Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress

by Echo

Note: The web addresses given within were not real at the time of writing. Don't waste time looking.

*Chapter 1*

There were no lights on. The only illumination came from the television screen, which cast an eerie glow throughout the room.

The image on the television blurred. There was silence as the figures moved faster than humanly possible. Click. The picture froze. On the screen was the news anchor, stopped in mid-syllable. An inset showed a man in cuffs being led towards a waiting police car. Click.

". . . end of a criminal spree. And now our man in the streets, Jake Gowan, brings us this live report."

The inset showed a man with a microphone. It enlarged until it filled the screen.

"Thanks, Bill. With me, here, I have The Hub City's own Dark Angel, whose subterfuge has ended a reign of terror. Dark Damsel, could you tell our viewers a little more about how you captured the infamous 'Midnight Caller'?"

The camera panned over to a young woman dressed in a tight, dark grey and black costume. Her face was mostly hidden by a cowl and she stood in the shadows, as if unwilling to be exposed to the light of the camera. Shadows or not, there was no mistaking the lovely rounded figure of the Hub City's most alluring crime-fighter. Those same curves had led more than one villain to underestimate the strength, skill and determination which resided within.

She laughed, lightly, as if at a joke. "Oh, I'd hardly call it a 'reign of terror'. And Kirby Phillips, the man you know as the 'Midnight Caller' is hardly infamous except, perhaps, in the minds of those with expensive jewelry and, of course, those who insure said jewelry."

"Still, Dark Damsel, the Midnight Caller has been a bane to the law enforcement officers of this city for some months," the reporter strove to inject some drama into the story, "diverting much needed resources from other areas. His capture is bound to have repercussions far beyond the removal of one criminal from the streets of the Hub City."

Dark Damsel paused. She would have preferred to have been on her way home to a luxurious bath. This reporter, however, had ambushed her as she left the Midnight Caller in the hands of the police. It would do her image little good to be seen as cold and disdainful of the citizens she had sworn to help protect.

"This is correct." She refused the reporter the use of his name. She was not familiar with him and she would not allow him to use her presence to promote himself. "That is why I persuaded Lady Margot to aid me in this venture."

"But Lady Margot's necklace alone is reputed to be worth a quarter of a million dollars." The reporter's voice turned a little hard. "If your plan had failed . . ." He left it to the viewers' imagination to consider just what would have happened.

Dark Damsel frowned inwardly. This man was a less than reputable reporter. He sounded as if he worked for a tabloid news show. She smiled, not feeling like smiling at all.

"If my plan had failed," she said sweetly, "then Kirby Phillips would now be in the possession of a thousand dollars worth of fake jewels."

The reporter laughed. "So," he managed, "the notorious Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost his liberty for imitation stones. One wonders how he will live down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new housemates . . ." the reporter paused for dramatic effect, and looked straight into the camera, "in The Big House."

He turned to catch Dark Damsel's response, but she had taken one step back, disgusted with the interview, and launched herself into the darkness. The reporter didn't miss a beat.

"Thank you, Dark Damsel, for your time." The camera closed in on his face, which receded back into the inset.

"And thank you, Jake," the news anchor said as the inset disappeared. "Recapping: The Midnight Caller, now identified as Kirby Phillips, age 45, has been captured by Dark Damsel, whose ruse lured him out and into the arms of the law. He may have been a good thief, but he wasn't all that smart after all. The Hub City rests easier tonight. To echo Jake Gowan: Thank you, Dark Damsel. And that's the news for the 14th of April, 1993."

Click.

Again images moved at super-human speed.

Click.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Here is the news for tonight, June 24th, 1997. The Photographer has struck again. This criminal, known by his penchant for leaving behind a photograph of the items he steals--for insurance purposes?--has made his biggest haul to date. Police sources estimate the loss to Hamilton Wilson to be in the neighbourhood of $350,000. Rumour has it that Dark Damsel has been called in . . ."

Click. The screen went black.

"Yes!" The word was a sibilant whisper filled with triumph.

"Commissioner Delcourt?"

Commissioner Delcourt spun around in his chair. He had heard nothing.

"Dark Damsel!"

The Commissioner looked up at the beautiful young woman before him and wondered what would lead such a person to hide behind a mask and become a crime-fighter. A young woman of her age should be married and raising a family . . . . He broke off that thought. If any of the women on the force knew he even *thought* like that in this day and age, there would be no end of trouble.

"I received your summons and here I am, sir." Dark Damsel spoke respectfully to the man who had been her father's partner, who she called "Uncle", and who was now the Commissioner of Police in the Hub City.

"Um, yes. You've heard of 'The Photographer', no doubt." The Commissioner nodded at the sudden interest in her eyes. "As you know he is a clever man, never leaving any clues behind, but this time he made a mistake."

"A mistake, sir?" It was now Dark Damsel, fighter of crime, who spoke to the police official.

"Maybe. We found this in Hamilton Wilson's condo." He pointed to a bit of torn newspaper sealed in a plastic evidence bag.

Dark Damsel picked it up and looked closely at it. It was a picture of an older woman wearing a diamond necklace. The caption read: "Lady Margot and her famous necklace will be in the Hub City on the 29th for the opening of the new City Opera, a project dear to the heart of the well known philanthropist. Story on page 26."

"Lady Margot!" Dark Damsel exclaimed.

"Indeed, Dark Damsel, Lady Margot. I recalled how her help allowed you to catch Kirby Phillips some years ago, and thought that you should know about this."

"Yes, I owe her for that one." Dark Damsel cast her mind back to the night, three years ago, when she had asked Lady Margot's help. Lady Margot had been willing, even to the point of risking her jewelry. "I have faith in you," she had told Dark Damsel. Dark Damsel had appreciated the gesture but had assured the woman that this would not be necessary. Her thoughts jumped back to the present.

"Commissioner. Do you happen to know if Kirby . . ."

"Still in prison, Dark Damsel," the older man replied at once, knowing that this question was bound to come up. "No, Kirby Phillips is not 'The Photographer'. His alibi is iron-bar solid."

"I'll see Lady Margot when she arrives. I'd hate to have anything happen to her here in the Hub City, Commissioner. I appreciate your informing me." Dark Damsel turned to leave.

"We've already warned her, but she refuses to either stay away or to leave her jewels behind. We will be placing her under surveilance, hoping to catch this Photographer in the act, but I thought that informing you was the least I could do, Dark Damsel, after all the help you've given to the Hub City. I'll rest easier knowing that you are on the case as well."

The motorcycle purred between her legs, vibrating in such a lovely way. It would be a cold day in hell before she would give it up, she knew. The Belton mansion, where Lady Margot was staying, was just up ahead and Dark Damsel slowed. She would have to talk with the Beltons through their securi-cam in order to be let into the grounds. They would then allow the gate to open for . . .

Dark Damsel stared. The driveway gate was ajar! She cut the engine and glided to a halt just before the gate. Peering through the bars she caught sight of the bodies of the guard dogs which normally prowled the grounds at night.

Across the street sat an unmarked police car, its occupants slumped over as if asleep. It took but a moment to ascertain that they were alive, merely rendered unconscious.

Like a ghost, the Dark Angel of the Hub City slipped through the gate and into the deeper shadows. Every sense was on high alert as she approached the house. The front door stood half open. Dark Damsel feared the worst. She silently climbed the steps and slipped across the landing. The blackness beyond the half open door awaited like a menacing beast.

With flash in hand, the Dark Angel moved through the door. Silence. Dark silence. Dark Damsel reached for her belt pouch and pulled out the special goggles which she had acquired the previous year. The infrared light in her hand turned the interior of the house bright when viewed through the goggles.

As Dark Damsel made her way towards the living room, something caught her attention. She stopped and listened carefully. Breathing. Laboured breathing. She shone the light into the living room and froze in shock. There were the Beltons, and Lady Margot, tied to chairs. She was about to move forward when a bright flash from the study almost blinded her. She heard the click-whirr of a camera.

The Photographer. She wasn't too late! A slow smile came over her face. One night on the job and she had the criminal already. Delcourt wouldn't be able to help but be impressed, she thought.

Like a wraith Dark Damsel moved across the floor to the study. A soft glow of light highlighted a diamond necklace on the desk. A man in close fitting black garb stood over it, camera at the ready.

Flash. Dark Damsel stepped into the room. The Photographer's eyes would be unable to see her in the shadows. Her hand reached for her cuffs.

"Hands behind your . . . ahh!"

The Photographer had spun in the instant she spoke and his camera flashed, blinding Dark Damsel. She blinked twice then grunted in pain as his kick knocked the cuffs from her hand.

Hearing a whisper of movement, Dark Damsel jumped back, barely avoiding the follow-up. She needed time and backed into the large foyer. Her assailant was on her in an instant, reaching for her. She grabbed his arm, turned and tossed him to the floor but he was up in another instant, facing her, in a fighting stance.

This was no ordinary cat-burglar, Dark Damsel knew. This was a trained fighter. In the dim light she smiled to distract him (she had faced trained fighters before), then whipped forward and around with a kick. The Photographer dropped under her kick and swept out with his own legs, knocking her supporting leg out from under her.

"Oww!" The cry was torn from her as she landed on her shapely ass.

The two rose quickly, almost together, but the Photographer was just that shade faster and Dark Damsel cried out in pain as his kick caught her right elbow and sent her crashing into the wall. She spun around and faced him once more, her right arm hanging uselessly at her side, with jolting, disconcerting lances of pain distracting her.

I've got to end this quickly, she thought, and feinted left then moved right. The Photographer fell for the feint and she elbowed him in the back, cherishing the gasp of pain which issued forth as he crashed to the floor.

Dark Damsel's sense of fair-play almost prevented her from kicking the man while he was down, but the knowledge that she was now fighting under a tremendous handicap overcame that sense. She kicked, only to feel her foot caught and thrown to her left, sending her careening into the banister. She groaned as her right arm took the brunt of the hit.

Before she could recover, the Photographer struck her left thigh and she fell to the floor thinking, irrelevantly, that there was going to be quite a bruise there in the morning.

"Don't move!" the man hissed, holding something in front of him.

The bastard had a gun. Dark Damsel froze. Flash. It was the camera. How he'd kept hold of it through the fight, she didn't know, but she was blinded. She pulled the goggles off, unable to face the prospect of another flash through them. She heard quick footfalls. He'd used the distraction to make his escape.

Dark Damsel rubbed at her eyes as she slowly regained her feet. Her right arm was still useless. Click.

"What?" Damn. She'd been more disoriented that she'd thought. He hadn't left the house, he'd merely returned to the study and grabbed her cuffs. Click. She was cuffed to the bannister by her left wrist. Her right arm still wasn't working and her left thigh was a sea of pain. He had her!

The Photographer moved against her too close and too quickly for her to knee him in the groin. He fumbled at her neck for a moment then stepped back. Flash.

"You look quite lovely in the necklace, my dear," the Photographer whispered.

"Bastard!" She had the necklace, but was powerless to prevent him from taking it again. Dark Damsel quivered in impotent fury.

Her assailant moved forward and she tried a final kick, but was rewarded with a cruel slap across the face which carried power and stung like blazes. The necklace was unclasped and Dark Damsel hung from her wrist, defeated.

"And now for a souvenir," the Photographer laughed in that same whisper. It was done so she would never be able to identify his voice, she knew. Flash.

In her mind's eye she could see the picture. Dark Damsel, cuffed, and beaten. It wasn't a pretty thought. She closed her eyes.

Her eyes snapped open again as she felt him removing her cowl. "No!" she shouted and tried to get away. It was no use and soon the Photographer was the proud possessor of her cowl, her means of disguise. She knew what was coming next and steeled herself for the flash.

"Just one more thing, Dark Damsel." She waited expectantly, head lowered against this final indignity. Dark Damsel was finished, she knew. Once her identity was known she would be a target for every crook she'd ever put away and all of those who'd love to be known as the one who had killed Dark Damsel. She closed her eyes against the flash to come.

Fingers closed in her hair and drew her head back.

"Wha . . ."

Her cry was muffled as the Photographer kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue invading, probing. His other hand stroked her breast through her costume.

Dark Damsel tried to squirm away from the kiss, but the Photographer was too strong. So she gave up, surrendering herself to the long, probing kiss and the stroking. Finally he released her and stepped back, chuckling as her breath came in gasps.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" he whispered to her.

"No!" Dark Damsel retorted defiantly.

"Well, I did. You've quite a body, there. The kind a man would love to run his hands over . . . . Now there's a thought." With that the Photographer hefted her breasts with his hands. "Nice weight, nice indeed." He ran his hands down her body from neck to thighs, then he stepped back.

"Say good-bye, Dark Damsel."

"You're going to kill me?" She tried to find his eyes in the dark, despair almost overcoming her.

"Kill you?" the man seemed genuinely surprised. "I'm a thief, not a murderer. I have what I wanted, that and a souvenir besides." He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "A couple of souvenirs."

He was gone and she was still handcuffed to the bannister. However, feeling was returning to her damaged arm and she was able to find the key to the cuffs in her belt pouch.

There was enough light coming through the living room window to guide her to Lady Margot. She untied the woman's gag. Lady Margot remained calm.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Lady Margot, Dark Damsel," the hurting heroine whispered, low enough so that the Beltons wouldn't hear. Those two were tied to chairs some feet away.

"Dark Damsel!" Her voice was warm with a friendship that made Dark Damsel want to hide, but likewise low. "Did you get him?"

"I . . . I," Dark Damsel didn't know how to tell her. "I'm sorry, Lady Margot," she finally blurted out, "he got me. And he got your necklace, I'm afraid."

"Are you all right?" Lady Margot asked, ignoring the loss of her $300,000 necklace.

"No, I'm not." Dark Damsel's voice broke slightly as she fumbled with the ropes binding Lady Margot. The only other sound was made by the Beltons' breathing.

"Poor dear. Turn on the light. It'll be easier."

"I, I can't. He took my cowl. What am I going to do?" Dark Damsel couldn't think.

Lady Margot, however, could. "You take my shawl, young woman. Untie me and leave. I'll wait a few minutes then call the police and untie the Beltons. It'll be okay, you'll see. My shawl is in the front closet, first hanger. Ahh, thank you." Lady Margot rubbed her wrists, coaxing back lost circulation. "Go now."

Tears were streaming down Dark Damsel's face. "Thank you, Lady Margot. She hugged the older woman tightly, then limped out of the room.

The motorcycle wouldn't start.

"Damn, that bastard took my battery," Dark Damsel snarled. She pushed the cycle onto the Beltons' grounds. She would pick it up later. Pulling a package from the saddlebags, she wondered how she was going to get home, then spun around as a growl interrupted her thoughts. The dogs!

Dark Damsel limped quickly to the gate and swung it closed behind her just as a very woozy pooch growled again just on the other side. Apparently the dogs had only been tranquilized, not killed. A light appeared in the house.

She had only a few minutes, she knew and she began limping down the street as fast as she could, pulling her raincoat from the package as she walked.

Taking the first corner she flattened herself against a wall as two police cars screamed by, lights flashing. She breathed a sigh of relief as they did not even slow until past her.

Dark Damsel stepped off the subway train several stops before the one she would normally take. She was being followed, she knew. It was a feeling that just wouldn't go away--one she had felt many times before and ignored only once, much to her regret.

Lady Margot's shawl was tight around her head, somewhat shading her eyes and covering her face. Her hair had been tucked inside the raincoat, whose collar had been turned up. The only thing which might give her away were her costume covered legs and boots, but no one was paying much attention to anyone else.

The Damsel would have liked to confront her shadower, who was, she believed, in the car behind hers, but to do so without cowl might be disastrous. "The better part of valour is discretion", she muttered to herself, "with which better part I have saved my identity."

The old warehouse had a secret room. It had been the hideaway of a criminal who had been captured by Dark Damsel. On his subsequent transport to jail he had made a bid for escape. It had ended with his death and the injury of the two policemen accompanying him. Dark Damsel had seen the advantage of not reporting the room to the police--there had been no incriminating evidence within anyway--instead taking over the hideaway herself. It had seemed a good idea at the time and seemed even more of one now.

Although she had made an effort to shake any shadower, she felt that she had not been successful. It would be a pity to lose this place, but she had two others like it.

Dark Damsel climbed the fire escape and slipped through an unlocked window. In moments she was in her room. She sat down in an overstuffed chair and, for the first time since meeting 'The Photographer', she relaxed. It took some time for the tension to fade.

"Ten minutes, long enough," she groaned. It was the work of only two more minutes to grab her spare costume, her street clothes and be ready to go. A thought hit her and she grinned. She climbed on the small table and attached her mini-camera to a rafter. She set it for 'motion detection', hit the delay, then moved quickly out of the room.

If it was 'the Photographer' who was following her, perhaps she could catch him on film--a fitting irony, she thought. In any event, she would know if anyone had discovered her hideaway.

From the roof of a neighbouring building a quiet figure watched as Dark Damsel slipped down the escape and disappeared into the shadows. Her limp was barely noticeable.

"So, Dark Damsel, this is where you hang your cowl," the voice was low, triumphant. "Let's just take a little look-see."

*Chapter 2*

Renee Jimson woke to the sun coming through her print curtains and dappling her bed in light and shade. The sun had not yet reached her face, but she woke anyway. It was warm and comfortable in the bed and she didn't want to move.

"Oh, well," she murmured to herself and in one move tossed off her covers, swung her legs over the side of the king-size bed and jumped to her feet.

It was a mistake, she allowed as her body protested against the vigourous movement. What had been an almost unnoticeable dull ache in her thigh burst into multi-coloured flashes of pain. Renee steadied herself, putting most of her weight on her right leg.

"Ah, hell," she spoke aloud to the stuffed tiger who resided on her dresser, "you'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you?" The tiger, if it thought anything of the kind, was too polite to mention it. She picked up the little toy and nuzzled it.

"Thanks for watching over me. I sleep better knowing that you're here." Renee yawned widely, then frowned as her left cheek complained vociferously. "Come on, Nietzsche, let's see how much damage he did."

Renee carefully made her way to the washroom and closed the door behind her. As she looked into the mirror above the sink she frowned once again. A large bruise decorated her left cheek, courtesy of the Photographer. She glared into the mirror. He would pay for that. Turning to the full-length mirror on the back of the door she winced at the much larger bruise on her thigh.

"Something else to remember you by," she said, more angry at herself than at her assailant. She had been overconfident and she had paid the price. Next time would be different. She shrugged at the sight and turned back to the sink.

"'What does not kill me makes me stronger,' right, Nietzsche?" she asked the tiger, who now sat upon the counter. Nietzsche, of course, said nothing. He was the strong silent type.

Renee took a last look in the mirror. Her grey eyes were serious under the dark brows. Her black hair hung down slightly lower than her shoulders, a little mussed by the night's sleep. She stopped to take inventory, enjoying the sight of her breasts, not small, not large, nipples erect in the coolness of the morning air, pointing slightly upwards.

She was in excellent shape, she knew--had to be, what with all the chasing around she did--and she enjoyed looking at her body. Enjoyed playing with it too, come to that--but that could wait. Yes, she was in excellent shape and her reflexes were lightning fast yet, even so, The Photographer had been that fraction of a second ahead of her at almost every stage of the fight. She would have to do better--starting now.

Her apartment had originally had three bedrooms, but she had had one of the walls taken out to give her a large exercise room. Within the room there was only a set of shelves containing a variety of books and a mini-system. She turned on the CD player and relaxed as the soft sounds of nature filled the room.

Flowing with the sounds she focused her mind on her body, on each set of muscles as she slipped into the moving meditation of T'ai Chi. This morning her movements were not so fluid as was usual, her pains saw to that, but by the time she had completed two sets the stiffness had been worked out of her muscles.

The light sweat she had worked up gave a nice sheen to her body. One wall, covered in mirrors, gave mute testimony to her beauty. She glanced from herself to Nietzsche, who now sat on one of the speakers, admiring her nude body.

"Like what you see?" she asked the tiger. She hefted a breast, all the better for him to appreciate it, and grinned. The grin faded as she recalled how The Photographer had done likewise, she helpless against the indignity. "Bastard!" she whispered.

Her body now limbered, Renee began the more intensive stretching of her Yoga. Her meditation was deeper now and her body did as it was required. Morning exercises were vital to keeping supple and alert. She had been a little less than exacting lately. No more.

Breakfast was fruit. With deft strokes she cut up a delicious salad of apple, orange, grapefruit, kiwi and a bit of everything else she had in the house.

