Chapter Twelve

Sporadic stars twinkled above a quiet suburban street, their delicate light barely piercing the midnight darkness. Inside a black SUV, parked discreetly across from the street, Dominic Russo sat in the driver’s seat, waiting patiently. The vehicle’s lights remained off, cloaking the three brothers in shadow.

Dominic growled as he kept his eyes on the target home. “Jeremy spilled everything as Butch was ripping his balls off. Turns out the FBI was more determined to bring us down than we thought,” he told the twins. “Women like Kayla have been infiltrating our family, using some freakish DNA splicing and hypnotic conditioning to blend in undetected.”

Alex leaned forward in the front seat. “And you say that’s how Kayla blended in so well? That little bitch!” he barked. “It’s a good job we have her exactly where she deserves to be now.”

Stefano slouched in the backseat as he huffed, bored out of his mind. “I wonder how many more bitches the feds have under their thumb. We can’t trust nobody. Is Mom even our real mom?”

Dominic shot Stefano a sharp glance through the rearview mirror. “You always go to the ridiculous extreme, don’t you, Stefano?” he retorted. “Jeremy didn’t give up the names or locations of the others, but mark my words; there are others.”

The wilder twin sighed from the back, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine, let’s get serious, then. Why are we here?” he asked his brother impatiently.

The older sibling turned his attention to the darkened house across the street. “He may not have given up those names, but that FBI worm did lead us to the mastermind of the operation, Dr. Michaela Foster. She’s the genius behind the DNA-splicing tech and a master conditioner. If anyone has the info we need, it’s her.”

Alex looked over at the house. “And what? She lives here?” He inquired.

Dominic nodded. “Jeremy said that she’s one of the FBI’s most cherished assets, and they keep her hidden twenty-four-seven. However, they grant her two hours every week to catch up with her family. Family time is almost over.” A light grin appeared on Dominic’s face as he completed that sentence.

Stefano opened the passenger door. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get in there and take her!” He said excitedly and impatiently.

“Shut that damn door!” Dominic barked, prompting his brother to comply with his order. “We can’t just run in all guns blazing. We gotta play this smart. The FBI is dumb enough to let her visit her family without a chauffeur or escort. We’ll snatch her when she’s alone.”

Stefano huffed, and Alex stared determinedly at the house. The three men waited in silence for the porch light to flicker on before they could put their plan into action.

The two men in the front seat kept a lookout for any sign of movement as Stefano absently polished his pistol in the back. Eventually, a soft click broke the quiet, and the porch light flared brighter. The 45-year-old woman stepped out, her auburn hair pinned in an elegant updo as she turned to a man similar in age to hers. Her face was softened with affection, and she wrapped her arms around her husband in a tender embrace before giving him a kiss. A young boy, about ten years old, approached from behind his father and gave his mom a hug.

The refined doctor ruffled her son’s hair and kissed the man one last time before turning to head to her white Ford in the driveway. Dominic sensed Stefano getting antsy and told the young adult to stay calm.

Dr. Foster’s navy pencil dress clung to her slender curves as she slid into the driver’s seat of her car. The engine purred to life, and her taillights glowed red, as she reversed from the driveway and drove down the road.

Without a word, Dominic turned on the engine, ensuring his headlights were switched off, and followed the talented doctor, initially staying a safe distance behind.

The Ford glided through the suburban streets before turning onto a darkened highway. Dominic used this moment to close the gap between the two vehicles and tailgate her car closely. Stefano gripped his silenced pistol as insurance, just in case the plan went sideways.

Dominic’s grip tightened on the wheel, his eyes locked on the woman’s taillights. The SUV hummed with restrained power, its dark bulk inching even closer to Michaela’s car.

Alex shifted in his seat in apprehension. “Now?” he asked, his voice low and eager.

Dominic’s jaw clenched, calculating the distance. “Just waiting for that curve up ahead.”

The road bent sharply ahead, and the older Russo brother took advantage of the moment, surging forward and ramming the side of the woman’s vehicle, sending it into a spin along the road until it crashed in a ditch off the side of the road. Dominic positioned the larger car ahead of hers to prevent the doctor from speeding off unexpectedly.

Dr. Michaela Foster flung her car door open, coughing from the smoke and dust as she stumbled onto the asphalt. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she growled. “Didn’t you see me ahead-”

The woman’s words suddenly died in her throat as Alex and Stefano emerged from the SUV, their darkened frames exactly matching the photos she had seen a million times before. She turned around in the opposite direction, but before the doctor could flee, Alex wrapped his arms around her, tackling her to the floor as Stefano swiftly snapped steel cuffs around Michaela’s wrists, locking them behind her back. The cold metal bit into her skin, and she gasped, twisting against Alex’s stern grip.

