight had disarmed the Breeder with a single blow to the groin. After securing Sir Goodwin over the spanking horse, she went to check on Kate. “Papa.”

Papa’s Return

Arlington National Cemetery Arlington, VA, Thursday, 11 June, 20:22 local

Dame Jane stood before Sir Katherine’s grave. Waiting for last light, she displayed the bottle of Old Pulteney. “I liberated this from the bastard’s study.” From her bag she produced two tumblers and poured to each a healthy measure. “Neat. I remembered; you like yours neat.” One glass of the ninety-two proof single malt sat atop Sir Katherine’s marker. “For you, Papa.” Dame Jane raised her own and began the toast. “To those who have fallen.” She drank it down then poured each another. “May their souls always hover above us, ever watchful—you’ve returned.”

Sir Katherine’s wounded soul stepped from her side and towards the setting sun to take her whisky in hand. They raised their glasses and together as one, continued, “Let the GoodKnights of Blachmann protect the innocent from all that is evil on this good earth.” They empted the bottle and laid it with themselves beside their parent’s graves. The darkness came and reclaimed its GoodKnight’s souls.

Miss Jane Sterling woke late the next morning, still alive. More surprising was where she woke up—room 869. Last night was another black hole. She sniffed the air. Rubber and vinyl. Both dolls are gone. She remembered nothing after, the grave… Katrina had laid herself to rest beside Sir Katherine. The GoodKnights of Blachmann had kept the promise each made to Papa a lifetime ago. The senator’s family secret was again protected and Jane Sterling had her life back. For how long was anyone’s guess. She glanced at the clock. I’m bloody late.

Too Bloody Late

The Town and Country, Friday 12 June, 13:05 local

Jane looked and felt like a million pounds sterling as she checked her watch. Too bloody late. She marched in. “Hey mate, what’s wrong? You look . . .” like shit.

Pete stayed focused on his newspaper. “You’re late, again.” He sounded gruff. He hadn’t slept or shaved in days and was still in search of that haircut. “Winter couldn’t wait. Healthcare reform.”

“You’re welcome. Something amiss?”

“Yah, you too.” He looked up from the Times and removed his readers, clearly taken aback by the new Jane. He regrouped. “Nice hair. Just sat down. Glad you’re back. So… how’d it go? What happened last night?”

“Flight back was a little bumpy. The rest is in the report. Let’s eat, I’m starved.” She dropped, Jane’s bag, and was on the move.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s…go!” Something wasn’t right. Katrina GoodKnight wasn’t as laid to rest as Jane Sterling thought and Pete had hoped. Following closely, he checked her out all the way to the rest room. They returned to find their server, Mary, pouring coffee. Pete kept a bead on Katrina’s kill hand—just in case. He was staring.

“What?”

“How long’s it been?” He couldn’t get the grin off.

“You know exactly.”

“Oh yah, I remember. Your girlfriend’s blade was stuck in my knee.”

“Said she was sorry.” Jane shrugged. “I’ll miss her.”

Pete’s face drained. “Yeah, me too. Shit happens.” He lifted his coffee and said, “Mom always told me, never startle a sleeping KAT.” He thought better and let it drop. “Want some toast with jam or something?”

KK… “No.”

“Want some cream for that?”

“No!” She lifted the very hot black coffee and gazed deep under its steamy ripples. “She got me fat, you know.”

“Look, Jane! We never meant for it to last this long.”

“You said two years, tops. Remember?”

“Yah I know. A little thing called Nine-eleven got in the way. I’m sorry—”

“Ten bloody years!” She tuned Uncle Pete out and dove into the naked reflection in the waves. She found herself some ten years back—The Paris apartment—a KGB safehouse. I was so bloody young. Waist was a good bit thinner. Hair longer. Blonder too—Ja, Boris’ favorite. My tits were firmer, my bloody arse tighter. Jane laughed. She couldn’t shake the Brit out. Hell, my bloody legs even seemed longer. It was still dark. Was it that night? She stepped out on to the balcony. It was nearly midnight. The city… just coming alive. The Eiffel… Boris stepped from the bedroom closed the door and let her robe fall. Only a nightmare baby. Naked but for Papa’s boots and… There’s still time. She shouted, “Don’t let them take my princess—”

“Jane?” Pete grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Our daughter is safe.”