" . . . . tomorrow. And for those just getting up, it appears that The Photographer has struck once again, and although the Hub City Police were on the spot quickly, he eluded capture one more time." The radio announcer had that fatally cheerful morning voice of all morning announcers. "Our sources at the Hub City Police Department tell us that Lady Margot's famous necklace was taken from her. Lady Margot, as you may recall, is in town for the opening of the new Opera House. In this latest crime, The Photographer has upped the ante. This was a 'home-invasion' style robbery, for Lady Margot and the Beltons, with whom she was staying, were home during the incident. They were tied, then The Photographer made off with the jewelry. Police are keeping the details under wraps, but a source states that they had an anonymous tip which sent them to the scene of the crime mere minutes after it occurred. We can only hope that the next time the Police will arrive to catch this villain in the act.

"Now, on the weather front we are expecting unsettled conditions to continue for today and tomorrow, stability returning on the weekend."

Renee turned off the radio. An anonymous tip? Ha! That tip had come from The Photographer himself, she knew. Had she been any slower getting out the police would have found her at the scene and her identity--or at least her description--would now be public knowledge. There were altogether too many leaks from Police Headquarters. She laughed mirthlessly to herself. At the time she had wondered at the very quick response to Lady Margot's call. She no longer wondered. The Photographer had, apparently, something against her.

While turning on the shower she puzzled on that. He had certainly had the opportunity to turn on the light and see her face uncovered yet had neglected to do so. There would have been no threat from the Police, they were sleeping peacefully outside. She, of course, was beaten and cuffed to the bannister and, thus, posed no threat. Why had he not? Of course, had he done so, she would have seen his face as well.

The shower was soothing. Renee loved the feel of her hands slipping over the soapy breasts. There was that certain slickness that sent tingles of anticipation running through her. The hot water cascaded against her back as her forefingers traced small circles over her areolae, occasionally rubbing against the hardness of her nipples. And on every such occasion her breath caught.

Circle, circle, circle, a fuzzy voice chanted in her mind. Yes, circle, then slip away to stroke the breast, topside, underside, slip down over the stomach, up over the shoulder then return to circle, circle, circle.

The warm buzz from the occasional touch was awaking the lust within her. It appeared, she smiled lazily, that this short shower was going to slip into one of luxury and joy. As if that were a surprise.

One hand slipped down and began to slide over her mound touching her lips, stroking ever so gently. Her other hand was in constant motion now, running over her breasts, her stomach, behind to her ass, down the furrow to that little pucker . . . tease and move, tease and move.

Breath coming in gasps. Small spasms. Breasts jiggling. Oh, yes. How nice. Close, oh so close. Bent over slightly, breasts hanging, hand working. Other hand slipping back, fingering the pucker, teasing all the little nerve endings. Straightening up, head back under the shower, stream coming down her front, washing the soap down and off. A single stream of water struck her outstretched nipple and she jerked. Oh, god! She moved back to let it happen again but she was shaking, spasming too much for the stream to make more than momentary contact.

Renee groaned. She loved feeling those little rushes, now built into bigger rushes; the small currents feeding one another until, like now, they were large currents; the wavelets building to the waves which now rocked her body. Her breath caught, body stiffened. She shuddered, the waves, currents and rushes released, held back no longer.

"Ohh!" The wail rose and fell, faded and disappeared. It was a lovely way to start the day, she thought, when her reasoning mind returned. That mind floated down and she finished the shower and stepped into the cooler air of the bathroom.

There were seven new messages, the computer screen told her. They downloaded and Renee broke the connection with her severer. As was to be expected these days, three of the messages were spam. "As if I really need to be able to subliminally seduce women," she scoffed. Three of the others were from clients and the final one was from her anonymous remailer. She decoded it.

Dark Damsel:

As soon as you are able I need to hear from you as to what went on at the Belton mansion and why your cycle was found on the Belton grounds. If you have any information that we could use, I'd appreciate hearing from you soonest.

Thanks.

PS: Your motorcycle has been put in the usual spot. Pick it up at your convenience.

The message wasn't signed. The header stated it came from the nym identity "A Friend". It was, she knew, from Commissioner Delcourt. What would she tell him? She would consider that later.

The doorbell rang. It would be Brenda, her assistant and second in command, so to speak. Renee Jimson ran a small desktop publishing shop. Most of her work came from students at the near-by Hub City University, but some also came from authors who wished to see their works published. Most of the typing Renee farmed out to several part-time workers, but she did some of it herself, especially if the subject matter interested her. It was amazing what one could learn by reading the papers as she typed them. Some of what she read was put to good use by Dark Damsel.

"Hi Brenda. You're early today," Renee greeted her friend and assistant. Brenda was going to University part time as a mature student, even though she was only twenty-five, and working for Renee helped pay for it.

"Class canceled," Brenda explained, tossing her blond hair back over her shoulders. "Got anything interesting today?"

"You've finished Mr. Smith's paper? God, that was quick, considering his hand-writing." Renee grinned at the taller woman. "Sure, I've something more interesting than that, and I may be asking you to do a little extra work as well," she winked at Brenda.

Brenda laughed, "I don't know how you do it, Renee. Another one? Just don't forget to take precautions," she warned the older woman--okay, so she was only two years older, but those two years were enough to give the relationship a running joke. "You don't want your night life to be ruined by a baby," she lectured, a knowing grin plastered on her face, "now do you? A woman your age . . ." her voice trailed off as she caught her first glance of the left side of Renee's face.

"What happened?" Brenda was deadly serious now. "This new guy of yours, did he do that?"

You might say that, Renee thought to herself. "No, of course not. I got mugged last night . . . well, it was a would-be mugger. I'm sure he looks worse. I'll be damned if I'll give any pathetic little thief my hard earned money . . ." she allowed the thought to go unfinished, hoping Brenda would buy the excuse. She turned around and began sorting through the small stack of papers.

"Did you report it?" Brenda wasn't about to let this go.

"Commissioner Delcourt was my father's closest friend, Brenda. I still call him 'Uncle Teddy', so what do you think?" A little misdirection wouldn't hurt. "You can't report it any higher than that, can you?"

Brenda was mollified. "I guess not. So, the police are working on it?"

Renee didn't have to lie now. "Oh, they're working on it all right. No doubt about it, they are after the man." And they were, but not because of what had happened to her.

"Good." Brenda was emphatic. "Oughta be more Cops out there making the streets safe. Now, what do you have for me?" She accepted a sheaf of papers from Renee. "Awright! Just up my ally. So, now, let me guess. You'll be keeping odd hours and may not show up here for days at a time, poor girl, so you want your good friend Brenda to make sure everything runs smoothly until you ditch this guy like you do all the others, right?"

"Brenda," Renee put on her best sorrowful look, "what have I ever done to make you think this of me?"

"Not a thing," Brenda apologized, struggling hard to keep a straight face, "I'm very sorry." She didn't sound at all sorry.

"But you're right," Renee sighed. "That's exactly what I want you to do. You know the drill."

"You're so organized it's hardly worth the extra pay . . . no, wait, I didn't say that," Brenda laughed. "Yes, I know the drill. Want me to start getting a handle now?"

"Please. I have some work to do in the other room."

While Brenda busied herself at Renee's business computer, Renee slipped back into her bedroom and booted up her Notebook again.

She typed her answer to Commissioner Delcourt.

Sir:

Will explain more later. Ran into the Photographer but came out second best. Hope to have a lead later this day.  Thanks for moving the bike.

Be in touch later,

DD

She encoded the message and sent it on its way through the remailers.

Hope to have a lead later. Yeah, right. A small possibility that her secret hideaway had been found and a reasonable photograph obtained. She'd go there after nightfall.

Dark Damsel gazed at the building across the way. She had to go in and see if her hideaway had been discovered, yet every fibre of her being screamed that there could be a trap set up for her. She had been followed last night, no doubt about it. That she had lost her follower before arriving here--great doubt.

Dark Damsel shrugged. She glided across the street, leapt for the fire escape and made her way up to the unlocked window. It was locked. She ground her teeth in frustration, then climbed up to the roof, defeated the lock on the door and slipped down the stairs, every sense in high gear.

Nothing. The secret door was just ahead. Her hand reached for the disguised handle then came away. Not a wise move. She retraced her steps and climbed up a flight. The hideaway had a second entrance, a trap door. She would use it.

None of her telltales had been disturbed and she felt certain that if her hideaway had been compromised, it hadn't been from this direction.

After using her flash to see what she could, Dark Damsel lowered herself through the trap and to the floor. Nothing looked disturbed. She turned on the floor lamp and light flooded the windowless room.

"Damn!" Her camera lay on the table, opened, film gone. A large envelope lay on the table. She didn't touch it, didn't move. Slowly, carefully, her eyes searched out every square inch of space, looking for anything amiss. There was nothing. She crept about looking under this and that, touching nothing, wary. Still nothing. Nothing but the envelope on the table.

She looked closer. The large manila envelope bore two words: Dark Damsel.

Cursing herself for a fool, she reached for it. It was a 10" by 13" envelope. She stopped, stepped back and removed a small spool of weighted wire rope from her pouch. She tossed the weight onto the table and slowly dragged it back, pulling the envelope onto the floor. Nothing. Nothing except moving the envelope uncovered a slip of paper. She stepped forward and read the note.

Dear Dark Damsel:

One Photographer to another, I couldn't bring myself to take your camera. On the other hand I couldn't allow myself to be photographed so I took your film. That, of course, wasn't fair, and I do want to be fair about this, so I left you some *developed* film in its place. A fair trade is no thievery, not so?

Enjoy.

There was no signature. With a trembling hand, Dark Damsel opened the envelope and slid out several 8x10s. She glowered. They were of her. The top one was a picture taken a year or two ago. She had just broken up a gang that had robbed several banks. She looked good. In the second she was sprawled on the floor of the Belton Manor, just raising herself to her elbows. Gritting her teeth she looked at the third. Dark Damsel appeared in the photo, left arm over her head, handcuffed to the bannister. Lady Margot's diamonds graced her neck. The final one showed her, Dark Damsel, defeated, hanging from her wrist.

Carefully, quietly, Dark Damsel replaced the photographs in the envelope, picked up the hand-written note and placed it there as well. She left by the door, knowing now that it wouldn't be booby-trapped. This man wanted to humiliate her. Killing her wouldn't be good enough for him. She was his special target.

With an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach, Dark Damsel made her way to the 'Garage on 5th'. She slipped in through the side door, using the key she had been given.

"Hi, Ray." The grizzled looking mechanic looked up at Dark Damsel's entrance. A big smile replaced the scowl he had been wearing.

"Dark Damsel!" His eyes went up and down her body, an affirmation of her effect on him. "Good to see you again. She's all ready for you. Put in a new battery and did some routine maintenance." Ray found it a struggle to keep his eyes on her face. Such nice curves were not to been seen just anywhere, and the tightness of Dark Damsel's costume left little to the imagination.

"Thanks Ray. Appreciate it."

"Not a problem," he allowed. Then he gave her a more serious look. "Got anything for us?"

Dark Damsel grinned at him. "For you Ray, always," she husked and was delighted to see him take in his breath in response. She loved to tease him. "One of my sources," she continued evenly, "thinks you ought to check out 412-9th, Apartment 7B. Be careful. They play for keeps, or so my source tells me. But be quick, they seldom stay in any place for more than a few days."

"Thanks, Damsel, we appreciate that. Not going to go in yourself?"

"Not this time, Ray. I'm working on something else that requires my full attention." She gave him the benefit of a smile.

"So I hear. You take care . . . Jesus!" Ray stepped forward to get a closer look at her face. Apparently she wasn't the master of disguise she had thought she was. He had spotted the bruise through the make-up.

"You play with the big boys, you have to take your lumps, time to time," she said lightly.

Ray wasn't buying it. He was angry and Renee loved him for it. "You put out the word and if we ever have him we'll take him for a walk around the block."

The Damsel knew he was serious and knew that Ray and his partners would do a job on anyone she pointed out.

She grinned at him, not feeling like grinning. "Type of man I could fall for," she winked. "But they'd take away your Commendation for Service Above and Beyond, Ray. We couldn't have that, now, could we?"

"Your call, Dark Damsel." He wasn't laughing. "What's that?" his attention went to the envelope.

"A gift from a friend." She smiled and turned it over. Only then did she see what was written in small letters in the bottom corner. Her smile faded. "Borrow your computer for a bit, Ray?"

He waved her magnanimously to the seat he had vacated when she had entered. She looked once more at the envelope. Ray moved back to give her privacy. He knew when to leave her alone.

Renee clicked on the browser and the Web came up, home page: Hub City Police Department. She typed in the address written on the envelope. http://www.super-heroine.com/~bzx/dd She knew of the site. It featured pictures of costumed heroines and models made up to look like those heroines. Many of those latter were in stages of undress or worse. The site also offered fan fiction. There were some sick puppies out there. Some of the stories, on the other hand, were quite erotic and she, too, had enjoyed one or another from time to time.

There was one writer whose passion was Minx, a blonde bombshell whose position vis-a-vis the law was questionable. No one had caught her breaking it . . . yet. That writer was quite good and Dark Damsel read everything he (or was it she?) wrote.

There had even been a few stories about her, some of them quite raw. Mostly she avoided those. She could do without them.

The page came up. Dark Damsel's expression changed from wary to bleak.

THE END OF DARK DAMSEL

The caption spread across the photograph that she had in her envelope, the one of her smiling as the bank gang were placed in the paddy wagon. She clicked on the continue button and wasn't at all surprised to see the other photos of her from the night before. The Photographer moved quickly, she realized with some dismay. And she wouldn't be able to track him through this site. Anyone could post stories or pictures here as long as the owner of the site allowed it, and there wasn't much he wouldn't allow. Were she to go in and investigate it would be apparent (and the news would be widespread in milliseconds) that those pictures were truly of her and not of a model dressed like her.

STAY TUNED FOR MORE

ended the page. A cartoon figure raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively.

The dirty rotten bastard! So, there it was, out in the open. The Photographer wanted her, wanted her badly. He was out to publicly humiliate her. Why? Why her? Was he someone she had met before, put in jail perhaps? It didn't matter. What did matter was the decision she had to make. She could go after the man and risk her identity and her pride, or she could stop being Dark Damsel. She grimaced. There was no decision to be made. She *was* Dark Damsel.

"Thanks again, Ray." She was quieter and he looked at her closely as she turned to the garage to get her motorcycle. "I'll see you guys soon."

As Dark Damsel rode out through the open bay door, Ray moved to the computer. She had returned it to where it had been prior to her use, but he tracked down the site she had gone to.

Dark Damsel was much too far away to hear the quiet curse: "Fucking Bastards!"; much too far away to see that death lurked in the eyes of the easygoing police detective.

*Chapter 3*

The police scanner in her motorcycle gave her the news. Disturbance in the alley between 10th and 11th Streets, off Kylie Avenue. Dark Damsel took the next right. She was merely three blocks away. By the time the police had arrived it would all be over, whether or not she intervened.

The motorcycle parked and safeties set, she moved through the shadows. Dark Damsel grimaced. It was an ugly scene. A woman, stylishly dressed, was backed up against a brick wall. A thug in front of her was going through her purse while two more stood by, one to either side.

"Look, you have my money. Just take it and go." The woman was putting on a brave face but her shaky voice gave her away.

The head thug looked up from the purse and grinned a nasty grin. "Let's see what else you got, pretty lady," he snarled. "Mebbe you be real nice to us and we leave you cab fare." The other two goons chortled at that and the woman's face blanched.

"The police will be coming. Get away while you can." There was no disguising the tremor in her voice now. Dark Damsel was close enough to see that the head thug had a scar on his face. The one to the left of the woman had had his nose broken a couple of times; the other stood in the shadows and she couldn't see him clearly.

"Mebbe you right. So mebbe we got no time to be fancy, hey?" Scar grinned at her. "Or mebbe you wanna come with us, some place we can all take our time."

"Le's take her with us, boss," Broken Nose growled. "She might be fun an' we can always sell her off later. Ain't nobody gonna call the cops in this neighbourhood."

The woman's hands, as she held them up in front of her were shaking badly.

The man in the shadows spoke and the hair on the nape of Dark Damsel's neck stood on end. His voice was cold and without a shred of humanity.

"Let's just gut her here. Won't be no witnesses then."

She was close enough now to see that none had guns. Shadow held a knife and Broken Nose a cosh. Scar didn't have any weapons visible.

"Now that hurts," called out Dark Damsel. She grinned at the expressions on the men as they spun to meet this threat. "Calling me 'nobody'. I'm here and I'd be a witness." The three moved forward slowly. Damsel held her ground. It could be tricky, but if they moved just a little closer the woman could escape. Even now she was eying her chances. "What is this," the scorn was heavy in Dark Damsels voice, "only three to one? It's hardly worth my while."

"That's Dark Damsel," Broken Nose whispered loudly to the others. He seemed in no great hurry to mix it up.

Scar chuckled menacingly. "So, you like odds, huh? Shag! Get over here. We got a filly wants to be rode." He snickered, then glared. "You wanna take the bitch's place, that's just fine. Always wanted me one of you costumed bitches."

A fourth man, larger than the others, appeared, not just larger--huge. Dark Damsel didn't like the odds anymore. She might beat any two of them without too much trouble, three was cutting it a bit thin, but with four . . . . There was little chance that one wouldn't get in a lucky blow, and once they got on top of her it would be over. She tried a bluff. Maybe her reputation would scare them off.

"Only four? I can handle four any day of the week. I'll hardly even break a sweat." Confidence she didn't feel rang out in her challenge.

"And I love a good sweat!" The voice came from above and behind her. Dark Damsel spun around and looked up even as the four thugs began to close in.

"Minx!" It was the first time Dark Damsel had laid eyes on the costumed woman. She was blonde and built like nobody's business. Her costume was grey and white, with white boots. She was not masked, but the garish paint which decorated her face with bizarre symbols and stripes would prevent anyone from ever recognizing her in civvies. Well, now she knew. Minx was *not* one of the good guys. "Okay, then five to one."

Dark Damsel grunted as she kicked Shadow's knife from his hand then spun away from the counter stroke. She was for it now, she knew.

Minx laughed out loud as she dropped from the fire escape landing. "Five to one?" she questioned. "I was thinking more of four to two." A fist to the face and poor Broken Nose held his main facial feature while he howled in pain.

Damsel dropped under Shadow's grasping arms, came up tight against him and straightened sharply, butting him hard under the chin. Shadow dropped like a stone and the Damsel spun away again, avoiding Shag's sucker punch. She caught a glimpse of Scar being pummeled by Minx, trying to protect himself from her fury, before her attention returned to Shag. He swung again and she kicked, catching him in the ribs. It seemed to have no effect. A sweep caught the back of one knee and brought him down, but he was up again after blocking a kick to his head.

"I'm going to take you apart," he growled and stepped forward, blocking her move. With a garbage bin to her side, the brick wall to her back and Shag in front there was nowhere to go--except through the thug. He warded off a punch and a kick, then caught her leg and threw her to the ground. "I'm going to like this."

Shag stood over her, his feet apart, a nasty smile on his face. Shock chased away all other expressions as a white booted foot came up between his legs from behind and struck him savagely. Damsel scrambled to her feet. Shag stood rooted to the spot, a brute of a man, and groaned. But he didn't go down. He didn't even bend over. Damsel kicked at his ribs again and he stepped back involuntarily. Minx stood to his other side and repeated Damsel's blow.

"I'll kill you," Shag gasped.

"Not this time," Damsel gritted out as she kicked with full force. She heard a rib or two break and the behemoth stepped back another two paces.

"Not next time, either," growled Minx and kicked to Shag's stomach.

Finally he bent over, gasping for breath. Together Minx and Dark Damsel hammered his back with clasped hands and Shag went down. He did not move.

Minx brushed the hair out of her face and grinned raggedly at Dark Damsel.

"Yes!" they said together and high-fived. They were both breathing heavily as they turned to survey the scene. The woman they had saved was picking up her purse; Broken Nose was still sobbing as he held his face; the others were all on the ground, out for the count.

Minx held out her hand and Dark Damsel took it. The sharp pull brought her off balance and into Minx's arms. Minx bent her head down and she licked at Damsel's neck.

"I told you," she purred in Damsel's ear, "I love a good sweat. You taste good. Wanna go somewhere and taste each other? Nothing like a good fight to make you horny, is there?"