“What do you want from me?” She growled defiantly, attempting to pull against her metal restraints and Alex’s tight hold. “Let go of me!”

Stefano’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he approached the doctor from the front and knelt down beside her. He produced a large black ball gag from his back pocket. “No more talking from your dumb mouth, doc,” he purred, forcing the gag between Michaela’s lips, her jaw stretching painfully as he buckled it tightly behind her head.

Michaela’s muffled cries vibrated against the invasive gag in her mouth, and she glared at Stefano with a mixture of fear and defiance in her eyes. Alex lifted the bound and gagged psychiatrist to her feet, her navy dress riding up slightly to reveal the tops of her thighs.

Dominic stepped out of the SUV and adjusted his black suit with an air of control and authority. Alex led the woman towards his older brother, and the Russo heir smiled as he examined her helpless frame. “You’re coming with us, Doctor Foster,” he said, his voice a low rumble that left no room for argument.

“Put her in the back,” he commanded Alex. “Stefano, you’re sitting up front. I don’t trust you with her back there.” His comment elicited a chuckle from the wild brother as he accepted Dominic’s assessment. Alex hauled the captured woman in the back, as the others filtered into the car. Dominic texted one of his cronies to take care of the doctor’s car before he drove away, having claimed his prize.

❖

The following morning, Kennedy’s black latex catsuit hugged every curve of his feminized body, the tight material accentuating his enhanced breasts and plump ass. A red ponytail hood encased his head, leaving only his desperate blue eyes visible through narrow slits, anonymizing his entire identity.

Ballet boots forced his feet into a painful arch, and a sadistic shock collar bit into his slender neck. A black laced-up armbinder trapped his arms behind his back, his elbows touching painfully while vibrating plugs in his pussy and ass pulsed relentlessly as though they were powered by an infinite power source. The phallic-shaped panel gag in his mouth silenced his constant pleas of pleasure and pain. This time, the gag had an external attachment: a long feather duster he was currently using to clean Duke’s lounge tabletop.

Kennedy’s boots clicked precariously against the wooden floor as he shuffled to the kitchen awkwardly. The armbinder forced his shoulders back and thrust his enhanced latex-clad tits forward. At the same time, the plugs shifted in his orifices, sending him constant unwanted sensations of forced pleasure. The trapped journalist tilted his head and began maneuvering the duster attached to his gag to sweep dust and grime from the kitchen counter. His blue eyes darted nervously as he tried to formulate a plan of escape. Still, the tight bindings and the proximity sensor on his collar kept him as a prisoner inside Duke’s rented home.

Duke entered the open-plan kitchen with a tiresome yawn as he rubbed his eyes with one hand and held a cup of coffee with the other. He was completely topless, only wearing a pair of white and blue boxer shorts to cover his crotch. His dark red hair was messed up from his 8-hour sleep, and he grinned at the sight of Vincent’s captured doll cleaning his new home.

“Morning, doll,” Duke teased as he strolled into the kitchen. Kennedy let out a muffled moan when the man crept up behind him and possessively groped the bimbo doll’s latex-clad breast. “You’re working hard for me, aren’t you?”

Kennedy’s muffled whimper vibrated against the phallic object filling his mouth, his eyes pleading through the hood’s slits, but his captor totally ignored his objection. Kennedy tilted his head, trying to pull away from the man’s tight grip, but Duke’s hand held his hip, pinning the doll in place.

“You missed a spot,” Duke said mockingly before tipping a portion of his coffee on the tiled floor in the center of the kitchen. “Clean it up, doll.”

Kennedy’s heart sank. Not only was he trapped helplessly in permanent bondage, acting as his former fake boyfriend’s maid, but his captor was also enjoying the humiliation. The armbinder forced the pink-haired doll’s posture rigid, thrusting his breasts out as he bent at the waist, worried that bending his knees would send him off balance and tumbling over.

Duke leaned against the counter, sipping what was left of his coffee with a widened grin. “That’s it, doll,” he encouraged playfully.

The doll’s face burned beneath the hood as he bent all the way over and began to wipe the spillage with the duster. Duke stepped closer, enjoying Kennedy’s plump ass sticking up invitingly in the air. “Too slow,” the man mocked before delivering a sharp smack to the transformed man’s exposed rear.

