Tricking a Bird–Scene 1

by Barfly

Chapter 4

Consciousness returned slowly. Trying to move her limbs was the first realization that something was amiss—her strong arms were pulled behind her back and ankles and knees held tightly together. Secondly, when her heavy eyelids finally opened, she was in complete darkness, her mouth full of saliva soaked material. At that moment, Black Canary remembered how she got in this position—“shit” was the only word that came to mind. She laid still and tried to size up her situation before alarming her captors that she was awake; by talking herself through the scenario (in her head) she figured she would have a better chance of escape. “OK, I still feel groggy from the ether or chloraphorm, but that should be over soon”. Canary laid still, breathing slowly, and feeling stronger with every breath. The air in the heavy black hood was stifling; the smell of her breath mildly reminded her of a sexual experience, but she buried that feeling and slowly tested her wrist bindings. The movements were limited but she could move her fingers. She laid on her side in a partial fetal position; her long legs were bent slightly.

Black Canary laid on a soft surface like a mattress, and continued to think the situation through. “I can tell my boots are still on, and so are my shirt and tights, thank god,“ she thought to herself and she slowly brought her leather boots closer to her hands behind her back. Closer…closer! With her senses so deprived she couldn’t tell if anyone was in the room with her. Her strained breathing with a gagged mouth was all she heard. Sweat stung her eyes as her nimble fingers slowly stretched for her boot, where her freedom rested in a small serrated wire perfect for cutting these tight leather cords. Her movement must have been obvious by now, if anyone was in the room with her they would have seen. Canary’s heart beat out of her chest when she felt the smooth leather of her boot. Her fingers scrambled for the tool when instantly a hand grabbed her hood and ripped it from her head. The heroine squinted at the light and blinked trying to find focus. Her head was lifted from the mattress by a hand full of her hair, and her gag was pulled out of her mouth—instant relief came to her cheeks and sore jaw as she played and bit her full lips bringing the circulation back. She looked up and saw two familiar ski masks looking back at her.

“Hello beautiful, that was quite a show you put on for us before. How’s about an encore?” said the larger man. He smiled as they lifted the heroine to her feet.

Canary, still disoriented, looked around the room; it was rough looking with white brick walls, a concrete floor, and a dirty mattress that she tried standing on. With her high-heeled boots sinking into the foamy mattress and strong leather cord binding her ankles tightly together, she was hardly standing. The thugs held her straight up, one with a fistful of hair, the other’s strong hands holding her upper arms tightly.

“Where’s Vulker?“ Canary moaned defiantly.

“You want this back in?” asked the larger man as he tugged the soaked gag that still hung around the woman’s lean throat. He watched as the heroine shook her head weakly “no”. ”Then shut that pretty mouth of yours!” the hooded thug shouted. From the ceiling hung a white rope—the man in front pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, while the other tied the rope to her old gag that hung around her neck. They worked on the bound blonde with cold efficiency; when her hair was carefully put back and tied, with a few long strands of blonde hanging loosely over one eye, the thug in front held her up by her narrow waist. He pulled her lean body against his, slowly grinding his groin against her leg and pelvis. Canary tried to look away but the man leaned into her limited line of vision glaring into her big green eyes—Canary wanted nothing more than to wipe his crooked smirk off his face, and she knew that time would come.

”Done,” said the man behind her. The pervert in front eased off a little and Canary was strung up by the rope. The damp band around her neck tightened suddenly—Canary clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, straining in her bonds, hopelessly squirming and struggling for air. The white rope was attached to heavy duty block and pulley on the ceiling; the rope end was in the hands of the man behind her. Seconds after being pulled into the air her boots touched the ground. Canary thought it was the end of the road, totally assuming she was being hung to death. She tried to compose herself while filling her lungs with oxygen. “This is how it’s going to go. We have a couple questions and need some answers…after that the boss will be back and then my guess is you end up in the river or belong to someone’s private harem,“ the larger man growled.

”What could I know?” Canary replied. The interrogator held up a photo, and Canary’s heart sank (noticeably).

“Looks like you know more than you think, Blondie.” The photo was of a tall dark-haired woman wearing a skin tight top with a white chess piece emblem on her chest. The picture was slightly out of focus and quite dark, but the woman was unmistakable. ”They call her Rook, and I heard you two babes hang out together.“ Canary struggled—the thug nodded to the shadows and Canary found herself three inches from the ground again, fighting for air, this time for longer than before. As soon as her feet landed on the soft mattress, she felt a hard punch hit her unexpectedly in the stomach. She grunted and instinctively tried to bend over coughing.