Damsel felt Minx's hand moving down her back, cupping her ass, then dragging up her front until it rested on her breast. Minx hefted it in much the same way as the Photographer had done, but in Minx's hand it felt good.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, Minx," Dark Damsel stammered, "but I don't . . . I'm not . . ."

"That's okay, honey. I'm not, either. But it can be a fun change of pace." Sirens sounded in the distance, getting closer. "You ever change your mind," Minx slid her hand down to cup Damsel between the legs, "you let me know." She traced Damsels nether lips through her costume. "Gotta go, sweet thing," Minx whispered in her ear, then turned Damsel's face up to kiss her full on the lips.

Dark Damsel was completely taken aback. This had never happened before. But Minx had saved her bacon, so she met Minx's kiss and opened her mouth to allow Minx to probe with her tongue. It felt so weirdly good to feel Minx's breasts pressed against her own, Minx's mouth on hers, so weirdly good.

"Don't forget to give me partial credit," Minx grinned at a ragged breathing Dark Damsel before jumping for the fire escape landing, pulling herself up in one quick move and fleeing to the rooftops.

Dark Damsel's thoughts were all in a whirl. So that was Minx. Yow! Shakily she moved to meet the police who were coming swiftly up the alley, guns drawn.

"It's great when a citizen isn't afraid to go to court," Commissioner Delcourt told Dark Damsel. "The woman you and Minx saved last week was so indignant that she she's already called in twice to affirm her commitment to seeing 'those four bastards hang'. Has nothing but good words about you and Minx and wants me to pass along her thanks. You, apparently, took off before she could thank you in person."

"Good. 'Cause I certainly can't go to court and give my full name for the record, can I?" Dark Damsel didn't expect an answer to that question.

"Those boys you brought in. Rewards on two of them. We've been looking for them for quite some time now. So, what do we do with the reward?"

"Same as usual, Commissioner."

Working with the police, but not of the police, had its benefits. She was entitled to reward money for wanted felons she brought in, or information she gave leading to convictions. That money was, for the most part, put into a special account. Money from that account had paid for her motorcycle and did pay the insurance on same--care of the Hub City Police Department--and for various other gadgets they supplied her with from time to time. Occasionally she asked for some of it in cash. She, also, had sources to reward.

"Actually I'll want half in cash. Minx deserves half the reward." The Damsel thought for a moment. "Say, Commissioner, you don't have a line on Minx, do you?"

Delcourt leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, Damsel, she's almost as much of a mystery to me as you are. Sometimes we think she's on our side, sometimes we wonder. I would love to know what got her into this racket." He leaned forward again and opened a drawer. Out came an envelope. "I had a suspicion you would ask for this. Half. In cash, used twenties, not marked in any way."

"Thanks, Commissioner. Now to other business. The Photographer." Dark Damsel tried to keep the anger out of her voice as she said the name.

"Just a minute." He buzzed his secretary. "You can send her in now."

A medium-tall brown haired woman walked into the room. She moved like a cat, graceful and purposefully. Her brown eyes regarded Dark Damsel in a way that made the Damsel slightly uneasy. It looked almost like disguised lust. Damsel grinned to herself; since the meeting with Minx she was becoming overly sensitive about relations with other women.

"Dark Damsel, I'd like you to meet Rebecca Nasturant. I put her on the research you wanted."

Nasturant looked from the Damsel to the Commissioner and back. At the Commissioner's nod she opened the file folder she was carrying and pulled out several sheafs of paper.

"This is what we have so far, Dark Damsel," her voice was precise, efficient, not at all what Dark Damsel had expected. Such a sinuous woman should have a more sensuous voice, Damsel thought.

"Given that this Photographer *does* have something personal against you, we've gone back over every case you are on record as having handled or supported. Computer printouts of all those who might be holding a grudge are on List A. From those, all who are still in prison . . . or dead . . . have been appended to List B. List C is those who are now at large, either wanted or living within the law." Nasturant handed copies of the list to Dark Damsel and to Delcourt as she mentioned them. She set the rest of the file down on the Commissioner's desk.

"What remains is what we have on the names from List C. Anything you can do to reduce the list would be a great help, Dark Damsel. I took the liberty of arranging them in what I think is descending order of probability."

"Thank you officer, it is greatly appreciated."

Nasturant nodded at Dark Damsel, looked her up and down once more, then turned to Delcourt. "Is there anything else, Commissioner?"

"No, thank-you, Rebecca. That will be all for now."

Rebecca Nasturant nodded, turned and left the room, her footsteps silent.

"A great help, that woman," Delcourt enthused. "A miracle worker on the computer." And a wonderful sight for the eyes, he added silently, wondering if a woman that young might find a man like him attractive. He shook his head. As long as she was his subordinate it was impossible. Sexual harassment suits would pour on him like rain. Ah, well . . .

Dark Damsel smiled to herself. It would do Uncle Teddy a world of good to get back into 'action', she thought. He hadn't gone with anyone since his wife had died three years ago--as far as she knew. She wondered if he was as obvious to the lovely young officer as he was to her.

"I'm sure she is, sir. I'll take the lists and report back via e-mail." Like hell she would. She wanted the Photographer for her own.

"Now, Damsel," Delcourt began, his mind in the same track, "don't do anything rash. Together we can get this man and put him away."

"Nothing rash. Of course not, sir."

Peter Lepcher. There he was third from the top of List C. Dark Damsel had broken up his operation four years ago. He had been sentenced to ten years in jail but had been a model prisoner and was out on parole. There was nothing about the man that seemed to indicate a lust for vengeance, but Officer Nasturant had placed him up near the top.

Lying back on her bed, Renee picked up his file. Hmm. He had become involved in martial arts while in the Pen. Strike one. Yet he had been a model prisoner, no fights, no involvement with gangs, no nothing. He had been released just three months before the first heist by the Photographer. Strike two.

Renee glanced up to the Television to watch a particularly funny part of a movie she had seen three times before and she was still chuckling when she returned to her study of Lepcher's file. Her chuckling died, as did her smile. Lepcher was now in business running a photography shop with dark-room. Strike three! Dark Damsel would have to investigate. Now.

There was still a light on in the shop when Dark Damsel arrived, though the store was closed for the day. She parked her bike in the alley behind the shop and went to the back door.

Pulling a lock-pick from her pouch she bent down then, with a wry grin, straightened up once more. No use buying trouble. She rang the bell. She could hear the foot-falls as someone approached the back door. The door opened. Lepcher!

"Dark Damsel!" Lepcher's eyes went wide.

"Surprised? You didn't think I'd find you, perhaps?" Damsel sneered.

"I didn't think you'd be looking?" answered the astonished man. "I've done nothing wrong, Dark Damsel, nothing that would bring Dark Damsel after me. Hell, you were the one who sent me up. I never laid a finger on you, so I don't understand why you'd come after me. What's going on? Surely I have a right to know."

The man was a good actor, Dark Damsel decided. She needed something to jolt him out of his complacency. She made a sudden strike, slow enough for him to block, one leaving her seemingly open to a counter strike. The moves were automatic. Lepcher blocked the blow, but stopped the counter-move part way in. Instead he backed up, his hands in front of him, prepared.

He was ready, Dark Damsel could see, but he didn't seem to want a fight. Also, his block wasn't the lightning fast move that the Photographer was capable of. She reconsidered.

While Dark Damsel was thinking, Lepcher lowered his guard. He looked very confused. "What's going on here, Dark Damsel?" he asked. "Wouldn't it be better to talk it over first?"

"Where were you on the night of the 26th?" Dark Damsel demanded.

Lepcher rolled his eyes. "I knew it. I knew it would come to this sooner or later. Damn and blast that man! I'm not The Photographer. Shit. I buy into a photography store and suddenly this guy starts his spree. First: I've paid for my crime; second: I'm on parole and I'm not going back inside; third: I'm not stupid. You think I'd leave pictures behind me, something to lead the police straight to this shop?"

"I don't know what you'd do?" Dark Damsel replied. "You could be very clever."

"I suppose. But the police have been here three times already. I don't have an alibi for the 26th, I was here working by myself, but I do have one for the last three of the Photographer's jobs. You're supposed to be tight with the cops, ask them." The words were almost a plea.

Dark Damsel was almost ready to believe him. He seemed sincere. But why had mention of the police investigations been left off his sheet? Had there, in fact, been any?

"Look, Dark Damsel, if you want, come in. Look around."

"Okay, I will."

Over the next hour Lepcher showed Dark Damsel through his store, showing her the improvements he had made, told her of his hopes and dreams, took her through his client lists, everything she wanted, and more. By the end of that time Dark Damsel was sure that Peter Lepcher was not the Photographer.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I had to check you out," she said as he led her back to the door, holding it open for her.

"That's okay. I guess I'll have to expect this sort of thing for a while yet. People are never willing to admit that someone has changed. Actually, Damsel, I owe you my thanks. I was going nowhere, fast. The time in prison gave me the chance to turn everything around. I'm happy now. I don't look over my shoulder for what's coming up behind me anymore. I have a lady friend, and I don't have to keep secrets from her." Lepcher offered his hand and Dark Damsel took it.

"Now, I'd better get back to work. I told Penny I'd be done by eleven and it's almost that now." He closed the door behind her and she heard it lock.

Well, one down, forty to go, thought Dark Damsel as she straddled the bike and put the key in the ignition. She turned the key and there was a flash of light which blinded her and a sudden pain in her thigh. She started to sway. As her vision came back she noticed there was a dart in her right thigh. Seemed odd that there would be a dart sticking out of her thigh. She should do something about that. Yes, she should pull it out. Or something. Another flash disconcerted her. Damn, it was getting foggy out. Didn't hear anything about that in the forecast.

A hand reached out to support her and Dark Damsel tried to thank the good Samaritan but the words wouldn't come. Some words did come, but they were from outside. She tried to concentrate.

"I knew you'd come here, sooner or later," the disembodied voice whispered. "Now the fun begins."

*Chapter 4*

Dark Damsel felt slightly nauseous. It had been a long time since she had had that much to drink. Her mouth was dry and she needed water. Stupid to go out drinking, she thought. Whatever possessed her to do that? Ah, well, nothing to do but suffer the consequences of free will.

Dark Damsel was lying on her side in a semi-fetal position, hands under her chin. She decided to get up, but her arms didn't obey her when she ordered them to move out. What the hell? She opened her eyes. It was like looking through translucent glass, through a shower door. There was light, but everything was blurred beyond recognition.

"Shit," the word rasped out.

She was in trouble. Her mind was slowly clearing, more and more pertinent details coming back. She hadn't been out drinking. Then what? Oh, yes. The dart. The *dart*! She tried moving her arms again and felt a tug at her throat. A collar. She was collared! She was collared and her hands were cuffed and attached to the collar by a short length of chain. This was definitely not good. Dark Damsel moved her legs. They, at least, were unfettered, though there was some kind of belt around her middle. What had happened? Where had she been taken? A momentary burst of panic was brought quickly under control.

Trapped, perhaps. Yet there was a way out of any trap, she knew. All she had to do was find it. She must begin to explore at once. Before anyone found out she was awake. Dark Damsel tried to roll over onto her knees in preparation for getting to her feet. She couldn't. The belt was attached, in the back, to the wall.

It was warm in the room and her head felt hot. The familiar feel let her know that she was still wearing her cowl. Why? Why had it not been removed? The bastard probably wanted her awake for the unveiling, she thought angrily.

Movement. There was a shifting of the patterns of light. Someone had come into the room. From her perspective, Dark Damsel now knew that she was lying on a mat on the floor.

"Are you all right?" It was a woman's voice, hushed, fearful. Even through the lenses, Dark Damsel could see that the woman was more or less naked and that she was blonde or dirty blonde.

"Yes," Dark Damsel rasped. "Help me get out of this."

"I can't," the woman's voice trembled. "He'd kill me if I tried."

She was close now. Dark Damsel wondered what sort of lenses had been fitted to her cowl to cause the distortion in her vision.

"Here."

The Damsel felt something touch her lips. It was a straw. Hesitating only a second, Dark Damsel drew in the wonderful, cool water. If there was anything in it other than water, she couldn't taste it. She could have refused to drink, but it would have done her no good. They could just force her. She was helpless for the moment.

"Where are we?" Dark Damsel wanted to know.

"I don't know." The thin edge of hysteria was creeping into the woman's voice. "I woke up here, just like you." The woman paused. She touched Dark Damsel's costume. "Are you . . . are you really . . . Dark Damsel?"

The poor frightened woman wanted reassurance. With Dark Damsel present there was always a chance. The costumed woman replied with a strength she did not feel. "Yes, I am Dark Damsel. Don't worry we'll . . ."

"No, oh no . . ." the woman's voice trailed away in a moan. "Another," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "He's got another."

Another? Another what? Dark Damsel wanted to question the woman, but she had tensed suddenly at the sound of footsteps coming closer.

"Please, please listen to me. Do whatever he wants, just do whatever he wants!" It was a heartfelt plea and Dark Damsel was stunned.

The woman got up and ran from the room, leaving Dark Damsel to ponder her words. She feigned sleep. The footsteps drew ever closer, then they were in the room.

"Good morning, Dark Damsel." The voice was strangely muffled, husked, but there was no disguising the triumph in it. "Come now, I know you're awake. Who do you think sent Kitty in with the water?" Dark Damsel raised her head and peered at the man. "That's better. So, this is the great Dark Damsel," the voice oozed scorn. "You weren't that hard. First at the Beltons', then at poor Peter's. Now, there's a waste of talent. But let him have his petty private life. It is you I'm interested in. And I have you," the triumph was back, "precisely where I want you."

"Who are you?" Dark Damsel asked. "Why the personal vendetta?"

The Photographer laughed. It wasn't encouraging. "Oh, you'll find out in good time, my pretty pet, you'll find out in good time." He prodded her leg with his foot.

Dark Damsel remained still. It would accomplish nothing to kick out at this juncture. Let him believe her beaten. He bent over her and she heard a click at the wall. She was one step closer to being free. He stepped back.

"Get up, Dark Damsel," he ordered.

The Damsel rolled onto her forearms, and walked her knees forward. The line which had bound her to the wall was still attached to her belt, she realized. Only now it was no longer holding her to the wall. She wondered how much play she had.

"Nice ass," the Photographer commented and Dark Damsel blushed, realizing the picture she presented. "Keep going."

It took only a few moments for her centre of balance to shift back and enable her to sit up, then stand. She was a little shaky, but all right. She faced the Photographer.

"Good. Now, turn around. I want to see your profile."

"Go to hell." Dark Damsel had had enough of this. She was becoming angry. No one could treat Dark Damsel like this.

The Photographer laughed. "You have no choice in the matter. You *will* do as I say. You'll do what I say, when I say, as often as I say." He sounded supremely confident and Dark Damsel didn't like that at all. She stood still.

"Okay," he sighed, the reluctance in his voice feigned. "As you wish."

The Photographer pointed something at Dark Damsel. She couldn't make it out through the distortion lenses. There was a tiny click then a muffled whir. What?

"Oh!" The line to her belt was being reeled in. It was attached to the ceiling and pulled her back a few paces then began pulling her up onto her toes. Click. It stopped.

"Kitty!" The order rang out. Dark Damsel saw the outline of the woman as she came scurrying back into the room. "Take off her boots."

"Why?" Kitty whispered to Dark Damsel as she knelt at her feet. "I told you."

"Quiet." The single word was cold, harsh.

Kitty shut up with a tiny moan and continued to work in silence. Soon Dark Damsel's boots were off and she was standing bare foot on her toes.

Dark Damsel had been concentrating on Kitty and when the hand stroked her bottom she gave a little gasp. The Photographer had come around behind her and was running his hand over her. The hand worked its way up until it found the zipper.

In designing her costume, Dark Damsel had first tried a one piece body suit. It had been great . . . until the first time she'd had to use a washroom while in it. Then she'd separated top from bottom and joined them with a little zipper. A small lip of cloth covered the zipper and the join was almost invisible.

The Photographer had found it. Now he began undoing the zipper. Dark Damsel knew what was coming and wasn't about to take it silently.

"No!" She shouted and tried a kick. The Photographer avoided her easily and kicked her supporting leg out from under her. This tipped her over and she hung by her middle unable to reach the floor with her feet. The Photographer laughed. Kitty moaned. Dark Damsel thrashed about for a moment, trying to connect with the Photographer, then gave up. She was helpless.

"This one needs a lesson," the Photographer chuckled mirthlessly. "You remember how it was, don't you, Kitty?" Kitty moaned again. "The stool!"

While Kitty was getting the stool, the Photographer grabbed the hapless Damsel by the belt, steadied her, then began to undo the zipper. The Damsel could do nothing. She flushed, which added to the redness of her face, when the Photographer pulled the tights and her panties down to her knees. She heard a thunk and looked down to see what appeared to be a stool set up under her. The Photographer sat on the stool. The remote clicked again and Dark Damsel was lowered onto his lap.

"Kitty."

"Sir?" the poor woman stuttered.

"Take them the rest of the way off."

Dark Damsel gritted her teeth, but there was nothing she could do. She was going to get a spanking, which rankled enough as it was. Were she to try to stop Kitty from removing her tights it would only get worse, she knew. Bastard, bastard, bastard, she whispered under her breath. When she got free he'd regret this!

"Ow!" The first blow caught her unawares. It was a hard nasty slap on her rump.

"That was just to get your attention. Now this is how we play. You were a naughty girl," the belittling of her womanhood angered Dark Damsel more than her position, "and naughty little girls have to be punished. How many do you think you deserve?"

Dark Damsel refused to answer. She'd be damned if she'd play along with his sick little games.

"Very well, since you have no answer, I guess I'll have to decide for myself. How about twenty?" He waited. "No answer? Well, I guess that's not high enough. How about twenty-five?"

Dark Damsel paled a little. She'd have to answer . . . too late.

"Okay. Thirty. Is thirty enough?"

"Yes," Dark Damsel sputtered through her humiliation, "thirty is enough."

"Good. Then thirty it is. Next. You will ask for each spank by calling out its number. If you are not fast enough I'll simply fill in the space between calls in any way I see fit. It doesn't count unless you ask for it."

The second spank landed, hard as the first. Dark Damsel bore it in silence. The third landed. They hurt! Suddenly Damsel realized that no one was counting. This could continue indefinitely.

"One!" she called out and was rewarded with a harsh spank.

"Very good. Ask for the next."

"Two." It was humiliating, having to ask him to spank her. It was humiliating knowing that she wouldn't be able to stay silent long. Each swat hurt just that little bit more than the previous one. She wasn't sure if she was becoming more tender or if he was hitting harder.

"Spread your legs."

"What . . . Ah!" Dark Damsel complied as a very forceful blow rocked her whole body. "Eighteen!" She was sobbing now, tears flowing. "Nineteen!" "Twenty!".

"Kitty. The paddle."

"No, please," Dark Damsel was beaten.

There was a whistling sound and Dark Damsel screamed more in surprise than pain, though the pain was there. Damn! She'd forgotten to count. The final ten had her moaning, shouting, crying; her legs jerking, kicking but remaining open. Then it was done.

The Photographer pushed her off his lap, but not before she felt the hardness there. He had really gotten off on the spanking. Pervert. She hung from the line, toes just touching the ground, unable to regain her feet.

"Kitty. We have other business."

"Oh, no. Please, you said . . ." Kitty was in tears, her sobs racking her.

Dark Damsel wondered what was going on, but the two of them were gone before she could bring herself to ask. A minute later a gun went off and there was a loud scream. The gun fired once more. Damsel was shocked. She fought her way to her feet in time to see Kitty come running back through the door. "Thank God," she whispered.

"Look after her. I have other business," The Photographer snarled as he walked by the open door.

Kitty was sobbing as she applied a cream to Dark Damsel's bruised behind.

"It's okay, Kitty, it's okay," Dark Damsel tried to comfort the woman.

"No, it's not. You don't understand," sobbed Kitty.

Dark Damsel softened her voice. "Help me to understand, Kitty."

Kitty froze for a long minute. She choked back her sobs. "Okay," she began shakily. "Please, Dark Damsel, remember one thing: Do as he says. He likes taking pictures. He likes posing his girls." She paused.

"Girls?" Dark Damsel asked, afraid of where this was leading.

