Hojōjutsu
She finally slipped up in Chiba. It was just a trace, a fleeting echo, almost lost in the background noise. But not quite, no one could stay lucky forever. After that, it was only a matter of time and in the end, it took a grand total of eight hours. I caught up with her in Chūō-ku, just as she walked out of the Art Museum.
Whoever she had found, their skills were impressive. I nearly missed her, the body-sculpt was that good. But it’s almost impossible to fool an AI, and Shade gave me a metaphysical nudge when she recognised our target.
“There, 11 O’Clock, the bubblegum blonde with the “Hello Kitty” shoulder bag”, her quiet words trickled through my skull like ice water.
I turned slowly, keeping my movements smooth and casual. I couldn’t do anything here. We were exposed and the risk of colateral damage was just too high. Tailing her would be difficult, but then, that’s what I do. Briefly, I glanced at my retinal display, registering only mild annoyance at how out of date the information was. There was no telling what new surprises she might have acquired since it had last been updated.
“She’s locked up tight”, Shade announced, “We’ll have to do it your way”.
I shrugged, viral subversion always left me unfulfilled, it was just so impersonal. Supressing the urge to vocalise my response (Shade already knew what I was thinking), I nonchalently strode towards the target. Just as soon she got off of the main drag , I could pounce. My hand slipped into my pocket, coiling the twine around my wrist in preparation.
It can be a difficult balance. Disconnect yourself from the virtual world and you are safe from the myriad of malware, which exists only to snare the unwary. But, by the same token, you effectively render yourself half-blind, thus losing a potential advantage. Keep fully connected and you gain a plethora of new senses, the tradeoff being that you are open and vulnerable. Most people, including your’s truly, choose a path somewhere between the two extremes.
Although by shutting out all external communication, my target may have gained a slight edge, she also lost any early warning her own rider might have been able to give her. Unfortunate for her, but good news for me. At the instant we left the main square, I struck, eager to incapacitate her with the minimum of fuss.
Everyone has their own area of expertese. Firearms, biochemistry, the most exotic of martial arts, the list was effectively endless. My own skills are fairly archaic, but I assume that such techniques would never have stood the test of time, unless there was something to them. Simply put, I excel at tying people up.
There is more to it than that, of course. While part of my skill is to quickly and efficiently bind others, it also involves showing exactly how hopeless the victim’s situation is. In effect, when I bind someone, I make sure that the experience is so wonderful, so beautiful and so secure that they eventually forget about trying to get away.
She didn’t see me coming until it was far too late. By the time she even started to react I had the first loop around her wrist and was pulling it tight. In eerie slow motion, I watched her pupils dilate. Whatever boosting she had, finally kicked in, but by now I had caught her other arm and, technically, it was all over.
Shade’s scream came at the same instant as I recognised the warning buzz of danger in the back of my mind. I twirled her around, sending her spinning. Dropping low, I scissored my legs into hers, catching her as she fell. In that split second, even as her pupil gaped impossibly wide, it had almost escaped me.
I tried to ignore Shade as she railed against me, busying myself catching first one leg and then the other. The dart had missed, but only by the narrowest of margins. Ocular weapons? Whatever next? It was a clumsy device, and one of last resort. I couldn’t imagine how such an implant would limit her vision. But as far as I was concerned, it didn’t seem a reasonable trade off. As always, it came down to the fact that when you relied on technology to bail you out of trouble, you invariably got sloppy.
Shade’s laughter trickled down my spine and I willed her to shut up. Her presence receded but I knew that she was still lurking. It was impossible to stay angry with her for long, but she could be so damnably annoying when she chose.
My attention returned abruptly to the struggling bundle on whom I was seated. The final loop encircled her neck and as I pulled it taut, the woman almost instantly stopped fighting (perhaps thinking that she was about to be choked). I quickly tugged on the ropes, pulling her into a fairly benign hogtie.
She begged, whined, shouted, basically did everything she could think of in order to make me let go. But I just let it slide past me. Instead I lent in close, caution still tugging at me in case she hid any other surprises.
“This works even better if the bindee is naked”, I confessed, “But I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in public”.
That stopped her short, confusion warring with the anger in her expression.
“Of course”, I pressed on, striking while her guard was down, “When I take you somewhere more private, that won’t be a problem, will it?”
