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"The Illusionist"

lzamora

TMF Expert
Joined
Feb 27, 2006
Messages
511
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An F.B.I agent goes on the hunt for a missing fetish star, only to find the parameters of the case aren't all black and white.

The Illusionist

Retraced Steps

All she could feel was the cold coming off the coarse white powder as she cupped it in her hands. Staring down at her memories, she sighed and scraped them off her palms, reuniting them with the streets and roads she’d sworn to forget. Refamiliarizing her fingers with the stale green street sign, indicating she’d arrived at her destination, she sighed yet again. The sign stood much as it had when a mere outstretched hand along its sharp bottom was all she could manage. Even the numbers, as far as she could remember, hadn’t changed. A harsh gust of wind made her hands retreat into the safety of her thick leather jacket, but even within its confines, warmth was hard to come by. Retreating to her Interceptor she danced around the truth, trying to convince herself it was the physicality of the weather that was causing such bitterness and not the now broken oath she’d made to herself all those years ago.

Traction, a tire’s best friend, was hard to come by on standard Bridgestones not equipped for the terrain. As such, there was an uncertainty in every light tap of the gas and turn of the wheel as she came upon Superior’s only hotel, aptly named, Superior Inn and Suites. A museum dedicated to accordions and a marooned Navel warship were hardly tourist attractions, keeping high-end hotel chains at bay from what they considered to be non-marketable territory.

An overview of the failing infrastructure was realization enough that the Inn was still under the same slumlord, Sam. Renowned for his penny-pinching ability, he knew how to stretch honey-do patch jobs of particle board and rusty nails to their limits.

Every aspect and every detail of the front desk was as it always had been, only now the mystery that was the top of the desk, wasn’t the allure she’d tantalized about in her youth. There wasn’t a lick of candy to be found.

Hindered by time and the monotonous rigger of life, Sam who was organizing some expired soap, popped up like a withered jack-in-the-box. It was not unlike Sam to light up when an old acquaintance would pop in unannounced, and light up he did as his eyes gazed upon the light brown blotch splat across her cheekbone.

“Dam’n well I’ll be. Jordan Flowers. Last I saw you, you was bout yay high, hair down to your waist.”

A tall, paunchy man with thin wavy hair, he hobbled around the corner of his desk to greet the girl in the woman before him.

“Ah I miss it, but long hair just isn’t practical on the job. You still stash caramel cubes in your pockets?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

The thought of those warm chewy candies made Jordan’s mouth water and evict another distant memory; a memory of a girl who’d accidentally swallowed her tooth while sucking hard on a Brach’s.

“Same ol’ Sam.”

“How’ve you been Jordan?”

“Considering the circumstances, I’ve been better.”

“Well, just so you know, them rooms on the third floor been fixed up mighty nice. I think you’ll find them much more… to your standards.”

“My standards?”

“Well, since you done left and become one of them big time F.B.I, ya know?”

“Thanks, but I’m guessing ‘my standards’ come at a steeper price tag.”

“You betcha.”

“Nice try you old skinflint, but I think it’s best I stay on the ground floor. I don’t have time to be climbing three flights of stairs, particularly when time is of the essence.”

“We have an elevator.”

“Like hell if you think I’m trusting the primitive counterweight system on that death box. You’re lucky I’m here on other business and not to condemn this shithole.”

“Woah ho-ho, feisty little thing you’ve turned out to be. Follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

Fearing a hidden fee for having the epitome of father time carry her bags, Jordan flexed her fatigued biceps and trudged along with her luggage at either side. As they approached a narrow corridor laden in pasty green pool table felt, the creaks and cracks in each step insured there would be no sneaking around in Sam’s establishment.

“This is it, right here number twelve.”

“Thank you Sam. Non-smoking, right?”

“Well about that…”

Jordan couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Don’t tell me, ‘them’s extra’?”

Sam, not amused by her spot-on imitation, folded his arms.

“What I was gonna say is that them’s all booked up.”

“All?”

“We’s only got four. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Save your breath and put those words on a sign at the front desk. It can be your motto.”

Sam huffed sending his long grey bangs skyward.

“And to think I was just about to offer you a caramel cube.”

“Joy.”

“Say, if you don’t mind me asking, what brings you back after all this time?”

Far more invested in maintaining Superior’s Mayberry like image, any case above jaywalking often led to lockjaw among local authorities. So, Sam’s unknowledge of her sister’s disappearance, came as no surprise.

“I’m a recruiter. I’m here scouting new talent, as it were.”

A notorious gossip folk like Sam would have gobbled up the truth and spread it fast. And the last thing Jordan wanted was for her sister’s captor to get spooked.

“Oh.”

Two months of rigorous interrogation training weren’t necessary to decode Sam’s sunken eyes. He was upset that a more nutritious morsel hadn’t come out her mouth.

“Recruiting? In Superior?”

“Hey you’d be surprised.”

“Just you?”

What followed was some incarnation of the truth, even if the stipulations behind its existence were different.

“Well the bureau can’t exactly spare too many agents on a detail this small, but I am expecting my partner some time tomorrow morning.”

A crisp ringing made Sam’s head swivel towards his desk where a pair of thin blonde women awaited assistance.

“Well that’s my cue. Breakfast is at seven if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks again.”

Turning as quickly as his aging body would allow, Sam walked with a crooked stride back to his desk.

Taking the physical key provided, Jordan unlocked her room and stepped inside.

A muddled image of white lunchroom walls sped through her mind as the first scent of stale cigarettes reached the tip of her nose. Another whiff placed a circle of chairs within those walls while another whiff illustrated the many faces occupying those chairs. There were old faces. There were young faces. There were women. There were men. And then there was her. She’d fought against the addiction much like an aging prize fighter, spending a few rounds dominating her adversary, and others just lying on the ropes submitting to the smooth taste of warm smoke puffing past her lips. The filthy fragrance of the room made her hands jitter with indecision, an indecision feeding off the knowledge that Sam always kept his gift shop stocked with little white temptations.

“Keep it together girl. Keep it together. We’ll just spritz a little Chanel.”

She scoured her bags until the little bottle, securely wrapped in undergarments, emerged. Jordan sprayed the floral scent with a trigger-happy finger, until every accessible inch of the room had been covered.

With the pestilence momentarily subdued, Jordan began to unload the rest of her effects, transforming the bland manila walls into a colorful array of gruesome mugshots and crisp black pantsuits.

The edge of a twin sized bed offered little comfort as she stared blankly at some of Douglas, County’s most feared fugitives and searched for connections.

“Hubert Davis, Chris Perales, Stephania Jepeta, Joabston Matthews … None of you scumbags fit the M.O of an abductor... wait a second… Perry Worthington, prior run ins with the law include attempted kidnapping of an underage girl two years ago. Could be nothing, could be something.”

What remained of the wall was devoted to images of why Jordan was there in the first place; Fable. What had started as a carousel of Vines, make-up tutorials, and clothing haul try-ons, had quickly taken a nosedive into the underworld of showbusiness. Thanks to her quirky mannerisms she’d landed a mattress commercial; and Saul Dominguez, a less than applicable video producer was instantly enticed at how naturally she’d taken to frolicking about on ruffled bed sheets. His proposition came like a giant birthday gift, wrapped in flashy paper, with an oversized bow at the top. And Fable, ever a sucker for shinny things, gobbled his words not with a grain of salt, but with a liberated mentality that swayed towards whatever and whomever offered up the most for her services. Her mother’s concern was hardly reason enough to stop her, and Jordan, stuck in Quantico, was too far off and away to be of any consequence.

Appealing to the temptation of the flesh and setting the world of BDSM ablaze under her alter-ego mistress Marigold, Fable made a name for herself under Saul’s, Top Quality Fetish Videos.

The clip store made it easy for Jordan to track her little sister who, like clockwork, would upload fresh content bi-weekly. If nothing else Jordan took comfort with the moderately skin sensitive attire her little sister wore to flaunt herself around. And while the same could not be said of her submissive subjects, they too were seldom subjected to complete nudity.

“No Wifi, no problem.”

Setting up her mobile hotspot Jordan, at the stroke of a few keys, pulled up her sister’s last contact, a slightly distressing email.

Big Sister,
How’s my favorite Fed? Hope big ol’ Texas is treatin’ ya nice! Say, speaking
of being a fed, I could really use your help ‘bout now! I like know that we
haven’t talked in a cool minute, but I think somebody’s stalking me. Can’t
really count on the “Mayberry” squad to keep me safe, so I thought of you.
I know we like have our differences, but please please please, come
through. I’ll be in touch and let you know if this creep tries anything.
Love F.​

Jordan, at first, made light of the note. It wasn’t until “content” day, that Jordan began to suspect the unthinkable. With the clip store featuring no new content, Jordan turned to social media outlets to seek out her sister, only to find that her accounts had gone stagnant in conjunction with her clip store.

A Fish out of Water

South Texas was home to many things, white winters was not one of them. Rolling down his window, Abner, who could not contain his enthusiasm, leaned out to catch snowflakes with his tongue; a series which lasted all of ten seconds before his cheeks went numb. Much like the snow poured onto his face, so too did the memories of a more youthful individual where the only recollection of snow involved tiny foam particles being thrown from above; a staple of any South Texas Christmas portrait.

“Ah-ha! She said there’d only be one.”

He was thankful for the warmth that seemed to resonate through the walls and up from under the floor as he took in one of Superior’s oldest standing relics. A distant sound made him pivot his head towards the easterly wing of the hotel.

“Somebody’s fryin’ bacon.”

Just as the words slipped past his lips he was greeted by an all too familiar voice coming opposite of the delectable smells.

“Asner!”

He spun on his heel and was greeted by extended arms.

“Jordan!”

After a quick embrace, she gave her partner a once over.

“Get in alright? You look…”

“Like shit? I know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Besides a four out in the world, becomes a solid seven around these parts.”

“Glad to know I rank at least above a three in your book. Here’s all the casework you asked me to pick up. Not much, but the local P.D was very cooperative.”

“Of course they were. Those two bimbos are still in denial that something like this is happening in little ol’ Superior.”

“Yeah, you weren’t kidding when you said this place was Mayberry incarnate. Hard to believe places like this still exist.”

“How about a quick bite while we review what we have so far?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Over plates of bacon, bagels, and mixed fruit the two went over every person of interest possibly linked to Fable’s disappearance. Given his personal ties to Fable, none was higher on the list than Saul.

