by Van ©2012
		Chapter 9

Rory blinked in the dim light of the dungeon cell, then sat up—Clink-clink-clink—and cleared her tousled hair from her face with her fettered hands.  "Caitlin?"

Meanwhile, Caitlin had stepped forward, pulled the socket wrench from her suit jacket pocket, and was releasing the shackle-bolt tethering Rory to the wall.  "Not a word," she huffed.  Crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick.  "You're in a lot of trouble, Ginger-Fox."

"But, Caitlin—"

"I said, not a word!"  Caitlin pocketed the wrench and shackle-bolt, then tugged on Rory's collar chain.  "Get up," she ordered, "or I'll drag your naked little ass into the front dungeon."

Rory swallowed, struggled to her feet—Clink, clatter, clink—then followed her "rescuer" from the cell, through the open gate and outer door, and down the corridor.

Clink, clink, clink, clink...

They made the turn, passed the several still very mysterious doors of this branch of the Whelan's subterranean dungeon complex, and emerged into the "front dungeon."  The door to the Secret Passage was open, and on the bondage table—"Oh!" Rory gasped in surprise—Fiona was naked and spreadeagled on its hard surface!

Fiona's wrists and ankles were lashed to iron rings at the table's four corners with an abundance of white nylon rope and a leather harness-gag caged her head.  Its front panel pressed against her lips and narrow straps crossed her bulging cheeks and met at the bridge of her nose, encircled her brow, and passed under her chin.  The cheek bulge suggested that something substantial was filling her mouth.  Also, a pillow or bolster covered with rough wool, horse blanket-grade, was under the small of Fiona's back, lifting her butt several inches off the table and adding a taut arch to her predicament.

"Oh, shit," Rory whispered under her breath.

"Oh shit, indeed," Caitlin muttered, "deep shit."  She glared at her nude, stretched, and helpless sister.  "How stupid do you think I am, Fifi?" she demanded, then pulled the wrench and shackle-bolt from her pocket and tethered the end of Rory's collar-chain to one of the side rings of the table.

Crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick.

Caitlin pocketed the wrench, then produced a crumpled piece of Elastoplast tape.  "Look what I found in the trash in mom's bathroom last Thursday," she said, waving the beige plastic before Fiona's gagged face.  "You think I don't know a used tape-gag when I see one?  And this particular used tape-gag has a couple of ginger hairs attached."  She turned to Rory.  "And when I looked in Fifi's closet and under her bed, guess what I found?  Rope and other things that are supposed to be stored down here, that's what."

"We were just playing," Rory said.

Caitlin stared at her nude, dirty, and well-chained young cousin.  "Mom expressly forbid playing with you until she returns home."  She turned back to Fiona.  "You know that.  So, how stupid am I?  Huh?"

"It's okay, Caitlin," Rory said.  "Blame me if you want."

"Oh, I do, Ginger-Fox," Caitlin laughed.  "She told you that you were breaking the rules, admit it."

Rory nodded.  "Uh, yeah, but—"

"Zip it!"

Rory's mouth snapped shut.

"I ought to put you back in the Languishing Cell and leave you there 'til mom does get home."  She turned to Fiona.  "And as for you, dear sister, I ought to rig the Chinese Water Torture apparatus and drip ice water on your tits and overheated pussy until tomorrow afternoon, just as a foretaste of things to come.  Remember, I know all your 'favorite' entertainments."

Rory's eyes popped wide.  "Y-you wouldn't really—"

"Why not?" Caitlin demanded.  "I'm supposed to be the one in charge.  Ultimately, this debacle is my fault.  Do you have any idea what mom will do to me if she ever finds out about all this?"

"No, what will she do?" a new voice inquired.

Three heads swiveled towards the door to the secret passage, three pairs of eyes popped wide, and three very startled gasps sounded (one of which was well-muffled).

Megan Whelan was standing in the threshold.  She was wearing a smart, albeit slightly wrinkled, business suit.  An angry frown was on her freckled face and her arms were crossed under her breasts—and she was very much NOT on the far side of the Atlantic!

"Mom!" Caitlin gasped.

"Aunt Megan!" Rory gasped.

"Mmm!" Fiona gasped.

Caitlin swallowed, nervously.  "Mom, I—"

"Zip it!" Megan snapped, "to coin a phrase."  She pointed at Rory.  "Release her, then untie your sister."

"Yes, ma'am," Caitlin muttered, pulled out the socket wrench, and set to work.

Crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick...

"Aunt Megan," Rory said, "please don't be mad."

"You too, young lady," Megan muttered.  "Zip it."

"Yes, ma'am," Rory responded, her eyes downcast.

Crick-crick-crick, crick-crick-crick...

The last of the fetters and chains fell away and Rory was free—naked, filthy from head to toe, and free.

Megan smiled.  "C'mere, Ginger-Fox," she ordered, then opened her arms.

