Herding Cats

Happy Halloween, my lovely perverts! Joey, Carla, and Bronx from

The Inner Fullness Heist

and

Luxury Goods

return for their most daring and diabolical heist yet

,

attempting to lead six beautiful and unsuspecting girls off an island in full view of crowds of Halloween revelers. Will the girls be able to alert the crowd, or will the kidnappers succeed in misleading the would-be rescuers through clever costumes and trickery. The story works as a standalone, but parts will make a little more sense if you read Inner Fullness first.

Featuring a special appearance by the lovely and insatiable Peaches. As always, this is just fantasy.

-Inescapable

Top Tier Girls

"You're pulling my leg," Joey said, thumbing through the folder.

"How so?" Carla asked, an innocent smile on her face.

"There's no way," he said, holding up a photo of Mindi, a tall, fashionable dirty blond with the body of an 80's aerobics instructor, and a fashion sense not far removed. "I mean, come on," he said, moving on to Chayla a pixiesh redhead with a hemp necklace, a tiny upturned nose, and the kind of sweet smile that even made him feel nervous and giddy. "Not to mention Viv and Tiff," he said, holding up a shot of twin dark-haired goths.

"They go by Violetta and Titania now."

"Jesus, look!" Joey called out in exasperation, pointing to the dramatically made up girls with porcelain doll faces, soft bellies, big, pale, up-thrust breasts and round asses under black leather skirts.

"Yes, yes. Girls with different hair color all living together in harmony. Inspiring!"

Joey rolled his eyes. "There are six girls in the house, right?"

Carla nodded.

"Okay, and out six, four are knockouts, and the other two are at least quite a bit above average."

"Oh, those are bad photos. Jules is kind of a hermit, so the team couldn't get any great pictures," she said, pointing at the tall, bookish, olive-skinned girl with the strikingly full lips hiding in a baggy sweatshirt and military surplus pants, "and I think Cybelle just doesn't lens well," she said, pointing at the wholesome looking black girl in the turtleneck and casual skirt, revealing at the least a dynamite body and a wide, pretty face with strong cheekbones. "They're all top tier."

"Come on, Carla. What's the catch?" he asked, flipping slowly towards the front of the file. "This mission is too good to be true. We never get this kind of selection in one place at one time. Now that they're doing profit sharing, this mission is gonna make us each...." He stopped and stared at the page, his brow furrowing.

Carla nodded. "That's the catch."

"No cars? There are towns in America where they don't allow cars?"

"Whole islands, apparently," Carla said. "And the time window is... less than ideal."

"So what are we going to do? Smuggle them out by horse-drawn carriage in the middle of the night or something?"

"Nope. They rented the place for a short Halloween thing. Check-in is Wednesday the 30th, check out is November 1st. The whole place fills up — apparently, it's one of the biggest Halloween festivals in the Midwest. Even if it were possible to get a carriage through in the middle of the night, we still wouldn't have any way to set it up in time, and even if we could, it would leave way too much evidence. I mean, unless we wanted to snatch whoever rented it to us too."

He stroked his chin. "Do they have a private dock or anything? If they're on the shore, maybe-"

Carla shook her head, pulling out a map. "We've got a place we can load and unload from that shouldn't be too high traffic, and the company has a boathouse on the mainland, but there's no way in that doesn't involve public roads."

"Any contacts with law enforcement?" Carla shook her head. "City services? Someone with permission to use a truck?"

"Nope, nope, and nope."

He sighed. "I'm out. Unless there's something you're not telling me, it can't be done. Not without attracting way too much attention."

"Let's see. Their landlord has security cameras. Our team has already hacked 'em. We should be able to use them to plan our approach, then turn them off."

"That's not the problem, Carla."

"Six Tier 1 girls, Joey! Six! Assuming we do it with three or four people and they have a good sale, that's gonna be 50 or 60k each for a night's work. And that's just the bonus."

"Doesn't matter.".

"We can put a down payment on a place together. Maybe take a couple months off."

"It doesn't matter, Carla," he repeated. "Not if we end up in jail!"

"We're not going to jail, honey," Carla said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"No? So what do we do, then?"

"Well, one of two things," Carla said. "Either we're going to give it a pass, and spend Halloween grabbing a couple mid sorority girls from a bar, or-"

"Or just take the night off and get a drink?" Joey cut in.