“Why are we even wasting time with all these loose ends?”

“My dear forensic analyst, these aren’t loose ends. Besides, banking solely on Saul would be unwise on so many levels.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“No.”

“And it doesn’t throw a red flag that this guy, who’s all tied up in your sister, hasn’t bothered with a phone call?”

“It does, but before we go barking up his tree, I think we should start elsewhere.”

Struggling to swallow a bite of bagel Jordan pecked with her finger at a picture on the table.

“We’ll start with her.”

She had pink in her hair, a black nose ring and tattoos littering what was once a lively peach complexion.

“Dakota Rey?”

“She’s a local. One of Fable’s regulars. Hasn’t been in anything for the past couple of months, but an update my sister sent out mentioned they’d be collaborating soon. So if they kept in touch, she might have some info.”

“And S.P.D hasn’t checked her out yet?”

“In this weather, those two are likely bogged down with snow shoveling duties.”

“Snow shoveling?”

“Yep. You’d be amazed at what takes precedence around here.”

Money Talks

Much like most of the broken architecture plaguing Superior’s streets, Dakota’s apartment complex was one slanted, “not condemned” sign away from being anything but.

Wincing, Asner was quick to keep his glossy boots off a welcome mat that had seen more than its share of traffic.

“Are those blood stains or paint blotches?”

“Let’s hope it’s the latter. But in case it’s not, I’m armed.”

Chipped woodgrain scratched at her fist as she beat against the door. Within moments, a short, tattoo littered brunette answered, peeking through a narrow slit.

"Suits. Look here, I dun told you all a dozen times, if you’re looking for Jessup, he’s at work.”

Asner hadn’t quite gotten over the carpet when he turned to stare his partner in the eye.

“And I thought girls with pink streaks in their hair were supposed to be bubbly.”

Jordan, with a firm handle on the door wasn’t about to let the girl slam it in their face.

“Actually, we were hoping to get a word in with you. Mrs. Rey. I’m agent Flowers, and this is my partner, Reyes.”

Sensing they’d be making their way in, Dakota picked at her backside, adjusting the seam of her shorts that had wedged itself between her cheeks.

“It’s just you and…”

“Jessup.”

Simultaneously sliding through the door, the agents visually devoured what was a shabby little room. Strewn clothing made it next to impossible to find a seat, so they stood, Jordan with her hands on her hips, and Asner with a pen and pad inside of a firm grip.

“Is it laundry day?”

Despite having to contend with punk rock music streaming off a nearby speaker, Asner’s quip made Dakota snicker.

“He-he, no. I’m looking for a twenty I lost yesterday. Thought it might be in one of these pockets. So, if it’s not my husband, what brings ya’ll out all this way?”

Jordan cleared her throat before responding.

“We’re investigating a kidnapping. An acquaintance of yours, she went by Marigold or Fable. Ring a bell?”

Investing more focus on finding Andrew Jackson, Dakota gave her guests the cold shoulder.

“My memory’s a bit hazy on that.”

Before Jordan could lay down a fiery response, Asner uncrumpled a piece of lose change from within the fold of his pocket.

“Would pairing up Mr. Jackson with his brother Hamilton make it clearer?”

The sound of money flapping in the air did nothing to deter Dakota’s search as she snatched it from Asner’s hand without a second glance.

“Like crystal. We worked together on some stuff. What of it?”

“Porno right?”

“Sometimes. Fable did more like experimental films with me always on the receiving end. Creeps out there get off on some pretty weird stuff though. she was just cashing in.”

“Can you think of any enemies she might have had? People that weren’t too keen on what she was doing?”

“She kept her business stuff and her personal stuff in separate lanes, you know what I mean?”

“So, nothing?”

“Oh no, of course she’d have enemies.”

“And who would stand to gain from her being out of the way?”

“Folks round here, day folks anyway, aren’t too keen on ladies of the evening, such and such. And being a fetish star? Lord have mercy. Nothing above a nasty stare though. I don’t see the folks round here itching to gain criminal reps just to rid this town of a stain on their white wall. Only other person comes to mind is R2K productions.”

“R2K?”

“Yeah. They’re another production company. Scooped me up for a little more bread than what Fable was offering.”

“I suppose traveling expenses didn’t cancel out the extra, bread?”

“Are you kidding? R2K operates right out of Superior. Best I can figure is, taking out the competition means you don’t have to split the pie in as many pieces, you know what I mean?”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Jordan shook her head in disbelief that there could actually be more than one filthy video producer in the little town of Superior, but as Dakota willingly shuffled through some cards in her purse, it was abundantly clear, she wasn’t joking.

“You can check them out for yourself if you don’t believe me. Have to schedule an appointment though. Just ask for Saul.”
The name pinged in her ears as she read the card.

“Saul Rodriguez?”

“Yep. He’s such a nice guy though. Can’t imagine him doing anything as crazy as kidnapping.”

Shuffling through her knapsack Jordan pulled up a flimsy piece of paper. On it was the photo of a slender bearded man with a mole across his left cheek. His eyes, staring directly into the camera, seemed shot from sleep deprivation, late nights, or whatever else ales a man to the point of sunken eyes.

“This him?”

Dakota glanced at the photo before going back to sifting through her clothes.

“Yeah that’s him. Ya’ll thinking he’s connected to your case?”

“Nothing’s conclusive as of yet.”

“Well if that’s all the questions you have, I’ve got to get ready for work.”

Asner was quick to point out an embedded grease stain on the corner of Dakota’s light brown polo.

“I suppose the industry, for all its underground glamour doesn’t pay as well as we think hu?”

“No sir, it does not. I have a job waiting tables at Taco Johns off Tower Road.”

Taking a moment to shake off a cramp in his hand, Asner cleared his throat and cocked his head towards Dakota.

“Can we count on you if we need any further assistance?”

She mulled his request around for a moment before coming up with an answer.

“My boss doesn’t take too kindly to unexpected visits from the law. Not a good look for business ‘specially after our cook got busted for selling grass. But if you absolutely have to, I mean, come by.”

The agents showed their gratitude for the glimmer of hope known as Dakota, left a card on her lampstand and went back into the blistering snowfall that had started coming down even harder.

Asner was the first of them to reach out and turn up the heat as soon as they plopped into the Interceptor.

“S-seems l-like your sister and Saul had a falling out.”

Jordan threw the car in reverse and carefully pulled away from Dakota’s apartment.

“Maybe they did. See what you can dig up on R2K productions.”

A cautious drive proved to provide just enough time for Asner to validate R2K productions and with over twenty clips, all under a year old, the site seemed to be relatively new to the market.

“I don’t think he stars in his own videos, but the name matches up. Want me to schedule that appointment?”

Jordan nodded in agreement, but her mind was on autopilot as it raced through endless scenarios surrounding Saul and her sister.

“Jordan?”

“Oh, um… sorry, I was just… Schedule an appointment, but hey, don’t let on that we’re Feds. Element of surprise yeah? Oh, and I’ll be stopping by the hotel for a change of clothes, this monkey suit is a dead giveaway.”

A stunning revelation

A sole pair of young boys zipped to the neck in Gore-Tex were braving the snow as Asner and Jordan pulled up to a small red bricked building. Pondering her approach brought about a quickened heart rate as adrenaline infused insecurity coursed through her veins. It gripped itself around her neck, thinning her breath, tighter and even tighter still, till she felt as compressed as her torso in the ripped skinny jeans stretched to their limits along her legs. Accompanied by a cleavage baring white crop top, it was a class A disguise that would see her past the door. If only she could remember where she’d left the rest of her outfit. More enclosed than her bubbly natured buxom of a sister, Jordan had held a steadfast academic focus. When inquiries arose about her uncanny drive, she’d bluntly divulge of her interests in criminal justice and refer to a pair of very influential agents who’d spent nine seasons on T.V chasing aliens. And while her hard work gradually paved the way to a successful career path, it also kept Jordan’s adolescence at bay. So far detached from that youthful ignorance, she feared selling herself as a quirky model would be next to impossible.

“If it’s the jeans, I hear it’s quite acceptable to keep at least the top snap undone.”

She had to hand it to Asner, always there with some quick quip or cleaver one liner.

“I’m alright. They won’t be so tight once I stand up.”

Part of being a forensic analyst entailed noticing little inconsistencies such as, two blood types on a murder weapon or shell casings with multiple fingerprints. So when a pair of plump red lips quivered ever so subtly off a face known for its stoicism, he noticed.

“You sure you’re okay going alone?”

“Seeing as that there are only two of us, it’s in our interest for one of us to hang back. And since R2K is only interested in ‘chicks, not dicks’ I’m the only one qualified to go in there.”

Pulling at his sleeve exposed a steel grey Invicta with a holographic, navy blue bezel.

“Alright, but I’m timing you. If I don’t hear from you in ten, I’m busting through those doors.”

"Fair enough, but if I am in danger, you’ll be no good to me unarmed.”

Flipping open her knapsack Jordan produced a small chrome plated revolver with a matte black grip.

“Think you can handle that?”

Underestimating its weight, the gun nearly slipped through his grasp as she passed it over.

“Uh, oh yeah. Yeah sure.”

A momentary sense of ease swept over her as she watched him fumble with the safety. Stifling a snicker in the process, she patted him on the shoulder.

“Ten minutes.”

Her legs felt the stiffest they’d been since her days of training in Quantico as she swung them out the door and stood up to embrace the cold. Heels had never been her forte so it was with a wobbly step she proceeded towards a pair of glass doors tinted entirely in reflective material. Appalled with her funhouse reflection, Jordan made a mental note to skip the butter on her next bagel.
Inferior insulation insured that winter’s chill would follow Jordan through the doors and likely linger throughout the rest of what was about to transpire. Aptly, every breath of stale mothballs she inhaled was quickly followed by tiny clouds of condensation as Jordan familiarized herself with the four tattered walls that now surrounded her. The apparent lack of upkeep would have been a red flag even to the most novice of agents, but to a sister in dire desperation, such details were overlooked.

“Hello?”

Monotonous field exercises and routine gun handling exhibitions forced her hand to gravitate towards her left hip as the sudden squeak of an unoiled hinge echoed off the walls. Only this time, she was grasping at air.

“Knew you’d come.”