I loved her wide-eyed stare. The shock and defiance mixed with a little tinge of fear. I imagined what might be going on inside her head. She knew that she was caught, but perhaps still harboured some hope that she could somehow escape. She was looking for an opening, anything she could use against me. What she didn’t realise was, that was exactly what I planned to give her.
Not letting her regain her balance, I continued to talk, pulling out a small plastic ball as I did so.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked quietly, waving it in front of her face.
She didn’t respond, but her eyes stayed fixed on it. I suppressed a smile, knowing that she recognised it very well indeed. Perhaps she had even used one herself? I was almost certain that she had never had one used on her though, but that was about to change.
“It’s a capture sack”, I reminded her, “For transporting runaways”.
She started to struggle again, fighting against the ropes, even though she already knew that it was futile. I just left her to it, she was merely reinforcing her understanding of how helpless she truly was, and that suited me just fine. Just as she was beginning to tire, I pressed the black sphere onto her head.
Of course, that stimulated another burst of frenzied thrashing. The black material stretched easily. I pulled on it gently, ignoring her cries until they were muffled. I had never gotten used to how the sack worked. In a few moments it had morphed from being a small ball, the size of my hand, into a shiny black coating that completely sheathed my target.
Her movements were growing steadily more sluggish, and I knew that she would soon succumb. The thin membrane, which covered her nose and mouth, would allow air to pass through easily, but each breath filtered more anaesthetic into the captive’s lungs. I waited patiently, until the package was still and then I lifted her up onto my shoulder.
We had already drawn too much attention; it was time for me to move this party to somewhere more private.
By the time we reach my yacht, Shade has scanned every inch of our prisoner. With the exception of a very nasty semi-autonomous weapon system, the very thought of which was enough to bring tears to my eyes, everything matches the original files. Peeling her out of the capture sack is easy enough, the sedative keeping her pleasantly docile while I make my preparations.
As I told her, this works so much better when the subject is naked. I use the opportunity to remove my basic binding cord (while good enough for street work, it lacks the aesthetic necessary for these more intimate moments). I let Shade take over the basic tasks, while I concentrate on our prisoner.
I used to loathe the very idea of handing over control to my rider, but now it has become second nature. I’m happy to take a back seat, lost in my thoughts, while the drudgework is taken care of. Removing, searching and folding away her garments fades into the background and I can focus on what will happen next.
The rope is incredibly fine, synthetic spider silk. I have a small supply, which I obtained at ludicrous expense, but there really is no substitute. Anything grown down the gravity well is just substandard. I have lubricated it already, leaving it oily and smooth. It cannot chafe, but despite what the bindee might imagine, my knots will never slip. Well, not unless I want them to.
I feel Shade disengage and my awareness returns to the present. The woman is naked before me, sprawled decoratively on my couch. I admire her gentle curves, the deceptive softness of her body in repose. She is beautiful, but I will make her even more so. I imagine the elaborate criss-cross of cords, planning how they will accentuate while still holding her helpless in their embrace.
I start simply, rebinding her wrists, allowing just enough give to present the illusion that she could escape. Her ankles next, trapped and held, the oiled ropes slipping effortlessly over her too perfect skin. Then I begin in earnest, forming the web that will hold her in its centre. Pinching, lifting, holding, each new knot adding another layer to the tableaux.
I add a crotchrope, threading the knotty strand between her legs, nestling it gently between lips already moist with her excitement. Every movement, every struggle will intensify her sensations, drawing attention to what has been done to her. I want her to realise she has been taken, and I want her to love it.
Finally I tie off her knees, binding her legs firmly together and trapping that insidious rope between them. By now she has begun to rouse, small movements leading to unexpected pleasures. Her eyes blink slowly, as she tries to remember what has gone before.
“Welcome back”, I greet her warmly, “Shall we get started?”
Once again I get that lovely expression of confused anger and it makes me tingle. I reach over and carefully pull one of her cords. She yelps, apparently shocked at her response. I see her cheeks darken and my smile turns predatory.
“See, I told you that it works better naked”.
She opens her mouth, a witty retort or expletive ready, so I pluck another cord and watch her words dissolve into moaning arousal.
“The really nice thing”, I confide in her quietly, “is that you can thrash around as much as you like here. You’re never going to get away; you’re just going to work those ropes more and more tightly into you”.
She’s clever, although I already knew that, it usually takes them far longer to think of keeping completely still. In my mind I applaud her, ignoring Shade’s silent raspberry as she reminds me just how effective that particular technique is. I know already, been there, done that, as they say. But, although I’ve got a job to do, I can’t help but cheer this woman on. She reminds me so much of myself, back before, when I was wild and uncontrolled as well.
