|by Van ©2012
was exhausted by late
afternoon. The jingling and jangling of the belled Y-chain
hobbling her ankles and padlocked to her collar was really beginning to get
annoying, her back was sore from all the twisting and stooping,
and she'd drooled around and through her whiffle-gag and onto
the front of her tank-top (and
her pokies). To her mild surprise, she found the
yoke arrangement did allow
her to sort the laundry, load the washer and dryer, fold the
clean laundry that needed folding, and hang blouses from
hangers—with an incredible amount of wasted effort and awkward
fumbling, of course. Adding insult to grinding toil, and by obvious design, the
"missing" laundry bags made it necessary for "Gingerella" to
make endless trips up
and down the stairs from the second floor bedrooms to the
basement, and back again, all the while clutching
double-handfuls of dirty or clean clothes. Worse yet, it
didn't occur to Rory to strip the pillowcases from the beds first and use them as laundry bags until
the bulk of the dirty clothing was already sorted and in the
basement—and it's difficult to kick one's self in the keister
while hobbled in ankle cuffs and chains.
Her Sadistic Slave-Driver cousin "reluctantly" deemed Rory's
morning efforts worthy of a meager lunch. Okay, it had
been a normal lunch
of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, but Fiona
planted Rory on the breakfast nook bench with her yoke and chain
bondage intact, plucked the whiffle-gag from her pouting mouth
(letting it dangle around her neck and over her leather collar),
and fed her the meal by hand. It was humiliating (and
kinda funny... or something).
"You realize there's no way I can make the beds," Rory muttered
between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup, "right?"
Fiona chuckled. "And you
realize I'm actually looking
for an excuse to
paddle your behind, right?"
"Fi-O-na," Rory whined,
"have a heart."
"Spank, spank!" Fiona giggled.
"I'll tell Caitlin," Rory warned, mustering her finest pout.
"No you won't."
Rory shifted to a coy, dimpled smile. "And what makes you
Fiona smiled back. "Because then we'll both get a spanking.
That, and Cat will probably
make you repeat the trials. A post-tie in the dungeon,
hogtie in the attic, and day of drudge-enslavement are terrible things to waste."
"Especially a category-three hogtie," Rory muttered.
"Especially," Fiona agreed.
After lunch, Rory managed to complete the laundry (including the
bed sheets), and she even managed to keep track of whose laundry
was whose. The Whelan sisters had similar tastes in
lingerie and casual wear and were about the same size, but
Rory—being the clever Laundry Slave that she was—mixed her
delicates and other clothes with those of the Gloating Evil
Bitch and only had to "waste" a couple of light loads to do
Caitlin's stuff by itself. A wise strategy, as she could
easily sort her own clothes from Fiona's. Of course,
folding everything remained an onerous task, no matter who owned
And finally, only the Herculean task of making the beds with
fresh sheets remained.
Rory actually made an attempt to make her own bed. The
result was less than satisfactory. In fact, the bed looked
like it had been made by a troop of drunken monkeys.
Rory's only option was to face her watching (and gloating)
cousin, muster the best tragic, long-suffering expression she
could manage, and whine through her whiffle-gag.
"Oh, the heart breaks," Fiona chuckled. She reached into
her jeans pocket and pulled out her key chain. "I guess I
have no choice but to spank your rump." She proceeded to
unclip the jingle-bells and unlock the yoke-bar and
hobble-collar-chain, but she left Rory's now unattached leather
cuffs locked on her wrists and ankles, the collar padlocked
around her throat, and her whiffle-gag in in her mouth.
Rory watched Fiona drop the chain, yoke-bar, padlocks, and bells
in a tinkling, clattering heap by the door, then plucked the
whiffle-ball from her mouth, pulled the bungee-cord strap over
her head and from under her braid, and tossed it on the
pile. Hands on hips, she glared at Fiona. "Don't
come near me," she warned. "A broken nose is gonna be hard
to explain when Big-Fox gets home."
"Okay," Fiona giggled, "no spanking, this time. Let's make the beds."
They proceeded to do just that, and afterwards Fiona removed
Rory's remaining bonds and stowed the incriminating evidence of
their unauthorized activities in her closet.
This time, they didn't take a sauna. Fiona went to her
shop to get some work done (she was getting seriously behind in her
production schedule), and Rory decided to take a nap on the
living room couch.
She woke to find Caitlin smiling down at her. Big-Fox was
still wearing her business suit and carrying her
briefcase. Apparently, she'd just returned from
work. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," Rory answered, then yawned, raised her arms over her
head, did a full-body stretch—"Ow!"—then rubbed her back.
"Did you hurt yourself?" Caitlin inquired.
"No, it's fine," Rory answered. It wasn't quite a lie. Maybe I will take a sauna, she thought,
"What time is it"
"About five-thirty." Caitlin's eyes were on Rory's
breasts. "Nice outfit."