A shady corner which at first had been of no particular interest, now cradled all of Jordan’s attention as a high jovial voice made its way across the still air of the complex.

“Show yourself.”

Only thin slits of color off the sparse rays of a few scattered lightbulbs illuminated what was otherwise a shadow cast silhouette no more than five feet tall.

“Welcome home sister.”

With the same strain one would use after a sleepless night, Jordan’s eyes struggled to fixate on the small round face lit with a smirk and beady eyes.

“Fable?!”

A mischievous chuckle escaped her sister’s glossy pink lips as she inched closer and closer still, until at last they stood toe to toe.

“Torn skinnies and a crop? Who are you tryna’ fool?”

Strained eyes gave way to pursed lips and flared nostrils as Jordan placed her hands on her hips.

“You think this is funny?”

Fable brushed a rouge lock of curly blonde hair away from her forehead and hid her grin behind a scowl that mirrored her sister’s.

“No, not really. But how else was I supposed to get you to come?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the traditional way? One that doesn’t involve me thinking you’ve been kidnapped!”

“Um, like, get real. The last time you visited was to put our mother in a box.”

“That’s no excuse to pull a stunt like this. What if I had come up here with more agents? You have any idea how foolish this would have made me look?”

“Typical Jordan, always concerning yourself with numero uno. No, ‘gee, Fable I’m glad you’re okay, and not at the mercy of some creep’.”

“This is bullshit. I can’t believe the, the time I’ve wasted, not to mention the money.”

“Aren’t you at all like, interested in knowing how and why I hatched this elaborate scheme?”

“Elaborate is a stretch, sister. And as far as how and why, they’re of no consequence to me.”

“Well it fooled you didn’t it?”

“A mistake I won’t be duplicating.”

“Lookit, I’m sorry, sorry about all this, but I need your help alright?”

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t even begin to… I seriously thought you were in danger.”

“Gee, um… the way you’re rambling maybe it would have been better to like, actually get kidnapped.”

“Maybe.”

As Jordan gave Fable her back to face the door, she winced as her sister’s tiny voice reached out to touch her.

“That’s it then hu? Walking out on me again?”

Out of respect for her audience of one, Jordan spun back around.

“Don’t you dare. For as long as she lived, mom never shortchanged us. We both had equal opportunities to make something of our lives. I’ve made my path. I’ve worked hard to accomplish what I have. Don’t sob to me about your wasted opportunities.”

“Those words might have hurt five years ago, but I’ve like heard them way too many times.”

“Then this should be easy.”

“Wait! You’ve come this far. Some part of you still loves me. I know because… because you wouldn’t have shown up If you didn’t.”

“After this… I’m not so sure that still applies.”

“Wait, you can’t just… leave me here. Hey! Why don’t we catch the game tonight?”

“Game?”

“Yeah, before you like became obsessed with straight A’s you used to love rooting for the Packers.”

Jordan remained hesitant, fiddling with the beltloops of her jeans.

“Come on, I’ll buy you some of those blazin’ wings ya like. Buffalo’s still has the hottest sauce in town.”

The bitter cold nipping at her lips made the prospect of warm chicken wings an enticing offer. And while the idea of sharing a table with her sister weighed heavy, her inner detective was curious about how Fable had managed such an elaborate scheme, even if she’d claimed otherwise. Though it wasn’t enough to just accept the offer. She had to up the ante.

“And beers?”

Fable looked more than happy to oblige, throwing back one leg to do a curtsy.

“As you wish, sister.”

Simple nods of acknowledgement served as subtle substitutes for hugs and tender parting words as Jordan relinquished her gaze upon someone who for years, existed solely from the confines of a computer screen. The wind pricked against her skin as she made her way to the Interceptor, but the wind wasn’t the only thing making the hairs on her neck stand erect.

“She’s alive.”

Asner reached for the radio dial and turned down the droning vocals of a talk show host before summoning a response.

"You saw her?”

“Just now.”

“So… this was all a ruse?”

“Seems that way.”

“To what end?”

“I’m guessing she’ll explain everything tonight.”

“Tonight? You made plans then?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me go with you.”

Grazing her chin, deep in thought, Jordan pondered Asner’s suggestion.

“I don’t think this detail calls for two of us.”

Asner knocked his head back, stared at the ceiling, and scratched at a blotch that had been bothering him since they’d left the hotel.

“Sidelining me already?”

Jordan huffed and strummed her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel.

“Saving you, is more like it. My sister can be quite the handful. Started hitting the bottle a bit harder after mom. I can handle myself from here on out. Besides, she’d be foolish to try anything in a public place.”

Forgetting the blotch, Asner whipped out his phone and began swiping his finger across its screen.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Looking up movie times. Superior does have a movie theater, right?”

Something Ordinary


Bottles clanking and indistinct chatter polluted the airwaves at Buffalo’s as T.V screens along the wall locked in on Aaron Rodgers and the Packers taking on the Bears.

“I dunno, I think they really have a shot this year. First couple of games eh, shaky, but they’re starting to gel.”

Jordan thumbed at the condensation of her beer bottle making indistinct patterns within the tiny droplets of water, as her sister rambled on about the game.

“Why are we here?”

Fable pointed towards the wall mounted flat screen and spoke through a mouthful of tender chicken.

“Like hello! It’s the Pac! And how often do I get to be in the company of my big sister?”
Fable’s eyes carried an undoubtedly surreal gleam of innocence that helped her statement ring true. Jordan noticed it, and calmly took a sip of her beer, careful to balance her consumption of alcohol with that of her wings and fries.

Off in the distance, a pair of bald headed beards sucking down Marlboros made Fable forego another bite of food as a recollection sparked her inquisitive mind.

“So like, I didn’t ask earlier but, what’s up with the non-smoking section? Don’t you…”

"Oh I don’t… I quit.”

“Oh gee, you used to love those Black and Mild’s. Cherry, right?”

“Don’t remind me. I get the shakes just thinking about that taste.”

“Shame, seeing as how I was saving you one for this moment.”

“I see. And just how did you manage to orchestrate such a scheme? Get me here?”

Fable swallowed hard and in fiddling with a sanitary napkin between her sauce stained fingers, offered up an answer.

“Well lookie who’s interested now? I distinctively recall you saying it was, ‘of no consequence’.”

Jordan rolled her eyes back and licked her lips.

“Alright. I’ll admit, you had me intrigued.”

“Um so like, it started with that shady email, you know? And well I knew you’d just have to come after I never replied.”

“That’s a bold assumption. How did you know?”

“Despite our differences, I’m still your sister.”

Jordan shrugged off her sister’s relatively clichéd response and began to gnaw away at another chicken wing.

“And how did you get the P.D to jump on board?”

Fable rolled her eyes and took down another guzzle of beer.

“They aren’t. Truth is those bozos weren’t too concerned about a double negative. Sure, they caught wind of it, but shit like this, taints their rep. They were just happy that a stain got removed off their white wall.”

The game was soon of little significance; not because Green Bay was getting dominated, but because for the first time, Jordan was witnessing her sister through unfiltered eyes. Fable was laying down an unadulterated truth that was slowly starting to strip away at an illusion that seemingly only existed in 720p. And just as a magician reveals the secrets to their greatest illusion, Fable revealed more, compelling Jordan to take an extended swig from her bottle.

“Saul and I had a falling out. Now he’s got his own little site, R2K.”

“Wait, I though you two were inseparable? And wasn’t R2K just another part of your ruse?”
Fable forcefully bared her teeth in a tense smile and signaled to their waitress for another bottle before continuing.

“Nope-nope. R2K is legit. As far as Saul and I, well we stopped seeing eye to eye almost as soon as the business started going South. Oh, and I edited the address on that card my little Oscar winner handed you.”

“Dakota.”

“You should check her out in Sails Half Mast. You’d swear she was having like, a legit orgasm! Did me a solid leading you to me.”
Jordan flared her nostrils as the spice from her wings burned through her nose.

“I think I’ll pass. So, let’s cut to the chase. What does all this mean to me?”

“I need your help in a bad way sis. See, I’m not exactly… well it’s just that… money has been getting awful tight these days.”

Jordan scoffed. Somewhere below the surface of her sister’s guilt inflicting eyes were her true intentions waiting to tie her up like a dozen tentacles, and now they were starting to come about.

“This could have all been avoided if you had focused on school and focused on a real career. It’s what mother…”

An interjection, one of Fable’s strong suits, came quick and snappy.

“What mother would have wanted? Dragging her back into this?”

“It’s just that looking at you now…”

Fable’s fork slipped from her grease coated fingers, landing with a sharp resounding ping on the table.

“Shit.”

“Look it… I understand people fall on hard times, but this, this was an accident waiting to happen. There’s no safety net in your line of business.”

“Well thank you captain obvious! You’re getting a gold star!”

“Oh, cut the shit. You’re only angry because I’m right. I mean come on Fable. Can you really face your reflection with pride?”

Fable turned to the screen and blasted obscenities towards a flagrant foul missed by the officiating crew. And in that, the sisterly bickering that was, went mute for a while.

Glued to the screen Fable’s eyes remained focused on the passing images, but her mind wandered elsewhere. It wandered deep into the shadows of a one bedroom apartment tainted, likely forever, with the smells of Spanish rice. It wandered to a paint chipped closet and the full-length mirror that stood right beside its door. She eyed herself within the frame, a stripped-down version of a personification that only existed within the straightedge angles of a camera. Gone were the menacing black threads that clung tightly against her light brown skin. Gone was the glossy corset that tucked her midsection into that ever-vaulted hourglass figure. Removed was the charcoal black lipstick and smoky eyeshadow that brought depth to her small round face. Missing were the gloves that with their very existence amplified her thin fragile hands into that of monstrous talons capable of driving even the most domineering of men to mercy starved compliant nothings. Every aesthetic of that falsified image laid crumpled in a pile against a messily stacked assortment of thick blankets she used in the wake of a broken thermostat.

"I’d better get going. There’s a long drive ahead of me, and I have to get some rest.”
Jordan’s words brought Fable out of her daze with just enough time for her to reach out and take her sister by the arm.

“Mind giving me a ride at least? Save me a bus fare?”

Jordan rolled her eyes, knocking back what remained of her Bud-Light.

“Sure.”

Fable grabbed her purse and scoured its contents for almost a minute before her sister forcefully snapped it closed.