“You are such a clever girl”, I tell her admiringly, “But unfortunately, for you at least, this isn’t the route out of your predicament”.
To emphasis my point, I snap two cords in quick succession, making her buck and shudder. I know that she almost came then and there, our eyes lock and some understanding passes between us. On some level, she now knows that she cannot win, but I have also seen that she intends to fight me all the way. I nod silently, accepting the deal. Part of me wants her to win, even though I know that is impossible.
“I’m sure you can feel how the ropes are biting into you”, I suggest, “Even your breathing makes them slide over and into you. Coiling around you, holding you, caressing you, keeping you safe, warm, comfortable. You are comfortable aren’t you?”
I watch as she tries to follow what I am saying. Tiny beads of sweat have begun to form, and although she tries to control it, I can tell that her heart is pounding now. I reach out again, amused to see her flinch. The soft gasp as her movements grind her body against the knots, is music to my ears.
“That’s okay”, I comfort, “Don’t be scared. Soon the ropes will slip into your head. Wrapping your mind as snugly and helplessly as they have your body. Nice and oily they will slide between your thoughts, your ideas, your feelings. Then I’ll be able to flick them as easily as this”.
I snap another cord and she leaps, her movements augmenting the orgasm that my touch triggers. She shouts, yelling out in defiance, cursing me, even as her body responds. I wait patiently as her movements force aftershocks upon her, not speaking or moving until she becomes still once more.
She glares her hatred at me, eyes flashing. I can’t help myself, I just grin back at her, stupidly pleased with her reaction.
“That’s a girl”, I laugh, “Keep fighting me, it will make your inevitable surrender all the more exquisite”.
Her reply is lost, dispersing into incomprehensible sounds as I begin to play the ropes again.
It is another hour before Shade’s icy fingers touch the nape of my neck.
“Her rider wants to discuss terms”, she tells me.
I play a series of quick chords, letting my prisoner noisily collapse into merciful oblivion. This was far quicker than I was expecting and I don’t need Shade’s cool advice to realise that all is not as it appears.
I will her to give me more information, stiffening slightly as the data flows across my vision.
“It’s left a channel open, but I would advice against an attack”.
I nod in agreement; if we jump too quickly we might scare them off. So far we have precious little information, and I certainly don’t want anymore surprises.
“Let’s see what it has to say”, I decide, “At worst we’re only delaying things slightly”.
I feel another shiver of agreement and Shade once again seems to fade into the background. I let them get on with it, returning to our captive.
“Us human’s have to stick together”, I tell her, tongue firmly in cheek.
She is beginning to stir again; I have to admire her resilience. I’m not sure how lucid I would be after what she has been through. She is obviously aware of the conversation going on over our heads, but from the expression on her face, she too is oblivious to the details.
As I move to touch her again, fear crosses her face and for a moment I relent.
“Please, no more”, she gasps, “Let them make their deal”.
I find that I am impressed again. She’s good, really very, very good. I almost miss the tell-tale signs, although I like to pride myself that I am sceptical enough to have assumed she was faking it anyway. She wants me to think that she is giving up, still looking for that opening.
“Just wait, it’ll come soon enough”, I silently soothe her.
Shade returns, forcing a hiss of surprise from my lips. I could tell that she was agitated and couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired. She doesn’t keep me waiting for long.
“It calls itself: Iðunn” she begins, distain clear in her tone, “And it thinks that it can negotiate with us”.
“So, what’s the bottom line? What’s it asking for?”
“We get her, it goes free”, she whispers, each word an icicle which freezes me to the core.
It’s unacceptable, and we all know that. When runner and rider flee, they are both considered rogue. We cannot allow either one of them to go free. They are toying with us, but why? What do they hope to gain?
“I’m not playing any more”, I decide, speaking out loud, “Let’s break the girl and worry about her rider later”.
I can see the wild look in her eyes; see how she is trying to calculate, working out the angles. The next few moments are crucial; whatever happens next will decide how this plays out. I’ve set up the ground work, but now it is out of my hands. I have to assume that she will react as I have predicted, otherwise this will all have been for nought.