Boris took my hand. Come back my “Mata Hari.” This must be our last time. “You promised Papa—”

“Hey Jane! You alright?” Pete squeezed harder.

“Wait my love—What?” She was back and dripping in—Papa… “Shit!” She pulled the sloppy cup of Papa—Boris touched her lips. She tasted bitter. She’d been burned by, “Boris.” She put the hot cup of Boris down for fear MH might burn herself. She looked at “Pete.” A storm was brewing. Something was very wrong. The man-eater wasn’t back in her repose.

Pete pretended not to notice Jane’s brief departure. “So, did you leave the rubber slut’s butch gagging for more last night?”

“More? Will you ever grow up?” Jane couldn’t remember last night or anything else since boarding the Blachmann Citation on Monday.

“Yeah, I’ll grow up, Cougar.” In a blink, Pete flipped, “When you come clean, Tiger!”

“Thought I did.” She placed the little brown bottle on the table. “Sam said every six and nine. She said it was for my doll. I assume since we’re both here, all went as planned?”

“That’s’ right.” He grabbed the bottle and choked down a mouthful. “Just testing.” He went on in a more pleasing tone. “That gas explosion?” He reloaded his coffee. “Your little bargirl’s place, last week?”

“Yeah?” She kept an eye on the bottle.

He shook his head. Na. “Your please-lick-me gift was a bomb.”

Long perfect nails clawed at the table. “Fuck you say?” Her colored words quickly drew the attention of several patrons—four of which were on Pete’s DSS payroll. What was her name? She could taste the vile coming up.

“Easy, Cougar.” Hands raised, Pete hoped she could keep it and her Tiger down. He continued in a lowered tone. “It wasn’t your fault. Lady Jack’s makeup gift was rigged to blow you all out of the sky. Hey, you took your meds, right?”

She choked the vile taste back down, nodded affirm. “I killed her?”

“Na. No one croaked, this time. Lucky for you Pretty Patty works for me. I put her on your naughty bargirl. The Nina doll was feeding you two the KAT-nip. Anyway, I had to play her; and you until I was sure you two weren’t faking the disassociation. Sorry. . . Jane?”

“Yeah, it’s me. How long was she loose?”

“Your BFF? About six months, give or take.”

“Due much damage, did she?”

Pete glanced at the newspaper. “Nothing the Council and old Uncle Pete can’t fix.” He tapped the photo. “You two made the front page.” Above it the headline read, Sir Goody Dead in Secret Sex Chamber. Details Too Shocking for Print. The story that followed gave several details including a lengthy description of the enormous powered dildo found lodged in his rectum, “still running.” Scotland Yard rules deaths accidental. The on-scene investigator was quoted, “Appears to have been a sadomasochistic sex orgy gone bollocks.” See related story on page six. “Hey Janie, what’s bollocks mean?” He flipped to page six.

Bollocks… Jane’s eyes closed.

Pete reviewed the related story.

Katrina was back in the secret underground chamber. Sir Katherine was at her side, standing before the real monster. Sir Katherine was bleeding from her chest. Take my blade, kitten. Fear gave way to anger as the chrome blade plunged deeper into the monster’s groin. Warm… The GoodKnight of Blachmann lifted its evil seed pod. I swung the blade. Blood… So much blood. I licked my lips. “Tastes sweet…” The blood of evil tasted sweet. The monster’s lips moved. Please. “It said please.” The evil bastard wasn’t dead. “You didn’t say Simon says.” The blade slipped deep between its evil lips. Such a long tongue. “Sarah was powerless without my voice.”

“Was it as sweet as you two dreamed?”

Her eyes flickered. “Sweet?” She licked her lips. “Yes.” Especially sweet to slay the monster that helped breed Papa’s sweet kittens for such evil.