“Dinner’s on me too.”

She Brings Her Work home

The snowfall had subsided paving a relatively clear path in route to Fable’s apartment. With each illuminating streetlight casting a glow upon her sister’s dreary eyes, Jordan couldn’t help but casually glace her way. Rather than the ominous portrayal often captured on screen, Fable appeared hauntingly misplaced. Compressed against the door and clinging to the seat belt she stared out into the darkness taking in every detail of every building and every tree until they were swallowed up into darkness again. And with nothing but the strained humming of the Interceptor between them; Jordan, whose guard had been up all night, finally broke the silence.

“You know I kept tabs on you through your website.”

Fable straightened up, wiping the window of her forehead’s residue.

“Every upload?”

“Every upload.”

The image of her sister browsing about her site brought a smile to her face.

“Ever bought anything?”

Jordan scoffed at the thought and threw up her palm.

“And be a hypocrite? No thank you.”

“Same old Jordan, such a square.”

“Hey! I never said I didn’t like your material.”

“Oh, so you’re a sample binger?”

“Hey, it was just a way of checking up on you from a distance.”

“Never heard of Facebook?”

“Bureau keeps something of a death grip on agents with social media accounts. Not good for business.”

“Makes sense.”

“And hey, I’m… I’m sorry I was so hard on you back there.”

Fable clicked her cheek and breathed in deep.

“Yeah, I guess we like, have different ways of getting out the feels yeah?”

Jordan nodded in agreement and placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

“Yeah. So, um… what exactly is going on with you?”

Fable let out a throat clearing cough before answering.

“If you haven’t already guessed, this life ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah, we’ve kind of established that.”

“Sarcasm much?”

“Sorry.”

“Any who… I mean, where do I even start? Oh yes, I live in fuckin’ Superior so booking models for gigs is no cakewalk. Most don’t even know this place exists. Secondly, all my clips are constantly getting spread on free streaming sites, Youporn, Porn Hub, you name it. Kinda why I thought of you to begin with.”

If Jordan’s furrowed brows were of any indication, she was as lost as ever about her sister’s intentions.

“Don’t tell me you’re confused Jordan! For God’s sakes, you’re an F.B.I agent! Put it together man!”

“Calm down. I get it, I get it.”

Risking a little more strain on the engine Jordan erased another inch between the pedal and the floor until her sister’s complex was lit up by the Interceptor’s high beams.

“Coming in? I just picked up this rad new coffee, shit’s from Columbia or something. It’s hella good.”

Jordan bit down on her lip, lightly gripping the clutch in uncertainty.

“Come on? Pretty please?”

Convincing herself that coffee would alleviate her slight buzz, Jordan rocked the clutch into place and made the ceaseless hum of the car come to a yelping halt.

“Alright, but just for a little while.”

Fable’s hands rejoiced in excitement with rapid claps that bounced off the walls in the car.
Upon their entrance, disheveled costumes and skimpy attire strewed across the slick hardwood floor were the first things to catch Jordan’s attention; not just because she saw it, but because a pair of satin briefs compromised her footing.

“Oh shit!”

Fable chuckled under her breath.

“Ops, yeah watch your step sis!”

Fable’s feet weaved and tiptoed past the clothing in route to the kitchen where an elongated counter top was home to large stacks of mail, a variety of magazines, and a bowl of ripe bananas currently being patrolled by a pair of fruit flies.

“The infamous Columbian coffee I presume?”

Generous with her scoops, Fable happily set the pot to brew; discarding the escaped particles of coffee bean from the counter onto the ground.

“It’ll just be a minute. Come, let me show you my studio.”

Hopping beyond the valley of loose clothes Jordan followed her sister down a short narrow corridor where giant lights encased in metal shades rained watts down onto a set of white disheveled bed sheets.

“So, this is where the magic happens?”

“Well, you should know, seeing as how you watch my clips and all.”

“No, no. Checking up. There’s a difference.”

Fable casually waved away at her older sister.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sure your neighbors aren’t too keen on all the noise coming from this place.”

“Oh, noise complaints? I dodged that bullet by installing those babies.”

Fable gleamed with pride upon pointing out the various fiberglass panels lined up against her walls.

“And those nasty brown things keep sound in?”

“That is the general idea. I’ve been meaning to spruce them up with more decorative colors, but…”

The smell of coffee put their conversation on hold as Fable rushed to the kitchenette to scrounge for sugar and creamer in her packet drawer. Fortunately, Jordan preferred her coffee unadulterated.

“Don’t even fret. Cream and sugar would have just tainted the flavor, and I gotta tell you, this coffee is amazing.”

“Thanks. So, about your help.”

Seeking to formulate a response, Jordan let the warmth of the coffee ease down her throat to buy her a moment.

“Truth is, I don’t know what all I can do. The bureau can’t go chasing after every fish in the sea.”

“Hmm… If you put it that way, makes me look like some minnow hu?”

“Unfortunately.”

Fable ran her finger in circles around the rim of her cup, tracing its intricacies and leaving a smeared fingerprint along its petaled edge.

“But you’re my sister. We’re blood.”

Jordan swallowed hard.

“If only it were that simple.”

Fable stared down at what remained in her cup of coffee. It wasn’t much. And that which was left, had become lukewarm in her hands.
“Maybe it’s time I abandon all this. I mean, I put in way more than I get out. Hours and hours of filming, editing, uploading… just to see some jerkoffs plastering my content all over Porn Hub, it’s against the law!”

A rhythmic pulsation beating through her soft white blouse weighted heavily as Jordan traced the jagged edges of her badge from beneath her blazer.

“I know. But like I said, we just don’t have the manpower to be chasing shadows.”

“Yeah, well shit like that, exploitation, ruined my credibility pretty fast. I can’t even remember, you know, all the faces of women, and… and men. I swore to their face, they wouldn’t get exploited. Now they have to live with knowing that all this in here, it’s not a secret anymore.”

“It never was, Fable. You pit too much pressure on yourself. You are not to blame. They knew the risks.”

“Hmm…”

Jordan, having seen the bottom of her cup, placed it at the foot of the bed and gripped one of the leather ankle straps that dangled off its corner.

“So, these are the ever infamous, inescapable bonds of mistress Marigold?”

Fable folded her arms and gazed wide eyed at her sister who was studying the strap.

"Pssh, something like that. Those babies have seen a lot of ankles.”

Jordan scratched at the stitching seemingly impressed by their build quality.

“So, simplistic, just leather and Velcro.”

“My design. Not having to buy them from some online sex shop sure saved me some scratch.”

“I’ll bet. Must be terrifying once the last cuff is strapped up hu?”

“Ankles not so much. The hands though… Yikes! It’s like, super crazy. Trust me, you don’t truly feel helpless till your hands are stretched out and there’s nothing you can do to move them.”

Jordan gently rubbed her wrists, appreciating their freedom and range of motion.

“Makes you wonder why anyone in their right mind would sign on to do something like this.”

“Some people session for like total stress relief. Some people just want to test their limits. Models are in it for the extra bread. That’s where
Saul and I really clashed heads.”

Finagling with a loose thread on the cuff of her sleek black blazer, Jordan worked cautiously at seeing it removed as she prodded her sister for more details.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to keep our clips down home, girl next door type stuff. I thought viewership would like, increase, if we went big league. Addie Juniper, Jamie Daniels, Sasha Foxxx, etcetera, etcetera. Katie Cummings managed to come through.”

Jordan shrugged, stretching her legs to shake off weariness.

“You know those names mean nothing to me, right?”

“Katie Cummings? You know, beefy chick, long hair, tan skin?”

“Uh-hu.”

“Agh, whatever. Anyway, so like, he thought those models were too pricey, that we weren’t in that, ‘financial bracket’ as he put it. I was like, you have to spend money to make money, and que sera, sera.”

Shimmying her shoulders Jordan put forth an obnoxious grin.

“Well it doesn’t take a detective to see why your business is running underground.”

Fable gently ran her hand over the crumpled white sheets of the king-sized mattress until her fingers met up with a wrist restraint laying loosely against a puffy pillow.

“Care to see how they work?”

Jordan sprang to her feet, quickly squeezing her IPhone from the cramped area of her pinstriped pant pocket.

“I have a general idea. Besides, it’s getting late.”

“What’s the matter big sister? A little, scared?”

“No, I’m just not going to give you the satisfaction.”

Fable turned away, mumbling something into the bed before reuniting her sad brown eyes with that of her sister’s.

“Come again?”

Fable playfully twiddled away at the various ripples within the bed sheets, tracing them with light and delicate fingertip touches.

Jordan straightened her blazer and tucked her IPhone away.

“Well, like I said, I have a long trip back tomorrow, so… I…”

Fable drooped her lip.

“Come on sis… pretty please?”

With two clenched fists Jordan rigidly approached her sister.

“I’m not one of your, ‘subjects’. Now I… have… got… to go.”

A quivering lip and watery eyes proved to be a lethal combination, even for an agent trained to dismiss emotion.

“I could really use this right now.”

Jordan’s fists slowly clicked back into flat relaxed hands as she reached into her blazer to reveal her badge.

“You don’t know how hard I’ve busted my ass.”

“And you don’t know how much of mine I’ve sacrificed for this. Come on sis! The cameras are off. It’s just you and me.”

The Family Ties That Bind

Powered by the persuasion of her sister’s somber stare, Jordan’s hands slowly unfastened each clasp of her blazer until it split open and unveiled the loose white blouse the flowed, like a river, just below her torso. Sending it across the room, the blazer landed with resounding articulation in every crease and fold as if begging her not to listen to the sentimental voices clouding her judgement.

“Well… if it’ll make you feel better…”

Overcome with glee, Fable enveloped her sister in a lengthy embrace that saw a single tear roll off her cheek and onto Jordan’s shoulder.

“Ooh, this shirt is so soft! Is it satin?”

“Polyester-spandex. Why?”

“Oh nothing. Shoes.”

Jordan stared down at her glossy black Steve Madden pumps and shrugged before simultaneously kicking them off to leave her size nines one with the hardwood.

“Those pants can’t possibly be comfortable the way they’re hugging your thighs. Slip em’ off, if you can.”

Jordan stared down at her legs and snickered.

“Oh God yes! They’re killing me!”

The relief of unfastening her pants from around her waist was immediately followed by the even more satisfying feeling of rolling them down her legs; and after a brief tug of war that saw Jordan lose her footing, the pants were off, succumbing to the same fate as her blazer.

