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Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: As secretary to private eye Paul Ingersoll, Calico Forney longed to get involved in his cases and become a gumshoe herself. But Ingersoll warned her to stick to her secretarial duties and keep her nose out of his work. Cali thought she saw her opportunity to help when Paul was asked to locate a missing mobster's girlfriend. Humiliatingly, Cali found herself tied up by goons who searched Paul's office, and more humiliatingly yet, was discovered bound helplessly by Paul when he returned. His reaction to the sight revealed a new side of him to Cali. For Paul was a dom, and seeing her bound aroused him. He tied her tighter and soon was making passionate love to her. Cali found herself under his spell and Paul's willing slave. It looked like a happy ending. Fade out. Then the missing moll turned up and Cali was abducted by a crew of deviant thugs who knew no restraint.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: March 2009

7 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [186 KB]
Words: 37920
Reading time: 108-151 min.

CHAPTER 1: ALL TIED UP AT WORK

The hallway was utterly dark. Calico Forney felt her way along, touching the textured wallpaper like a blind person reading braille. Her heartbeat quickened as she wondered why the lights had gone out. Was it a trap? Was someone lurking in the total blackness ahead of her? A huge burly man no doubt, listening to her footsteps approach, ready to pounce and grab her.

The possibility was all too real. The mob knew she was onto them, that she was getting too close. She paused and strained to hear the wheeze of a beefy goon's breathing. But if anyone was there, he was being very, very quiet indeed. Not that it would help her now if she heard anything. With her slight, five-foot-four frame she'd be no match for him. And her snug, below-the-knee skirt and heels would be less than helpful if she needed to make a run for it.

But despite her worries, she took a deep breath and continued on. Her mission was too important to abandon it now. She tried to tiptoe, but the clack of her heels on the tile floor seemed as loud as gunshots rebounding off the walls. Where was that door? she wondered. She should be close. Ah, there it is! Turning the knob, she stepped inside the equally darkened room and closed the door behind her. But before she had a chance to reach for the light switch a voice boomed out of the darkness.

"Calico! Is that you?"

"Oh!" she squealed in surprise. "I--I didn't realize you'd be in so early, Mr. Ingersoll."

Her fingers instantly found the switch and she flipped the lights on. Standing in the doorway leading from the reception area to his inner office stood her employer, Paul Ingersoll, Private Investigator. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot with annoyance.

"How many times have I told you not to turn out the lights like that?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Too many times. That's how many."

"I know, sir, it's just that--"

"Don't start, young lady. I pay you for your secretarial skills, not to play imaginary detective on your way into the office."

Calico hung her head, blushing and gnawing nervously at a miscellaneous cuticle. "It doesn't really hurt anything," she protested, "and I always turn the lights on again as soon as I, you know, 'find' my way in." That much was true. Ingersoll's office was the only one on the second floor of the run down little building, and she usually beat her boss to work by at least thirty minutes. So who did it harm?

"Nevertheless," he said, "it's a childish thing to do. You know perfectly well that kind of skulking around isn't what I do anyway. Just those silly notions you get from the movies and TV."

She nodded, and peeked up, batting the lashes of her big green eyes at him and letting a hesitant smile creep onto her white glossed lips. Predictably, his frown softened and his shoulders relaxed.

"Anyway," he said, "now that you're here, get me the Blankenship file."

"Yes, sir."

Ingersoll disappeared into his office, and she headed to the file cabinet. The drawers were mostly empty, and the file in question was the only one under "B". One thing she'd never had to complain about since taking this job was being overworked.

After delivering the file to Ingersoll, she sat at her desk, arranged the pens and paper clips, switched on the shiny new IBM Selectric typewriter so it would be ready when she needed it, and then she sat back with an emery board to do her nails and daydream. As usual, her thoughts turned first to her inscrutable boss. He had had his tie loosened and his top button undone, as he typically did in the office, and the tiny tuft of chest hair visible within the "V" of the open shirt always made her tummy flutter, no matter how many times she saw it. That small sign of the manliness that lay beneath his always cool exterior never failed to get to her.

It was silly, she knew. He was far too old for her. He had to be well over thirty, at least, and she was barely out of secretarial school. But it wasn't as if he didn't find her attractive. In fact, he had made it clear from the start that one of the reasons he was giving her a chance over the more experienced girls was that she was so "easy on the eyes," as he put it.