“Says here you marked him.”

“Yes, the traitor.” Yes Papa, I shall mark it. Blood—I need more blood. Sir Goody has blood. I went to him and stuck the blade deep. Once removed, I checked to see—Papa’s blade ran red. Now press it to the traitor’s forehead. All done—Karla’s like would know: To all that dare cross the KGB, beware for the GoodKnights of Blachmann will hunt you down.

I heard Sarah call out. We’re leaving. We found my Sir Katherine doll. We found your Natasha too. Right where you said she would be.

Katrina, let’s go. Shit baby! What did you do to him? I looked up to see Sir Katherine’s displeased eyes. “Uncle Simon wouldn’t shut up.” But, you promised Papa—

“Hey Jane, what’s bollocks mean?”

“What… Bollocks?” She looked Pete in the eye. “To mess up, spoil, ball up, to muck up. You know, like fucked up beyond all repair.”

His pocket buzzed. Pete finished his coffee and pulled out his trusty old Blackberry. “Council finished reviewing the After-Action. We still need to take care of something. Sorry, Jane, it’s protocol.”

He grabbed her bag and began the search. Once past the sparkling lingerie, but before the pink card, Pete found what he was looking for and pocketed both NSA issued iPhones and Jane Smith’s passport. “Remember the deal. No contact with anyone. You’re both dead now. Understand?” He showed her page six of the Times. His knee ached.

Search for Russian Tycoon Suspended. Was Mistress’ Death Suicide?

The search for a private jet, U. S. registry N699BA, reported missing on the ninth, over the North Atlantic was suspended due to hostile weather and high seas. The jet was en route to London from Iceland when it radioed to Shanwick there was smoke in the cabin and they were “attempting a wet landing.” As of today, all souls are presumed lost. Reported to be on board was Krump Industries’ CEO Heinrich von Krump the Sixth. Also lost in the apparent tragedy was Krump’s chief pilot, Captain Boris Schumacher, and copilot, First Officer Jane Smith. FAA records indicate the jet, a Cessna Citation X, was owned by a Blachmann Academy but had recently been leased to Krump Industries. When reached by phone, a spokesperson for Krump Industries, Berlin HQ, would make no comment. Later that same day Krump’s long-time mistress, the Lady Jacqueline Churchill, was found dead in Krump’s London flat. At this time the authorities have released no other details. Well-placed sources have reported that all evidence points to a love-lost suicide. The whereabouts of Herr Krump and Lady Jacqueline’s daughter, the Countess Kristin von Krump—believed to be the sole surviving heir to the reclusive tycoon’s global empire—are presently unknown.

“Wilco. But Krump’s German.”

“Whatever… Snow’s waiting on your jet, as promised.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“No, Janie. It’s checkmate. The game’s over. Oh yah, secretary sends her compliments.” He handed over the two new UN-issued passports. Their red jackets indicated diplomatic immunity. “The New Order sails tonight. Be on it. Oh yah, I sent you two a little present. Thought you’d like her?”

“Right.” The sacked GoodKnight left with her DSS shadows in tow.

 Pleasure Having You

The Blachmann hangar at KPSM, 16:55 local

Her six months in schizophrenic hell were nearly over. Ricki had her Ilsa and the letters of transit. They had actually made it out of Casablanca alive. The Stiletto has-been pawed at her quiet-as-a-mouse traveling companion as the Black Gulfstream taxied to the apron.

The hangar’s massive doors were fully open. Parked inside, the King Air 200—a twin engine turboprop and, Boris old Su-29—a Russian built two seat acrobatic aircraft. Unexpectedly, a third aircraft was also parked inside. There was no mistaking it, not with that neon pink strip and K on its tail feathers. KK! Gentle Jane was gone in a flash. Silently seething, she sat there, like a volcano quietly building pressure. Miss Jane had someone that needed doing. Mistress Sterling pulled on her boots and gave her Natasha doll a smile. Her eyes were his Jane. “Bloody hell!”