The sting radiated through him, eliciting a cry of pain, and took the kidnapped doll by surprise, prompting him to jolt upright. The sudden movement crashed the bimbo into her captor, sending Duke backward and causing the man to drop his coffee mug. The cup shattered on the floor in a spray of ceramic shards. Duke’s grin vanished, replaced by an angry scowl. “You clumsy slut!” he roared, seizing Kennedy’s collared neck with a rough hand.

Duke dragged Kennedy across the kitchen, his grip unrelenting as he shoved the bound doll to the living room and toward a plush leather sofa. He sat heavily, yanking the journalist over his knee with a force that made the latex squeak against the upholstery. Kennedy writhed in defiant struggle, but his weaker, feminine frame and bound form were useless against the stronger man.

“Mmphhh!” Kennedy squealed out as Duke smacked a heavy hand against his shiny derrière. Another muffled scream escaped the gag when Duke spanked him again. A series of successive smacks intensified the pain on his plump backside, prompting him to struggle and eliciting further forced pleasure from his plugs.

After twenty strikes, Duke moved the bound doll from his lap and sat him on the sofa. “Have you learned your lesson, whore?” He growled at the punished journalist before staring into his eyes. Kennedy’s blue eyes pleaded silently, his body shuddering from the trauma he’d just experienced.

In a moment, Duke’s mouth gaped open, and his expression softened. Staring into those pleading eyes, Duke’s heart stopped; he recognized them. “Suzie?” he asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

Kennedy’s heart thundered, his muffled cries growing frantic. “Mmphh! Mmphh!” He nodded wildly, the red ponytail swaying as he strained against the armbinder, his blue eyes brimming with desperation and hope.

Duke’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his rugged features. He reached for the doll’s hood and slowly began to pull it off. The man’s eyes widened, and he gasped as the hood’s removal revealed Kennedy’s pink-haired, heavily made-up face, vibrant pigtails suddenly bursting free, drenched with sweat.

Duke’s jaw dropped as he struggled to catch his breath. “What the hell?” he muttered, fumbling with the straps to unbuckle the phallic panel gag.

The gag came free with a wet pop, and Kennedy gasped, his cocksucking lips trembling as Duke addressed him. “Start talking, Suzie. Why are you dressed like this?”

Kennedy’s impressive chest heaved. If there was ever a chance to escape this nightmare, this was it. “I’m, like, Suzie, but that’s totally not who I really am!” he blurted. Kennedy had been gagged for so long that he had forgotten about the valley girl dialect he was forced to speak. His deep-lying conditioning also prevented Kennedy from saying his real name, compounding his frustration.

“The FBI, they totally trapped me, made me this way so I could like spy on Vincent and all his sexy sons. I was, like, investigating them and was turned into this dumb bimbo doll!” He paused with a sigh of relief. Although he was unable to say his name, he was able to give Duke a version of the truth.

Duke leaned forward, his bare shoulders tensing as confusion deepened in his gaze. “The FBI did this to you? For the Russos?” he asked, trying to piece it all together. “But why are you bound like Vincent’s doll? What happened to her?” He gestured to the latex catsuit and ballet boots.

Kennedy’s eyes shimmered with desperation. “Like, Vincent’s doll was Alyssa, his old assistant,” he explained. “She totally spilled his dirty secrets to me, and when he found out, he turned her into this, like, kinky rubber slave!” His bubbly voice contrasted with the pink-haired feminized man’s intended urgency. “I tried to free her, but she totally betrayed me! She swapped places and left me stuck in this, like, super humiliating getup! Please, Duke, you totally gotta believe me!”

Duke’s fingers tightened around the discarded gag, his eyes searching Kennedy’s face for any hint of deception. “They turned you into… this?” he said, his voice a mix of disbelief and rising anger. He stood abruptly, pacing back and forth along the living room hardwood floor. He lowered himself and looked Kennedy in the eye. “Tell me every detail, Suzie.”

Kennedy sighed, a flicker of hope rising in his latex-clad being.

❖

A slim guard with slicked-back hair leaned close to Dominic Russo, his Italian-American accent reduced to a hushed rasp. “I’m sorry, Mr Russo, there’s nothin’ I can do,” he whispered, his eyes darting nervously down the gray corridor of the Atlantic City police department. “The captain’s orders are clear. Your father’s to be treated like every other prisoner, no special treatment.