"Or," she paused for dramatic effect, "or you're going to figure out an approach."

"Me? Wait, really?"

"Why not?" Carla asked. "We didn't just bring you on for your good looks and field skills."

"You mostly did," Joey said. "I mean, the field skills."

"Sweetie, you're breathtaking in the field. But you're a military operator; you're the whole package. You've never planned an exfiltration?"

He shrugged. "Sure, but it's different when you're backed by the most powerful army in the world, and can just kill anyone in your way. I'm a glorified grunt."

"Come on, you're ex-special forces."

"So, an elite grunt."

"Sounds like you're not properly considering the rewards."

"I know the money's great, Carla. But I'm not really a lie on the beach type, and the sane missions pay well enough."

"I had something else in mind," Carla smiled. "A staycation of sorts."

"Wait, do you mean-" he started, his eyes wide with. He cleared his throat, setting his face back to neutral. "Are you talking about the new wired demo girl?"

She nodded. "I talked to Bronx. With the way the stimulation kind of melted the first girl, they've decided they're doing some around the clock mentorship with this one, to put it delicately."

"Jesus. Peaches 2.0?"

"Peaches 2.0," she nodded. "And you and I can be the first to try her."

"Fuck, Fine, I'll try." He stood up, hunching over the table, glaring down at the files for a long moment. "Yeah, okay, I can do this," he said, flipping to the map. "I can do this. But I choose the team."

"Whoever you want, honey. Management really wants these girls. I think they're gonna pick the new Peaches out of them, and if we grab 'em, we'll have the first word."

He glanced at the photos "Okay. Let's keep it small. You, me and Bronx for the field team. We'll need some rush orders from the shop boys — electronics, and some work from the makeup guy, and that new girl they recruited."

"The seamstress? What are you planning?"

He smiled. "See if you can find their body measurements on file, and meet me back here in two hours."

"Easy. I'll get the word out to Bronx and let Pincushion and the fabrication team know we've got some short turn-around work for them while I'm at it."

"Good girl. Oh, and one more thing: I get to pick the new Peaches."

"Lust at first sight?" she asked, looking at the photos and trying to figure out who he'd picked.

"Casting call," he corrected. "Consider the operation their audition."

Peaches Farewell

"Looking good, girl," Bronx said to Peaches. "Ready to meet your owner?"

Peaches smiled, basking in the mild compliment for long enough that he started to wonder if she'd even heard the second half. He knew Peaches had heard him when she got a quizzical look on her face, dipping her fingers under her frilly, cream-colored panties, with a gasp of surprised pleasure, as if she had never had this experience before. She pulled her hand out, holding up her fingers triumphantly.

"I'm so ready, see?" They barely glistened a moment before disappearing between her lips with a smack and a happy giggle.

Bronx smiled to himself. There was something sort of sweet about seeing Peaches so delighted by finding herself reacting in exactly the same way she reacted to every situation: with uncontrollable arousal. His relationship with the former teacher hadn't always been easy or friendly.

Bronx knew he wasn't one of the good guys, but by the standards of the sex traffickers and slave trainers who had made up Peaches entire world for the last few months, he wasn't an especially bad one; as a rule, he tried to make the girls comfortable, cracked jokes to lessen the tension, and made sure their training was as pleasurable as possible.

But the young, captive private school teacher with the posh manners had developed a seething hatred for the short, shredded, and aggressively groomed working class handler the moment she'd first encountered him and resisted him every step of the way, even as she was bowing, sucking, and simpering before trainers who were far cruelly to her.

Even the rather extreme body modification she was forced to undergo did little to temper her haughty disdain. With pink hair in twin pigtails, tits pumped to almost the size of her head, big, fake lips slurring her words, and a dazzling assortment of newly added piercings, Peaches still managed to look down her nose at him.

He'd come to believe it was because she saw him as an underling. As a handler, Bronx' job was primarily to ferry girls back and forth, coach their daily workouts and supervise dressing, grooming, basic discipline, and other routine activities. In reality, it was as highly skilled a job as any in the organization; a bad handler meant late, bad-tempered, and rebellious slaves. That meant more work for the trainers, more risk for security and the girls safety, and invariably, a worse end product.