"Girls," she confirmed. "But if they are stubborn or he gets tired of them, they disappear. You have to do what he says, please. For your own sake." Kitty broke down and cried. It took her a long while to calm down again. "It's too late for me, so do it for yourself."

"What do you mean it's too late for you? What happened?"

"He's tired of me. I tried my best, did what he wanted, tried to excite him . . . and it worked. But now . . . " she broke down again.

"Kitty, what happened?"

"If you don't please him, if you refuse to pose . . . . Oh, Dark Damsel, Minx refused to pose . . ."

Minx? He had killed Minx for not posing? Dark Damsel shuddered. Poor Minx. Now she regretted that she hadn't taken Minx up on her offer. It had been plain that Minx had been a little hurt by her rebuff, no matter how she tried to hide behind the bravado. Poor Minx. Now she knew why Kitty had been so upset that she was Dark Damsel and not just a model dressed up as her. He had killed Minx. When she got free . . . if she got free. For the first time Dark Damsel was not so sure that this would end happily.

Kitty was crying, on the floor, curled around Dark Damsel's legs.

"Kitty. Kitty!" The woman stilled. "Kitty, you've got to help me get out of this."

"You don't understand. That's what Minx said. I tried, and I got Minx killed," she shuddered again, then spoke slowly, clearly, each word separate. "There is no escape." Slowly the defeated woman got to her feet. "But I can let you down." There was the now familiar whir and the line attached to Dark Damsel's waist slackened and drooped. "And I can free your hands." There was a click and the Damsel's hands were now free from the collar, though still attached to each other by a little over a foot of chain.

"Kitty, listen to me. If there really is no escape then there is no use in my trying to make him happy. The way I see it, if I'm going to die here, I'll die with as much dignity as I can muster. He will get nothing more from me." Dark Damsel was already regretting her acquiescence to The Photographer's spanking ploy. "Minx had the right idea."

Kitty stiffened slightly, then relaxed again. Suddenly the woman's arms were around Dark Damsel and she was crying again. "Just do as he says. He made me watch, he made me watch. I saw him kill Minx. That means I'm next. He can't leave me alive." She shuddered and Dark Damsel's arms went around her, holding her tight.

"If that's true, Kitty, then help me help you. Perhaps together we can catch him off guard and get away."

Dark Damsel could feel the poor frightened woman shaking and held her tight. She murmured calming words to the woman and slowly rocked her back and forth. The crying stopped, the shaking stopped. The woman raised her head from Dark Damsel's shoulder. She leaned back a bit, looking at Dark Damsel, then leaned in and kissed Dark Damsel's neck.

It was Dark Damsel's turn to stiffen slightly. Kitty stopped and her hold on Dark Damsel loosened.

"Please," she begged, "if I have to go, I want to be close to someone warm one last time; be with someone of my own free will, not because *he* makes me.

Dark Damsel felt her heart go out to this woman. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't be brave enough to stand up to The Photographer. Some had it in them, some were just out of their depth. Besides, the woman might be right and there might be no escape. She didn't know the true situation. The Photographer might be just one of many here.

Dark Damsel took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. What the woman said made some sort of sense. At least it was an act of defiance. She determined to go along with Kitty's last request.

Kitty sighed as the Damsel's arms tightened about her. She melted into the taller woman's arms and something about the trust implied, the surrender, caused Dark Damsel to feel very protective. She would not betray that trust.

As Kitty moved her head back and looked up, Damsel bent her own down and met Kitty in a kiss. At first their lips barely touched, then Kitty's parted slightly. The Damsel parted her own and lightly touched Kitty's with her tongue.

It was as if a dam burst. Kitty grabbed Dark Damsel's head and pulled down, bringing their mouths tight together. Her tongue speared out to duel with the Damsel's. Both women's breathing became rather ragged as they held each other tight and kissed the longest, most passionate kiss of their lives. It was the affirmation of life in the face of death.

They broke apart, panting. Kitty tore at Dark Damsel's costume, pulling her top up from under the belt which trapped her. She found the zipper down the front and pulled it down. Damsel felt the cooler air of the room against her bare breasts, felt her nipples begin to harden, both from the cool air and from the excitement. Somewhere in her mind she knew she was trying to make up for turning down Minx, but right now there was a needy woman in front of her.

Kitty pulled her costume up over her head and down her arms 'til it hung on the chain which held her wrists together. Kitty cursed, then went to work at the cuffs. The Damsel was surprised. She had been sure that the cuffs were locked on, but apparently not. The cuffs and chain fell to the floor and Kitty was upon her, kissing, hugging, stroking like a mad woman; determined to get full measure from their encounter.

They sank to the floormat, still held in embrace, then Kitty released her and slid down to lick and kiss at Damsel's breasts. It felt so good and Dark Damsel gave a little sigh, which caused Kitty to increase her already fervid attention to Damsel's nipples.

Damsel groaned. She twined her hands in Kitty's hair and held her head to her breasts. If only she could see Kitty, look her in the eyes . . . . Damsel stopped and reached up to remove her cowl. Instantly Kitty's hands were on her wrists, stopping her.

"No, don't, please don't," she cried out. "He'll whip me. I just can't take any more pain, I can't," she sobbed.

"Okay, Kitty, okay," she calmed the shaken woman.

Kitty calmed down and went back to work, kissing and fondling Dark Damsel while the Damsel's hands roamed over Kitty's head, petting and caressing.

The attention to her breasts was getting Damsel hot. God, but this vixen knew how to treat another woman! The light strokes, the tender kisses, the little nibbles! Dark Damsel groaned again and stretched, finding release in the movement.

Kitty kissed her way down Dark Damsel's stomach and the Damsel spread her legs. Kitty gave a little yelp of pleasure and moved right in. Her tongue was so light, merely grazing Damsel's lips, tantalizing. Damsel raised her hips, but Kitty only laughed and kept up the light touches. Every once in a while she'd stop and kiss the Damsel's inner thighs, which had Dark Damsel moaning in a mix frustration and joy.

"Ah!" Damsel cried out.

Kitty's tongue had tweaked her clit, then that warm, wonderful mouth was all around her, tongue licking, sucking up her juices which were now flowing.

In a whirl of activity which had Damsel thrusting, twisting, moaning and crying out little cries, Kitty licked, thrust, kissed and caressed. A finger entered Damsel's pussy and she stiffened. A second finger joined that one and they moved in and out in time to the furious licking that Damsel was getting from Kitty's tongue. Damsel was beside herself, feeling her body climbing the slope to orgasm. She was getting close, oh, so close.

"Umph!"

The tongue probed her ass, licked at the pucker, then was replaced by a finger which pushed its lubricated way up her nether chute, began moving around inside her. Damsel had had fantasies about that, had played with the area herself, but had never pushed inside. Now she was penetrated for the first time, and Kitty's finger and face rode her as no other had ever done.

"Oh!" A second finger stretched her. "OH!" It was too much. Damsel shuddered, her breasts jiggled. A hand snaked up and pinched a nipple. "Oh, God!" The tongue lashed her clit and Damsel went over the falls. A wail escaped her throat and she heaved her belly high, legs trembling, then sank back down into a contented daze.

But Kitty wasn't finished with her. Kitty continued to probe and to lick and suck. Damsel was sensitive and tried to push Kitty's head away, but Kitty was having none of that. Damsel struggled to get away, but Kitty, showing a strength that surprised Dark Damsel, held on. Damsel's legs were over Kitty's shoulders, Kitty's arms came around her hips and fingers locked over her stomach. Kitty's mouth was on her womanhood, fastened there, tongue showing no mercy.

Dark Damsel bucked and heaved trying to get away, but there was no escape. Then she no longer wanted an escape. Her breath, already ragged, began to catch. Her face was flushed, and everything in her world centred on her pussy.

"Yes, yes!" Dark Damsel cried. "Faster, Kitty, faster."

Kitty was only too happy to comply and laughed joyously as she pushed Dark Damsel over the edge again.

Dark Damsel floated on a sea of contentment. She was so wrapped up in the inner feelings that she didn't notice Kitty, who had been stroking her lightly all over, reapply the wrist cuffs. But when the chain was once again snapped into her collar, Damsel's eyes flicked open. The blurred outline of the other woman, straddling her, sitting on her belly greeted those eyes.

"I'm sorry, Damsel, I had to do it. He'd whip me," Kitty explained. Then she moved up Damsel's body and knelt over her. "Now do me." It was half plea, half order.

Kitty lowered herself and Dark Damsel caught the aroma of another woman for the first time. She tentatively stuck out her tongue and tasted Kitty. Kitty tasted different than she herself did, but it was far from unpleasant. She gave another lick and felt the joy surge in her as Kitty let out a groan. It was payback time. Kitty had given her such joy that all Dark Damsel wanted to do was to repay that joy. She went to work with a vengeance.

Kitty rode Damsel's face like a bronc-buster. She rocked her hips, lowered and raised them, mashed herself onto Damsel's face and cried out her joy. Finally, as she was about to come she reached back and grabbed Dark Damsel's nipples and pulled them hard even as she screamed out her orgasm.

Damsel's eyes went wide at the sudden pain as her nipples were pulled, but kept up her assault on Kitty's composure until her partner went over the edge.

Kitty collapsed, then dragged herself over to lie face to face with Dark Damsel, her arm thrown over the Damsel's chest.

"That was wonderful," she breathed into Damsel's ear, "simply wonderful." Then she pushed at Dark Damsel and Damsel turned onto her side away from Kitty and Kitty snuggled in behind her, her arm over Damsel and cupping a breast.

Dark Damsel felt the warmth of satisfaction seep through her. It had been good, so very good. They lay like that for a while, then Kitty slowly made her way to her knees. She gave Damsel's nipples another pinch, which caused Dark Damsel to gasp. Then Kitty gave her a playful slap on her rear, which stung after The Photographer's abuse.

"Wha . . .?" Damsel started, then a voice cut her off.

"How was she?" The Photographer's voice, laughing, cut through Dark Damsel's content.

"Wild!" Kitty called back, all traces of subservience gone. "She's made for this, you know. Has a good tongue, too. I loved the way she wiggled her ass when I stuck a finger up it. Wonder what she'll do around your cock, darling. Should be worth watching." Kitty laughed raucously, and stepped across the room, her hips swaying outrageously. The Photographer was at her side and slapped her bottom.

"Still hot?" he asked.

"You bet. Let's do it." They both laughed, their laughter cutting Dark Damsel to the quick. She closed her eyes. Her face felt like it was on fire.

*Chapter 5*

Dark Damsel lay on the mat, tears trickling from her eyes. She shook her head, feeling empty inside. How could they have done that to her? Why would they want to? She felt sick. They had used her, tricked her into willingly doing what they had wanted. There was no epithet bad enough for them. She curled up into a ball. She wished she could die.

Die? No. Not die. She had to get away. She couldn't let them win. Slowly she uncurled. They had made a mistake, several mistakes in fact. First, she hadn't been refastened to the wall, so she could get up and move around. Second, Kitty had taken the cuffs off of her wrists. If she could do that, then so too could Dark Damsel.

Dark Damsel twisted her head down and brought up her right wrist. She felt over the cuff as best she could and finally found a buckle. Her spirits crept up off the floor.

Seconds dragged into minutes and the minutes dragged on interminably. She had to hurry. Soon they might be back and then her chance would be gone. How long would they take?

"Yes!" Dark Damsel whispered triumphantly. She had done it. Her right hand was free! It was the work of moments to free her left. She felt around the cowl and found the lenses to be glued on. The glue didn't hold and she could see again.

Aside from the floormat, the stool and a chair, over which her costume was draped, the room was bare. The walls were an off white and there were no windows. She reached over and touched the wall. They were not made of the usual plaster or particle board or anything else she'd seen. That accounted for the lack of an empty room sound. They were some sort of acoustic tiles, Dark Damsel guessed.

She turned her attention to the belt. Again it was merely buckled on and it took but seconds to free herself. They had been overconfident. That would be the end of them. Too many mistakes and you lose. They were going to lose. Once again Dark Damsel would win.

Dark Damsel strode over to the chair and picked up her costume. Her panties were missing, a trophy perhaps. Bastards! She sat and slipped her legs into the costume bottom and pulled them up. Something felt wrong. She growled in frustration as she realized that they had been split along the crotch.

"Damn!" she spat out the word as she slipped her arm into her top. As she pulled the top on and zipped it up she cursed again. Small holes, about the size of a dollar coins, had been cut out of her top, exposing her nipples. Sick Bastards! They were cut, no doubt, in preparation for the pictures for which she would never pose. Rage welled up in Dark Damsel's mind. They would pay!

Her boots, also, were gone. The rage died as Dark Damsel realized she'd have to get out of the building barefoot, with nipples and pussy exposed. Well, at least she would be getting out, something which she'd almost given up on.

Dark Damsel slipped out into the hallway. There was another door open. She stepped over to it and took a quick look in. Her pouch was hanging over a chair back. She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the secret pouch at the bottom and found her keys still in their place. The main cavity of the pouch had been emptied.

Half of her mind wanted her to seek and find Kitty and The Photographer to make them pay. The saner half realized that she was at too much of a disadvantage. She didn't know the layout, nor how many people she'd have to go up against. It could be suicide. Growling, she turned and headed for the exit.

The door was bolted from the inside, but there was no alarm attached. Dark Damsel slid the bolt open and disappeared into the dark. The Photographer had lied. It had not been morning when she'd awakened. She caught her bearings at the first corner. She was not, she realized, very far away from the 'Garage on 5th'. It was the closest safe place, and she grimaced. So, it was either face Ray and his men (hopefully otherwise engaged) or barefoot it two miles to her nearest hideaway. There was no real choice.

Across the street from the building Dark Damsel had been imprisoned in, a window closed silently. Two figures drew back from the portal.

"There she goes, better late than never," Kitty said as she sat back, yawning, "I thought she'd be faster than that."

"You got out in half the time. Still," the Photographer mused, "you didn't have the psychological battering." His voice had lost the blurred edges. It was clear.

"I'm not so sure we should have let her go. She won't be that easy next time."

"Darling," The Photographer murmured, "you know why we're doing this. The steps have to be followed. Otherwise it wouldn't be any fun. Now she knows she's not safe when she's out in costume. Now she knows just how easily she can be taken. We give her a few days to get used to the uncertainty, then we step it up. By the time we're finished she'll never again wear the costume of Dark Damsel."

"And you'll enjoy her body like I did," chuckled Kitty. "You'll love it."

Laughter filled the dark room.

"Let's get dressed, darling. We have much left to do tonight."

"After I wash this stuff out."

Ray's eyes widened as Dark Damsel came through the door. For a second he was too stunned to do anything but stare. Then he averted his eyes.

Damn. She had been so cautious, so intent on getting to the station unseen, that the relief in opening the door had caused her to forget to cover up.

"Get me something to wear, will you Ray?" she asked as she slipped by him and into the small washroom.

A minute later there was a light tap on the door. She opened it and a hand came through, holding a pair of coveralls. Dark Damsel gratefully accepted them and in a trice was once again decent.

"Thank's Ray," she said as she stepped out of the washroom, rolling up the sleeve cuffs. The pants cuffs had been likewise rolled up.

Ray was once again sitting behind his desk. He looked up, wondering just what the hell had happened but polite enough to not ask.

"We have your bike again," he told her. "You have to stop leaving it lying around."

"Where did you find it?" the Damsel wanted to know.

"Outside Peter Lepcher's Photography Shop. He called us last night just after 11:00. Said you'd left just a little earlier. He didn't appreciate being hauled down to the station and questioned half the night."

"When did you let him go?" Damsel asked, wondering if he'd been a very good actor and had misled her.

Ray punched some codes into the computer. "About 2:30. He was picked up by a woman." He scrolled down and Dark Damsel felt her anger starting to rise. "A detective followed them home, to his registered address. He left and went to work about 11:00 this morning and . . ." Ray picked up the radio. "Alpha fourteen, this is House Seven, over."

"House Seven, Alpha fourteen. What's up?" The radio crackled.

"Status of subject?"

"At residence. Left work two hours ago. He made us around two o'clock this afternoon. He's been very careful to not do anything suspicious. About an hour ago the bast- . . . oops, the subject brought us out coffee. He hasn't left the residence. Waves to us every fifteen minutes or so. I'd like to . . ." The detective decided he'd better not say what he'd like to do.

Ray looked over at Dark Damsel. Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

"Alpha fourteen, subject still about?"

"Yep. Just waved to us again." There was suppressed anger in the voice.

"Good. Go knock on the door, thank him for the coffee and wish him a very good night."

"What!?"

"Oh, and tell him the object thanks him for his aid in recovering her property."

"She there?"

"Affirmative."

"Awright! Alpha fourteen out."

Dark Damsel smiled at the enthusiasm in the detective's voice. "Who was that?" she asked

"Charlie Foster," Ray replied. Charlie had spent a lot of time at the Garage and felt a fatherly interest in Dark Damsel. "He doesn't usually pull night shifts anymore," Ray explained.

"Thank him for me," Dark Damsel said softly.

"Will do." Ray was quiet for a moment, made as if to say something then changed his mind. "Cycle's ready to go."

"Thanks Ray . . . for everything. It's personal and I don't know why. Anyway, he caught me, but I got away. He was going to try to make me pose, hence the, uh, damage to my costume," she hoped that Ray had not seen the split in her pants, "but I got away before he could do this." She looked Ray square in the eyes. "I'm going to get him, Ray. If it's the last thing I do."

Ray's jaw was clenched. He relaxed it. "Perhaps it is time to stop going it alone. Bring us in. Keep us informed. You know that if you want us, we'll be there."

"I can't, Ray." And she couldn't. It would mean admitting that the Photographer had beaten her, that Dark Damsel's time was done. She walked out of the office and into the Garage. Her cycle was waiting for her. "Oh, by the way, how did you boys make out at the apartment?"

"Too late," Ray replied, sounding a little dejected. "But we'll get them, sooner or later." He watched as she started the cycle and drove out onto the street.

Five hours later, Ray decided to call it a night. He cleaned up around the office and washed out his coffee cup. His hand moved to switch off the computer then froze. What had Dark Damsel said? 'It's personal.' He sat down in front of the keyboard and typed an address in the browser. It took him three tries to get it right. The connection was fast and it wasn't long before he had what he wanted . . . or didn't want.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed. "Son of a fucking bitch!"

When Renee woke, the sun was streaming through the window. It had been a somewhat uncomfortable night. Her backside still hurt whenever she put any pressure on it--like sitting down or rolling over onto her back. The Photographer had given her a thorough spanking. Something she would remember for a while.

She heard a low cough. There was someone in her apartment! Like a flash she was out of bed and pulling on her robe. She opened her bedroom door and glanced out into the hall. Every muscle was tense as she crept forward.

"Oh hell."

It was Brenda's voice and Renee relaxed. Of course. Brenda would be looking after the business. Renee walked casually into the living room/office.

"How's it going."

"Hi. Late night, kitten?" Brenda managed to throw a leer into her voice.

Renee laughed. "Late night," she agreed. Brenda would damn well know that she hadn't been home all day and would suspect that she'd spent the previous night with her new 'boyfriend'.

"So, give me the gory details, girl. Is he good in bed?"

Renee laughed again. "You're incorrigible, Brenda." Brenda waited, expectant. "Okay, okay, let's just say it was a night I won't soon forget."

"Yesss!" Brenda pumped her fist into the air. "So, should I be out scouting for a bridesmaid's dress?" She grinned at Renee, knowing full well what the answer would be. "Girl, you have to get serious sometime, and I can hope for you, can't I?

"Thank's Brenda, but I'm not ready for that kind of commitment yet." It was good to have friends.

"Okay, but when you are old and grey and alone and I'm there with my twenty-three great grandchildren, don't expect any sympathy from me!" She laughed at the thought. "I have everything on track. Nothing for you to take care of. Have a day off. Recover," she winked. "I, on the other hand, have a class." She got up and put on her jacket. "Later."

"Later."

Renee went into her exercise room and went through her morning routine. Then she moved into practice with fighting forms: blocks, kicks, punches and rolls. By the time she had finished she was sweating profusely.

"Good one, Nietzsche," she told the tiger happily. The workout *had* been good. "Now, let's check the mail."

While cooling down and waiting for the computer to boot up she continued to do the odd stretch. She fired up her mail program. There was one message from her nym account. She placed it in the encrypted part of her drive and decoded it, wondering what Commissioner Delcourt had to say.