Rory blushed, realizing the stretch had emphasized her bra-less
condition. I knew I was
"What did you do today?" Caitlin inquired.
Rory's cheeks were still burning. "Uh, the laundry.
Let me know if I mixed up any of your stuff with Fiona's."
"Laundry," Caitlin nodded. "I see."
I hope not, Rory
prayed. "Uh, I'll start dinner."
"Okay," Caitlin smiled.
Rory scrambled to her bare feet and headed for the kitchen,
ignoring her complaining back and very much aware of Caitlin's
following gaze. Cool
it! she thought. Act natural. Why should she be suspicious?
Still smiling, Caitlin turned and headed for the stairs.
next morning, after Caitlin departed for work and breakfast and
cleanup were accomplished, Fiona led Rory into the living
room. She pointed at the couch. "Sit."
"Bossy much?" Rory muttered.
Fiona smiled. "Only when I'm the all-powerful adjudicator
of your worthiness as a Bondage Brownie."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Rory flopped onto the couch
while Fiona sat in her favorite chair. Fiona was smiling
(sort of), but there was something different about her
expression, something a little more intense than usual.
Rory smiled back for several seconds. "What?" she
"This has been fun, right?" Fiona answered.
"Okay," Fiona chuckled, then grew serious, again. "How's
"Uh, fine." Rory rolled her shoulders. "No lingering
ill-effects from your thoughtless cruelty."
"Excellent." Fiona grinned. "Anyhoo... that was
level one. Level two is more intense, and more active."
Rory frowned. "What do you mean by active?"
"Active and inter-active,"
Fiona clarified (a little). "But still with no funny
"No more comedy?" Rory inquired, perfectly deadpan.
Fiona's full smile returned. "No erotic stimulation.
No sexy stuff. No vibrators, nipple clamps, dildos,
expensive machines designed to simulate intercourse, trained
dogs, etc. Is that clear enough?"
Rory blushed. "Plenty."
"That said," Fiona continued, "things will be more adult. For one thing, your
costume will consist of either your birthday suit or your sauna
ensemble, your choice."
"Naked?" Rory was still blushing.
Fiona nodded. "Naked, nude, starkers, sans clothing,
habiliment free, au naturel,
Rory swallowed, then nodded back. "Uh... okay." This really is getting more intense. Wow!
"Level two will evaluate your readiness to move beyond passive
bondage. I won't go into details." Fiona's smile
broadened. "Like before, no spoilers, but I will tell you I'll have
more to do than render you helpless and walk away... especially
for the fifth trial."
"Uh..." Rory swallowed, again. "Okay.
Mysterious and unsettling... but okay."
Fiona's smile faded. "You trust me, don't you,
Rory blinked in surprise. "Trust you? Duh!"
Fiona's smile returned. "All right then. No time
like the present?"
Rory sighed. "No time like the present," she confirmed.
Fiona stood. "To the dungeon!"
Rory remained on the couch. "Am I going to regret this?"
Fiona chuckled, then walked over, took Rory by the hands, and
lifted her to her feet. "Of course, and all day."
"I was afraid of that," Rory sighed, and allowed herself to be
led towards the kitchen and their ultimate destination, the
made their way to the basement but didn't enter the dungeon—not
Fiona opened the wardrobe (the Secret Portal to the Secret
Dungeon), but rather than manipulate the hooks and open the
secret passage, she lifted a cloth shopping bag from one of the
hooks and set it on the floor. "Okay, Ginger-Fox," she
said with a grin, "let's see some skin."
"Pervert," Rory accused, then kicked off her sneakers and
unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down her jeans.
"Yes," Fiona giggled, "I have
earned my Pervert merit badge, but this is a Bondage Brownie
Level Two Trial. No perversity allowed."
"Then stop staring at me with that stupid grin on your face,"
Rory huffed as she lifted her feet free of her jeans, tossed
them aside, then pulled her t-shirt over her head.
"Leering is allowed,"
Fiona chuckled. "I have that merit badge, too."
Now wearing only her underwear, Rory stared at her cousin with
hands on hips. "Ha. Ha. Ha."
"Neatly folded, Initiate," Fiona ordered, pointing at Rory's
clothes. "You don't expect me to clean up after you, do you?"
Rory shook her head, then arranged her sneakers side-by-side,
folded her jeans and deposited them on top, then folded and
added her t-shirt to the pile.
"All of it," Fiona purred.
"Hold your horses," Rory muttered as she unclasped her bra,
"your rude, leering
horses." She removed the bra, folded it, and placed it
atop her other clothes; then hooked her thumbs in her panties,
pulled them down and stepped free, then folded them and
completed the pile.
"Now," Fiona purred, "why don't you give us a slooooow turn and strike a
Rory mustered her best We-are-not-amused stare. "Why don't
yooooou bite me?"