“Ooh, purple boy shorts?”

Warmth flushed over Jordan’s face as she caught a glimpse of her robust butt cheeks shimmering in the full-length mirror by Fable’s paint chipped closet.

“Standard F.B.I issue. They’re perfect for pursuit situations and such.”

Fable nodded slowly, trying to wrap her head around the color choice of such a prestigious organization.

“Well you won’t be doing any running tonight, but keep them on just the same. Now sister, if you’ll indulge me.”

Fable leaned towards the center of the bed, giving the mattress a few gentle taps.

Restless hands fixated tightly at her sides made for a ridged posture as Jordan inched her way towards the bed until she was at its edge; and absorbing the mattress with all her weight, the bitter cold encasing the sheets enveloped her shapely body as she crawled to its center.

“Right here?”

“That’s good.”

The cold grasp of her sister’s hands came with the slight stickiness of honey barbecue as Jordan nervously spread her legs parallel to the bedposts. In an effort to quell her jitters, she stared blankly at the oddity that was a triangularly stylized ceiling pattern.

Wearing a smile all the while, Fable gently spread her sister’s feet even further still until her lower half resembled a cheerleader doing the splits.

Making quick work of her ankles Fable tightened each one to within millimeters of the straps, securing the Velcro laden restraints to a lengthy piece of paracord wrapped around the posts.

“Um… a little tight much?”

“That’s the point silly, otherwise they’d be pretty lousy restraints yeah?”

She could not argue her sister’s point. And save for an inch or two of vertical movement, Jordan’s legs were in fact fastened securely; causing yet another wave of insecurities to mount over an already lingering sense of concern.

“No cameras right?”

“Jordan, my word is good.”

Fable ushered for her sister to stretch her hands above her head.

“Arms.”

Hands raised in defeat, was an all too recollective gesture she associated with the countless criminals that had found themselves at the mercy of her Glock. And while Jordan’s current position was hardly that of life or death, a sense of submission still wallowed in the atmosphere.

She gave her wrists one last rotation before surrendering them to Fable’s requests.

“Not too tight on these?”

“Don’t worry. My cuffs don’t leave marks.”

The tearing sound of Velcro made Jordan’s eyes shift to the corner of the bed where her sister was meticulously focused on fastening a thick piece of paracord from the bed post onto the strap.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

“Well, practice makes perfect, right?”

Only slow solitary finger curls remained as Jordan’s left arm lay stretched tightly across the bed, immobilized to within an inch of bend at her elbow. The useless freedoms of balling her fist offered no comfort, as all she could do was graze her thumb upon the paracord which held her captive. In measuring its girth, she found herself at a crossroads.

“Wait.”

Fable, who had already begun investing in securing Jordan’s other hand paused, and stared down on her sister whose elevated breaths mimicked those of the many who’d come before her.

“Everyone’s nervous the first time. It’s normal. Deep breaths. You’re in good hands.”

Her reassuring words sent Jordan’s right arm into a flaccid state and elicited the first of many snickers on her behalf.

“Good hands. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Choosing not to watch what remained of her freedom get sequestered to a leather restraint, Jordan instead shut her eyes and recounted every unsavory detail on torture and how to survive an interrogation if she’d ever fall into the wrong hands. The principles of resistance, a captured agent’s last defense, flashed through her thoughts as she felt the strap tighten securely against her wrist.

“There! Now if you could just give each strap a strong tug. Just to be sure.”

She started down below, mustering little more than a scrunched foot and less than ninety degrees at the knee. Flexing her biceps, she pulled against the bedposts managing only to rock them a few centimeters before the tension sent waves of pin pricks up her flush red hands.

“So, this is what it feels like.”

For years she’d watched a number of individuals fall prey to her sister in similar fashion, but no amount of footage could encapsulate the emotion of being truly defenseless. And even though it was cold, fear resonating from beyond the most sacred areas of her body had already begun to assimilate into tiny perspirations.

Exuding pride in her handiwork, Fable was all gleams and squeals as she contorted her arms into various twists and knots and rejoiced at the expense of her latest acquisition.

“Yup-yup yuppers! You’re tied to MY bed! I’m gonna get YOU!”

A lingering lump in her throat went down hard, nervously settling into the pit of her stomach as Jordan struggled with the seamless transference of power. Gone was the quivering lip and sunken eyes. Gone were the soft somber whispers of a defeated voice. In their place, an inflated ego had emerged.

Another Day at the Office

“So sister, I’m almost afraid to ask what you had in mind.”

“Well now…”

For a moment, just a moment, Fable snapped out of her own illusion as she caught her reflection sorely lacking the trappings that had helped define her image over the years. Only after she gazed back into her sister’s eyes, widened in worry, did she conclude that faded blue jeans and an equally faded Blink 182 t-shirt would be sufficient attire for the occasion.

“… when I visited New York like a couple of years ago, I met this guy Tommy, just Tommy. He introduced me to a type of torture that was like kid’s stuff, but it proved to be very effective and popular with the masses.”

Suppressing her inner turmoil Jordan furrowed her brows as a carousel of tortures and humiliations circled her thoughts.

“Well come on then. What is it?”

“Remember when we were like, younger? Like, right before you took off to A&M? Remember how you used to love to like, pin me down and blow raspberries on my belly?”

“Tickling?”

“Oh, good you do remember. Well this is sorta like that, except… you can’t get away!”

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as she watched her sister flex her fingers back.

“Um… okay.”

It had been an age since the last time a pair of hands had touched her body with such innocent intentions. And as she scoured the recesses of her mind, there were no recollections of her ever being remotely ticklish. But wishing to be a good sport, Jordan played along.

“Oh sister please, anything but that!”

Placed under the bed, for her convenience, was a box of random sex related paraphernalia; a box she seldom disclosed to her subjects until after they’d been tied up. Sorting through her implements and oils Fable rubbed her hands together in excitement as she crouched adjacent to the pinkish flesh of Jordan’s left foot.

“Dear God! Is it possible your feet have gotten bigger?”

“Hey now! I’m a bit self-conscious about that.”

“Eh, more to tickle I suppose.”

It struck like a match down the middle of Jordan’s arch, leaving behind small inklings of static infused pricks. What followed was an inadvertent twitch as the inklings scurried up her leg.

Mustering a spirited effort to maintain her composure, Jordan suppressed her laughter into a variety of disillusioned facial expressions, with only a rouge giggle slipping through her grit teeth from moment to moment.

“Gawd damn… what’s that!”

Puzzled and besides herself, Jordan instinctively scrunched her foot to deflect the sensation of a hundred uniform needles, lightly pricking away at her skin.

“Something berg wheel? It’s for like, medical purposes I think? But in the studio, we call it the ‘wheel of torture’. It wakes up your never endings, gets them more sensitive.”

The fighter in her didn’t want to admit it aloud; but the slow singular strokes were already beginning to wreak havoc on her tender arch.

“Feels intense doesn’t it?”

Jordan’s voice was sparse and her words fleeting as she staved off the urge to giggle.

“It’s cool! I’m cool!”

The animated display of her sister’s limbs dancing about to the delicate arousals illustrated the stark contrast between what was said and the underlying truth.

“Let’s try these toesies.”

If Fable’s hunch was correct, they’d be just as sensitive; and having had many subjects at the mercy of her touch, she knew more than most what it took to garner a response.

“Oh Gawd… Oh-ho-ho!”

Crumpling her foot proved a wasted effort, as the wheel’s thin spikes simply weaved into and out of the creases of her foot.

“Mmm… How’s that?”

As much as her taunt begged to be justified with that of a snarky remark, Jordan kept her lips pursed fearing her voice would crack and give way to a snicker.

Pulling away from her foot, Fable united with her sister’s contorted eyes and wrinkled nose. Pouting her lips to taunt her further, she slurred her words to that of infantile babble.

“Aww, what’s the matter sister? Are we twicklish?”

The span of a few seconds allowed for only a short waning thought to turn into words.

“I don’t like that wheel!”

Fable giggled and stared down at the virtually weightless instrument between her fingers.

“That’s a shame cause, we’re just getting started!”

The strain of looking down towards her feet caused Jordan to submit to one of the few comforts that remained, a fluffy white pillow behind her head.

“What did I get myself into!”

A choppy snicker recoiled past Fable’s lips as her butt hit the hardwood and she reunited the ‘wheel of torture’ to her sister’s size nines.

“What indeed!”

As she intently leaned in and strummed along her sister’s plump toes, a nippy breeze crawled down Fable’s backside as her tight black tee uncooperatively rolled beyond the folds of her flesh.

“Oh Gawd-duh… Th-that thing is eevil-lee-hee-hee!”

“Um like hello! That’s the point! And you graduated cum laude? Yeesh!”

Knowing a soft and steady hand meant the difference between bothersome annoyances and pure pain, she kept to variations of light strokes.

“At leeeast I graduated-da-ha!”

Deciding she’d invested enough time at one end, Fable stretched her shirt beyond her butt and bounced to the other side of the bed, where an unsuspecting foot laid motionless.

There was no warning. Only the slow sharp graze of stainless steel to arch.

“WHA-HA-HA… Not fair… Not fair!”

Spurts of boisterous laughter bounced off the walls as Fable explored the curves, wrinkles, and cracks of her sister’s right foot.

“Mmm, feels so good right?”

Shaking her head to refute made Jordan’s short brown hair poof like a pom-pom in the hands of a whimsical cheer captain.

“NO-NO… NO-NO NOOO-WAA-HA-HA!”

Proving inexplicably greater, the sensitivity levels of her right foot was a realization not lost on a pair of experienced eyes. And in observing her sister’s innate reactions, Fable abandoned the wheel for a set of more primitive instruments, her hands.

“My nails aren’t the longest they’ve ever been, but…”

The imminent threat of ten vivacious fingers turned Jordan stiff with anticipation; only for her stone like stature to crumble within the first of many cascading fingertips.

“Oh… Gawd damn… DAMMIT-TA-HA-HA!”

Like a spider encapsulating its prey for future consumption, Fable’s hands encapsulated her sister’s foot with scattered fingertip touches that began at the ball and trickled down to her heel.

“NOT COOL… NOT COOL-LOO-HOO-HOO… WHA-HA-HEE!”