The message popped up and Renee frowned. How would the spammers get her nym address? The only place she ever used it was to send mail to Delcourt. "Super Sex" the subject read. She was about to delete it then changed her mind. It had come to her address. How? She opened the message.

"Check out our bevy of Super Lovelies! Something for everyone, guaranteed! Click here for a surprise."

The address was a numerical one. Almost against her will, Renee clicked on the address and was transported to a page which featured Dark Damsel's face. Her hands began to shake as she read the screen.

"Hi Darling. Did so enjoy last night. Let's do it again. Real soon,

Kitty.

PS: Click on Dark Damsel's mouth to continue--such an instrument of joy."

Again Renee hesitated. Then she clicked. She was back at the superheroine site, on the new Dark Damsel page. She clicked on the "New" button and was taken to a page which listed three downloadable mpg files. They were labeled: dd1, dd2, and dd3. Each file was large, very large. They were also available as a suite, compressed. The compression wouldn't make them much smaller, but it would mean only one download instead of three. Renee cursed and began the download. While that was happening she took a quick shower.

Back from the shower, with Nietzsche beside her for moral support, Renee sighed as the download finished and she logged off. A minute later, uncompressed, the files awaited her. She took a deep breath and clicked on "dd1.mpg". She gasped. There was Dark Damsel, hanging from a rope tied to a belt about her middle.

Three cameras had been used. One from the rear, one from the front and one from the side. Renee watched in shock as the man in the picture pulled down her bottoms, exposing her ass. He was dressed in loose fitting shirt and pants, all the better to disguise his build. His head was never in the picture. Renee swallowed as she watched herself (as Dark Damsel) lowered onto his lap and as her bottoms were pulled off by Kitty. Kitty was just an indistinct shape at the side of the frame, the focus was on Dark Damsel's bare bottom.

"How many do you think you deserve, this time," The Photographer's husky voice came through the speakers, "ten, twenty or thirty?"

"Please, thirty." Dark Damsel replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, as you wish."

"Thank-you."

Renee seethed in indignation. She had been taped and her responses had been edited to fit The Photographer's sick sense of humour. She watched as the Photographer struck Dark Damsel and her head came up and body arched. His left hand was planted firmly in the middle of Damsel's back and her ass was nicely presented.

Renee flinched as she saw each blow land, heard herself count out the strikes.

"Spread your legs for the camera, dear."

On the screen Renee watched in mortification as Dark Damsel spread her legs. It was a good view of her pussy, she had to admit. Clear, good focus. She shook her head sadly, but couldn't even look away as the paddle came out and as her legs kicked, showing everything.

The second file, dd2.mpg, showed Dark Damsel's breasts appear as Kitty helped her out of her top, then cut to Dark Damsel on her back writhing in pleasure as a blond head worked on those breasts and then went down between her legs. It ended with Dark Damsel wailing out her orgasm, her belly in the air, breasts jiggling, Kitty's fingers clearly in her ass.

With great reluctance, Renee fired up the third mpg file. As she suspected, it showed Dark Damsel's face being ridden by Kitty, whose head was never in the frame. It showed her tongue stretching out to meet Kitty's pussy, then Kitty pulling at Damsel's nipples as she came. The file ended with Dark Damsel on her side looking (apparently) into the camera; a contented smile on her face; her lover behind her, one arm draped over her, hand cupping her breast. To all appearances, Dark Damsel was a willing participant in all three scenes.

Renee turned off her computer. There were tears in her eyes. She picked up the stuffed tiger and hugged it. "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, Nietzsche?" she asked the little toy. "How could this make me stronger? How could they do this to me? Why?"

Renee's thoughts went back to the counter on the first page of the Dark Damsel spread. Visitors since 28 June: 2004. Two thousand and four! 'Word of mouth' would see that number shooting skywards. How could she go out again, be seen again in the guise of Dark Damsel? The things they would say about her! Oh God, why?

"Well, my dear?"

"Got her!" Kitty was ecstatic. "The first download came from the Police computer. I don't know how they got the address, but apparently either Dark Damsel accessed it from there or some cop got lucky. But the second one. That came from Dark Damsel. She followed the link we set up in the e-mail. No question about it."

"Nice touch, the fake counter. So, my little hacker lover, you got into her computer during the download?"

"Yes, lover, I did," Kitty replied immodestly. "It was easy and I sent us an e-mail. We now have her real account. Now we put out the word?"

"Now we put out the word," The Photographer confirmed. "Anything else?"

"Well, from there it wasn't hard to hack into her ISP and get her name and address. Our lovely Dark Damsel is Renee Jimson."

The Photographer laughed his sinister laugh. "Well, Renee Jimson, welcome to hell!"

*Chapter 6*

End of article -- what next? [npq] alt.sex.stories #4136301 (8 more) From: [email protected] (Dark Damsel) Subject: Damsel in Distress X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.5/32.452

FRIENDS! Come and see me in some HOT situations JPG's MPG's and MORE. I guarantee you will not be disappointed!!!

http://www.super-heroine.com/~bzx/dd

LUV 2 U ALL. While at the site, drop a line and let me know what you would like to see. Who knows? Your wishes may come true!

End of article -- what next? [npq]

Renee Jimson closed the newsreader. Her face was like stone. She had looked at four of the alt.sex groups and the post was in each of them. Many would simply erase the post as being spam, but many would follow the link and see what they would see. Renee had followed it, herself, and found that there were now JPGs taken from the MPGs and others which were high resolution scans of photographs.

There was a thread on alt.sex.stories.d covering the situation. The authors who had written Dark Damsel stories were in their glory and had reposted them. New chapters were being added; new stories started. The more twisted characters were insisting that the pictures were indeed of Dark Damsel, confirming what they'd thought of her all along: she was a slut meant to be used. Others suggested that the photographer (small p) had found a model who looked similar enough to Dark Damsel to fool those who had not seen the crime-fighter up close and in person.

In a blue funk Renee turned off her computer, put all thoughts of her business out of her mind, and stepped out of her apartment building.

It was a beautiful summer day. A warm breeze wafted the scent of flowers across the lawn; a few white clouds moved lazily across the sky; the sun shone brightly and the air was fresh and clear. Renee was oblivious to it all. She walked aimlessly, her only enjoyment coming from the respite of being just another woman walking down the street, lost in her own thoughts, anonymous.

No one paid any attention to her, except for the odd busker or panhandler. This would all change if her identity as Dark Damsel came out. She'd be able to go nowhere. Even now, if she went out as Dark Damsel there would be all the eyes, watching her, wondering if the nude pictures of her were real, hoping they were. Yes, the public would love to know that it was really her in the photos. Dark Damsel, symbol of justice, of good, would be knocked down to the status of mere mortal. Others would feel better about themselves through the degradation of an Idol. The tabloids, of course, would have a field day.

Renee came out of her reverie and saw that she was just a block away from Hub City Police Department Headquarters. Maybe she'd visit 'Uncle Teddy'. He always made her feel better. Yes, that is what she would do. She began walking past a street news stand towards HCPDHQ when she noticed a headline in a paper which read: Dark Damsel: In the Flesh?

Heart sinking she picked up a copy and read the article. There was no stopping the snowball now. In the article, the writer wondered at the relationship between the police and the 'unmasked' crime-fighter. Even if the photos were false, the publicity would do the police no good.

"Damn!" Renee's voice was just harsh enough to bring the head of the vender around. She shrugged it off and turned towards Head Quarters.

"Hello, Ms Jimson," the guard at the front desk greeted her.

"Hi, Fred." Fred had been one of her father's friends, oh so long ago. "Think I'll be able to see 'Uncle Teddy'?" she asked hopefully. "And the name is Renee, as you well know," she pouted.

Fred laughed as he handed her a visitor's badge, signing her in. "Uncle Teddy," he rolled his eyes, "will probably be very happy to see you. It'll take his mind off of all this Dark Damsel garbage."

"Dark Damsel?" Renee tried to sound puzzled.

"You haven't heard?" Fred sounded surprised. "Yeah, Dark Damsel. Someone got a model who looks a lot like her and put up some pictures on the internet. Disgusting stuff, I hear. It has all happened before, what with Minx and Sapphire and others, but they aren't as closely connected with us as Dark Damsel is. Also, those pictures were obviously of models, not the real thing." He shook his head sadly and looked down at his hands. "Well, whoever did this sure put us on the hot seat. We have uptight religious rightists up our asses right now, excuse the language." Fred looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "Frankly I'd like to put something up their asses--one ass is particular--and I still have it from when I walked a beat."

Renee had to laugh. The picture of grizzled old Fred shoving a nightstick up Reverend Jones' rear (for who else could it be) was comic in the extreme. Reverend Jones, never having seen her, had condemned her for her costume, which was 'so vulgar not even a harlot would be seen in it'. Yes, she might even pay to see that. She told Fred so, which earned her a laugh in return.

"And Dark Damsel?" she asked. "What if that was her?"

"Renee, I walked a beat for 10 years. I had snitches who you wouldn't want in your building, let alone in your apartment. They helped me do my job. One was a stripper, a decent one. A couple were prostitutes. Did it matter what they did? Hell, no. Even if Dark Damsel is the one in the photos, even if she did it off her own bat, what the hell does it matter?" old Fred asked her earnestly. "She *helps* us. Far as I know she's never broken the law. So, she's a helpful citizen. I'd rather sit across the table and hoist one with her, or with the stripper and prostitutes, than I would with the ever so unhelpful good citizens who are upstairs just now." Fred snorted, "If we had to count on them to help solve crimes, we'd never get anywhere." He broke off as another citizen approached his desk.

"Kirpath's office? Third floor. Turn right as you get off the elevator." The man walked away.

"Fred?" There was warmth in Renee's eyes as the old policeman turned back to her. "You are a great guy, and if you were five years younger . . ."

Fred broke up. When he recovered he looked at his watch. "Go on up. They've been here for 45 minutes. That's about as long as your Uncle Teddy'll put up with such nonsense. He'll appreciate a break."

"Renee! What a wonderful surprise," Commissioner Delcourt smiled, standing and opening his arms.

Renee hugged the old gentleman tightly. "I hear you've had a busy morning."

"Busybodies!" Delcourt sputtered. "As if I cared a rat's ass for their squeamish stomachs. Bah! 'Tarnishes the image of Hub City's Police Department,'" he mimicked the good Reverend Jones.

"Now, Uncle Teddy," Renee remonstrated.

"Okay, Renee. It gets to be too much sometimes, though." He paused. "So, what can I do for Jack's daughter? You know, there isn't a week goes by that I don't think of him. He was a good man, far to good a man to be gunned down like that."

Renee knew Delcourt wasn't just saying that. He kept a picture of Jack Jimson and himself on his desk. They had been fishing buddies, partners, friends. It had been on the day that Jack Jimson was buried, when they handed her the flag which had covered his coffin, that she had determined to become Dark Damsel. One year later, on the anniversary of his death, Dark Damsel had caught her first criminal and begun her long association with the Police Department.

"Sorry, I got lost in thought," Renee confessed. "What did you say?"

"I asked if there was anything I could do for you." Delcourt returned to his chair and put his feet up on his desk. "Mind you, I'll be just as happy if you merely came to visit. Already you've cheered up my day."

The intercom buzzed before Renee could reply.

"Commissioner, Officer Nasturant to see you."

"Thank you, Sandy, send her in." He turned to Renee, "This won't take to long, have a seat."

Rebecca Nasturant walked in with some files in her hand. She went straight to Delcourt's desk, not really noticing Renee. Renee watched her, remembering that this was the woman that Uncle Teddy had the hots for, even if she was only half his age.

"Here are the files, sir. I cross-referenced them with known felons and unsolved cases. I think the pattern is clear. With respect to the other matter . . ." Rebecca noticed Renee and stopped short.

"Of course. You haven't met," Delcourt stood. "Rebecca Nasturant, may I introduce the daughter of my late partner, Renee Jimson." There was that something in Delcourt's voice and face which asked the pair to like each other.

As the two women shook hands Renee felt herself subject of a very intense look. It was as if Rebecca were memorizing her features. "Renee Jimson. Pleased to meet you." She paused. "I feel as if I've met you before . . . no, I guess not."

But she had, Renee smiled to herself. They had met when she was Dark Damsel. She would have to be careful. This woman was very sharp.

"The pleasure is mine," Renee smiled and Rebecca turned back to the Commissioner. At his nod Rebecca continued.

"Yes, sir," she shrugged. If the Commissioner wanted to talk shop in front of a civilian, who was she to say him nay? "As to the other matter, Minx was seen in the vicinity yesterday, but nothing ties her to the crime. I've come up with nothing at all which would suggest that she has anything to do with any criminal organization." Her emotionless, matter-of-fact tone was back again.

At the mention of Minx, Renee looked up sharply. She hadn't been too sure how much truth Kitty had told. Now it appeared that rumours of Minx's death had been somewhat exaggerated. Renee breathed a sigh of relief.

"Perhaps you could ask Dark Damsel to check her out," Rebecca suggested.

"No," Delcourt answered, "right now it might be best for all of us if Dark Damsel maintained a low profile. We are a police department, let's do some police work!" His tone softened almost imperceptibly, "Thanks Rebecca. Good work."

"Thank you, sir." Rebecca turned and ghosted out of the room.

"Lovely woman," Renee grinned at Delcourt.

"Now stop that. She's far too young for me," Delcourt replied, though he seemed pleased at Renee's comment.

"Get outa here. You're still a fine figure of a man! She'd be lucky to get you." Renee frowned, "Of course I'm not sure I could get used to calling her 'Aunt Becky', but . . ." She ducked as a pencil was flung her way. "Okay, Uncle Teddy, I give. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop in and say hi."

Delcourt glanced at his watch. "How about going out with an old man for some lunch. You can catch me up on your life. Met any eligible young men lately?" He took Renee's arm and led her out the door.

Renee laughed, but her thoughts went back to the discussion in Delcourt's office. Perhaps it *would* be a good idea if Dark Damsel did lay low for a few days. There was nothing like lack of news to kill a story, though there would be speculation. It might help her through the worst of it, however. The public was quick to forget.

"So, Kitty, what's the news?" The Photographer asked his lover as she came through the door. It was dark in the room. Both preferred it that way.

"Dark Damsel has, apparently, fallen off the edge of the world. No one has seen or heard of her in three days. The papers think she's given up the crime-fighting gig." Kitty put down the bag of groceries, opened up the refrigerator and began restocking it. "If she has, then we've won."

"No!" The word was harsh. "No. Not yet. She has to be taught her lesson. He'd want it that way."

"Would he?" Kitty inquired. "Have you asked him? Are you sure about this?"

"I don't need to ask him. Remember what he did for us? Think of where we'd be without him." The Photographer's voice became soft. "He gave us life, Kitty, and she took his away from him." He put his arm around the woman's shoulders and squeezed. "Besides, you know he doesn't want us connected with him in any way. But word came to us, didn't it?"

Kitty allowed herself to relax into The Photographer's embrace. "Yes, love, it did. But that was almost a year ago and it came from someone who hadn't seen him in well over a year previous to that. So, that word is over two and a half years old at best, possibly three. A lot can change in three years."

"We owe him, Kitty."

"Yes, love, we owe him." She reached up and stroked his neck as he nestled in behind her, arms around her middle. She ground her ass into him and felt him begin to harden. "You want her, don't you, you bastard?"

He laughed. "You had her and gave her rave reviews, remember?."

Kitty laughed. "I remember. Oh!" The Photographer had reached up and grabbed her breasts. "Mmm." Kitty licked her lips and pushed the refrigerator door closed. She laughed as The Photographer picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He dropped her onto the bed, then threw himself on top of her, covering her mouth with his. After a long, hard, deep kiss, they broke apart, both catching their breath. Kitty looked up at him and grinned.

"You want her bad. I can tell." She reached down and slapped his ass. "What do you want to do with her?" The Photographer opened his mouth to answer her question, but Kitty put her hand over it and shushed him. "No, love, don't tell me." The Photographer's eyebrows rose in question. "Don't tell me, show me!" She dug her fingers into his ribs and tickled him.

The Photographer rolled away on the king-size bed and got to his hands and knees, facing Kitty who was on hers. "You really want me to show you?" he asked, and licked his lips.

Kitty grinned. "Come on, big boy, let's see what you've got," she told him lewdly. "I'm Dark Damsel and I don't think you have what it takes." Kitty dropped one eyelid in a slow wink.

"Bitch!" The Photographer tore at his pants. In a few moments he was free of pants, underwear and shirt. Kitty was still there, grinning at him.

"Whatchya gonna do about it?" she purred at him.

The Photographer was up in a flash, standing on the bed. He stood over Kitty and grabbed her t-shirt about the middle, lifted and pulled it over her head. Kitty's hair flew wildly about. He then lifted and her 'til she faced the mirror on the dressing table.

"Ooow," she squealed in delight as she was lowered to hands and knees. She looked in the mirror, head up, to see her breasts hanging down, her face framed by the brown hair. She wiggled her ass suggestively and gasped as her lover gave it a slap.

The Photographer dropped behind her and grabbed her shorts and pulled. They, and then her panties, came down. Soon both were thrown to the floor. The Photographer knelt between her spread legs and Kitty hung her head in mock shame even while arching her back to give him a good angle.

"Ow!" Kitty felt her lover grasp her hair and pull back, lifting her head up.

"I want you to watch, bitch," he growled. "Watch yourself as my cock goes into your pussy."

Kitty could feel his cock-head at her lips and she obeyed, watching herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened, mouth opened, and she gasped as she felt him penetrate her. "No!" she cried out, getting into the spirit of things, even though she enjoyed the sensation.

The sex was rough, hard sex, yet delicious for just that reason. Kitty reached back with her left hand and began to rub her clit. Soon her gasps were echoing through the room, mixed with the grunts from The Photographer. Kitty saw her breasts swaying with every thrust from her lover. Her right arm tired and she collapsed on the bed with her ass still high in the air.

Kitty wailed out, shuddering in pleasure. The Photographer stepped up his thrusting and she moaned under the assault. Then he was finishing: one, two, three hard thrusts, then holding himself in her as her legs gave out and he flattened her on the bed. It took a minute for him to recover sufficiently to begin kissing her on her neck and nibbling on her ear.

"You were great," he said affectionately.

"I enjoyed being Dark Damsel, if only for the moment," she replied, squirming out from under him and turning on her side. "Which brings us to the next question: How do we get her out of hiding and into your clutches?"

"I have an idea," he replied as he snuggled in behind her.

Kitty wondered what that would be as his breathing evened out and he relaxed into sleep. Whatever it was, she was sure, it would be a good one.

*Chapter 7*

Ray Barton looked from the computer screen to the book and back again. He snorted and dropped the book on the desk beside the other one. He shook his head angrily and gave himself a mental kick. The two books lay there, innocent: 'Webpages Made Easy' and 'Webpages For Dunderheads'.

"I knew I should have picked up 'Webpages for Morons', but oh, no, I had to . . . . Hi. What can I do for you?" A very lovely young woman had opened the door to his office and stepped in. She had surprised him, for she had entered so silently that only the movement of her shadow had given her away.

"Hi. I brought my car in for service and they told me to see you about a payment plan," the woman smiled at him as she closed the door. With the door closed the smile disappeared. "Officer Rebecca Nasturant reporting," she told him.

"Yes, Officer, what can we do for you? You mentioned a payment plan?" No one had told him about any visit.

Nasturant smiled at his reticence. "Sorry, sir, I thought you'd already been informed. I'm to work here with you for, oh, a week will probably do it." She handed him a paper. "Your suggestion for a Crime Prevention Web Site has been approved. I'm here to help you set it up." She glanced at the books on the desk and choked back a laugh. Instead she picked them up. "Good books," she told him. "But you probably should have gone with 'Webpages for Morons', as disgusting as the title is. It would get you into the basics more gently." She placed the books to one side, "but you won't need any of them. You have," she said smugly, "me."

"And your credentials are . . . ?" Ray wasn't about to let her see his utter relief at having someone, anyone who knew more than he, to help.

"Graduated top of my class in Computer Sciences," Nasturant stated evenly. But that means nothing. Let me have a go at it. If you don't like what you see, you always have the books," she said mildly.

Ray stood and waved her graciously to his chair. He brought the other one around and sat slightly behind and to one side of the woman, whose fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

One hour later Ray was more than convinced. Nasturant had done in minutes that which had taken him hours to grasp and implement. Not only that, but she had kept up a running commentary on what she was doing and why. He'd learned more in the past hour then in the past two weeks with those damned books.