But eying her was all her seemed interested in doing! He had never once made so much as a suggestive remark to her in the six months she'd worked for him. She sighed loud enough for him to hear her. Or so she thought. There was no response. He was very good at ignoring her when he felt like it.

Of course, her own reason for applying for the job had been just as shallow as his for hiring her. When she had seen the want ad, she had imagined working for a P.I. would be glamorous and exciting, and furthermore thought it would be kind of "groovy" working for a P.I. whose initials were P.I.

"Cali," he called to her from his office. "Come in and take a letter."

"Yes, sir." She grabbed her steno pad and hurried in. It was a routine, perfunctory letter to a client, Blankenship, reminding him that payment was well past due. She had it typed and ready for Mr. Ingersoll to sign in five minutes.

The rest of the morning dragged on. She read a magazine meant for teens, keeping up with the latest news of the "Fab Four." She may be twenty-twenty and a half to be exact-but she could swoon over John, Paul, George and Ringo as well as any sixteen-year-old.

Around eleven o'clock, Ingersoll emerged from his office. "I need to run an errand, Cali. Back in about half an hour."

"Where are you going?"

"Someplace you don't need to know, doll."

She thrust her lower lip out in the pout that she knew he hated. "I wish you'd tell me more about what you actually do," she sulked.

He simply laughed as he turned toward the door. "See you later," he called as he shut the door behind him.

"Gosh darn him!" she said aloud, throwing the magazine at the closed door. If he was half as good at investigating as he was at ignoring her, he'd have to be the best detective in town.

She could still hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway, when the phone rang. "Paul Ingersoll's office," she said into the mouthpiece. She waited for a response. "Hello?" Still nothing. She waited another few seconds, then shrugged and hung up the phone.

People should at least say something when they get the wrong number, she thought. After picking up her magazine, she sat back and flipped to the page where she had left off.

Five minutes later, the door swung open and two men entered. Immediately, she set the magazine down and looked up, smiling. "May I help you?"

"Yeah. We're here to see Ingersoll."

"Oh, well, Mr. Ingersoll is out right now. But if you take a seat, I expect him back any moment."

"Izzat so? Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"Whaddaya mean, ya don't know?"

"I'm sorry, but he didn't tell me where he was going."

While the first man spoke to her, the other circled around and peered into his office. She followed him with her peripheral vision, peeved that they so obviously didn't believe her.

"She's right," the second man announced. "He ain't here."

The first man advanced quickly to Cali's desk, planted both hands on it and leaned toward her. "You better tell us where he went!"

Scooting back on her wheeled chair, she gasped and said, "I told you, I don't know." She couldn't believe this was happening. These guys are goons! she thought with a mixture of excitement and fear. Real live goons.

The second man stepped behind her. "Want I should refresh her memory?" he asked the first one.

Goon number one nodded ever so slightly, and goon number two instantly responded by grabbing Cali's arms and wrenching them behind her back.

"Hey!" she squealed. "You're hurting me! Uh!" She tried to pry herself free of his grip, but he held her like an iron vise.

Slowly he began twisting her captive limbs. It felt like he was determined to unscrew her arms from her shoulders. "I--I swear I don't know where he went! Ow! Please!"

At a signal from the first goon, who appeared to be the one in charge, the second one stopped twisting, but he maintained his grip on her wrists.

"When did you say he'd be back?" asked the lead goon.

"I'm not sure."

The two goons looked at each other, apparently communicating in some silent goon code. After a moment, the first one shook his head. "We don't have time. Just tie 'er up and let's beat it."

"T--Tie me up?"

The goon sneered at her, as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. "Here," he said, handing a pair of handcuffs to his partner.

"But wait!" exclaimed Cali. "You can't tie me up with handcuffs."

"Like hell we can't. We're not gonna just let you call the cops as soon as we're out the door."

"No, really, I mean, the word 'tie' implies rope or something, doesn't it?"

Both goons stopped, stepped back and stared at her.

"She's got a point," said goon number two.

"Shut up and-and-cuff her then!" shouted the lead goon.

Before Cali could say anything more the steel bands were clicked in place, locking her wrists together behind her, and the two men started for the door.

"Hey," she said.

Goon number one turned. "Now what?"

"Is that it? I can get right out of this chair, you know, and run for help. And I can scream, too."

"She's got a point," said goon number two.

"Fine!" huffed the leader. He glanced around his eyes fell on the window blinds. "Come on," he said.