Limited to pointless avoidance maneuvers, Jordan swished her foot left to right and back again as her sister’s ten tiny nuisances, never too far removed, worked tirelessly to stimulate her nerve endings.

“Hold still bigfoot!”

A feeble flexing of her biceps only further demonstrated the tensile strength of her bounds as Jordan wrestled not only with the physicality of her confinement, but with her dwindling lack of control, a quality she’d consistently exemplified during her time at the academy.

“I CAN’T-TA-HA-HA!”

Her sister’s laugh, strained and choppy, only served to amplify her efforts as Fable sought to methodically breakdown what remained of the mental toughness keeping Jordan from complete involuntary euphoria.

The sound of sex toys being rummaged through sent Jordan’s head skyward as, out of frantic curiosity, she sought to gaze upon what her sister had in store for her next. But with her ample midsection blocking most of her view she could only speculate. Fearing the wheel, she pleaded.

“Not that thingy again!”

Fable snickered as she cupped her hand to pool a generous squeeze of baby oil.

"Let’s lather these babies up right!”

The cold slippery liquid oozed onto her toes, golden droplets, that trickled in accordance with the inconsistences of her meaty pink flesh.

“Oh sh-shit that’s cold! Wait what…”

“Baby oil. A staple around these parts. If you thought your feet were ticklish before…”

“Oh now, now, now I d-didn’t agree to be OILED!”

Fable shrugged, and poured another generous helping of oil onto her hand.

“Not my fault you didn’t discuss the specifics!”

Jordan’s feet glistened vibrantly under the lights as Fable plopped back onto the ground and extended her arms till her fingers lay one with each foot.

“Now, now… let’s be gentle… let’s be-YEE-HEE-HEE-HEE… OH GAWD-DA-HA-HA!”

Her fingers slid effortlessly about her sister’s soles like figure skaters dancing on ice; only they moved with no precision, sticking to no particular pattern, going where they pleased, and exploring where they saw fit.

“GAWD DAMN YOOOO-HOO-HOO… YEE-AH-HA-HA!”

Off sensations that elevated her every inbred desire to defend against Fable’s attacks, flailing wrists and spastic foot tremors were all she could manage under her constraint. Still, her sporadic body, in its own realm of volition, refused to accept that its fate no longer resided with its owner, and that its circumstance could be changed if it just pulled at the paracord a little longer.

“OH GAWD-DA-HA-HA… SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-TA-HA-HA… NOT THE TOES… WHA-HEE-HEE-EEK… NOT THE TOOOES-SEE-HEE-HEE!”

Watching the stoic squirm still sent chills down Fable’s spine as she vigorously ran her fingers along the tips of Jordan’s ever shifting digits. It was something to behold, in the way her feet flinched at the slightest touch, in the way her thighs jiggled when they flexed, and in the way her blouse, had slowly and invitingly, crept up to reveal a smooth supple torso, jerking chaotically from hip to hip.

“Wow look at you go!”

Although Fable’s tone was light and bouncy, Jordan couldn’t share in the enthusiasm as her lungs strained for air and her feet lay frazzled from the torment.

“Let’s see where else your ticklish!”

Wide-eyed enchantment caught Fable’s attention as her sister’s head sprang off the pillow. Yet more than watery eyes wandering about in worry, it was what followed that really struck a chord.

“Oh no… No-no… Fable you’ve had your fun… Fable!”

Her frail voice was met with a non-responsive, stone faced demeanor, as Fable mounted the bed on all fours to further enlighten her sister on the finer points of prompting a good laugh.

Her senses now fully alive meant that even the simplest touch merited a response. So, it was with resounding tension that Jordan’s legs flexed to the feel of cold palms, flattening onto her knees.

“Oh there, there… Don’t be scared.”

“No-no… I can’t… seriously, seriously… no-no, NOOO-HOO-HOO!”

Reducing her sister to hysterics required but a simple squeeze along her lower thighs. And despite her body’s limitations, it was nothing short of astounding how much the bed frame shook under her sister’s volatile jolts and wiggles.

“I’ll say this much sister, you’re a wild one!”

“WHOO-HOO-HOO… LET ME GO-HO-HO!”

Her demands were curt and filled with angst, but no more useful than a cup of water against a forest fire. The feel of her sister’s vivacious hands, coupled with the unrelenting resolve of her restraints, seemed to finally be putting into scale the magnitude of her predicament. For all she had accomplished, there were four leather cuffs telling her, “we don’t care”. For every award, there were strung out bits of paracord saying, “it doesn’t matter”. For every accolade, there were ten fingers saying, “I don’t respect you”. Indeed, the image of a woman sprawled out in bondage, being bemused by adolescent arousals of the flesh, was hardly an image that demanded respect.
“Let you go? Aww is wittle Jordan too twicklish?”

“PL-PLEEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!”

“Oh, she said the ‘magic’ word. I guess I should stop…”

Fable’s frenzied grip slid up the meaty tendons of Jordan’s quivering legs causing havoc on the already disheveled sheets below.

“… just kidding!”

But it wasn’t until she clamped down onto a portion of her inner thighs, that she truly devolved unfathomable irritations.

“SHEE-HEE-HEET… WHOOO-WAA-HA-HOO… NO FREAKIN’ WAAAY-YA-HA-HA!”

“Uh-oh! Looks like I’ve hit the jackpot! Is it right… there?!”

Inane laughter that escalated beyond octaves Jordan had never considered to be in her vocal range bounced off the walls, as she in turn thrust lividly off the mattress.

“Wake the neighbors why don’tcha? Ops! That’s right. I forgot. In here, nobody can hear you scream.”

“FA-HA-HA-ACK… OH NOT THERE… EEEEVIL-LEE-HEE-HEE… PURE EVIL-LA-HA-HA!”

Droplets of sweat forming above her sister’s brow prompted Fable to withdraw her hands, scoot back, and let her recompose into something remotely cognitive.

“It was a mistake to wear those boxers yeah?”

Jordan concurred, nodding her head to acknowledge that the slick threads of her underwear only aided in heightening what was already a very delicate region of her body. Still, that wasn’t the only thought gnawing away at her. Her constant struggle to break free had seen her blouse elevated just beyond her belly-button, leaving exposed her thick, white midsection, ripe for a set of relentless hands.

“Whew… okay… we’re done. I can’t… I’m tapping out.”

“I dunno. My sessions generally run an hour or so, which means there’s forty-five minutes left.”

Jordan could just about feel her eyes popping out of their sockets as she paralleled what her sister had just said to how much time she’d assumed had gone by.

“It’s only been FIFTEEN minutes?”

“Yuppers! I maybe should have told you…”

“No-no… I want out… Fable, I’ve had enough. Now respect your elders, and let me go!”

The Turn

“You know it’s interesting. For years, I’ve lived in your shadow; your accomplishments always eclipsing mine. Now it seems that doesn’t matter, not here. Not in my sanctuary. So like, what’s to stop me from tickling you forever?”

“Forever?”

“Or at least until you agree to help me.”

“Dammit Fable! This again?”

“You haven’t even tried.”

Had Jordan her free limbs she would have given herself three heels to the rear.

“Fable please be sensible.”

Cocking her head to the side, Fable flexed her fingers mere inches from the soft, white stomach before her.

“You’re going to help me… even if this takes all night.”

Before Jordan could rebuttal, the feel of small rigid fingers thrusting into her sides stole the air from her lungs.

“NO-HO-HO WHA-HA-HA… OH GAWD DAMN-NA-HA-HA!”

What was once a smile, had all but gravitated into a frown as Fable began tilling her sister’s midsection in strong circular drilling motions.

“SH-SHEEET-HEE-HEE-HEE... DAMMIT FABLE-EH-HEE-HEE… I TRUSTED YOOO-HOO-HOO!”

“Oh Jordan. I’ve made a life out of pretending to be something I’m not. You should have seen this coming.”

Drilling motions transitioned into pokes as Fable’s index fingers mimicked those of a typist, using her sister’s stomach to compose a string of coherent sentences, something sorely lacking amidst Jordan’s festered outcries.

“HEE-WHA-HA-HEE… SKEE-HEE-HEE… FAY-HEY-BALL-LA-HA-HA!”

“Nothing like a good ab workout yeah?”

Moistened by her frustratingly meager evasive tactics, Jordan’s hair glimmered under the lights, dropping light beads of sweat over her cheeks as she clenched her fists and tussled crazily against the mattress.

“FABLE PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE-SA-HA-HA… NO MOOORE-RA-HA-HA!”

“No more? You know, for like, an agent, I expected more resistance. Did you learn nothing about withstanding torture?”

A vein throbbed at her temple as Jordan’s head sprang forward to the thrusts of pointy fingers painting rosy pink blotches along her lower abdomen.

“NO-NO-NOOO-HOO-HOO… UGH-GA-YEE-HEE-HEE… INTOLERABLE-LA-HA-HA!”

Dialing down the torment, Fable elevated her hands, lifting them off the smooth surface of her sister’s belly, flushed with scattered pink pigments.

“So now that I like, have your attention, and you like, have no other choice, I’m going to suggest you reconsider helping me find the bastards responsible for bleeding me dry.”

Incessant in its need to shake off straggling stimulations, Jordan’s body trembled in tiny tremors, ascending off her toes and up her arms. Her breaths residing in the shallows, kept her words barely above a whisper.

“Fable please… we’ve been… through this… you’re just a porn star.”

Putting in perspective just how much power the human word has against even the most spirited of souls, Jordan’s words tightened around her sister’s neck, making it hard to swallow. Staring down, Fable’s eyes bloodshot, her lips tightly pressed together, she shook her head in disappointment.

“I am not a porn star. And you, you seriously need to work on your negotiating skills.”

Jordan’s slip of the tongue, worthy of its own punishment, cost her severely as Fable wasted no time straddling her sister. Elevating her blouse beyond her breasts to expose even more naked body, Fable teasingly dangled her fingers along Jordan’s ribs.

“Maybe this will help!”

Seeking to backtrack and maybe spare herself from a more ravenous attack, Jordan managed only a sparse mumble, before being overcome with the involuntary need to stretch her mouth and sprout belly laughs from the pit of her stomach.

“GAWD-DA-HA-HA… WHOAH-AH-HA-HA… UGH-GOO-HO-HO!”