"Officer Rebecca Nasturant," he addressed her reverently, "I think I'm in love. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Detective Barton," she replied severely. "That is a serious breach of protocol. I may have to report it."

Oh, shit, Ray groaned to himself. All he needed was a sexual harassment charge against him. It just figured that someone as good looking as Nasturant would be a stickler for rules. The word of law, rather than the spirit of it, was what was important to her. Shit. He'd have to apologize.

"I apologize, Officer Nasturant . . ."

"Rightly so," she interrupted him. "As junior officer it is my place to get *you* the coffee. If word of your slip were to become widely known, morale would plummet." Nasturant didn't even crack a smile.

Ray relaxed. This he could deal with. "Officer Nasturant. You are now in the field. We do things differently out here. This is something you may or may not get used to. I expect, however," he said loftily, "you to make the attempt. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded, chastened. "Good. Then, cream and sugar?"

Nasturant threw back her head and laughed. "One cream, two sugar, sir."

"Ray," he corrected.

"Ray. I'm Rebecca. So, do you like what you see . . . I mean on the screen," she hastened to add.

"Love it. So," he continued as he poured the coffee, "I have you for a week? Wonderful." He handed her the coffee and pulled a notebook out of his desk drawer. "Let me show you what I had in mind. Feel free to make any suggestions."

It was two hours later that the telephone interrupted an excited exchange of views and possibilities. It was Ray's dream taking form and a whole lot of fun for Rebecca, a chance to use her imagination and skills.

"Ray speaking," he held the receiver lightly. His grip tightened. "When?" His eyes focused on a spot on the wall as he listened. "Where? Okay. We're on it." Ray hung up the phone.

"Can you keep an eye on the place?" he asked Rebecca, as he pushed a button on the intercom.

"What's up?"

"A particularly nasty group of drug dealers. We've been after them for some time. They move around so it's hard to catch them. We're a couple of men short today, so I need everyone. We'll put up the 'closed' sign and you can just keep working on the pages," he spoke rapidly, even as the other members of his team rushed into the room in answer to his signal.

"Not a problem," she affirmed.

Ray outlined the problem to his men as Rebecca listened in fascination. She had never been any part of such an operation before. After the quick briefing, Ray wrote down an address and handed it to Rebecca.

"We'll want back-up, but we don't dare call for it. The scum have scanners and they'll bolt in a second. Call up the duty sergeant at the 8th and get us some back-up. Make sure he doesn't use his radio."

Rebecca was on the phone even before he finished. Ray gave her a nod then he and the others rushed out.

Rebecca found that she couldn't focus on the work. She turned up the police radio and listened to the calls. While she listened she idly began a search of the computer's files. An encrypted area piqued her interest and she made a small bet with herself as to how long it would take her to crack it. She did it with a minute to spare.

"How interesting," she murmured to herself, then her attention was elsewhere.

"Officer Down!" the radio blared, giving the very address she had just given to the 8th. "Request assistance, ambulance."

Rebecca didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Ray. She had known him for only the morning, yet her heart was pounding. It couldn't be him. Such a nice man. She took a deep breath. They all were. Johnny, who had been so polite as she brought her car in for the check-up; Sam, who had shown her to Ray's office . . . all of them. She began pacing the floor, hoping for more word on the radio. She knew it wouldn't come. They'd use a phone, keep it off the air, keep it private as long as possible.

Never before had the life and death reality of police work been made so clear, so obvious. One of her comrades, though she really didn't know any of them at all well, was down, perhaps dead. Someone she actually knew, had talked to. This wasn't just reading a report about some unknown name and face. This was real.

After what seemed an eternity, two cars pulled up to the garage. Rebecca realized that she was still in the encrypted part of the drive and hastened to exit it and pull up her work on the Web page. She jumped up as Ray walked into the room, looking tired and old.

"You okay?" she asked, approaching him. Ray merely shook his head. "Who?" she needed to know, somehow.

"Johnny."

"Oh, no. Not Johnny." Without realizing what she was doing Rebecca reached out for Ray and held him tight.

Surprised, Ray returned the hug. After a while he decided that they were a little too close. "Breach of protocol, Officer?" he asked.

Rebecca gave a little laugh. "If you're going to do it, do it right," she replied, and tightened her hug before letting him go.

"It's okay, Rebecca, he'll live." Whether he'd walk again or not was something else. Johnny had taken three slugs from an Uzi in the right leg. He told Rebecca what had gone down, how they'd been late, but still caught one of the gang making the final clean-up. That one had opened fire on the spot and been killed in the return fire, but not before the slugs had cut down Johnny. "Dark Damsel was right," he muttered to himself.

"Dark Damsel?" Rebecca questioned. "I met her in the Commissioner's office. What does she have to do with this?"

"One of her sources let her know where they were a while back. She warned us to be careful 'cause these guys played for keeps." Ray shrugged. It didn't matter much now. They'd learned that for themselves. "We were late and missed them then."

"I'm surprised that Dark Damsel didn't go after them herself. She has that reputation."

"She had other fish to fry. She was after The Photographer. That was just before the shit hit the fan, where she's concerned. Haven't heard from her since." He looked at the young woman who appeared to be regaining her composure. "So, how's the work going?"

"I couldn't do much and, after I heard the 'Officer Down' call, then I couldn't do anything."

"Take the rest of the day off. I don't feel much like doing anything more, either." Ray walked behind his desk and sat down. He looked up at Rebecca, who hadn't made a move. "Go ahead," he said. "You're part of my staff at the moment. Take off, relax."

Rebecca considered it for a moment then agreed. "Okay, Ray, I'll do that. I'm going to the hospital. Give blood or something."

Ray smiled tiredly and nodded. "You do that."

"She's okay," he told the empty room after she'd left, "she'll do."

Ray was just about to pack it in for the day--he'd be glad when Kelsy returned to duty so he could get back to the afternoon shift--when the phone rang. It was the special line.

"Yes?" No names were ever used on that line.

"Got a message for the Damsel," a muffled voice told him with no preliminaries.

"I'll pass it on."

"Good. Tell her word is there's gonna be a fence in town soon. Donno where, donno when. Find out, I'll call. Tell her eight-three-h. Got it?"

"Eight-three-h," Ray repeated back. "Got it."

The caller disconnected.

Ray looked down at the note. Yeah, he'd tell her--if he saw her. He hadn't heard from her in days, which didn't surprise him. He *knew* the pictures and video's from the Dark Damsel site were not faked, were not of a model. Damn and blast The Photographer. Bastard.

Was this important? Who knew? Dark Damsel had her sources and only one line came through The Garage. Perhaps this bit along with another bit might make sense to Dark Damsel. He sighed as he made his decision.

"Ah, well, it's why I get the big money," he soliloquized, and opened a small safe. Inside was a disk. He placed it in the computer, typed in the proper command, wrote out the message and clicked on send. After that it was all automatic. The message was encoded, addressed through remailers and sent. Somewhere, soon--if none of the remailers were down--Dark Damsel would get the note. Ray removed the disk, replaced it in the safe and spun the combination lock. He then entered the encrypted part of the drive and entered the information in the file 8-3-h. He exited the partition and turned off the computer.

Taking one last look around, Ray exited the office. He, too, would head over to the hospital now. Perhaps there would be good word on Johnny's condition. He could hope, anyway.

Renee was hard at work on a manuscript. It was good to get back to her work, she thought. She would miss the excitement of Dark Damsel, but enough was enough.

In all the years since her father had died and she'd taken on the mantle of Dark Damsel, such a thing had never happened. Sure, she'd been bested once or twice, yes; however, criminals were not by nature rapists or sexual perverts. They did what they felt they had to do (for whatever reason) as she did what she had to do. A few of them were killers, yet she had only faced those a couple of times. Those times she'd won.

Renee smiled. At times it had been close, the adrenalin had coursed through her body and she'd made the super-human effort which resulted in victory. Those were times that she really felt alive! This time was something entirely different.

The Photographer was no ordinary criminal. He had a grudge. He wanted to break Dark Damsel. This was totally different. Here was a man who would go to great lengths to simply get *her*. And, like they said, if someone wants to get another badly enough, eventually he will--if there are no mistakes made. The Photographer hadn't yet made any mistakes. Therefore, every time she appeared as Dark Damsel she was putting herself in danger, a danger greater than the run-of-the-mill danger faced by any crime-fighter.

There was a solution, of course. No one knew who Dark Damsel was. Dark Damsel could simply disappear. People would wonder, but no one would ever know. Renee Jimson would live her life, free of Dark Damsel. All she had to do was to return the motorcycle--couldn't have that around, it would be too dangerous--close her nym account, vacate her various hideaways and destroy her costume. Renee Jimson could then lead a full life. It would be so easy.

Renee closed the manuscript file. She composed the message which would close her nym account. There. It was done. She opened her mail program. The program dialed her server. It was so simple. A few keystrokes. Dark Damsel would disappear. Let the public think what they would. She didn't care. The program logged on. Renee prepared to send the message.

"You have new mail." The sign popped up on the screen. The cursor arrow hovered over the send button. She hesitated. Might as well see what the mail is, she thought.

Renee stared at the screen. Among the junk email and the messages from clients there was one she dreaded to see. A message from 'anonymous'. She highlighted it and placed the cursor over the 'delete' button. Ah, hell.

Renee lay down on the sofa and listened to the music. It was her favourite CD. The music carried her away. So, she thought, there is a fence in town. Eight-three-h. That was Terry. Terry had always given her straight goods. A fence in town. Interesting. There were lots of fences in town. This, then, had to mean someone big. Someone who could handle very hot merchandise. Hot merchandise worth a lot. She didn't want to think it, but Lady Margot's necklace came to mind, as did all the other jewelry taken by The Photographer.

Renee sat up suddenly, jarred into full alert by the song. Why that song? Why now? She laughed at herself. Going to hide away, was she? Run from the humiliation? Never. This was her chance to get The Photographer. If she got him it would be over. Give up being Dark Damsel? Never!

A smile came to her face. "Nietzsche," she told the tiger who, as ever, was watching over her, "you were right. As is usual," she laughed aloud, feeling suddenly free.

The wind on her face felt good, that part of her face which wasn't covered by the mask. The cycle purred and Dark Damsel felt alive. Very alive. She was back in action. A couple of punks had made comments when she stopped for a red light, but those comments dried up when she fixed them with her stare. No one wanted to try conclusions with a fired up Dark Damsel.

"What was that?" Dark Damsel spoke aloud. She'd seen something out of the corner of her eye as she passed the alley. The motorcycle came to a stop, then made a wide turn and she was headed back. Looking up the alley she saw a familiar figure in a fight with two men. It was Minx!

Gunning the bike she headed down the alley. One of the men looked up, but it was too late. Dark Damsel clipped him with her fist as she swept by. The man went tumbling. Dark Damsel stopped and rushed into the fray.

It was short and sweet. Her man had gotten back to his feet and was searching the ground for something, probably a dropped weapon. Too late he realized he wouldn't have the time. A kick to the jaw sent him sprawling once more. This time he didn't get up.

Meanwhile, Minx had taken care of the other goon. He was holding his ribs with one hand and holding out the other in supplication.

Minx smiled a feral smile. "You tell your boss that if he doesn't clear out I'll go after him personally. And I know who he is. I know what he's done and have information which will implicate him in several jobs. Tell him he has twenty- four hours. Now take your pal and get out of here!" Minx turned her back and strode over to Dark Damsel.

"Thanks for the assist," she smiled. "Just out sight- seeing?"

"I owed you. No, I'm on the prowl." Dark Damsel watched as the two goons helped each other down the alley.

"Good. There were rumours you'd thrown in the mask. I'm glad they were false." Minx subtly looked Dark Damsel up and down. Unconsciously she licked her lips.

Dark Damsel grinned to herself. This woman was anything but subtle, no matter she tried to hold herself in check. And it was good to hear that someone was on her side.

"I'm a little out of my usual territory," Minx told Dark Damsel. "Give me a lift?"

"Absolutely." The two women walked over to the Damsel's motorcycle. Damsel got on first, then Minx climbed on behind her. Damsel turned on the ignition. She was about to start off in the direction Minx had indicated when she changed her mind and let the machine idle.

"I've been thinking about your offer, Minx." It was easier, not having to look Minx in the eyes. "I'm a little busy now, but later . . ." She let the words die. "Hang on." Damsel gunned the bike and they were out of the alley, onto the road and accelerating.

Dark Damsel liked the feel of Minx's breasts against her back, of her arms around her stomach . . . er, make that arm, singular, around her stomach. Minx's other arm had released its hold and her hand was now running over Dark Damsel's breasts. Minx's breath was hot in her ear.

"Just give me the word, Damsel, and we'll have a time!" her voice lewd with suggestion. It changed. "Until then, need a hand?"

Damsel thought about that for a minute. "Yes. I could use someone to watch my back." This, she thought, could be fun. A partner wasn't the worst thing in the world to have.

It didn't take long for Dark Damsel to confirm what the message had told her. There was a big dealer coming to town, soon. Just how soon, no one knew. Now, however, the word was out to Damsel's sources that she was interested. They would find out, if anyone could. Then she would know and The Photographer would be history.

Dark Damsel was a little sorry to let Minx off. It had been relaxing, having Minx at her back. All the worry had evaporated and she luxuriated in being Dark Damsel. Now, back home.

Next afternoon the message was there, waiting for her.

Dark Damsel:

We have confirmation that The Photographer is meeting a fence tomorrow. The meet is in the Elm Street High School Gym at 7:45 p.m. At exactly 8:00 p.m. we will have all exits from the school blocked, and at 8:15 we are moving in. This time The Photographer will not be getting away.

I extend an invitation to you to go in with us. Meet us at The Garage at 7:30 if you want in.

A Friend.

Elm Street High School? It was summer break. The school would be deserted. No one would think of a school. Did she want in? Yes. Definitely. She wanted the Photographer.

Late that night Dark Damsel broke into Elm Street High School. It was ridiculously easy. She ensconced herself in the nurses office, on the bed. It would be too dangerous to check the gym. The Photographer was cagey and might have set up warnings. Tomorrow at 7:40 p.m. she'd take him. When the police made their entrance Dark Damsel would hand over the Photographer, the Jewels and the fence. Tomorrow.

It was a day of boredom and anticipation. Finally the time arrived. Dark Damsel made her way down the hall to the gym. She opened the outer door quietly and slipped in. The inner door awaited. Standing to the side she approached the door on cat's feet. There he was. The Photographer. He was dressed in black, masked. She looked around. The wrestling mats had been laid out. What the hell was this? However, a briefcase, open, with the jewels, sat on the half door to the coach's office. It was enough.

"Photographer! Your time is up!" Dark Damsel strode through the door and The Photographer whipped around at her voice.

"Ah, Dark Damsel. I was hoping we'd meet again."

"You are finished."

"I think not. Kitty!"

Dark Damsel spun around in time to see Kitty on the far side of the inner door. There was a click and the door was locked. Damsel looked around. No doubt all the other doors were locked as well. It was a trap! But it didn't matter. She was there for The Photographer and she would take him. Her adrenalin began to flow and she stalked forward.

"Wait!" The Photographer called out and Dark Damsel halted. "There are rules to this game."

Dark Damsel wasn't amused. This was no game. She was here to take in The Photographer before the police arrived. She had a score to settle.

A door slammed and Dark Damsel's head snapped over. Behind the Coach's door was Kitty. The door was closed, but it wasn't a regular type of half-door. The bottom half had a shelf, which was common, but the top half had a cage over the shelf. The cage had two openings, one into the gym, one into the office. In the cage was the briefcase with the jewels.

"What is this?" Dark Damsel demanded.

"It is very simple. I want you and you want me. We both want the jewels. Come on over and we'll discuss this calmly. Later will be soon enough for fighting."

Dark Damsel was wary but intrigued. She approached, but not too closely. The Photographer smiled.

"No one can get at the jewels now. There is a time lock. After thirty minutes this button will open the lock. It is a sensor keyed to my thumb-print. All you have to do is get me to place my thumb on the sensor. Then this side of the cage will open and the jewels will be yours. You will have defeated me and I will be yours. If you defeat me I will do whatever you say for one hour. I will confess to the police, if that is your wish.

"However, if you attempt to open the cage before the thirty minutes are up, without my thumb key, the other side will open, Kitty will remove the case and leave."

"Interesting," Dark Damsel noted, wondering what the punch line would be.

The Photographer grinned. "Yes, interesting."

"What if there is no decision after the thirty minutes?"

The Photographer laughed. "It'll be over long before that. But I'll tell you what. If you agree to my final rule, win or lose you get the jewels--if you are still on your feet after thirty minutes."

Here it comes, the punch line. "And that is?" asked Dark Damsel.

The Photographer's smile faded. "If I win, you are mine for one hour." The words rang out, harsh, final. "So what is it, Dark Damsel? Your audience wants to know."

"Audience?" Dark Damsel was taken aback.

"Everyone knows how Dark Damsel is as good as her word. Say the word and you have the jewels. Yes, audience. See the cameras? You are on the 'net, live. Everyone who is logged on will be able to attest to our living up to the rules." He gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Speak up, Dark Damsel, how badly do you want the loot? How badly do you want me? Revenge is sweet, they say. Don't you want to find out?"

Dark Damsel's eyes narrowed. Live? On the Internet? There would be no question this time. The fight would be real, there would be no mistaking Dark Damsel's moves. And Dark Damsel was pretty sure what would happen should she lose.

Yet, she could return Lady Margot's necklace and the other purloined goods. Win or lose she would win.

"Deal!" she cried out and assumed a fighting stance.

"Done and done!" replied the Photographer and hit the button starting the clock.

*Chapter 8*

Dark Damsel knew The Photographer to be a dangerous foe. She moved carefully, not risking giving him an opening. It would deny her a quick victory, true, but would also deny him the same. She could take him, she knew. She just couldn't afford to make any stupid mistakes. She glanced at the gym clock. It was 7:47. Half an hour until the Police raided the school. Half an hour, tops. They could always come in sooner. So, all she had to do was keep The Photographer occupied for the minimum 30 minutes. After that it didn't really matter much, not that she thought he would last thirty minutes. After that, no matter what, she would have the jewels, and shortly thereafter the Police would come charging in. She laughed to herself. The hell it didn't really matter much. She wanted this man, badly. He had taken her twice. There would not be a third time.

The two antagonists circled slowly. Dark Damsel feinted. The Photographer countered the feint and then the actual strike. Once again they circled. He was as fast as ever, Dark Damsel noted. But she was on the top of *her* form. She was ready for this battle and he didn't have any flash gun to blind her with this time.

The Photographer lunged, she blocked; he tried to sweep her feet out from under her, she jumped and on her way down caught him with a kick which sent him sprawling. Rushing to capitalize on her advantage she was caught in a leg takedown.

Breathing harder now, the two rose to their feet. They eyed each other then began circling again. The Photographer moved in swiftly with a series of punches and kicks which Dark Damsel blocked even as she was forced backwards. She gasped as she backed up into the rack on the wall. Glancing upwards she saw the chin-up bar, leapt for it and caught the Photographer with a double kick to the chest. He did a back somersault and was on his feet almost before she dropped to her own.

"Nice move D.D.," he grinned, then seemed to pause to reflect. "D.D.? Hmmm. They are very nice, but certainly not double D's. But I'm sure all our viewers will enjoy seeing them." He laughed as Dark Damsel blushed. "Nice ass, too, now that I think about it. Shall we have a repeat of last time? I know you liked it!"

Stung by his comments, Dark Damsel launched her own attack. Now it was The Photographer who was hard-pressed to counter. He backed before her onslaught and the pair made a large circle around the gym. The Photographer blocked every kick and punch she threw, but Dark Damsel knew she'd get one through eventually.

"Yes!" Dark Damsel hissed, as a kick got through and sent The Photographer stumbling backwards. It was as she'd thought it would be. He was good, but not really in her class. He'd been lucky that night at the Beltons' mansion.

Dark Damsel sidestepped a desperate rush by The Photographer and tripped him as he went by. She smiled. It was payback time. A quick glance at the clock showed it to be just after eight. Had it really been going on that long? She was getting a little tired. Best to finish him fast.

The Damsel pressed her attack, but The Photographer fended off every blow. Then he struck through her guard, lightly slapping her face. She swung and he caught her arm, spun her around and slapped her rear as she went by.