"Oh, Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled, "it's never a good idea to give
your captor any kinky ideas." She reached into the
shopping bag and produced a small roll of black cloth.
"Here, put something on." She tossed the roll to her naked
Rory caught and unrolled the cloth, revealing a pair of long
"Opera gloves," Fiona
"I hate opera," Rory
objected. She draped the left glove over her left shoulder
and began pulling on the right glove.
"Darn," Fiona giggled. "And I was planning on serenading
you with an a cappella
medley of Rossini arias."
"No torture," Rory smiled. She was flexing her fingers and
smoothing the fit of the glove. "Aren't these things
supposed to have buttons on the inside of the wrists."
"In the 19th Century, maybe," Fiona chuckled. "These are a
spandex blend. No buttons required." Her smile
turned coy smile. "And note the padding around the wrists
and above the elbows."
Rory donned the left glove. The smooth, velvety fabric
reached past her elbows and about halfway to her armpits, and
the skintight sheathes fit her fingers, hands, wrists, and arms
like—well, like gloves. There was, indeed, thin padding
around the upper arm and wrist areas, but it was barely
noticeable. "What now?" Rory's eyes widened, then
she sighed. "Oh, more rope."
Fiona had pulled a coil of rope from the shopping bag. It
was white, braided nylon, about a quarter-inch in diameter and
heat-sealed at the ends. "Turn around and cross 'em," she
"Woe is naked little me," Rory sighed, then spun on her bare
feet and presented her crossed wrists. The rope was
applied with what she'd already come to accept as Fiona's
experienced expertise. There were many, many neatly
compacted and carefully cinched passes before her captor began
tying the final knot between her forearms, completely out of the
reach of her gloved fingers, even if the smooth, slippery fabric
would have allowed her to get a good enough grip on the braided
"That's a stainless steel 'long D-ring' you feel flopping
against your thumbs," Fiona explained.
Rory looked back over her shoulder and shook the hair from her
face. There was a
steel something-or-other incorporated in her wrist bonds.
"It's a what?"
"Don't worry about it," Fiona chuckled. "You're a long way
from working on your Rigging merit badge."
"You brought it up," Rory huffed, then watched Fiona pull a
second coil of rope from the bag.
"This is for your elbows," Fiona explained as she loosened the
coil, found the center, and formed a doubled loop. "It'll
roll your shoulders back and make your itty-bitty-titties
Rory mustered a wounded pout. "My titties are not 'itty-bitty'," she
"You have the smallest boobs of the group," Fiona giggled.
"Yours are tiny, Cat's are too big, and mine are just right."
Rory had yet to see Big-Fox in the sauna, and while it was
certainly true that Caitlin's boobs were the biggest, Rory very much doubted they
were too big.
"My breasts are small, but they're not tiny," she reiterated.
Fiona tightened the loop around Rory's elbows, added several
more bands, and neatly cinched the bondage between her arms with
several vertical wrappings. "I'm sorry," she purred in
Rory's right ear. "Your breasts aren't tiny. How
'bout the traditional 'perky'? And they do have a nice shape."
Rory sighed. "I can live with perky." The second
rope was pulling her
shoulders back, even though her elbows weren't touching by
something like three inches, and her "perky" tits were more prominent, just
as Fiona had predicted. (And her nipples were doing their
best to share the 'perky' description.)
Fiona produced a third coil of rope and proceeded to bind Rory's
thighs together, just above her knees. "This will keep you
from kicking or running away," she explained as she tied the
"Wise precaution," Rory said. "'Cause I was finding it
difficult not to
kung-fu your ass and hike into town." Suddenly, Rory
noticed that her pulse was pounding. Fiona had returned to
the wardrobe and was manipulating the hooks to open the secret
passage. Click, click, click,
click, click, clunk.
Fiona swung open the portal, then turned to face her
prisoner. "Why don't you go first," she suggested—or more
precisely, ordered, given the circumstances.
Rory shuffled forward. She wasn't at all sure her pulse
had just now started
to race. It might have been pounding for some time, but
the butterflies whipping a soufflé in her tummy were new. Of that
she was sure. She's
taking me to the secret dungeon! Rory stepped
through the secret door (awkwardly) and onto the landing beyond,
then eyed the steps before her.
"Don't worry," Fiona said quietly. "I won't let you fall."
main dungeon was the same as Rory remembered—bondage chair,
bondage table, X-frame, iron cage, dangling manacles, the three
mysterious doors (one with a high-security padlock)—the same.
There was one thing
that was different. One of the cabinets set against the
right wall was open, revealing an antique winch of the
hand-crank variety. A length of chain ran from the drum of
the winch, up to a pulley hanging from an eye-bolt in the
ceiling, across to a second pulley and eye-bolt over the center
of the room, and down to a spherical weight and snap-hook.