Had Fable known her sister’s ribs to be particularly ticklish, she would have started there. And while pressing her thumbs up and down each one put considerably more strain on her hands, her sister’s rasping vocals and gaudy, flailing arms, more than made up for it.

“DAMMIT FAAA-BLE PLEASE… I CAN’T… I CAN’T-TA-HA-HA!”

Just as Fable’s hands tauntingly elevated themselves for another thrust, the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked forced them both to fixate their eyes to the corridor.

“You’re lucky there weren’t any good movies showing.”

And though his hands were shaky the gun was aimed right at Fable’s chest.

“I see you brought back up. Well played, sister.”

Glances towards Jordan in peril kept his focus unclear and ever shifting. Never had he seen her so vulnerable, and in her vulnerability his hidden lust for her was beginning to arouse his deepest desires.

“S-Step away from her.”

“You look nervous agent…”

“Asner. And I’m a forensic analysis. Now step up off her.”

Treading lightly off the bed Fable turned and faced the corridor where a twitch legged Asner stood by, anxiously waiting for her to comply.

“So… you’re like, here, voluntarily?”

“That’s none of your con…”

It was in the little details of that promiscuous, form fitting underwear and in the intrigue of unclasping that light blue pushup, barely keeping her breasts intact, that caught his gaze longer than it should have.

“In my line of business, nobody travels to Superior voluntarily unless he’s powered by his penis.”

She stared back at Jordan who was just beginning to recompose.

“How long have you had the hots for my sister?”

“That is none of your con…”

“I see the way you’re looking at her. Probably got a hard on right now, seeing as how she’s tied up, half naked.”

“L-Lady I have a g-gun…”

“Don’t suppress those feelings. Don’t deny yourself. Go on, she’s all warmed up for you.”

Jordan’s was now the only voice standing between her sister’s deceit and Anser’s fragile thought process. As she gathered herself, she begged with a strained voice, for competence.

“She’s a liar Asner!”

Fable slowly inched her way closer to Asner whose shaky hands still held a firm grip on the chrome plated revolver.

“T-That’s close enough. N-Now untie her.”

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as she watched her sister, defeated, lay her arms at her sides and spread her fingers.

“Some boy scout you got there, sister.”

“Just hurry up and untie me.”

Regaining the freedom of her limbs was as quick a process as it was to see them restrained, only this time there was no great precipice of anticipation, only an ever-calming wave of reassurance that her ordeal was over.
Seeing that Jordan was of sound mind and body, Asner lowered the revolver.

“Should I call this in?”

On shaky legs Jordan stumbled towards her partner, her left hand outstretched.

“Gun.”

Asner was a bit confused, but handed over the revolver just the same.

“Don’t you want to get dressed firs…”

In one fluid motion Jordan braced her body and raised the gun to her sister’s head prompting Asner to quickly intervene.

“J-Jordan, this… this is not protocol. I know what she did was wrong but…”

“Asner, don’t you dare try and stop me.”

“But your career…”

“Truth be told, I came here as a sister, not an agent. Now sister, if you would be so kind as to put on that little black costume of yours.”

Fable’s hands trembled under the weight of her sister’s demands, whose finger was steadily wrapped around the trigger of her gun.

“Jo-Jordan, why don’t you put that gun down and, and we can talk about this like adults; like sisters.”

Jordan scoffed and motioned her sister to get moving.

“Costume… now.”

Shattering the illusion

A few more chips of paint fell like scattered snowflakes onto the hardwood as the stubborn closet eked open only an inch at a time. Just as she’d left them after her last session, her effects lay crumpled in the corner, a glossy black corset with gun metal rivets, a matte black sleeveless shirt, and a small leather skirt also of black.

Peeling the denim off her small chunky legs was not without its effort, but with the prospect of a loaded gun looming in her peripheral, she got them off in record time. Her Blink shirt followed, leaving her sun kissed body naked and exposed.

Before long the transformation was complete, and standing before Jordan and Asner, was mistress Marigold in most of her glory.

“What’s the matter mistress? No snarky remarks or militant instruction?”

Fable remained silent and motionless, save for a slight sway as she shifted her weight between legs.

“Move.”

Lowered eyes sunk towards the bed as she processed her sister’s command.

“Are you deaf or dumb or both?”

With short, cumbersome steps her sister walked to the bed, and sank into its sheets, landing with a resounding thud.

There was an air of vengeance about the atmosphere as Jordan encased her sister’s wrists into the leather bondage that had only moments ago, been the bane of her existence.

“Asner if you’ll excuse us. My sister and I have much to discuss.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay. I think I’ve earned that much after tailing you here.”

“As much as I appreciate what you’ve done, this is personal. Shut the door on your way out.”

Arms crossed against his puffed chest, Asner unwillingly excused himself to the living room where a tattered sofa and a Playboy would have to settle the whirlwind of raging hormones poised to erupt from his nether regions.

Seeing the hammer de-cocked and the weapon disappear from sight, Fable at last worked up the nerve to speak.

“Wh-what are you gonna d-do to me?”

Jordan looked about the room, this time, taking in more than just the ceiling pattern. Her eyes landed on the obscure corner of a poorly angled portion of the wall, where a small compact Canon Rebel hung off a hook.

“Well sister, you tickle tortured me. Seems only fitting I return the favor.”

Fable bit down on her lip and embraced the self-inflicted pain now throbbing off her mouth.

“Jordan no! I’m a mistress. You, you, you don’t tickle a mistress!”

A cold smile crept onto her face as she cringed at her sister’s frantic efforts to break free.

“Stop that, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“There’s a… ugh… trick… to it.”

Countless encounters through the years should have been an indication. What had transpired, should have made it clear. The tight leather straps were respecters of none who fell prey to their constriction.

“What have we here?”

The camera was cold to the touch as she crossed the room and toyed with its many buttons and configurations.

“No Jordan come on man! You can’t film this!”

Yet another hidden treasure emerged from the confines of that obscure corner of the room, a tri-pod, already adjusted to the specifications for mounting the camera.

“What better way to destroy a false image, than to film the demise of a dominatrix?”

As Jordan pegged the camera into its stand she giggled at the sight of her sister shimmying in uncoordinated fidgets.

“How’s that ‘trick’ coming?”

“Ugh! Fuckin’ Fuck!”

A loud beep made Fable clam up as she realized the camera was rolling. Her sister, ever so slowly made her way to the foot of the bed.

“Now where is that little trinket box?”

Choosing not to adhere to her submissive position, obscenities spewed off Fable’s tongue like a cracking whip.

“Fuck you Jordan! I swear to God…”

“Ah! Here it is. Cute.”

Held between her fingers was a matte black box, adorned with tarnished metallic emblems of skulls, flames, guns, and knives.

“Let me guess, your design?”

Her sister’s lack of adoration for such grisly adornments sent pent up aggression off the lips of the illustrious mistress.

“It’s not ‘cute’! It’s scary.”

“Oh I’ll give you a reason to be scared.”

Hastily rummaging through the box, Jordan simply had to pause and inspect one of its more peculiar additions.

“You have got to be kidding.”

Only until its bristles tingled off the palm of her hand, did she realize, its versatility extended far beyond its intended purpose. The connection was made almost instantly as her eyes darted towards her sister’s soft supple hollows.

“Jordan no… get away from me with that brush!”

“Don’t worry mistress… I’ll take it slow.”

It was all in the flick of her wrist. The stiff bristles brushing against her sister’s skin did the rest of the work.

“JOOR-DA-HA-HA-HAN… NA-HA-HA… OH THAT’S-SSS-SO BAAD-DA-HA-HA!”

Belittled by bristles, Fable romped about the bed as erratically as her restraints would allow; pulling at her arm till the numbing of her hand became as unbearable as the torment.

“Oh come now, I’m being really gentle.”

Her words were far from an exaggeration. Save for a few full-length arm swipes, Jordan’s concentration on her sister’s underarms was hardly
excruciating work. On the other hand, it had been a while since Fable had exerted such energy.

“OH SHIT… OH-HO-HO-SHIT… AHH-HA-HA… THIS SUCKS!”

“It’s just a paint brush, a harmless little paint brush.”

Lying prone on her sister’s right side, Jordan fixated the brush within Fable’s corset.

“Do you mind holding that?”

Before her sister’s foul mouth could crack open to deliver obscenities, she poured out her hands onto the meaty flesh of her biceps.

“JEE-HEE-HEE-SUS-SA-HA-HA… OH THAT’S BAD… OH-WOAH-HO-HO… STOP IT… STOP IT!”

“Oh, don’t you like that mistress?”

With ten lively fingers, she patrolled every inch of that arm.

“FUUUCK-KA-HA-HA-HA…”

While their lack of definition made taking an impromptu course in anatomy a bit more tedious, Jordan was one to embrace a challenge. And embrace it she did as she poked, pinched, and prodded every muscle, bone, and tendon on her sister’s arm; stopping, only for a moment, to throw out a demoralizing taunt.

“Oh yeah! Flex that muscle!”

“WHA-HA-HA… FUCK YOOOU-WHOO-HOO!”

Breaking beyond the borders of her arm, Jordan’s touch ventured down her sister’s side where not even the shell of her corset could protect her from the trills of thumbs thrusting into her ribs.

“How do you feel now?”

The question was rhetorical. Fable’s face, a complexity of rosy red cheeks, star-crossed eyes, and trickles of sweat wicking through her golden tipped hair, all but encapsulated that which she felt.

“RAA-HA-HA… OH GOD NOT THE RIBS-SA-HA-HA!”

“See boys and girls? Even a ‘tough’ dominatrix can be reduced to hysterics.”

Jordan’s words weaved through her laughter attacking Fable’s resolve, much like her fingers had taken to attacking beneath Fable’s corset where entrapped body heat simmered profusely.

“Oh no… Get your… hands out… Jo… Jordan!”

Spurts of warm, salty air fumed off gaps in the garment as Jordan’s hands maneuvered about, making themselves at home.

“But it’s so cozy in here!”

Her fingers slithered like snakes in unison, up and down her plump belly, feeling out every smooth round curve, tracing the indent of her deep round navel.

“Oh God… Oh God… No-no… YEESH!”

Motivated by arousal’s natural amplifier, Fable’s hips thrust skyward as Jordan’s fingers tepidly teased her skin.

“Woah there! I haven’t done anything.”

Pent up tension kept Fable’s teeth grit as she seethed through an unrelenting urge to giggle.