"Slowing down, are you?" The Photographer asked slyly. "Getting tired? So soon? How'll you last the thirty minutes if you can't even stop this?" He slipped inside an angry punch and gave her a quick kiss just before back-heeling her and dropping her to the mat.

Dark Damsel came to her feet red in the face and spitting mad. She'd show the swine! Another series of kicks and punches were blocked and, to her chagrin, she realized that the Photographer was right. She was tiring; she was slowing down and her blows no longer carried the weight they had before. Just as quickly, she also realized that this had been part of the man's plan from the beginning. *She* was the one doing all the work. She glanced at the clock again. Eight-oh-five. The Photographer caught her glance and laughed.

"Just another ten minutes, you think? You won't last five. And don't expect to be rescued by the Police. They aren't coming. I leaked word that the fence was delayed, the meet put off until tomorrow." He grinned at her.

Dark Damsel felt the first tendrils of fear. If what he said was true, she had no back-up. And she was beginning to despair of ever winning this fight. He laughed again, but she made no reply. She was breathing too hard and it would take too much energy.

The Photographer began his advance and the Damsel was hard put to stop his blows from connecting. She twisted, turned and blocked. When he did get through, however, his blows carried no weight. He slapped her just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to let her know he was playing with her.

A hand slipped through and fingers pinched her right nipple before darting back out.

"Oh, we're going to have fun, you and I," The Photographer's voice leered at her.

He didn't even sound tired and she could barely keep him off her. In desperation she attacked for what she hoped would be the final time. Adrenalin fueled the attack and it almost succeeded. Almost.

"Five minutes. You're finished." And she was. She was sucking in air in great gulps, backing from The Photographer who batted her tired arms aside and slapped her hard on the rump as she stumbled and turned. She swung with what remained of her strength, but he caught her arm, pulled her to him and kissed her. She tried to knee him in the groin but he was gone. Sweat slipped from under her cowl and got in her eyes. It stung and she blinked.

Dark Damsel never saw the blow that dropped her to the mat. Unbelieving, she saw him wait for her to get up. One last chance, she had maybe enough for one good kick. She glanced up and saw the Rings. If she could work her way over to them . . . . She began backing again, leading him on. That's it, keep coming, she thought to herself, letting herself hope.

Ding! The bell. She'd done it. The thirty minutes were up. Now, even if he won, he lost . . . given that he was a man of his word. And if he wasn't, the world would know about it, know that she'd beaten him at his own game.

Now! She jumped up and grasped the rings. Long ago she'd trained in gymnastics. Her father used to watch her, encourage her. This would be for him.

The double kick was aimed at his head. It never connected. The Photographer grabbed her ankles and heaved. Her fingers disobeyed their orders to hold on and she let go of the Rings. At the same time he let go of her ankles and she fell, flat on her back, her attempt to break her fall futile.

The breath exited her lungs with a whoosh and Dark Damsel's eyes went wide with fear. She couldn't breathe! She felt fingers finding the zipper, undoing her top from bottom. She couldn't breathe! Her bottoms were being pulled unceremoniously from her. She couldn't breathe! Her top was unzipped and her breasts exposed.

A great gasp and air rushed into her lungs. She wasn't going to die! Yet. However, she was unable to move, much less resist as she was rolled over and her top pulled down her arms and off. She was naked now, except for her cowl, which she knew was next. He'd beaten her. She had given everything she had and it hadn't been enough.

"You're mine!" The whisper was harsh, triumphant.

She was like a rag doll as The Photographer put something about her middle. Great gulps of air were being drawn into her lungs, trying to replace the oxygen deficit caused by the fight then the fall.

"Kitty!" he called out, and Dark Damsel heard the office door opening and footsteps closing rapidly. "Do her up, I'll set up the cameras."

Dark Damsel felt Kitty adjusting the garment. Then she pulled on something and it tightened. It was a corset, Dark Damsel realized. Kitty quickly and skillfully tightened the laces until it was unbearably snug. Dark Damsel could barely breathe and she needed to breathe so badly.

"Very nice, D.D.," Kitty snickered. "Such a fine figure. But we're not finished yet, oh no." She began a further tightening of the laces though Dark Damsel didn't believe that the corset could be done up any further. She was wrong and her eyes bugged out when Kitty gave her final wrench. "There, baby, there," she cooed, then kissed Dark Damsel's cheek. "You look so pretty, so thin! Let's get you on your feet."

Kitty helped the Damsel to stand. Dark Damsel felt a passing giddiness, then she followed helplessly as Kitty dragged her to a mat in the centre of the gym. Her limbs felt like they were rubber and they trembled continuously. She was so tired she could barely stand.

"One hour, remember the deal?" the Photographer's voice was oddly fuzzy. It suddenly occurred to Dark Damsel that he had something in his cheeks to change the shape of his mouth, to disguise his voice. Why? To stop her from hearing it so she'd be unable to recognize it later; or to keep her from recognizing it now?

The Damsel shook her head, trying to clear the cloudiness of her thoughts. Her body was still demanding oxygen, but the corset was preventing her from breathing deeply. She panted, mouth open.

"The briefcase?" she got out between pants.

"Yours. I keep my end of a bargain. And you will keep yours!" he declared, turning her to face a camera he'd set up. "Turn sideways," he ordered and reinforced that order with a push. "Very nice. The corset pushes your tits up nicely. That was the first request."

Request?

"Ah, I see you don't yet understand. I picked a school for its internet link. You are on streaming video. Those who have logged on are passing on their requests and you will fill them. Kitty and I'll help if needed."

Dark Damsel closed her eyes, then opened them to see Kitty focusing the camera on her, slowly panning down then up again. The Damsel's face burned. She thanked whatever gods there might be that, as yet, The Photographer had not removed her cowl. She swayed, and would have fallen had not The Photographer caught her. He lowered her to her hands and knees and she continued to pant for air. Kitty moved to another video camera and lowered it so that was pointing at the Damsel's side, level with her. That was when the Damsel noticed the monitor in front of her. She was there on it, on all fours, her breasts hanging down. Letters formed in a dialogue box.

"Fuck her from behind."

Dark Damsel's eyes widened. It was too much. She was on display, the toy of unnamed, uncounted perverts who were watching on their computer screens.

"No," she gasped. "I won't."

"You will," The Photographer contradicted her. "You will, or the briefcase will disappear forever and everyone will know that Dark Damsel not only cannot be trusted, but that she held herself above returning two and a half million dollars worth of stolen goods to their rightful owners. What would your dear friend Lady Margot say?"

Dark Damsel froze. She was caught. What could she do? Break her word? Stay? She heard a click and looked to see a masked Kitty place a microphone in front of her. Her face was a picture of despair. She tried to think. Couldn't.

"Oh!" It was too late.

The Photographer's fingers had pressed against her pussy, slippery wet with some lubricant. Then he was lubing her, thoroughly, mechanically, as if she were nothing more than a toy. Her knees were nudged apart and then he was behind her. She felt the head of his cock at her entrance.

"Look up!" It was a command. She hung her head. "Look into the camera, slut." Her face flushed at the remark. He lowered his voice so that only she would be able to hear. "Would you rather I just took off your cowl?"

Dark Damsel looked up and into the camera's eye. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened and she gasped audibly as he entered her in one smooth thrust. "Oh!" That camera was just atop the monitor in front of her and she saw herself gasp as he did the deed.

"I'm sorry," The Photographer said insincerely. "You weren't ready? We'll try it again." He withdrew completely. "Look up." Damsel's head had begun to droop. She complied.

"Oh!" He did it again, burying himself to the hilt in her. She'd never before seen herself at the moment of penetration. Hell, what with her nocturnal activities, there just hadn't been that many men in her life, anyway. It was with a detached interest that she watched herself gasp; watched her breasts sway as he hit her rump with his stomach.

"Some women say that penetration is the most exciting moment in the sex act. Well, we can't deny you your excitement, now, can we." He withdrew.

"Oh!" Dark Damsel gasped yet again. The Photographer withdrew completely then penetrated her once more. He continued in this fashion, penetrating and withdrawing until Dark Damsel was panting again. She realized, with embarrassment, that her body was now providing all the lubrication that The Photographer needed. It, too, had betrayed her. Without bidding, Minx's words came to her: "Nothing like a good fight to make you horny, is there?" Could it be true? Did she get off on the battles?

She couldn't keep her head up but, when she let it droop, she felt fingers in her hair, pulling it back for her. She had no choice but to look, to watch herself as she was taken. It was Kitty holding her head for the cameras while The Photographer continued moving in and out of her. But he was no longer withdrawing all the way, and his speed had picked up. Her grunts as he moved harder and faster echoed through the gym.

Movement caught her eyes and she read with horror:

"Pinch her tits!"

Kitty complied, pinching and pulling at the nipples of her swaying breasts until they were hard and distended. Dark Damsel was now gasping for air that wouldn't come. She began to feel woozy and her vision started to blur. This just couldn't be happening to her. Not to Dark Damsel.

"Say it." The words came from far away.

Dark Damsel slowly focused on the present. The Photographer was still, though inside her. He repeated the words. Say what? She looked at the screen.

"Asked to be fucked in the ass."

"Oh, no!" She couldn't.

"The cowl?"

She'd have to. What did it matter now, anyway. He'd do it whether she asked or not. She was finished. "Please," she asked quietly, "fuck me in the ass."

"I couldn't hear you."

"Please fuck me in the ass," she said more loudly, reddening with the shame of it all. "Oh my God!" He was pressing in relentlessly. It was no use fighting; she tried to relax her sphincter. "Ahh!" His head slipped in and then he was slowly moving deeper within her. It came to her that he was being very gentle, though being remorseless about it. He wasn't trying to hurt her.

As he began slowly thrusting, all thoughts vanished from her head. It felt so different. Not as unpleasant as she had feared. Then he began moving faster again and her breathing became ragged. Her arms would no longer hold her and she collapsed to the mat. She glanced up to see the monitor, to see herself, ass lewdly high in the air, being royally screwed. She couldn't think.

When the vibrator touched her clit she jumped. She bucked this way and that, trying to get away, but it was no use.

"Come for me, baby," Kitty whispered to her. "Come while my lover takes your ass. Yes, you can do it. Feel it moving through you, carrying you up and away. Relax into it, just relax into it."

There was something almost hypnotic about Kitty's voice, about her own bellows breathing, about the feel of The Photographer's cock moving in and out. But she couldn't, no, she couldn't. It would be the final indignity. She held herself, still, tense, trying to push the excitement down.

The wail, when it came, was long and loud. Dark Damsel's body heaved up, held, then relaxed. She collapsed completely to the mat, legs splayed out. Her vision was gone, there was only a voice in her ear, pressure on her back, the cock in her rear. Everything was going black.

The Photographer was on top of her, moving very fast, ramming into her. "I'm going to come in you, bitch," he grunted into her ear. He was moving very quickly, short fast thrusts. "I'm coming in you, coming!" his voice caught and he collapsed on her.

"She's out," Kitty told her lover.

"Good. Quickly then, you know what to do."

"Are you sure? Isn't this enough?" Kitty questioned.

"I'm sure. Just do it." The Photographer turned his attention to the cameras and monitor. Working with practiced ease he had the lot packed up and replaced in the trolley in minutes. He glanced over to check on how Kitty was doing. She was doing fine and he wheeled the trolley out of the gym.

"Sorry, baby," Kitty murmured to the still unconscious Dark Damsel. Dark Damsel grunted in her sleep as Kitty did what was required. She was almost finished when The Photographer returned, carrying two video tapes. He placed them in the briefcase and closed it.

"Let's go. It's almost over," he told Kitty. "We'll make the call from the pay-phone at the front door just before we leave." He sat the briefcase down beside Dark Damsel and then Kitty and he moved out of the gym door, removing their masks as they went.

Dark Damsel woke, feeling thoroughly used. In fact she also felt full. What was going on? The events of the past hour came back to her and her eyes snapped open. She was alone. The briefcase was beside her but The Photographer and Kitty were gone.

Groaning, Dark Damsel sat up. She was surprised to see that she was once again dressed as Dark Damsel. Yes, dressed as Dark Damsel, but with the corset still on. She could barely breathe. And on top of that, there were dildoes in her pussy and ass. She'd have to undo her costume to get them out.

Getting to her feet, she moved shakily towards the change rooms. Suddenly both dildoes started vibrating. "Oh!" Dark Damsel gasped. She moved more quickly for the change rooms but stopped short as a sound caught her attention. Sirens. Sirens and just outside.

Heavy footfalls sounded in the hall and in moments three men burst through the doors, guns out and ready. In the lead was Ray Barton. They stopped short.

"Dark Damsel!" Ray stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. It took a moment before he could go on. "We got your call."

"My call?" Dark Damsel was confused. She had called nobody.

Now Ray looked confused. "Your call for back-up. You said something about the Photographer." He couldn't stop staring at her.

Suddenly Dark Damsel realized that the corset was still on and had changed her shape considerably. Her waist was impossibly small, making her hips look larger than they were, and her breasts were pushed up and out. Outwardly, she was someone completely different. Thank the gods he didn't know about what was working *inwardly*. At that moment the vibrations stopped and Dark Damsel breathed a sigh of relief.

"I came anyway, just in case," she told the detective. "He was here. We fought and he got away . . . again." She sounded strange, even to her own ears. With no lung capacity to speak of, she was talking in breathless gasps. "But I have the jewels. She held the briefcase out to him. "I'd like you to take them to HQ."

Ray took the briefcase from her. "The Commissioner will want to talk with you. We'll give you an escort." He was puzzled by Dark Damsel's frown. Usually she was happy to go in and talk with the Commissioner. He shrugged and together the four of them walked from the school. Her cycle and the two unmarked police cars were waiting outside. That was strange. She hadn't left the bike out in sight. Curious and curiouser.

"Oh!" Dark Damsel stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" Ray asked.

Dark Damsel couldn't tell him that the vibrators had kicked in again. "Just sore from the fight," she told him, which wasn't all that far out. "Let's keep this quiet. I don't want any publicity." What she wanted was to get this over as soon as possible, then to get back home and remove the corset and vibrators.

Riding the cycle took all her concentration. The vibration from the engine along with that of the vibrators was keeping her in a constant state of arousal. The corset prevented her from breathing properly and pushed her hard nipples against the cloth of her costume. She sighed with relief when the inner vibrations stopped half way to Police HQ. The vibrators, she realized were on some sort of timers.

The Commissioner was waiting for them. Obviously Ray had called ahead and the Commissioner had returned to the office for the occasion.

"You recovered the jewelry. That's wonderful," the Commissioner congratulated her. I brought our expert along to verify everything." He handed the briefcase to another man who placed it on the desk and opened it.

For the first time Dark Damsel saw the video tapes. Her name was written on them. "Those are mine," she told the men and picked them up quickly. She refused to be drawn by their looks of surprise.

"Sorry I didn't get the message about the delay," she informed the Commissioner. "I was late, too, so I thought you were already there," she lied. "So I went to the meet, anyway. Lucky thing."

"Delay?" The Commissioner looked confused. "Meet? What meet?"

The man was honestly bewildered and Dark Damsel suddenly had a black empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had been set up. She had been set up and she'd swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker. She couldn't let everyone know about this. It would be just too much.

"You didn't get my mail?" she asked. The Commissioner shook his head. "Damn. One of the remailers must have been down. I didn't have time to wait for confirmation. Sorry. It isn't important now." She suddenly grimaced as the vibrators came back to life. "I'd better go."

"Before you do," the jewelry expert told her, "I think you should know that these gems are phonies."

The world began caving in around Dark Damsel. It had all been for nothing. Wordlessly, she turned and, with tapes in hand, left.

*Chapter 9*

Dark Damsel raised her shaking hand and tried to fit the key into the door lock. She wept with frustration when it took three attempts to actually get the key in the lock. Once inside, with the door closed, she tore at her costume.

The vibrators were on again and driving her crazy. She was at her main hideaway, the one where she kept the motorcycle. Her breathing was reaching that ragged state once again. By the feel of it, the vibrators were held in place by a sort of chastity belt arrangement. The thin belt, which went between her legs, split her pussy lips and rested right on her clit. When the vibrators went off it was like a direct connection.

They were going now and she was in a state of high arousal. Her fingers seemed inept as they undid the zipper holding her costume top to the bottoms. Finally it was undone and she pulled it off. The bottoms were loose about her pinched waist and slipped easily down to her hips. With a little help they went over the hips and ended up a puddle on the floor. Now for the belt.

Dark Damsel gave a low scream of frustration as her fingers encountered the padlock. Bastards! Scum! She had to sit down; she was becoming slightly faint again. No air. The corset was too tight.

Gingerly she stepped into the small bedroom and sat on the bed. The act of sitting pushed the two vibrators just that fraction farther in and tightened the belt which rested so arousingly against her clit. "No!" the cry was wrenched from her between pants. She had to get up, to loosen the belt.

It was no use. She looked in the mirror to see two crazed eyes staring back. Too late. She was going over again. The orgasm hit and Dark Damsel cried out again as she fell backwards onto the bed. This time, though, the vibrators didn't stop. They kept working on her oversensitive parts, leaving her thrashing around, trying to get away. "Oh.my.god.not. again!" she panted out. Yes, again. Her body heaved itself up in an arch, then collapsed.

The vibrators were vibrating at a lesser tempo, the batteries running down. Dark Damsel just lay on the bed, groaning and panting, her legs and arms twitching as sensations rolled over her. Finally both the sensations and vibrations ceased.

It took her several minutes to recoup. Then, slowly, Dark Damsel sat up and removed her cowl. Her black hair was plastered on her head. She was soaked in sweat. Carefully, Dark Damsel got to her feet and went in search of a knife to cut the straps from around her. Finding one in her pouch, she very gently inserted it under the belt. She stopped. Withdrawing the knife, she picked up her pouch and withdrew the lock-pick. It was the work of only seconds to pick the lock.

Breathing a vast sigh of relief, Dark Damsel undid the belt and slowly withdrew the offending articles from within her body. She lay the contraption on the side table and smiled tentatively. It might, she considered, have its uses at a later date.

The corset laces just couldn't be got at. The tie was too high on her back. She made an attempt to cut the laces, but they seemed to be wire cored. Bastards! She would need help to undo it. Until then she would have to be careful to not exert herself in the least.

To whom could she go for help? Ray Barton came immediately to mind. Yet to go to him would mean going in costume. If she went in costume she might be accosted along the way and she was in no position to fight. She'd be quickly at the mercy of anyone. No, Ray was out.

Dark Damsel picked up her cell phone. "Hi, Brenda. It's Renee. I need you to meet me at my place in half an hour," she told her friend. "I'll explain there. Thanks, you're a lifesaver."

"Jesus, this is tight." Brenda pulled and pried at the laces. "You're not seeing him again, right?" she asked Renee, who lay face down on her bed.

"Too right," Renee gasped out. In order to get a little slack where the knot was, Brenda had endeavoured to tighten the corset a little. It had worked and she now struggled with the knot.

"I have to say you.ugh.find the most interesting men, but for my taste, this goes a little too far. Aha! Got it!"

Renee took the first real breath she'd had for hours. Such a relief. As Brenda continued loosening the corset, Renee relaxed.

"Okay. I'll go make some tea," Brenda told her. "You join me in the kitchen and tell me all about this worm."

After Brenda had left, Renee stood up and dropped the skirt she'd worn over the bottom of the corset. She then completed the loosening of the wretched garment and let it slip off of her. Looking in the mirror she saw angry red lines where it had pressed against her skin. She shivered. It was over. It was finally over.

The tears came again. Nevermore would she wear the garb of Dark Damsel. She had been used and abused. Her body had been declared not her own. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had watched her debasement, had seen her orgasm as her foe had taken her in the ass. And the whole thing had been just one big cruel joke for The Photographer. She had acquiesced in order to recover Lady Margot's necklace. She had recovered nothing more than useless costume jewelry. When that became known, as it surely would, Dark Damsel would be the laughingstock of the Hub City. Dark Damsel was finished.

Hours later, after giving Brenda the details of the night-- how her date had dressed her in the corset, then bailed out on her; how he had decided that she wasn't quite adventurous enough for him, etc.--Renee lay in bed, awake. Tears came and went. Finally she turned on the T.V. Anything to keep from thinking about what had happened. She looked at the clock. It was almost time to get up anyway. Get up, ha! She'd spend the next couple of days in bed. To hell with everything.