The chain links were about an inch in diameter, and thick.
The dangling weight looked to be only about two or three pounds,
but more than enough to keep the chain taut.
Rory was about to ask what the winch and chain were
for—"Ow!"—when Fiona grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged
her towards the weight and snap-hook. "Fi-O-na!"
"I knew I should have gagged you first," Fiona chuckled.
"Don't worry, I'm just doing my Evil Psycho-Bitch due
She turned and walked to the winch.
Rory tugged on her wrists and found the D-ring incorporated in
her wrist bonds was now clipped to the chain. The chain
swayed and the weight bumped against her bound elbows.
"What are you—"
"Do you know anything about the Inquisition?" Fiona
interrupted. Her hand was on the hand-crank.
Rory blinked in surprise. "Huh? I mean, yeah.
The Holy Inquisition. I took European history my junior
year, like everyone else."
"How 'bout the term strappado? Familiar?"
frowned. "Sounds Spanish."
Fiona shrugged. "Yeah, it does, or maybe Italian."
She started turning the crank. The ratchet and pawl
clicked as the chain was drawn onto the drum. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...
Rory's wrists were rising... and rising. "Uh...
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...
Rory's wrists continued rising, until she had no choice but to
bend forward at the waist.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...
was now in a half-pike with her legs and torso forming a right
angle and her wrists about a foot higher than her head.
She stutter-stepped on her bare feet, then lifted her head and glared at her captor.
"Don't have a cow," Fiona giggled, then threw a lever and locked
the winch. Thunk.
She walked to another cabinet and opened the door. Inside,
dangling from hooks, were many, many gags. Ball-gags, bit-gags,
panel-gags, harness-gags, and every combination thereof.
Rory stared at the tangle of leather straps, rubber bits and
balls, and steel buckles. Maybe it wasn't every gag ever designed,
but there were things in that cabinet she'd never even dreamed
about before. She was pretty sure they were all gags, but
she was new at
this. Rory shook her hair from her face and watched Fiona
make her selection.
Fiona stepped forward and held her choice before Rory's
face. It was a ball-gag and strap-gag combination, a
rubber ball attached to the inside of a wide panel. The
mouth-covering area tapered and narrowed on either side of the
ball to an inch-wide main strap. In addition, the two
halves of a much thinner strap dangled from near both sides of
"It's too big," Rory objected, staring at the red rubber sphere
in alarm. The glistening object was at the very least
least two-inches in diameter. A half-inch hole pierced it
all the way through, including the chamois-thin mouth panel.
"It's medium density foam over a much smaller, solid core,"
Fiona explained. "It'll conform to the shape of your
mouth. And look at the nice hole. You'll be able to
breathe right through the foam stuffing... and drool."
Fiona had worked the ball into Rory's mouth and was buckling the
main strap at the nape of her neck, under her hair. "Lift
your chin," she ordered, and Rory complied, taking the
opportunity to stare
poison-tipped daggers at her grinning cousin.
Fiona crossed the thin strap under Rory's chin, then buckled it
tight in the back, under the main strap.
"Mrrfh!" The rubber ball did, indeed, fill her mouth and conform to its
shape. The leather panel pressed against her lips and face
like a gloved hand, and the thin strap served to lock her jaw
around the tongue-trapping intruder. On the bright side,
she could breathe through the hole, as Fiona had promised.
Fiona returned to the winch, unlocked the drum, and placed her
hand on the crank. "Now, as I was saying...
strappado." Tick, tick,
"Nrfh!" Rory was now up on her toes, with her heels in the
"The strappado was one of the standard tortures of the
Inquisition," Fiona lectured. "Victims were tied as you
are now, then suspended in midair, sometimes with weights tied
to their feet." She locked the winch, strolled forward,
and stroked Rory's hair. "They would be lifted high into
the air, then dropped until the rope snapped taut. Then
lifted, dropped, lifted, dropped, etc. Eventually, it
would dislocate their shoulders. Very painful." She leaned close and
kissed Rory's tangled, ginger mop, just above her bangs.
"What you're enduring is much
"Mmpfh!" Rory was dancing on her bare feet, again,
struggling to find a position under the chain that eased the
pressure on her shoulders and allowed her to plant her
feet. There was no such position.
"I could have tied your ankles, of course," Fiona said, gazing
down at Rory's feet, "and your big toes, as well." She
kissed the top of Rory's head, again, then turned and walked to
the door to the secret passage. "But sometimes less is more." She paused
in the open doorway, smiling at her suffering cousin.
"Trial four, level two, predicament bondage. I'll be back
"Nrfh?" Rory stared at the closing door. Three? Three o'clock?
What time is it now? Ten? Ten-thirty, max!
She can't leave me like this 'til three o'clock!
The door closed, the latch engaged, and Rory was alone.