Dominic, wearing a dark gray suit that hugged his frame, glanced around the empty hallway to ensure no other guards lingered. He slipped a wad of cash from his pocket and pressed it into the guard’s palm with a subtle nod. “Will this change your mind?” he asked with his eyes fixed on the guard.

The uniformed officer’s fingers closed around the money, his gaze flickering to the side before he pocketed the cash. “Follow me,” he muttered, leading Dominic and his brothers, Alex and Stefano, through a winding corridor.

They entered a cramped interrogation room, where Vincent Russo sat cuffed to a metal table, his orange jumpsuit starkly contrasting the dull-toned space. The guard adjusted his belt and spoke to the three siblings. “You got ten minutes. Don’t make me regret this.” He stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the brothers alone with their father.

Vincent’s gray-stubbled beard tightened, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward. “What the hell took you so damn long to get here?” he barked, his deep voice booming in the confined space. “I’ve been rotting in this whole while you boys enjoy the high life that I built!”

Dominic stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’re here now, Father,” he said calmly. “How have you been holding up?”

Vincent leaned back, and his lips curled into a wicked grin. “Oh, I’ve been having some fun,” he said maliciously. “My cellmate didn’t know who he was dealing with when I moved in, so I’ve been teaching him a lesson in respect ever since.”

Dominic shifted the conversation, his voice hardening. “You have some explaining to do, Father,” he said, stepping closer to the table. “How the fuck did you end up in here? What are you not telling us?”

Vincent’s eyes suddenly flashed with fury, his cuffed hands slamming against the table. “You’re talking to your father, Dominic,” he barked with a thunderous growl. “Show some respect!”

The older son’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head slightly. “I apologize,” he said reverently. “But we need the truth to fix this.”

Alex, leaning against the gray wall, cut in. “Yeah, Pops, we need some answers,” he said, stepping closer to the table. “Like, how the hell is Alyssa Scaletti still alive when you said she was taken care of.”

Vincent’s wicked grin returned, and his eyes narrowed with sadistic delight. “Alyssa Scaletti,” he repeated as if he were reminiscing over the good times. “You thought I’d just let her die after she told that son of a bitch journalist everything she knew? No, I wanted her to suffer a fate worse than death, so I turned her into my obedient kinky doll, bound and gagged around the house, serving my every whim.”

Stefano slouched in a chair as Dominic’s eyes widened. “Wait,” he said. “That rubber thing in our house was Alyssa this entire time?”

The erratic twin chuckled at the revelation. “Wow, Dad, that’s genius.”

Dominic’s fists clenched as he glared at his brother. “That genius got us in this mess,” he reminded Stefano before turning to his father. “Now Alyssa’s escaped, and god knows what she’s been spilling to the feds since she ran to them. She’s been in our house this entire time, listening to every conversation we had in that place.”

Alex placed his hands on the table. “Dominic’s right, Dad,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “We need to come up with a plan to fight this. This could become messy.”

Vincent leaned forward, his grin widening into a predatory smirk. “Don’t worry, boys,” he purred. His voice dripped with an unseen confidence that confused his sons. “I planted a failsafe in case anything goes awry.” The gray-haired man laughed to himself. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Dominic parted his lips to inquire further, but his father’s look halted him. He trusted his dad, and if he said he had everything under control, it must be true; Vincent had never failed the family before. Dominic nodded before signaling to his brothers. “Take care, Father,” he said before the men left, leaving a grinning Vincent alone in the room.

❖

The three Russo brothers stepped out of Dominic’s black SUV, which was parked in the driveway of the Russo manor. Alex stretched his arms. “I’ll catch you all later,” he said with a smile. “I’ve got to check on my wife.” A predatory smirk spread across his face as the two brothers nodded. Alex headed into his vehicle and sped off towards the manor gates.

Dominic watched his brother disappear down the road, his expression unreadable. He turned to Stefano, who lounged against the SUB with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Put that out,” he commanded his brother. “We got a job to do.”

Stefano groaned but nodded, put his cigarette away for later, and followed his brother to a heavily bolted door on the property’s exterior.

Dominic pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the bolts, each screeching as it gave way. He pulled the heavy door open, revealing a dark stairwell descending into the manor’s basement. Both men started their descent.

“Father may trust in some failsafe,” Dominic said, his voice echoing as they headed down the old metal steps, “but we need to be ready in case his plan falls through.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Dominic reached for a switch, flicking on a single overhead bulb. The dim light flooded the cold, damp basement, revealing Dr. Michaela Foster entirely naked and bound to a wooden chair in the room’s center.