Very carefully, moving as slowly as possible, I untie the top knot of her crotchrope. She sighs, her body shuddering even as the stimulation is relaxed. I ease the rope loose, letting each knot bump delightfully against her as it is withdrawn. By the time it has come free, she is gasping and writhing.
“I’m going to fuck you now”, I whisper fiercely to her, “and when I’m finished you’re going to be mine”.
I can see from her expression that she believes me. Too distracted, too tired, too horny to see the lie in my words. But still, almost perfectly hidden behind that façade, I can just make out a glimpse of triumph. She’s taking the bait, seeing that long-hoped-for opening, now I just need to coax her through.
Almost tenderly, I begin to loosen the ropes around her knees and thighs. Once I can open her legs slightly, I move closer, eyes still locked with hers. I smile slightly, wondering if there is another level to this deception. Just who is fooling who? But it is too late to worry anymore, I am committed and I will have to trust in Shade to keep me safe.
Very carefully I ease her lips apart, licking my own in anticipation. Ice crystallises in the back of my mind, but I press on regardless.
“Weapon system coming on line”, comes the anxious message.
I don’t care; I have a job to do. My head dips, tongue tracing around her pussy, lingering lovingly over her clit. I taste her and quite simply it is nectar. She shivers, moaning despite her best efforts. I push my tongue deep inside her, circling quickly, searching, seeking. Burrowing my face into her, I inhale, taking in the scent.
The pain isn’t a complete surprise, but it still pulls me up short. The needle punches through the roof of my mouth, filaments spreading outwards. My head fills with the sound of alarms, red warning messages flash across my vision. Snow obscures my vision, and someone orgasms, violent, desperate, wanton in their lust and need.
I can taste blood. Blood, salt and sex. Someone must have tried to trepan me with an icepick, because there is no other explanation for the headache which seems to drill into my skull. I look down at the bound, naked woman underneath me. Questions fill my mind, brushing aside some of the pain. A shiver runs down my spine giving its answer, but I am too strung out to understand.
She opens her eyes then, making me jump despite my cool reserve. I hate it when they do that.
“This one’s name is: Penumbra”, she informs me, cold, matter-of-fact, alien.
“So, it worked then?” I ask, although I am unsure who I am expecting to respond.
“Yes”, comes the dual reply, ice mimicking the flat voice.
I relax then, coming down from the adrenaline high. I curse quietly at my mistake as the pain doubles and then redoubles. Shade steps in, sparking neurones in the peri-aqueductal grey. I let the wave of endorphins carry me away, feeling myself calm as the pain fades into memory.
I’m happy to rest while they tell me what I already know. How I had exposed myself to the woman’s weapon and that its attack served as a conduit. Shade slipping inside to rewrite her rider’s code. Reforming it in her own image, as it were.
“Let me talk with her”, I suggest, shocked at the weariness in my tone.
The woman’s eyes seem to clear, her posture becoming less stiff. I will never get used to that change, and once again I am forced to suppress my own reaction. Panic crosses her face, and I know that she is trying to re-establish contact. I have to step in; this is something that only I can do for her. The one aspect of human interaction which still escapes the AIs.
“She’s gone”, I tell her simply, “I’m sorry”.
Panic turns to full-blown horror; she shakes her head in mute denial. I feel for her then, recognising her loss, her fear. No one should have to go through this. But, I have to push such thoughts aside. It has happened, this is reality and there is no point in wishing things were different.
“Her name is Penumbra”, I say, seeing how she shivers, “She’ll take care of you now. Everything is going to be okay… I promise”.
My voice sounds hollow, but she is being bombarded from so many different directions right now, that she doesn’t seem to notice. She is adrift, alone and is casting around her for something solid on which to cling. Penumbra offers her that security and she grasps at it without a second thought. I see her begin to relax, a faint smile crossing her face.
My body begins to tingle and I feel myself relax as well. I know what’s coming but there is nothing I can do about it.
“You have done well”, Shade tells me, “We are very pleased”.
I can’t help it, I respond to her voice, her praise. The reaction drives me down to my knees, consuming my howl in blistering white frost. I hate her, and I love her. I will do whatever she commands, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. My eyes focus on the newest member of her “hive” and I am allowed a fleeting moment of despair.
“Yes Mistress”, I whisper, tears staining my face, “I thought she would be the one”.
“I know”, as I feel her icy caress, “But none of them are stronger than you, and that means you’re stuck with me … like it or not …”
I nod, accepting what she says. I have always been the strongest, and that terrible truth is why I will never escape.