“Not ticklish… Not… ticklish.”

Her resistance, while futile at this point, amused her tormentor, fueling the ever-growing lust for vengeance that tingled off her fingertips.

“You think mind over matter is going to help you?”

Fable remained quiet and poised, but deep down, she knew better. Her thoughts and the mental stability that made them possible, all hinged on little more than a delicate stroke from her sister’s heavy hand. And that with just one stroke, her thoughts, and whatever willpower came tethered with them, would inevitably betray her to an overwhelmingly inbred desire, that not even the most concentrated mind, could overcome.

“Let’s put that to the test.”

Pressing down on her voluptuous frame, Jordan sank her fingers into the pit of Fable’s stomach, forcing animated contortions to illuminate her face. Laughter shortly followed in loud, tense sputters.

“RAAA-HA-HA… JO-HO-HO-ORDAN… STOP THIS-SEE-HEE-HEE… UGH I SWEAR-RA-HA-HA!”

Pleased to see her sister involuntarily submit yet again, Jordan’s hands unclasped the corset, and flung it off her body.

“Still think you’re not ticklish?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Her fingers wouldn’t allow it as they gravitated back onto her sister’s shirt, sloppily wrinkled from the devastation of being tussled around.

“JEE-HEE-HEE-SUS… THAT’S TOO MUCH-CHA-HA-HA… PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!”

With her shirt slinking up Jordan decided to do it a favor and lift it beyond her rib cage.

“Boy, must be hot under here.”

As her sister’s hands tantalized her skin with inconsistent strums, an unnerving memory of a more youthful girl being pestered into submission came to mind. Add a slippery tongue lubricating her lips, and history repeating itself, seemed almost inevitable for Fable.

“Jordan no… No-no… You like, don’t wanna do that… Trust me, I’m sweaty… I’m icky.”

The validity that lied in her words did nothing to discourage her sister from hunching down, leaning in, and planting her wet lips at the center of Fable’s belly.

“JEE-HEE-HEE-ZE-ZA-HA-HA… I HATE RASPBERRIES-SO-HO-HO MUCH… UGH-HA-HA-HA!”

Tiny waves of tender flesh blossomed outward amidst the vibrations of Jordan’s powerful blow.

“YA-HA-HEE-WHOO-HOO-HOO!”

Droves of goosebumps scattered in random formations along her midsection as repetitious raspberries worked their way in and around her belly button, leaving behind stains of slick saliva.

“Just like old times hu sister?”

Her ears weren’t the problem. She processed the words just fine. It was the insatiable urge to laugh, that kept her from mustering a coherent reply.

“TA-HA-HA… YOOOU-WUU-HOO… WAIT-TA-HA-HA!”

Just as another deep breath contorted Fable’s body into a rigid brace, Jordan stopped.

“Hmm… let’s see what other trinkets you have to play with.”

Graced with a moment of lucidity, Fable reminisced about the little silver box with the blinking red light. At one point, she had considered it a good friend having kissed its side after her first successful shoot. But the more she caught herself looking into its lens, the more she found herself despising how it was nonchalantly cheating on her with Jordan.

“Weird…”

Gripping it tightly between her fingers, Jordan ran it along her hair a number of times before plopping down near her captive’s right foot.

“Now-now… Jo-Jordan… That’s for my hair… That’s not… You shouldn’t...”

Mockingly relaying her sister’s less than fluid monologue, Jordan glanced behind her shoulder, where a set of squinted eyes and tightly grit teeth reflected the painstaking ascend of anticipation.

“Oh, I really think I should.”

Her mischievous words were followed by the even more mischievous rubber bristles she pressed firmly against her sister’s sole.

“YEEE!”

“My goodness mistress. Is it possible your feet are that ticklish?”

Stagnant and against her arch, the tingles off the hairbrush began to dwindle, but in no way eased the notion that the worst still awaited her helpless foot.

“Don’t do it… Please don’t… please…”

She knew her words were empty and vain, but facing the prospect of unparalleled torture would have driven even the most cognitive mind to ramble for mercy. And ramble she did once the bristles began to brush against her foot.

“JEE-HEE-HEE… WHA-HA-HA-HA!”

Possessed by torment comparable to an army of insects confined to her sole, the chastened mistress found her legs enthralled in the delusion of escape. But for all their efforts, there was no outlet; forcing her to endure stimulations beyond her body’s tolerance.

“OH MY GOD-DA-HA-HA… NOT THEE FEET-TEE-HEE-HEE… AWW THIS SUCKS-SA-HA-HA!”

Fast circular motions gliding along the ball of her foot proved to provoke the best reactions as Jordan further explored the boundaries of her sister’s blushing size sevens.

“These feet are so adorable!”

“OH YOU BEEETCH-CHA-HA-HA!”

As if stumped by a blast of paralysis, every bone fixated on raking her sister’s foot into oblivion suddenly stopped.

“Excuse me?! Tell me I didn’t hear you call me a bitch.”

“No-no… No-no...”

“Oh, so now you’re lying to me as well?”

“Jordan plee-hee-hee-ase…”

“Hey, I’m not the one digging myself into a hole here.”

Her sister’s playful banter offered up a momentary discharge from the air of vengeance dominating the night. Naturally, Fable sought to turn the moment into restitution and salvage herself from further humiliation.

Much like most of her decisions, Fable’s words shot out on a wing and a prayer.

“You’re like, really good at this you know.”

Having been deceived twice already, Jordan was beginning to see through her sister’s parlor tricks. Still, she merrily appeased her, dropping the brush to take an interest in an illusion sorely lacking originality.

“You don’t say? I hadn’t thought to ask given the way you’re laughing it up down there.”

“No, seriously you’ve… you’ve got the ‘wow’ factor in you.”

“Do I now?”

“Uh-hu. Enough to like, maybe have a future in this.”

As much as she wanted to remain courteous, there was no disguising the side of sarcasm that came imbedded in her response.

“Me? A future here? You’re too much.”

As Fable felt the war of attrition quickly slipping away, she panicked, reverting to recycled dialogue.

“No, seriously…”

“Well, I’d have to give up my fifty thousand a year salary, a cushy desk job, and an apartment overlooking the Dallas skyline, but hey, why have all that when I can trade it for this?”

Quickly overcome by a sunken heart, throbbing steadily in defeat, Fable lowered her head back onto the pillow and let the cold fabric consume her flush red cheeks. It was in this moment, as she closed her eyes and stared into darkness, that the nature of her ways started to pester her much more so than any tickling could have done. That as much as she tried to sell herself and capture the allure on camera, smoke and mirrors disappear. The naked truth was all around her and she pitted herself for having spent so much time enveloped in her own deceit.

A loud beep brought Fable’s watery eyes to fixate on her sister as she finagled with the camera’s storage compartment. Holding her sister’s fate between her fingers, Jordan smiled, a rosy glow about her face.

“So here it is.”

Fable watched in silence as her captor turned her attention to a desktop computer, and an SD card slot conveniently located on its front end. YouTube was but a few clicks away, and in a matter of seconds Fable’s account manager was wide open.

“After this, you might consider logging out. Wouldn’t want anybody hacking in and uploading unsavory content right mistress?”

She sped through the film, reassuring her face had steered clear of any shots. With her anonymity ensured, all that remained were the restless minutes of watching it slowly configure to the site’s specifications.

There were no hesitations or second thoughts as she agreed to the terms and conditions, successfully posting the film for Fable’s forty-eight thousand followers.

“Game set and match, sister.”

Save for the function to breathe, a motionless Fable looked on as her sister forced her legs back into her pants and fastened her blazer over her body.

“I guess you win again.”

The slow clops of her Steve Madden pumps approaching the bed summoned sweat to secrete down Fable’s backside and through the creases of her flesh as she pointlessly hoisted herself to obscure her armpits.

“At ease. I just came to say goodbye, sister.”

For all the encumbrances burdening her thoughts, there was a tinge of joy as she felt her sister’s fingers grip the knotted paracord to her left arm.

“Boy, these look tight. I guess it’s a good thing you know that ‘trick’ hu?”

As the realization became clear that her sister had no intent of setting her free, Fable, in fits of desperation, tugged at her cuffs.

“Jordan! Come back here and untie me! Jordan! You can’t just… leave me here.”

The back of a rigid uniform blazer was the last she saw of her sister, before the corridor put her just out of view.

A crumpled kitchen towel, barely discrete behind an artificial bouquet of marigolds, made Jordan stare daggers at Asner who’d taken to watching a late-night variety show.

“Enjoy yourself in my absence?”

Stretching his hands to cradle his head, Asner gave a satisfactory nod.

“Oh most certainly. Say, where’s your sister?”

“She’s a little preoccupied.”

“You didn’t leave her tied up, did you?”

“Let’s just say, I hope she doesn’t have to pee anytime soon.”

Asner gave off a smirk as he envisioned the mistress, in all her menacing adornments, forced to waddle in her own urine.

“Jordan, I know you’re feeling remorseful, but you can’t leave her like that.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan. Say, are you hungry? All this revenging builds up an appetite.”

“Look Jordan, I’m serious.”

“So am I. Now are you hungry or not?”

“Well actually I could go for a bite. I thought about eating one of those bananas, but they’ve already been claimed by some fruit flies. What did you have in mind?”

“I could really go for some tacos. Heard there’s this place over on Tower Road.”

Swiping Fable’s keys off the counter, Jordan ushered Asner out of the house so that she could lock up.

“I’ll meet you there!”

Asner had already escaped to the safeties of his car before Jordan’s words could grab his ear, but it didn’t matter. As he pulled away, Jordan whipped out her IPhone and scoured Google for the number to Taco Johns.

Following a few scratchy rings, a grueling voice with molasses like slurs answered on the other end.

“Taco Johns here.”

Jordan licked away the cold off her lips before proceeding to ask for the little, tattooed waitress with pink in her hair. And as she waited patiently, slowly inching towards her Interceptor, a still, monotone voice came through on the other end.

“Thank you for holding, this is Dakota Rey.”

***​
 
A lengthy beginning to be sure, but I appreciate the set up. Thank you for another really good story!
 
Appreciate the feedback ya'll! I put a lot of thought into this. Specially how I named the girl Fable. You know, cuz Fables are like tall tales, not true stories. And I think there's a lesson to be learned here.
 
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