Dr. Foster’s auburn hair clung to her sweat-slicked shoulders, and her sharp cheekbones were flushed with exertion. Her full lips stretched around the same black ball gag she had endured since the kidnapping, and a thin trail of saliva had begun dripping onto her bare chest. Sadistic silver nipple clamps bit into the doctor’s bare breasts, their wires connected to a timer and battery on the floor, eliciting painful shocks at random times.

Thick leather cuffs bound the woman’s wrists and ankles to the chair’s arms and legs, her thighs spread wide, forcing her to show her bare pussy to anyone who walked by. Her green eyes were sharp with defiance yet shadowed by fear as they locked onto the brothers stepping in her direction.

Dominic’s lips curled into a cold smile as he approached, his shadow engulfing her. “It’s time to talk, Doc,” he said as Stefano grabbed a cat-o’-nine-tails from a metal table beside her, his grin wicked; he was going to enjoy this.

Stefano snapped the whip against Michaela’s spread thigh, the sharp crack drawing a muffled scream through the gag, her body jerking against the leather restraints. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?” he purred sadistically as he lashed her again, bringing out the color in her thigh.

Dominic raised a hand and spoke with a calm and commanding tone. “Hold off, Stefano,” he said, his eyes fixed on Michaela’s trembling naked form. “Let’s see if she’s ready to talk.” He knelt before her, his face inches from hers, and unbuckled the ball gag, letting it fall to her lap with a soft thud. “Are you ready to work with us, Doctor?”

Michaela gasped, her lips raw and dry from the gag’s former presence. “You can all burn in hell,” she snarled with a hoarse voice, her eyes blazing with defiance.

Dominic’s smile didn’t waver as he stood, retrieving a spider gag from the table’s collection of tools. “That’s not the correct answer,” he said, forcing the metal device into her mouth, spreading her lips wide until her jaw ached. The older brother grabbed a cream-colored strap and wrapped it around the doctor’s torso, just above her breasts, before connecting the attached wires to the timer connected to the large battery. “This strap is a great contraption. It detects liquid, like the drool that will soon escape your pretty little lips,” he explained. “When it does, it sends a signal to that timer, and the battery sends shocks to those cute nipples of yours. Each signal that is sent increases the intensity of the shocks.”

Stefano’s eyes danced with cruel amusement as he approached, holding a small jar of amber liquid. “Let’s make this fun,” he said, dipping his finger into the jar and smearing the sticky sweetness across Michaela’s tongue. “Honey,” he explained. “As a doctor, I’m sure you know that honey stimulates saliva production. This’ll have you drooling like a fountain in no time.” He stepped back, his grin widening as saliva began to pool in her open mouth, trickling down her chin toward the sensor strap.

The sensor strap buzzed to life, sending a signal to the battery and shocking her nipples relentlessly. Michaela’s body arched as a muffled scream tore from her throat, prompting further saliva to drop onto the strap. As the stream continued, the battery continued to torture her sensitive nipples harshly.

Dominic smiled and slowly approached the woman before tilting her chair backward, wiping clean the drool from the tortured woman’s mouth. The shocks ceased immediately. “Are you ready to help us out?” He asked the woman again, but her narrow glare gave him the answer.

Stefano approached. “Let’s kick this up a notch,” he said maliciously before twisting a ratchet on the side of the old wooden chair. Suddenly, a circular hole began to open up in the seat of the chair, and a metal dildo slowly pushed through. Stefano lined it up against the bound doctor’s pussy before sliding it further up, entering the woman. “This metal cock is attached to the same battery. This’ll make you talk,” he grinned before Dominic untilted the chair, and Michaela’s drooling resumed.

The shocks resumed more powerfully, now coursing through both her nipples and the metal rod buried deep inside her helpless pussy, each jolt tearing a muffled scream from Michaela’s gagged throat. Her body convulsed, and she fought wildly against the leather restraints, but she was forced to endure her torment.

After fifteen seconds of pure pain, Dominic tilted her chair back again, and the shocks stopped. “You might want to start talking before that cunt fries.” Stefano laughed at his brother’s crude comment, but the doctor shook her head, refusing to cooperate.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading into a cold, calculating stare as he let the chair fall forward, resuming Dr Foster’s drooling. She endured the pain further, the shocks surging through her nipples and pussy, her green eyes glistening with anguish. After twenty seconds, the older Russo brother tilted the chair back again and leaned close, his voice a low growl. “Are you willing to talk now?”