But there was something aristocratic in the devious minds, and strict, merciless temperaments of the trainers. Bronx, by contrast, had such strong, folksy charisma that he could almost make shoving a girl down and plunging his cock up her ass seem like a friendly greeting, and a vicious spanking, a charming and conciliatory gesture. The uptight teacher with the hereditary wealth had been despised him for it.

Mel, an experienced trainer, friend, and occasional workout buddy, had changed all that when, one day, she'd called Bronx in to see Peaches transformed. She'd been kneeling meekly in the corner, obediently chanting her lessons ("Peaches is a toy for cock,") her cadence only broken by whines to her mistress about how badly her pussy needed relief.

The key, it turned out, was a new technology installed in Peaches sex, less obvious but much more powerful than the rings they'd added. The tool stimulated the nerves directly, allowing her trainers to dispense any level of stimulation from mind-melting pleasure to excruciating pain, or even combine the two, with a handy little transmitter.

The electronics had flipped some switch in the sex-addled purgatory of Peaches mind that day. It was as if all her feelings of loathing and degradation were transformed into arousal, so that the more degrading she found it to be subject to her mistress or master, the more they aroused her and the more desperate she was to please them. When Mel had had the generally immaculately groomed and stylish handler come fresh from his workout, disheveled and dripping with sweat, Peaches had suddenly seen the trainer in a new light.

It had been intensely gratifying to put a suddenly hyper-submissive Peaches through her paces — almost life-changing, really. Previously, Bronx hadn't really wanted to be a trainer. The opportunity to dress, undress, bind, and fuck a rotating roster of gorgeous women on a daily basis was more than enough to keep him happy, and he really did enjoy the positive attention he tended to earn from his charges, simply due to not being as bad as everyone else. But the intoxication of transforming this sullen, resentful snob into a gushing fuck doll had changed him — albeit not nearly as much as it changed her.

"Alright, Peaches. Let's get you wrapped," he said, booping giving her button nose. Peaches obediently put her arms through the arm binder disguised as a little pink backpack behind her, struggling while giggling with delight. The girl had seen it as some sort of miracle when her cunt started sending out waves of pleasure and pain without any apparent intervention, as if her body had finally and definitively overruled all her objections to sexual slavery at once. From there, it had been easy to train other behaviors. Her arms weren't actually bound yet, but the fact that a simple tap on the nose could somehow make Peaches unable to move as if she were bound was now a source of pleasure and amazement each time. Every new experience was an opportunity to revel in what she'd become, and Peaches enjoyed them to the fully.

He tightened the straps around Peaches' arms and wrists, and picked up a hood just as a tall, slightly built man came through the door and greeted him.

"Right on time, Dilly," Bronx replied, lacing up Peaches' pink hood in back. "How'd everything go with Flexy?"

"Fantastic. The client loved her. Apparently, she gave her first combined aerobics and gang bang class a couple days ago. Thanks for your help."

"Oh, that girl was a natural. I'm just glad she'll be able to put her athletic skills to work on her feet sometimes," Bronx joked. "So," he said, putting his hand on Peaches rump. "Today's the big day."

"Hot one," Dilly said, "but is she supposed to squirm like that? Her file is a little confusing."

"Yeah, the client's been briefed. You know how we train a lot of girls to think with their cunts? Peaches is kind of a proof of concept to see how far we could take it." She giggled inanely as he patted her ass affectionately.

"Hmm," Dilly said, looking through the file. "It says the owner is going to be a former student. A graduation gift from his dad. I doubt he's going to be bothered by a high sex drive. May I?"

"Please," Bronx replied. The man casually unzipped, gave himself a couple pumps, and rolled on a condom, before turning peaches around, pulling her panties halfway down her legs, and pushing her down on the counter.

"Oh yes! Fuck Peaches, Daddy!" she moaned through the hood, thrusting back.

"Daddy?" Dilly asked Bronx, casually teasing her opening. "That's not in the client specs."

"Yeah, when she can't see you, her brain tends to wander to her fantasies. Nothing we can do about it."

"I see. Good lubrication and control, at least. Yeah, she's a good fuck, which is usually the most important-"

"Oh, God, Daddy! Oh!" She screamed and thrashed under him.

The man pulled out, looking disappointed. "Okay, Bronx, what gives? There's no way a girl should be coming without permission at this stage. Especially, with, what, 30 seconds of use?"