As they ripped down the blinds and cut the cord free, Cali became even more animated. "You can't do that! Those are good blinds! Do you have any idea how much those cost?"

"Shut up," repeated goon number one.

Together, the two men used the cord from the blinds to bind Cali's ankles together and lash them to the chair. As they did so, one of them managed to nick her hose with a hangnail.

"That's gonna run for sure," she complained.

"Oh, for the luvva--Send us the bill!" snarled the first goon.

"I will, darn it!" she said emphatically.

Again, both men headed for the door.

"I can still scream," Cali reminded them before they could open the door.

"She's got a p--"

"I know, I know! Shit!"

"Kindly watch your language," complained Cali, turning her head as if physically struck.

This time, they quickly located a roll of packing tape. "This'll do real good," said goon number two. "You got something to pack inside her mouth?"

"No. We're lucky we found the tape."

"There's a scarf in my purse," suggested Cali.

Again, the two men stopped and stared at her. Then the lead goon retrieved the scarf and balled it up. Calico turned her head away from him again and pressed her lips tightly together.

"Hey, open up," he growled.

"I never said I'd make it easy for you," she snorted.

"Why I oughtta..."

"You ought to what? Hit me? A poor defenseless girl that you've got all cuffed and tied and--hmmmph!"

Taking advantage of her tirade, the first goon shoved the scarf in her mouth and the second one quickly pressed a short strip of tape over her lips. They were almost out the door again when the leader stopped once more. He turned and studied the bound and gagged girl. "Just to be real sure," he said, as he snatched up the roll of tape.

Calico complained in earnest as he began circling her head with the tape, guiding the sticky strip right over her wavy red hair, around the other side, over her mouth again, repeating the whole process twice more. Then he used even more tape around her waist to secure her body to the chair.

At last, the two goons managed to exit the office.

Calico tugged at the cuffs and tested the cord and tape holding her in place. This is so exciting, she thought. Mob goons actually tied me up! Just like in the--No, she corrected herself. Not like in the movies. Just like real life. This is real life! What would Mr. Ingersoll have to say for himself now?

It was just too bad that she hadn't delayed them long enough for him to return. He would have shown them a thing or two!

But as the minutes ticked by she realized that she was really stuck now, and she really didn't have any idea when he'd be back.

Fiddlesticks! she said to herself.

If only she could get to the door. Her feet were bound up off the floor so she couldn't use them to help propel herself, so she tried rocking her weight to get the chair to roll where she wanted to go. But she quickly realized the rocking motion was more likely to tip her over then roll the chair.

Darn it! she said to herself. Guess I'd better try screaming.

"Hehhph!" she mumbled. It wasn't very effective. The sound probably didn't even make it out of the office. And if anyone did hear it, would they even know what "hehph" meant?

Soon, though, she heard footsteps again. She looked up eagerly and watched as Mr. Ingersoll stepped inside.

"Miffer Immerffoh!" she cried.

"Cali!" he exclaimed, dashing over to her. "What happened? Are you all right?"

He stooped down to untie her, but abruptly stopped short. He stood and regarded her, his eyes narrowing into a disapproving glower. "You almost had me fooled this time," he said.

"Whah?"

"Almost, but not quite. Thought you could pull me into your silly little detective game by tying yourself up, didn't you?"

"No!"

"But the cuffs gave you away, Miss Cali Forney." She hated it when he said her name like that. Was it her fault her parents had such a weird sense of humor? They had chosen her name deliberately, knowing that the shortened version, combined with their unusual last name, would sound like a slang form of "California," inspired by, of all things, an episode of The Little Rascals in which Alfalfa sang an off-key version of a song called "On the Road to Californy."

Grrr! she thought.

Meanwhile, Mr. Ingersoll continued, "It's obvious, all you did was tie your legs, then tape yourself to the chair, gag yourself, and then finally put the cuffs on your own wrists. Oldest trick in the book."

"No!" she protested again.

Just then, he noticed the ruined blinds. "At least you could have brought your own rope! That's gonna come out of your next paycheck, young lady!"

Shaking her head, she pleaded desperately. "Buh Miffer Immerffoh, I--"

"Save it!" he snapped. "And to teach you a lesson, I'm going to leave you like that until quitting time."

"Ohhh," she whimpered as he disappeared into his office. He's impossible, she shouted to herself. I hate him!

She sat there sulking and idly tugging at the cuffs. It's going to be a long afternoon, she thought. Maybe trying to delay those goons hadn't been such a good idea.