Michaela nodded frantically, her body trembling in torturous pain. Dominic unbuckled the spider gag and held it in his hand before wiping the woman’s wet chin. “Are you ready to help us?” he asked softly.

The woman gasped, taking her time to catch her breath. Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke defiantly to her captor. “I’m ready to help send every one of you assholes to jail,” she snarled.

Dominic’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. He forced the open-mouth gag back into her mouth, buckling it tighter, her jaw straining under the pressure. “Wrong answer again,” he said with an icy voice.

Stefano grinned and stepped forward to twist the ratchet further, driving the metal rod deeper into Michaela’s pussy, her muffled moan choked by the gag.

As the woman failed to hold back her drool, the sensor strap buzzed, and the battery triggered another barrage of shocks, the jolts flowing throughout her helpless body. Tears streamed from Michaela’s eyes, and her wrists wriggled against the cuffs. After a thirty-second duration that felt like thirty minutes, Dominic tilted the chair back again. He gripped her chin, his fingers digging into her flushed skin. “This is your last chance, Dr Foster,” he warned.

Michaela’s eyes burned with what defiance lingered inside her despite the agony flowing through her body. Dominic sighed, letting the chair fall forward, the drool resuming as the shocks reignited. The older sibling groped the doctor’s breasts as the pain surged through her before nodding to his brother and stepping away from the woman. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you,” he said before heading toward the stairs.

As the pair started up, Michaela’s urgent squeal cut through the echoing room, desperate and raw. Dominic paused, glancing back as a smile reappeared on his face. He could sense the defeat inside his prisoner’s eyes.

He returned to Michaela’s side and ungagged her once more. “Please, no more,” the tormented doctor pleaded. “I’ll help,” she panted heavily. “I’ll do anything you want; just make it stop.”

Dominic’s smile turned into a wide grin as he patted the doctor on the back of the head. “Good girl,” he said patronizingly. Stefano disconnected the battery before connecting the metal rod to a motor.

The Russo heir removed the nipple clamps, rubbing the pert teats, prompting a scream from the auburn-haired woman. He picked up the large black ball gag and shoved it into her mouth, buckling the straps behind her, before Stefano activated the motor. The metal rod began methodically pushing in and out of her freshly tortured pussy.

“We’ll be back later for a chat, doctor,” Dominic told the gagged woman. “We’ll leave you to endure a bit of pleasure.” Stefano laughed at his brother’s comment as the pair headed back upstairs, flicking off the light and locking the basement door, leaving the tormented FBI doctor in forced pleasure.

❖

Kennedy sat on the edge of the couch in Duke’s rented apartment on the outskirts of Atlantic City, his black latex catsuit still tightly confining his bimbofied body. The armbinder still crushed his arms behind his back, elbows almost touching, and the ballet boots arched his feet painfully. Duke had managed to halt the buzzing of the bullet and anal plug, although they were still wedged inside Kennedy’s orifices. The pink-haired journalist’s lips trembled as he faced Duke, who paced the floor, his bare chest tense with disbelief.

Duke stopped and ran a hand through his disheveled red hair. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice a mixture of shock and suspicion. “You’re saying your name isn’t really Suzie, but you can only call yourself Suzie because of some FBI brainwashing?”

Kennedy nodded, his bright pink pigtails bouncing as he tried to explain everything. “Like, totally,” he chirped. “The FBI, they, like, made me this way, all bimbo and stuff, to spy on the Russos. I can’t even say my real name!”

Duke’s eyes narrowed, and he began pacing the floor again. “So you’re not actually some airheaded flirt,” he said probingly as he glanced at Kennedy’s latex-clad form. “You were just conditioned to play that part to get close to Vincent and his sons, all because of the FBI?”

Kennedy’s eyes shimmered with frustration as he wriggled against the tight armbinder. “Yes, like, exactly!” he exclaimed. “They totally messed with my head and made me act all dumb and flirty and stuff. This isn’t like who I really am, Duke!”

Duke paused as he rubbed his chin. “And that Alyssa chick, Vincent’s assistant,” he said, joining the pieces together. “She was feeding you all his dirty secrets, and when he caught on, he turned her into that freaky rubber doll?”

“Totally!” Kennedy squeaked with his high-pitched bimbo lilt. “She, like, told me everything, and I totally told the feds, and Vincent made her his slave to punish her. It was, like, super twisted.”

“And you’re saying you tried to help her, and she screwed you over,” he said, the anger in his voice rising. “She swapped places and left you stuck like this?”