Unknown to her captors, Canary held the thin serrated escape tool in her fist. It would only take 20 seconds to slit through the straps that bound her wrists, and her elbow bindings were already loosening—she figured about 25 seconds for those. Then she could wipe the floor with these thugs, but Vulker was not here and he was the target. Time dragged on for the heroine. Her interrogation was relentless; her captors repeatedly asked about Rooks location, alter ego, and hang out, but Canary was professional. She easily resisted the punishment for now, whilst being mildly exited by the bondage and helpless situation; plus, this was all part of her and Rooks plan.

A few miles away in the cold night air, a motor cycle raced behind a Lincoln town car, bobbing and weaving through traffic at breakneck speed. On the motorcycle was Rook. She wore a dark grey skin tight top with a “rook” emblem on her chest. Her long straight brown hair flowed from the back of her black helmet. About an hour ago, the four cars she had been tailing split up, a very unexpected move. The dark haired heroine randomly picked a car, and was now in the midst of a high speed chase through Gotham. It was obvious that the car had spotted her and was feverishly trying to lose her. Rook pulled next to the car to try to get a look inside, but the windows were completely blacked out and every time she came alongside the car swerved to take her out. The heroine was losing precious time so she decided to make her move; she sped up next to the driver side of the car. The driver then swerved hard. Rook hit the brakes as the car hit the curb, while Rook whipped the Kawasaki around to the passenger side window and easily put her thick soled boot through the window. She then quickly and skillfully swerved away from the car then steered right into the side of the car—as the front of the motorcycle slammed under the large sedan, the heroines slim body dove threw the already shattered window. Her helmet slammed into the side of the driver’s head, completely knocking him out. The heroines visor was smashed, but with a only a few minor cuts and scrapes from the maneuver she was unscathed for now. The car was still at about 65 mph; Rook quickly slid her long silky leg between the driver’s legs and pressed the brake while safely pulling the car over to the side of the road.

After turning the engine off, Rook slipped off her damaged helmet, her long brown hair cascading over her masked eyes face. The heroine wasted no time and quickly searched the unconscious driver. The brunette took his cell phone and quickly looked up his most recent calls. The last three numbers received were from an unlisted number. Rook pulled her phone from her belt, speed dialled, and softly commanded, “Jeeves, find the location of this number…555-2718.” As she spoke, she opened the passenger door and exited the car. Her long slim legs were garbed in black semi-sheer tights; her shorts were as skimpy and tight as her friend’s, the Black Canary. Her upper body was garbed in a tight grey top that came up to her throat. She also wore a tight black chemise that was almost completely transparent. High on her waist, she wore a black utility belt that accentuated her narrow waist and perky buttocks. Rook walked easily in her high solid heeled boots. With the keys in her gloved hand, she opened the trunk in case her friend was inside tied up, but the trunk was empty. Rook’s heart sank a little as she waited for her assistant to get a location; she could only imagine what that scumbag, Vulker, was up to. Canary was also probably starting to worry; the plan was not supposed to take this long.

The Black Canary’s long fishnet-covered legs were quivering and her breath was hard to catch. She was being used as a punching bag in between chocking sessions. Her vision was getting blurry; she had to make her move very soon or never. “Alright,” Canary pathetically whined as she looked with pleading eyes into the hooded man’s face, “I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

The thug manning the rope hooked the end of the cord onto an eyelet on the wall and grabbed her pony tail with a yank, holding the lean heroine straight up. He pressed against her back side, and then slid his hand up her warm thigh. “That’s better…a little cooperation never hurt,” he snickered. As he stood there, he nestled his face into her sweaty neck kissing and biting at her long throat.

Canary closed her eyes and moaned softly—the intent was to distract the thugs while she worked on her bonds, but her feeling of submission took a hold of her slightly. Her nipples hardened as the man’s rough hands grabbed her inner thigh, and the other thug joined in and grabbed her breasts, kneading and pinching them. Canary rubbed her legs together, trying to give herself some pleasure but it added to her sense of helplessness. The thug in front pressed his lips against hers and she kissed back with a small whine of pleasure. Canary had now completely succumbed to her weakness. The men could not believe how into this she was—this woman was hands down the most gorgeous creature they had ever seen, and she was all over this. Canary pulled away from her kiss and looked over her shoulder, her eyes half closed, and seductively said, “touch me.” The man did what he was told and softly rubbed her mound. She leaned her head back and moaned loudly in response. The kissing continued, as did the moaning and whines of pleasure. “Untie my legs,“ Canary mumbled in between moans.

The thug in front had a handful of her ass and the other hand sliding up her sweaty tight shirt. “You kidding me?” he replied.

Canary’s eyes opened slightly. “Please…I need to finish what we started.” Her voice was shaky. “I need to spread my legs.” She leaned in for a kiss and whispered, “I need you to spread my legs.”

END CHAPTER FOUR