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RE                                                     

Copyright remains with author.  This story is *not* to
be reposted, posted elsewhere, etc. It is *not* to be made 
available in any media for profit.  You are entitled to 
one hard copy for your own amusement.  


  **Note**  The internet addresses and sites mentioned in this
            story are *not* actual ones.  Don't waste your time.

If under the legal age, don't read further.

Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress, by Echo

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 did'n 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 

Comments to: echo@nym.alias.net


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