“Is that all of it?” Duke asked his bound companion. “Are you sure you’ve told me everything you can?”

Kennedy nodded frantically. “Like, totally everything my silly brain will let me,” he chirped, his frustration evident above the bubbly tone. “The FBI turned me into Suzie to, like, get dirty on that family, and Alyssa’s betrayal got me trapped.”

Duke leaned against the wall, his bare shoulders flexing as he processed Kennedy’s words. “Those Russo bastards have been running the East Coast without challenge for too long,” he groaned. “Turning you into this, what they did to Alyssa, they’ve gone too far. I’m done letting them get away with it.”

Kennedy’s heart pounded, hope surging inside him despite his bound form. “So, like, you’ll help me?” he asked desperately. “I need to, like, find a way out of this.”

Duke nodded as the doorbell echoed around the living room. “I’ll help you, Suzie,” he said resolutely, turning towards the front door. “We’ll take those bastards down.”

Duke strode to the door and opened it, exchanging a few muffled words with someone outside. Kennedy’s heart raced as he peered over from the sofa, trying to catch a glimpse of who was at the door.

Duke returned, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’ll help you out, Suzie,” he repeated, “but I need you to chat with an old friend first.”

Kennedy stared blankly at Duke until a figure approached from behind him, prompting the bimbo’s eyes to widen. He recognized the man. The visitor came with a theatrical flourish; his velvet cape swirled around him, and his top hat tilted rakishly on his head. The Magnificent Mesmeraldo’s smile was wide and knowing, his presence a chilling reminder of Duke’s past conditioning. “Hello, Sweetheart,” the man addressed his former subject as an uneasiness rose in Kennedy’s stomach.

❖

Alex and Stefano Russo knocked on the ornate door of a sprawling Atlantic City mansion, their polished shoes clicking on the marble steps. Max Hustings, a 24-year-old billionaire playboy with a strong jaw and spiked dirty blond hair, swung the door open, his eyes immediately landing on Alex’s wife, Kayla.

The newest Russo was wearing a strappy white bondage harness that left her breasts and nipples fully exposed, crisscrossing over her body, with a small triangular patch covering her pussy and a slim strap pushed up between her asscheeks, giving her the ultimate wedgie. Her white ring gag stretched her lips, her wrists were cuffed behind her back with white leather cuffs, and a hobble chain connected her white 4-inch high-heels, forcing tiny, restricted steps.

Max’s lips curled into a sly grin. He watched the obscenely dressed woman standing before him, her obviously fake hair shining under the porch light. “Damn, Alex, your wife is looking fine tonight,” he said with perverted approval.

Alex smirked, giving the chain connected to Kayla’s white collar a sharp tug to pull her closer, her high heels clicking as she helplessly stumbled forward. “She’s my little masterpiece,” he said mockingly as he wrapped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed her bare breast. “She loves showing herself off like this, don’t you, princess?”

Kayla glared at her enforced husband, but the gag kept her silent. Max laughed before addressing Stefano and his date. “And what’s this one’s name?” he asked appreciatively.

Stefano’s arm was draped around a dancer he’d picked up two nights ago, her gold bikini barely containing her curves. “This is Trixie,” he said amusingly. Trixie was excited about attending a lavish party until Stefano told her she’d wear the same outfit she wore when they met at the strip club.

Max chuckled, his eyes raking over Trixie’s scantily clad form. “Well, Trixie, you’re a perfect fit for the party tonight,” he said, his voice smooth with a hint of mischief. He gestured inside, where a lively atmosphere filtered by background music welcomed them. “Come on in; the party’s already in full swing.”

The brothers strode into the mansion, Alex tugging Kayla’s chain to keep her closer. Her hobbled chain kept her mincing steps short and restrictive. Stefano’s hand rested possessively on Trixie’s hip, guiding her through a crowd of socialites and playboys. The two men shook hands with grinning partygoers, mingling with the crowd, who all complimented them on their dates.

Stefano grabbed two beer bottles from a passing waitress in a sexy bunny outfit and handed one to his twin. The group moved to the quieter living room, and Stefano sank into an armchair, pulling Trixie onto his lap. “Get comfy, babe,” he told the stripper as his fingers kneaded her breasts, prompting a soft moan from the woman.