“Something wrong, Miss Sterling?” The distracting and attractive copilot pushed opened the jet’s door, lowered the stairs, and said, “Pleasure having you on board today, Miss White. I’ll get your bags and load them in the car.” She stepped out first, then offered a hand.

The attendant greeted them just outside the hangar. “Welcome back, Miss Sterling. Your new Aston’s over there.” He pointed past the pink jet.

“Aston? Thought I’d requested Miss Wright meet us with the Rolls?” Jane had a pretty good idea who had taken it. KK!

“Affirmative ma’am. A Vantage V-twelve. Super-nice ride. Arrived late yesterday afternoon. Came in on a KrumpAir Seven-four Freighter. Was their only cargo. We dropped it and they turned and burned. Said they had to be in DC pronto for a sendoff. Customs cleared it this morning. Bet it cost them more to fly it here than it’s worth; all the way from England. Man, don’t them Brits know there’s a recession? Must be nice.”

Jane gave the attendant a look of concern.

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s clean. Dan checked her over earlier today. Nothing ticking, except the clock. The keys are in the console. Oh, there’s a card. It’s with the keys. Hope you don’t mind. She took me for a little spin. Man, that kid can drive.”

“Right. Describe the pilots?”

“The pilots? Beats me, ma’am. They—”

“Never left the cockpit.”

“Yes, ma’am. We talked over the comm.” He pointed at the VHF radio strapped to his belt.

“Right. Lovely. Shall we, Miss White?”

“Mind if I visit the toilet first? I’m a little nervous.”

“Not at all, love. I’ll collect you ’round front then.”

The hangar attendant guided Natasha to the rest room. Jane headed direct for her car. The yummy co-pilot was just closing the boot. She thanked her with a warm hug. The new co-pilot headed back to the black jet. Steady old girl, you’re in a committed relationship.

Back in the driver’s seat, Jane opened the console. “Bloody fuck me!” There it was—another red envelope—MH—this time without the ominous artwork. Once more, Boris’s ghost was reaching out. She read the card.

Hey Baby,

My Natasha doll is in the boot. Keep her close.

Sorry about the baby.

Our princess is still in danger. Protect her always.

Remember love, you promised Papa you’d be good.

Yours always,

K.

PS: The Aston was all KK’s idea. Think someone’s still in love.

“Bloody hell—we are.” Jane stuffed her prevaricator back into its red crypt and dropped it into, the bag. KK’s card… Later Baby. Press the bloody start button! The powerful V12 roared. Someone selected first and mashed the gas. Two streaks of black marked the KAT’s twin tails on the meticulously polished floor. The scent of burnt rubber aroused each nostril as the Aston sped up until screeching to a stop out front.

Miss White was waiting. She made a misstep before realizing the Aston was right-hand drive. The attendant got the door.

“Get in, baby.” Jane wasn’t letting her doll get away. She’s my doll! No. Not this time, baby!

Clunk… The doors locked.

Natasha sensed a change. “Jane? Everything okay?”

“Yes, love. Smashing!” Nearing a boil, someone needed to reduce the heat. “Mind your restraint, love.” The kill hand raced past the doll’s chest in a blur.

Startled, Natasha gasped.

Click…

“Thank you, Miss Jane?” squeaked the captive mouse.

“Just Jane, my love.” The surefooted Aston screeched away—wet pavement. “Don’t want to miss tea with our old friends. Now do we, love?”

So, Can We Play the Game Again?

The veranda, 17:05 local

Catherine sat with Miss Christi, enjoying high tea. Off to the east, the ocean was angry. Far out to sea, a thunderstorm was crying itself to bed. The tide had turned. They listened as the incoming waves pounded the rocks. The salty air was full with tension. Behind the storm, the few-days-past-full moon edged up over the horizon. “So, after dinner, can we play the game again—Chessex? MK couldn’t wait for their evening to begin. “And you’re sure, she’s bringing my boots?”

“Yes my dear. But I do sense a stormy night building.”