"I'm dirty," Rory objected.

"C'mere," Megan repeated.  "This suit already needs cleaning."

Her eyes wet, Rory padded forward and gingerly hugged Megan.

"Welcome to our home, Aurora," Megan sighed, hugged Rory tight, and kissed her somewhat grubby right cheek.

"Thank you," Rory answered, returning the hug with all her strength.

"Now," Megan chuckled, "get yourself upstairs, take a long, hot shower, put on a robe, and meet us in the kitchen.  I assume you haven't eaten?"

"No, ma'am," Rory answered meekly.

Megan held Rory at arms length, spun her around by the shoulders, and gave her a playful whack on her naked behind.  "Go."

Rory scampered for the door.  Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Caitlin was already untying Fiona.  Then, she'd crossed the threshold and was padding up the stone steps to the basement.

Rory did, indeed, take a long, hot shower, consuming dollops of the required body-wash, shampoo, and conditioner.  After several glorious, wet minutes, she turned off the water, toweled herself dry, then used a second towel and her hair dryer and brush and comb set to deal with her hair.  Squeaky clean, gloriously refreshed, and a towel wrapped around her body, she padded to her bedroom and opened the top drawer of the chest of drawers.  Folded panties and bras awaited her selection.  No, Aunt Megan said 'put on a robe.'  Rory decided tonight was a very good night to follow all instructions with exactitude.  She went to the closet, replaced the towel with her pink cotton bathrobe, secured the sash, then slipped on her matching pink bunny-slippers and headed for the kitchen.

All the while, her heart was pounding and those pesky butterflies were doing a number in her tummy.  Aunt Megan had seemed mad, sort of.  Most of her ire seemed directed at her actual progeny.  She was mad at Rory, probably 'cause she knew that Rory knew that they'd been breaking the rules.  But still, Fiona and Caitlin were in the most trouble... she hoped.  Not that she wanted Cat and Fi to be in the proverbial doghouse (or dungeon as the case may be), and she was willing to take her part of the blame, but—what was Momma-Fox gonna do?

"Well, no reason to worry about it," Rory muttered under her breath.  That was all well and good, but the butterflies seemed to have minds of their own, and they were still worried.

As Rory bounded down the stairs and crossed the living room, she detected the aroma and sizzle of frying bacon.  Her empty stomach growling, Rory entered the kitchen—and her eyes popped wide, again.  On the far side of the room near the pantry door, Fiona and Caitlin stood side by side.  Their hands were atop their heads with their fingers interlaced, and they were facing the wall.  One additional detail: they were both naked.  The sisters turned their heads to stare at Rory.

"Ahem!"  Aunt Megan was at the island, assembling a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich (on white toast, with mayo).

Caitlin and Fiona's heads snapped back to face the wall—but not before Rory noted the leather panel-gags strapped across their lower faces.

"As I recall," Megan said to Rory, "the BLT is one of your favorites."

Her eyes on Caitlin and Fiona's naked backs, behinds, and legs, Rory nodded, then met Megan's eyes and blushed.

"Don't worry about my naughty daughters," Megan chuckled, then walked to the refrigerator.  "Milk, tea, or soda?"

"Uh, Diet Cherry 7-UP?"

Megan opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a two-liter plastic bottle.  "You got it."  She filled a small glass with the bubbly pink beverage, then set it next to the plate with the sandwich and a small handful of potato chips.  "I ate on the plane," she added.

Rory glanced at Big-Fox and Little-Fox, again.

Megan smiled.  "Naughty girls are put to bed without any supper," she explained.

Rory considered inquiring whether or not she was in a special category of 'naughty girl' that was put to bed with supper, but had the good sense to turn her attention to the BLT, instead.

Megan watched Rory devour the modest meal.  Caitlin and Fiona continued contemplating the wall.  "They finally reached a decision," Megan said.

Her mouth full and jaw working, Rory raised an eyebrow in question.

"The committee," Megan clarified.  "I will be teaching a graduate-level seminar on American Literature at Cambridge, and possibly at Oxford, as well, but not until next semester.  In the meantime, and by way of apology, they agreed to pay for another round-trip home so I can make new arrangements.  Most of the committee felt very bad about the earlier infighting."

Rory swallowed.  "Oh, you mean why you're here."

Megan nodded.  "I wanted it to be a surprise."  She nodded at her daughters.  "But I was surprised, as well."

Rory took a sip of soda.  "Please, Aunt Megan," she said.  "Fiona didn't do anything really bad to me, and Caitlin didn't even know."

Megan smiled.  "They told me everything while you were in the shower.  Fiona has a history of, shall we say, trying my patience.  Caitlin as well, but to a lesser extent."  She nodded at the remaining sandwich and Rory resumed eating.  "Fiona has no excuse.  I explained that I wanted you to settle in before being invited to play.  And Caitlin knows that once she figured out what was going on, she should have taken control and sent me a message.  Instead, she decided to punish her sister, without authorization.  And I assume she was about to punish you, as well."