Bronx sighed. "Okay. The buyer is an engineer with ties to the organization. He wants his kid to follow in his footsteps, only his kid is a little rich punk ass who fucks off in class and gives his teachers lip. So the buyer decided to get him a very special graduation present. He wanted us to take the English teacher who the kid was always getting in trouble with, turn her into a toy with some really high-tech implants, and show the kid what tech is capable of."

"Rotten human, but what a great dad," quipped Dilly.

"Exactly. And as a bonus, the slave will do some cooking and cleaning for the kid in his first year of school, and keep him inspired."

"Alright," Dilly nodded. "Not the weirdest request we've gotten."

"Right. The only problem is, we didn't really have the tech he wanted; I don't think anyone did. But our R&D people were getting ready to test this nanotech stimulation thing. There's a little receiver somewhere in here," he said, squeezing Peaches' mound. "That leads to a web of filaments that stimulate the nerves. Very advanced — I think the only part they had to implant was the receiver, and the rest sort of built itself inside her. Gives us direct control of pleasure and pain."

"I bet that made an impression on her," Dilly chuckled.

"Too much. That's the problem. She literally thinks with her cunt."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll show you," he said, pulling Peaches upright by her pigtails. The girl gasped in surprise, then moaned with fresh arousal at the rough treatment. "Could you grab that broom by the wall for me, Dilly?" he asked, unlacing the mask.

"Sure thing."

"Oh! Hi, Daddy Bronx!" Peaches chirped with surprised delight. "Are you going to fuck me, now?"

"Maybe later, Peaches. First, can you tell me what this is for?" he asked, holding the broom.

"It's for sweeping, Daddy! You didn't know that?" she asked, amazed and a little troubled.

"Good, Peaches. Could you show us how to use it?"

"Oh, sure," she said, accepting it. "You sort of...." Her eyebrows knitted as she waved it back and forth slightly. The men could almost see the lightbulb flicker, die, flicker again, and finally come to life inside her head. "Oh, yeah, duh!" she said, hopping up on the table and spreading her legs. "You gotta go slowly, though."

Ten seconds later, she seemed to have forgotten the men were there, and was intently focused on getting the thick shaft just a little deeper.

"Goddamn! So she-"

Bronx put up a finger for quiet. "Peaches? Anybody home?"

"Huh? Oh, Hi Daddy Bronx! I was just thinking of you."

"Peaches, what did I just tell you to do?" he asked, pulling on the handle.

She reluctantly relented. "To fuck myself with the broom, silly!"

"Bad girl, Peaches," he said. She winced. At this point, he rarely even used the electronic reinforcement; he didn't have to. "You were supposed to sweep. Go sweep up the room."

"Sorry, Daddy?" she pouted, accepting it with eyes downcast. Immediately, she started sweeping, bending over quite unnecessarily so the men could see her ass and exposed holes.

"And now she'll do the job?"

Bronx shrugged. "For a few minutes at least — until she remembers that she can do something else with it. She needs constant supervision. She should really have another slave in charge of her."

Dilly stroked his chin. "Did you warn the client it might not work like he wanted."

"Repeatedly, but he didn't care. We couldn't talk him out of it. Sorry to make you deal with it, but-"

"Sorry? What are you sorry about? That's great, Bronx!"

"Excuse me?"

Dilly rolled his eyes. "For someone with so much charm, you know jack shit about sales, my man."

"Guilty as charged. Break it down for me."

"Alright. So the owner's dad's an engineer. He orders a piece of cutting-edge, experimental technology for his son, knowing it's still in testing. Why does he want it?"

"I don't know. Because it's the newest and most cutting edge thing, fulfills the brat's revenge fantasy, and has giant tits?"

"Partly. I mean, those are some of the reasons he's telling himself he wants it, probably. In reality, he got her as a project, Bronx," he said. "They can experiment, program, troubleshoot, and just bond over her recreationally. She's a way for the dad to get the kid thinking like an engineer, and connect, first as father and son, then hopefully, as peers."

"So, he'll be pleased?"

Dilly gestured towards the project, which had carefully leaned the broom against the wall and was now grinding against the doorknob. "Can you think of a better present for an 18-year-old boy?"

Bronx chuckled. "I guess not. What about supervision, though?"

"That's where the opportunity for us comes in. I'll upsell them on a second slave. Then they'll want cages, implements, the works. This is gonna be a big sale. I owe you, man."