Catherine-Katrina was feeling a little stormy herself. She’d completed a second week of driving and dancing lessons—could almost manage the reasonable waltz. She’d also taken her first spin on a pole. Best of all, she discovered there was nothing wrong with liking girls.

“Is Mistress Sterling’s plane late?” Catherine sipped her tea and longed for her tormentor’s speedy return. Dani has totally dropped the Miss Bossy attitude. Danielle was way more than another pretty face and hairless hot slippery bod.

Earlier that day, just before their shower, Danielle had introduced MK to her new pet—a dragon. It wasn’t loaded, but, when she let Catherine touch it—Dani’s paws got more than a little hot—and sticky too. Miss Black was pretty sure that Miss Wright wanted to keep their little romp that followed a secret. That was fine with MK. Catherine was also good at keeping secrets. She made up their minds. She couldn’t wait to get in that crib with, Dani… Tonight… Yeah, Dani would meet the whole Miss Catherine-Katrina Black. Threesome… Oh yeah, baby. Shut up!

Miss Christi sipped her tea and said, “They’ll be along soon, my dear.”

A wanting eye was soon attracted to the main gate. “Look, Miss Christi! They’re coming!” Catherine stood, pointing to the Rolls.

“Yes dear, right on time.”

The Rolls sped past, around to the rear and pulled straight into the Carriage House.

“Hey, where’re they going? Who was that in the back?”

“A surprise, my dear.”

17:21 local

“Hello,” said KK as she and Danielle joined them on the veranda.

“Hey, you’re like, that chick from that—that night in New York.”

“Ja, ja. So lovely to see you again too, Miss Black.” KK latched on, kissing her hand.

“Hey, aren’t you?…” Catherine’s brow jumped. “You’re like, that super-rich chick! Oh-my-God, it’s you! From the magazines, right? Your dad is like, the tenth-richest guy in like, the world or something. Where’s the pink?”

KK had traded the Barbie clothes for a KrumpAir hostess uniform. She checked herself out and giggled. “Ninth. Ja. Papa has been most successful.”

Catherine gave a hair flip and said, “Sooo, like, what are you doing here?” Like to play some Chessex with that little ass… Yeah, maybe—

“I’ve come to visit Miss Christi; to ask a favor, of you. Ja.”

“Huh?”

“Ja. Would you like to be my, Miss Wet?”

“What?” Keep talking.

“Yes, my new top girl. Petra is unable to—” KK interrupted herself. “Well you see, her mama just died. Ja. So sad; I know. But, I remembered how attractive you are.”

Catherine felt more than just Barbie’s eyes pawing her. “Hey!” She swatted KK’s hand from a raised hem.

“Ja. Papa says you have just what we need.”

“We? Um, I don’t think my mom will let me. She says models are all whores and lesbians. She wicked hates them.”

“Rubbish. Ja, your mama loves—”

“Would you like some tea, Miss Kristin? You look chilled.” Miss Christi didn’t like where that was going.

“Hey, who’s that?” Catherine rose to her feet and pointed at the speeding car. “Wish I could drive one that went that fast.”

“Looks like Miss Jane, babe,” offered Danielle.

“What?” KK was trembling. “Miss Jane? Here?” She ran to the railing and braced.

“Yes, dear. I do believe I mentioned Mistress Sterling was expected for the weekend.”

“Nein.” KK stood in shock, staring at the Aston climbing the drive. “Does she know we are here?”

Danielle answered, “Isn’t your Gulfstream parked in the hangar?”

Catherine was all too happy to see she wasn’t the only one that feared the hand of Sterling.

“Miss Christi, please?” KK was trembling. “Do something!”

“You have your own fricken jet?” asked Catherine.

“Yes, and I’d like to take you for a ride in it all the way to England.”

“KK, aren’t you forgetting Miss Jane?” reminded Danielle as the chariot approached.