A familiar figure caught her attention. It was Minx. She canceled the mute.

". . . late breaking story, Minx has recovered the loot taken by The Photographer. We have a rare interview with Minx.

"Minx, could you tell us how you broke the case?" the reporter asked.

"Well, I really didn't," purred the familiar voice. "I received word yesterday that someone wanted to meet with me. I agreed to the meet. It was the Photographer . . . No," she waved off the reporter, "I can't describe him. He was in a darkened room. I went in, he handed me the briefcase, explained what was in it and gave me a message to give to you."

Minx smiled into the camera. She had a lovely smile, Renee thought. If only that dazzle paint didn't take away from her presence . . .

"The Photographer gave you a message for us?" the reporter asked.

"Yes. He said, and I quote, 'You will not hear from the one you have named The Photographer again. I apologize to those whom I have victimized. I know that the Police will keep after me, but I suggest that they find better things to do with their manpower. The Photographer will never bother anyone again.' That's what he said," Minx concluded.

"Why did he return the loot? Did you ask?" the reporter wanted to know.

"Of course I asked," Minx was exasperated by the stupidity of the question. "He said that he had obtained everything he had wanted from the jewels. That's all. He had no further use for them. What in blazes he meant by that, I have no idea. Anyway, this interview is over. I've kept my promise."

With that Minx turned and was out of view of the camera in seconds. Renee sat shaking.

"Everything he wanted," she repeated, in a daze. The whole object had been to get *her*. Why? There was no answer. She got up and made herself a light breakfast. While swallowing the last of it her gaze crossed a small paper bag. She started. In it were the videos the Photographer had left her. Renee picked them up and fed the one labeled as "D.D.1.: A lesson." into her machine. She sat down and hit the play button.

It seemed to be another news report. Renee froze.

". . . end of a criminal spree. And now our man in the streets, Jake Gowan, brings us this live report."

The inset showed a man with a microphone. It enlarged until it filled the screen.

"Thanks, Bill. With me, here, I have The Hub City's own Dark Angel, whose subterfuge has ended a reign of terror. Dark Damsel, could you tell our viewers a little more about how you captured the infamous 'Midnight Caller'?"

She laughed, lightly, as if at a joke. "Oh, I'd hardly call it a 'reign of terror'. And Kirby Phillips, the man you know as the 'Midnight Caller', is hardly infamous except, perhaps, in the minds of those with expensive jewelry and, of course, those who insure said jewelry."

"Still, Dark Damsel, the Midnight Caller has been a bane to the law enforcement officers of this city for some months, diverting much needed resources from other areas. His capture is bound to have repercussions far beyond the removal of one criminal from the streets of the Hub City."

"This is correct. That is why I persuaded Lady Margot to aid me in this venture."

"But Lady Margot's necklace alone is reputed to be worth a quarter of a million dollars." The reporter's voice turned a little hard. "If your plan had failed . . ." He left it to the viewers' imagination to consider just what would have happened.

"If my plan had failed," she said sweetly, "then Kirby Phillips would now be in the possession of a thousand dollars worth of fake jewels."

The reporter laughed. "So," he managed, "the notorious Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost his liberty for imitation stones. One wonders how he will live down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new housemates . . . in The Big House."

The picture paused and the screen went black. However, the audio continued and the reporter's last words were repeated.

"So, the notorious Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost his liberty for imitation stones. One wonders how he will live down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new housemates . . . in The Big House".

The audio dropped off. Renee stared in shock at the screen. All this because . . . . Her stomach lurched and she ran to the washroom just in time to deposit her breakfast down the toilet.

When she recovered, Renee put the second tape into the machine. First were the undoctored videos of her receiving her spanking. Then there was a copy, undoubtedly made at the same time as the original, of the encounter in the gym. Renee watched the fight, noting how The Photographer had countered her strikes and how she had been unable to counter his. She needed further training. No. She didn't. Dark Damsel was done.

"Say it."

"Oh, no!" Dark Damsel groaned. It took a few seconds, then, "Please fuck me in the ass."

"I couldn't hear you."

Louder, "Please fuck me in the ass." A short pause. "Oh my God!"

"And oh, God, *yes*!" cried out Kitty as her lover did the same to her as he'd done to Dark Damsel in the video which was playing on the screen in front of them.

Kitty grinned as Dark Damsel collapsed on the mat, her ass still high in the air, impaled on The Photographer's cock. She lowered her own upper body and looked sideways to the mirror. "Do I look as lewd as her," Kitty asked.

"You've always looked better, love," he answered and reached down to hold her breasts as he continued moving slowly in her.

Kitty watched as her image brought the vibrator out and held it to Dark Damsel's clit. "Did you enjoy her, lover? Didn't I tell you how wild she was?"

"She was good and I enjoyed her," he replied. "Especially when you made her come. I think that embarrassed her more than anything else--that and thinking it was going out live. Yes, she was wild and we did everything I wanted, thanks, kitten. Oh, when did you add the bit about pulling on her nipples? And, yes, I loved the way she spasmed around my cock, just like you are about to, kitten."

They stopped talking and moved into high gear, Kitty pushing back against her lover's thrusts. Soon he began to tense and Kitty knew he was going to come. She rubbed her own clit furiously and cried out just after he collapsed on her.

They lay together for a time, then Kitty squirmed out from under him. She lay on her side and the man who had been The Photographer snuggled in behind her.

"Lover?" Kitty asked hesitantly, enjoying his warmth and the soft ambiance of the after love snuggling. "Can we talk?"

"Always, my kitten," he replied sleepily. "What shall we talk about this time."

"Renee Jimson," Kitty murmured.

"Dark Damsel?" her lover questioned. "Which of her attributes would you like to discuss?"

"No," Kitty corrected, "not Dark Damsel, Renee Jimson. I did some research on her, Bill." She paused, wondering how he would take it."

"And what did you find out, Kitty," Bill asked, growing more interested. His hand grew more interested, too, as it cupped a breast and began slowly rubbing the nipple.

"Her father was a cop . . . "

"Like father, like daughter."

". . . who was shot and killed when she was seventeen. She's been on her own since then." Kitty felt Bill relax behind her. His fingers stopped playing with her nipple and began stroking her side, over her hips and down her thigh as far as he could reach, then back up again. It was very soothing.

"Seventeen isn't a child, Kitty," Bill murmured.

"I know." She felt his breath on the back of her neck and shivered a little.

"Cold, darling?"

"A little."

Bill pulled a sheet over the two of them. "So, you are thinking that she is like us?" His voice was soft. "You want to stop now."

"Let's take down the page, Bill. Let's not put anything more up. She's had her lesson. I doubt that she'll ever put on her costume again. We've destroyed her, and I don't think I like that."

"She destroyed him, Kitty, never forget that," Bill stated, but his voice was calm, soothing. After a short pause where Kitty remained silent he conceded. "Okay, kitten, for you. We'll take down the page. I guess we've had our revenge, and he'll find out about it. I made sure of that."

"You didn't take any chances, did you?" Kitty was worried.

"Of course not."

She turned on her back, and his breath now fell upon her throat. It was very nice. His hand began to roam again and Kitty could feel the heat rising. It was going to be a very good day.

"Yes, lover, yes!"

"So there you are. All done. Check it out for yourself." Rebecca sat back and watched as Ray entered his new website and began playing through the pages. His eyes were alight with joy.

"You're great, Rebecca," he enthused. "It's better than I ever dreamed it could be." He turned away from the screen and smiled at her. "Tell you what. Why don't you and I go out for some dinner. I owe you."

Rebecca wasn't so eager. "Just where did you have in mind? Not Tommy's?"

Ray's smile lit his face. "Great little place, isn't it?"

"You owe me for introducing it to me. Ray, it's a greasy spoon!" Rebecca couldn't, for the life of her, see the attraction. She stood and stretched, knowing that she was going to accept anyway.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Just like the one Dad used to run."

Ah, so that was it. "Okay, Ray. We'll go out for dinner and you can tell me all about him." She smothered a laugh as a look of consternation came over his face.

"You mean you don't like . . ."

"Tommy's will be fine, Ray. Let's go before you change your mind and cheat me out of my due."

The evening sun was shining down, the heat of the day slowly dissipating, as they walked arm in arm along the sidewalk. The air was clean, the breeze coming in off the lake. A nice day for a walk.

"Spare some change, lady?"

The child couldn't be more than twelve. Rebecca stopped and looked down on him. "Hi there, what's up?" She smiled encouragingly.

"I need to get enough for a room for the night," the youngster stated. He looked her straight in the eyes.

"I see. Hmmm. I might be able to help you out."

Suddenly the youngster's eyes grew wary. He looked from Rebecca to Ray and back again. Rebecca affected to not notice. She fished in her purse.

"Here's ten dollars, and here is a card. Can you make out the address?" Who knew if the kid could read or not.

"Eight fifty-seven Weber," the youngster answered. "A haven?" he asked contemptuously.

Rebecca laughed. "I know what you mean, but this one is different. Tell them Rebecca sent you. Okay?"

"Maybe."

"That's all I ask." She handed him the money and the card and the youngster vanished.

"You're all right, Nasturant," Ray said as they sat down at the table. "But that soft heart of yours is going to get you in trouble some day."

Rebecca didn't smile. She looked Ray in the eyes. "Do you know what it's like being a street kid?"

"I've seen a lot, Rebecca," Ray replied mildly.

"Well, I've done more than see. I've been there. Sometimes all it takes is one helping hand, one stranger ready to give just that little bit without asking anything in return." She stopped talking and Ray knew better than to interrupt the silence. "So, your father owned one of these places?" Ray nodded. "And you still seem to have turned out okay. Strange."

For two days Renee had buried herself in her work. Brenda was relieved to have Renee back in charge, but her sudden drive had Brenda worried. Renee refused to talk about it and Brenda merely sighed and helped as best she could. Sooner or later Renee would come around. Today, however, would not be the day and Brenda patted Renee on the shoulder as she took her leave.

"See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Renee agreed, not looking up from the computer screen.

"Don't forget to bundle up if you go out. It's cold and miserable for July."

"Okay."

There had been a sudden cold snap and thick fog covered the Hub City. It would be a good day for Dark Damsel to take her last ride, Renee decided as soon as the door closed behind Brenda. She would take the motorcycle and return it to the Garage on 5th. It could only cause Renee Jimson problems if it remained in her possession.

Renee saved her file and turned off the computer. Yes, now would be a good time for Dark Damsel's last ride. She had been hiding away since her last encounter with The Photographer. She hadn't listened to the news or gone onto the Internet. She could just imagine what awaited her there. Dark Damsel was probably the laughingstock of the nation.

Putting on her trenchcoat, Renee prepared to exit her apartment, then turned around. "Hey, Nietzsche, wanna go for a ride?" she asked the stuffed tiger. She needed some support. Together the two of them trekked to the hideaway. Inside she changed to the now hated garments of Dark Damsel. The last time, she said to herself, the last time.

"Sorry, Dad, I failed. Come on, Nietzsche. I always promised you a ride on the cycle. This is your last chance." The tiger, of course, said nothing, but went along, uncomplaining.

A few miles away, Officer Rebecca Nasturant was walking away from the Weber Street Haven, having put in an evening shift helping the staff. She enjoyed this part of her job, liaising with the Haven and giving seminars to the street kids. She also enjoyed the long walk to the subway, especially on foggy nights like this one. There was something about the fog she enjoyed. It gave her a chance to think. Tonight she was thinking about detective Ray Barton.

"Ray, we got a hot tip!" Charlie came bursting into the office. "They're at the Halcyon Hotel, now."

"Great!" Ray swung around in his chair and pressed the alarm button. Soon all the men were in the room and the briefing was short, sharp and to the point. "Okay," Ray concluded as he finished putting on his bulletproof vest, "remember what they did to Johnny. So let's be careful."

The men scrambled for the cars.

Rebecca stopped at Ed's Diner. Another greasy spoon, she thought. But eating here reminded her of the very nice time she'd had with Ray, listening to him tell her about his father and the way he ran his Diner. Little Ray had been helping out and had told his father how one day he'd run a Diner, too. His father had smiled and said, "No, I work hard so you can have something better. But, son, if it turns out you really want a Diner, then I'll be happy to see you here."

Of course, as Ray grew older, the thought of taking over the family business had become less and less appealing, but the atmosphere of a Diner always brought back good memories.

Rebecca enjoyed the way Ray talked about his family and wondered what things would have been like if . . . . She took another forkful of apple pie. Good pie, she thought and looked out to the foggy street. Two cars pulled up at the hotel opposite. She watched the eight men get out of the cars and became alert. One of them turned so his face was visible. It was Ray! As one they turned and entered the Hotel. A few seconds later the gunfire started.

"You!" Rebecca shouted at the counter man. "Call this number. Tell them 'Officers in trouble, shots fired, need backup'."

"You a cop?" the counterman asked.

"Damn right," Rebecca answered as she pulled her revolver out of her purse and headed for the door.

Even the traffic lights seemed to be against her, Dark Damsel thought as she stopped for the fifth red light in as many blocks.

"Hi!"

The voice startled her and she turned to see Minx stepping out from under an awning.

"Hi, yourself," Dark Damsel replied. She didn't want this. Minx was too much a reminder of what she was giving up.

"Glad to see you out and about," Minx told her as she approached. Without being asked, Minx climbed up behind Dark Damsel. "More rumours you'd given up the cowl," Minx breathed in Dark Damsel's ear. "Glad to see they weren't true, either. Green light."

Dark Damsel accelerated to a safe speed, liking the feel of Minx close behind her, yet not wanting her there, on this of all nights. "They were true. This is my last ride. I'm just returning the cycle."

"Son of a bitch," Minx muttered. "Why?" Dark Damsel didn't answer. "Nice cycle," Minx said, to break the silence.

"You want it? Tell you what, I'll introduce you to a man named Ray. You should come with me anyway. He's holding your half of the reward for those guys we nailed. Anyway, working with the Police isn't bad."

"You're serious." Minx was astounded. "Why?" she asked again, this time more insistent.

"Don't tell me you don't know. It must be everywhere. I'm surprised people are talking about anything else." Dark Damsel was bitter.

"It doesn't matter what anyone *else* thinks or says," Minx told her. "The only one who is important is . . ."

"Shots fired, officers down. Halcyon Hotel. Barton needs backup!" The police radio came to life.

Dark Damsel drifted to a stop. Minx had thrown her a lifeline. Things were tumbling into place in her mind, but there was no time to think. "Get off," she ordered.

"No way, babe. We're in this together. Let's go get 'em."

The Halcyon, in it's heyday, had been a first class hotel. Now it was a welfare hotel, old and rundown. It had a large foyer with a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. A bannister ran around three sides of that second floor, overlooking the foyer.

In the foyer, taking cover where they could, were Ray and four of his men. Three others were down. Ray looked up, gun in hand, grimly thinking that this scene reminded him of the movie "The Lone Ranger" where the Texas Rangers were caught in the canyon and massacred. He hoped the scene wouldn't play out the same way.

A figure appeared above the railing, gun in hand. Before Ray could take aim three explosions came from the front door and the man tumbled over and fell to the floor. Wincing from the rolling thunder (only in movies could guns be fired in enclosed places without causing the ears pain, not to mention loss of hearing), Ray turned to see Rebecca moving across the room, still firing. He jumped out, grabbed her arm and pulled her to the wall.

Ray stood over her, alert for any other gunmen while Rebecca reloaded. She looked up at him.

"Shouldn't have come," he told her, exaggerating his lip movements.

"Had to," she replied, though she realized that Ray could probably barely hear what she was saying. Her own ears still hurt and rang from the gunfire. "You never invite me to the really fun parties, so I crashed." The wild fear in her eyes belied the joke. Gun loaded she transferred her attention to the second floor.

"Going somewhere boys?" Dark Damsel asked just before lashing out with a kick which caught a turning gunman in the kneecap, cracking it. Her second kick landed on the side of his head and he dropped like a rock. The second gunman stared in shock at the knife which had suddenly appeared in his wrist. A moment later he started to scream, a scream which was cut short by a blow to his neck.

"Two down," Minx grinned as she removed her knife. More gunfire echoed from below them. "Feeling horny yet?"

Dark Damsel laughed as Minx's statement settled her down. This was the first time she'd ever gone into a firefight like this. "We get out of this and you can jump my bones," she replied.

"Deal!" cried Minx

Ray pointed towards the hallway to the rear door. Rebecca nodded, even though she didn't like it at all. Suddenly guns were going off all around her and she lit out for the safety of the passage.

Made it, she gasped to herself. A man appeared in a door way and she raised her gun and pulled the trigger. Click. The man laughed and pointed his own gun at her. "Later, you'll beg for this," he leered at her, "later."

A kick to the middle of his back propelled him towards the young officer, who hit him with her gun. He turned and swung a fist which connected and Dark Damsel went down holding her face. The man raised his gun again but Rebecca smashed down with her own and the man screamed in agony, his hand shattered. Dark Damsel swung her legs around and caught the back of his knees, bringing him crashing to the floor where a kick from Minx silenced him.

The silence was deafening. The smell of gunsmoke permeated everything. Dark Damsel peered through the dim light and smoke into the foyer. A man moved, then another and another. Sirens filled the air and moments later there were more men in blue than Dark Damsel had ever seen at one time since her father's funeral.

Ray stumbled through the foyer and looked at Dark Damsel.

"Good to see you," was all he could say.

Rebecca ran to him and hugged him for all she was worth. Dark Damsel turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Rebecca asked.

"I made a deal, and Dark Damsel always keeps her word."

Rebecca and Ray's eyebrows went up as Dark Damsel put her arm about Minx's waist and walked with her through the back door.

She was alive. Dark Damsel looked through the fog back to the Hotel Halcyon. She had gone into the fire and had not been burned. She was alive. That was all that mattered. She laughed.

"What's funny, D.D.?" asked Minx.

"My tiger was right after all."

Minx stared at her. "Your tiger?"

"He said 'What doesn't destroy me makes me stronger' and he was right."

"I thought Nietzsche said that," Minx laughed.

Dark Damsel opened her saddlebag and pulled out her stuffed tiger. "I didn't know you'd met."

Minx laughed again and climbed on board behind Dark Damsel. She put her arms around the Damsel's waist. Dark Damsel moved the hands up until they cupped her breasts. Then she put her own hands over them and pressed.

"Told you, didn't I?" Minx whispered seductively in Dark Damsel's ear before the Damsel started the cycle. Dark Damsel grinned widely and they sped off into the fog.

Rebecca watched from the back door of the Hotel Halcyon, shaking her head in wonder.

*Epilogue*

"Hi, Uncle Teddy," Renee walked into the Commissioner's office without knocking. Commissioner Delcourt and Officer Nasturant turned to greet her.

"You look really great," Delcourt exclaimed. There was that certain look of wellbeing about her. Then his smile faded. "Renee! What happened to your eye?" Delcourt demanded, moving over to take a better look.

"Got mugged," Renee replied, looking glum. She didn't like the way Rebecca was looking at her. Sort of appraisingly, she thought.

"Did you report it?" Delcourt wanted to know.

"Didn't see anything. He hit me from out of nowhere and before I got up he was gone. Only got my money, though. He dropped my purse half a block along. So much for my self defense classes."

"Are you okay?" Rebecca wanted to know.

"Oh, I'm fine now. Just a little embarrassed."

Rebecca chewed on her lip for a few moments. "I have a very good friend who teaches martial arts," she told Renee. He's very, very good. If you like, I'll introduce you."

Rebecca and Renee walked into a small building and descended to the basement. Through the door Renee could see that the large room was set up as a dojo. A tall man walked over to them.

"William, I have a friend, Renee Jimson, who would like to talk with you about training."

William's eyebrows rose slightly. "It isn't often Rebecca brings anyone to me," he explained. "You must be special. Come with me and we'll talk. Then we'll see what you have and where you want to go with it."

Renee nodded. William had a nice clear voice and somehow she felt she could trust him. It was a fine feeling and that feeling flowed over and through her. She felt wonderful inside and out. Dark Damsel was alive and well, Minx had helped see to that. She had been so very right: The only one whose opinion counted was her own. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. Renee, also, was alive and well. She turned her head and nodded her thanks to Rebecca. It was good to have friends.

The End

This page was created with graphics from Machabit's Graphics Addiction and Crimson Editor 3.4.