Alex settled onto a matching sofa, yanking Kayla down to her knees between his thighs, her cuffed wrists helplessly kept behind her back, showing off her enhanced body in all its glory. Alex unzipped his pants before guiding his wife’s ring-gagged mouth to his cock, her muffled whimpers vibrating against his member as he forced her to suck. “Good girl,” he groaned as if she were performing the most natural act in the world.

The wilder twin’s hands roamed Trixie’s curves, his fingers pinching her nipples through the gold bikini, her gasps of lust fueling his amusement as he watched Kayla’s forced fellatio act. “This is the life, Alex,” he laughed with satisfaction. “We are the Russos. We need to stop worrying about what’s over our shoulder and embrace everything life throws at us.”

Alex gripped Kayla’s platinum pigtails, controlling her rhythm as he thrust into her gagged mouth, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “You’re often an obnoxious asshole, Stefano, but you’re right,” he agreed. “This is what life’s all about.”

Stefano chuckled, his groping intensifying. Trixie pushed against her date’s body. She was surprised at the sexual act taking place before her, but all she wanted was a foot in the door to the high life. “You’ve got an obedient wife who’ll do whatever you command, no questions asked,” Stefano grinned. “Maybe I’ll make you my wife one day, and we could do the same.” He winked at his stripper date, causing her stomach to flutter.

As Alex opened his mouth to speak, he noticed Max enter the living room and head in his direction with a serious expression on his face. Alex continued guiding Kayla’s head up and down his member as the man approached and began whispering in the Russo man’s ear.

Max leaned close, his voice barely audible over the party’s ambiance. “There’s someone waiting for you in the garage, Alex,” he said with a neutral tone. “Said he’s an associate with a business proposal you’ll want to hear.”

Alex’s eyebrow arched, his curiosity piqued despite the conversation halting his pleasure. “A business proposal?” he muttered, easing Kayla’s head back, her ring-gagged fat lips leaving his cock with a wet pop. He tugged his wife’s chain and pulled her to her feet. “This better be worth interrupting Kayla’s favorite activity.”

Stefano’s grin widened. He squeezed his date’s breasts one more time before he stood up, leaving the stripper sprawled in the armchair. “Stay here, Trixie,” he commanded with a grin. “Daddy’ll be back to finish you off soon.”

Alex led the way, gripping Kayla’s chain firmly as she struggled to keep up in her hobbled high heels. Stefano trailed behind, winking at a cute blonde staring at him as he passed her in the hallway. They stepped through a door near the front entrance and flicked on the garage lights, the door slamming shut behind them.

The garage was vast and devoid of anything of note. Its concrete floor lay empty and ominous. Alex’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of bullshit is this?” he growled, turning back towards the closed door.

Before Alex could react, four men in black tactical gear appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They attacked the two brothers with swift and precise movements. Alex attempted to fend two of them off, but one of them swung a baton across the back of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious and letting him fall to the concrete.

Two others tackled Stefano, slamming him to the ground with a chaotic thud. He smacked one across the face, but the other wrestled his arms behind his back before snapping heavy-duty steel cuffs around his wrists.

Kayla’s eyes widened in horror, a choked gasp escaping her ring gag as she stumbled back. One of the men approached, startling her further, but he flashed an FBI badge in her face as if to reassure the blonde. “Relax. You’re safe now, Agent Connors,” he said, the use of her real name sending a shiver down Kayla’s spine. The man gently unbuckled the strap behind the undercover agent’s head and ungagged her.

Another agent knelt beside Stefano, who was fighting with a man pressing against his back, keeping him firmly on the ground. The agent grinned. “You’re nothing without Daddy’s protection,” he sneered before lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke in Stefano’s face. “You’ll be rotting in a cell for a long, long time this time around, Russo.”

The wilder Russo hurled insults at the agent as he was picked up with a rough yank and led toward a waiting car. The garage door rumbled open, revealing a line of unmarked vehicles, their flashing lights brightening the midnight air. Kayla’s gaze darted to one car at the front of the convoy, her breath halting as she spotted Alyssa Scaletti in the front seat, her red hair vivid as a cold, unyielding stare fixed on the scene.

The lead agent steadied Kayla, his hand firm but careful on her arm, as he guided her toward another vehicle, her torment seemingly over.

As the agents prepared to leave, one paused behind the others beside Alex’s unconscious form, sprawled lifelessly on the concrete. He glanced around to check no one was watching him before slipping a folded paper into Alex’s limp hand. He closed the Russo twin’s hand up, hiding its contents, and stepped forward to join his colleagues as the garage door shut, leaving Alex alone in the darkness.

End of Chapter Twelve