KK stood stiff, bound by fear as Miss Jane quickened her pulse. Danielle and Catherine took a position to either side; their hands clutched the railing with excitement, anticipating the unfolding drama. The Aston squealed to a stop right below them. Inside, all appeared calm. The engine growled.

“Ja England, let’s go, now!” All was not calm with KK.

Catherine called out, “Who’s that with her?” She couldn’t quite see the passenger’s face.

Miss Jane set the brake but left the engine running. “Please stay in the car dear. I’ll leave the music on. This won’t take but a minute, my love.”

KK was shaking as the driver’s door opened.

Jane stepped out, closed the door politely, looked up and growled, “What are you doing here?” Her tone was stern but controlled as she glared at KK.

“Hi, Miss Jane. I—” KK leaned forward and presented ample cleavage as she teetered over the heavy railing, and waved. “Miss Jane? Where’d she go?” She turned, grasping the girls for support.

Both weren’t talking. KK swung around, lost her balance, then fell out of her new six-inch platform heels—Daffidile by Louboutin. “Help!” The damsel-in-distress act might have meant her going over, but she wasn’t about to risk her newest and tallest stilettos.

Catherine caught hold first. “I got you!” A firm grip was eagerly applied to KK’s bustline. Oh yeah.

KK leaned into Catherine’s grip and swooned, “Please help me, Miss—”

Mistress Sterling cut her off. “You just wait young lady! Wait till I get up there!” Like a well-lubed machine, she marched up the front steps and past Maria and politely said, “Hello, sweetie,” then stomped into the foyer and shouted, “Where’s me bloody paddle!” Loud enough to be heard in England, her words echoed throughout the house. “Oh. Thank you, Maria.” She took firm hold of the Enforcer from the ever helpful Maria and continued the march up the stairs.

Twelve agonizing seconds later, the door to the veranda opened.

“Hi, Miss Jane.” KK was all KK smiles.

“Don’t you bloody hi Miss Jane me! I told you, never to come here!”

KK leaned into Catherine’s warm grip—for support, and attempted to explain. “I’m sorry, Ja. I—”

The Enforcer advanced.

Catherine let go, stepped aside for MK. “May I assist you, Mistress Sterling?”

KK pleaded, “Miss Christi! Please don’t let her hurt me. Tell her!” She had her back against the railing. Mistress neared. KK clung to Catherine just as a rogue wave was heard crashing over the rocks.

Miss Christi reminded, “Told you it might get stormy, my dear.”

“Don’t want to disobey Miss Jane, do we, Kat?” said Danielle, bursting with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” cried KK covering her now-timid bottom with both hands.

“Oh yes, it is!” bellowed Kat, joining in. Even Miss Christi let slip a chuckle.

“Ja, okay, I promised; I wouldn’t come. Ja, but.” KK ran and hid behind Miss Christi.

Jane backed off, lowering the Enforcer to her side. “Come here, princess.” She tapped it against her angry boot.

KK shook her head, nein.

Mistress shook hers, ja.

“But you said—you were going back to DC. Ja.” Red-faced and crying, KK pleaded, “But you promised.”

“I did go to DC. Not that it’s your business where Miss Jane goes.” Her eyes intensely followed the terrified girl around the veranda. It didn’t take long before she had KK securely by her boney arm. “Is it, princess?”

“Nein, Mistress. Please, I’m sorry.” KK didn’t resist. Not her Jane—not the woman she loved.

“Come with me, young lady.” She marched KK over to the love seat and sat, dropped the doll across her lap and lifted the black leather mini.

“Please, Miss Jane!” KK pulled it back down. “I—”

“Lift. Well? One! Good girl. Now the panties…One!”

“It’s a thong?” Everyone but Mistress Sterling found that slightly amusing.

She looked her disloyal subject over. “Right. You were expecting us. Next time you promise Miss Jane, you keep your promise!”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

She struck KK’s all-too-familiar bony bottom with the Enforcer set for a rapid-fire three-stroke burst.

“Ouch!” KK knew this wasn’t their usual fun and games. “Ja, ja, I promise.”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Next time, you’ll remember.” She delivered another, Whack! “Won’t you?”

All the gold in the world couldn’t help KK now. She shouted, “Papa! Please Papa! Stop, you’re hurting me!”

The lesson was abruptly halted. The Enforcer fell from Jane’s hand. “What did you say?”

KK said nothing and picked herself up then reached for the Enforcer. Her eyes begged for her Miss Jane to return. Jane appeared confused. Both sought out Miss Christi. Neither said a word. Miss Christi waited, and hoped that Jane could reconnect.

KK couldn’t wait. “Miss Jane, did you get Papa’s gift?”

“Papa’s gift? Yes, that. She’s lovely. Perhaps Miss Jane was a bit hasty.”

“Bit hasty! I won’t sit for a bloody week.” KK rubbed her bum and backed off.

Miss Christi feared the worst. “Girls, please be a dear and escort our Miss Krump up to the Cauldron for a soak.”

“Yes Mum, right away.” Danielle understood and took KK’s hand.

“This place fricken rocks!” Catherine didn’t.

Everyone but Catherine was staring at Mistress Sterling. Her face had a faraway look. She was completely lost in the fog.

“Sorry. I mean, yes, Miss Christi.” Catherine latched on KK’s free arm and started for the door.

“Wait!” KK stopped, pulled free and ran to the railing. “Who’s that?”

Miss Christi made haste in pulling KK back from view. “An old friend of Mistress Sterling’s. You’ll meet her at dinner dear.” Miss Christi looked at Catherine and went on, “Oh dear, I almost forgot. Miss Black, you don’t mind sharing Miss Wright’s bedchambers for a few nights, do you, my dear?”

“Now this place totally fricken rocks. I mean, yes, Miss Christi.”

KK pouted, “And where shall I be sleeping?”

Miss Christi growled, “Perhaps, the dungeon, Miss Krump?”

KK realized maybe now was not the best time to review the sleeping arrangements. “Come girls, I’ll tell you all about my awful week in Paris.” She gave a catty look then snapped her neck around to steal Catherine. “Come, kittens. We lay together, in the bubbles, oui?” KK giggled and added, “Perhaps I may teach you kittens some of the language of love. Oui?”

“French lessons?”  I’m in fricken Les Heaven.

“Oui.” KK and the girls were off to the bubbles and jets.

Janie had returned. She spoke in broken German. “Mama, I’m very tired.”

“Yes, dear, let Mama get you to bed before Papa returns.”

Your Natasha Is

The North Tower Keep, 18:15 local

Miss Christi worked to undress Jane’s tattered body. She helped her little kitten go potty then got her zipped into a blue satin night dress. “Your Natasha is a beautiful princess, dear.” She handed Jane the old broken Bild Lilli doll.

“Yes, Mama. The most beautiful.”

“Shall we get Papa’s bravest little GoodKnight into bed?”

“Yes, Mama. I’m very tired. Has Papa returned from England yet?”

“Yes, dear, Papa is back. She brought your doll back. Now drink your milk, dear.”

“Do I have to? I want Papa to sing me to sleep.”

“Yes dear, rules are rules.”

Jane stared into the glass. “It’s forever this time?”

“Yes dear, Forever Sleep. You and your little princess must go to sleep now. Drink your milk dear.”

“We didn’t mean to break Sir Goody too.” She looked at her fantasy princess, then drank.

“I know that, dear. The whole glass. That’s Papa’s good girl.”

“Why you so sad, Mama? Papa’s back. See?” She pulled her old doll tight and smiled.

Miss Christi kissed both broken dolls goodnight. Stepping back, she found a tissue in her pocket to wipe her tears. She reached for the light switch, closed her eyes and said, “Happy dreams, my bravest GoodKnight.”

“Oh, Mum, please don’t. I want to see Papa’s return.”

“You will my dear, very soon.” Miss Christi left the light burning and pulled the door. A moment later, she heard Jane singing.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy, you—”

Miss Christi noted the time: Six-thirty, then went below to check on the new baby.