"She wouldn't have hurt me," Rory objected, "and Caitlin didn't hurt me.  I was, uh, naughty, as well."

Megan nodded.  "Yes, you were."

Rory blushed as she nibbled the last of the chips.  Megan was still smiling—Thank god!—but Rory couldn't help but continue to worry about the immediate future.

"More?" Megan inquired.

"No, thank you," Rory answered, still blushing.

"Okay," Megan chuckled, "help me clean up and we'll tuck the naughty girls in for the night."  She focused on the naughty girls in question.  "You two know what to do."

Their hands still atop their heads, Caitlin and Fiona turned, sighed in unison—Oh, the drama!—and left the kitchen without making eye contact with Rory.

Rory watched her naked, gagged cousins leave, then gulped the last of her soda and carried the glass and plate to the sink.

When Megan and Rory entered Fiona's bedroom, Little-Fox was reclined on her back atop her bed.  She was still naked and gagged, and lying next to her was some sort of... something of shining, burgundy cloth.

Rory watched as Megan zipped her youngest daughter into what was now revealed to be a formfitting sheath of what was probably spandex.  Wow!

Whatever the material, the sheath was stretchy and thick.  It was a simple envelope, something like a mummy sleeping bag, but there were internal channels that separately encased each of Fiona's limbs, her legs from the tips of her toes to mid-thighs, and her arms from fingers to armpits.  Fiona lifted her gagged head and watched her mother close the two halves of the long, heavy zipper running the length of the bag's front.

Megan zipped closed the lower half, from mid-shins to crotch, and then the upper half, from throat to crotch.  The fobs clicked together, then disappeared under a Velcro flap.

"Where did you get that thing?" Rory asked.  "The, uh, sleeping bag, I mean."  She couldn't help but stare.  The bag in question hugged Fiona's body like a second skin.

"It's custom made," Megan explained as she stretched a series of broad, elastic horizontal and lateral straps around Fiona's encased form.  They were all integrated into the sheath, running in channels in the fabric, and were secured with long Velcro strips.  "The materials are similar to Darlex," Megan explained.

Rory frowned.  "Darlex?"

"Rubber sandwiched between layers of spandex," Megan explained.  "The outer and inner layers of the sleep-sack are spandex; however, the fabric in between isn't neoprene, but a loosely woven cloth of rubber fibers, for breath-ability.  It's stitched together in overlapping panels in a very cleverly engineered pattern.  As the wearer squirms, the different sections stretch and oppose specific muscle groups. The grip never changes.  To the wearer, it feels like it's actually responding to their struggles, almost as if it's alive."  She smiled at Fiona.  "Isn't that right, sweetness?"

A sparkle in her eyes, Fiona nodded her gagged head.

All Rory could do was stare.  "Wow," she whispered under her breath.

Megan secured the final elastic strap, around Fiona's ankles.  "We'll forgo the hood this evening," she said with a smile, "although you certainly deserve to wear it."

"Mrr'mrr," Fiona muttered through her gag.

"You're welcome," Megan purred.  She was clipping bungee-cords to D-rings sewn around the periphery of the sleep-sack and clipping their far ends to eye-bolts in the underside of the bed's side rails.  The final result was a tightly encased Fiona lying atop her neatly made bed, and secured by a total of six more-or-less slack bungee-cords.  She was "free" to attempt limited comfort movements, and might even be able to roll onto her side, but she would not be able to roll all the way over.  The last bungee secured, Megan turned her daughter's head to the side and unbuckled her gag.  The panel came away and the attached rubber plug underneath was gently pulled from Fiona's mouth.  "Well," Megan said, "what do you have to say to Rory?"

Fiona grinned at the still decidedly amazed Ginger-Fox.  "Sorry I got you into trouble, kiddo."

The statement seemed to break the spell.  A smile curled Rory's lips, but she managed not to laugh.  Nobody in the room believed Fiona was the least bit sorry, but it didn't matter.  Everything happening was in fun, even The Wrath of Momma-Fox.  "That's okay, Fi," Rory purred.  "I forgive you for being so very, very cruel and mean to me."

Megan rolled her eyes.  "Oh, please."

Rory grinned at the Whelan matriarch.  "Too much?"

"Too much," Megan and Fiona agreed in unison.

Rory shrugged, then smiled at Fiona.  "I forgive you for letting me get myself into trouble."

"That's more like it," Megan chuckled.

"Thanks, Rory," Fiona shrugged—or rather, made as much of a shrug as the sleep-sack would allow.

Megan took Rory by the shoulders and led her towards the bedroom door.  "No noise," she said to Fiona, "or I'll be back and you will wear the hood."

"Mom!" Fiona complained.

"She's upset 'cause I'm not gagging her," Megan whispered to Rory.

"Huh?" Rory whispered back.

"She likes sleeping in the sack with an Elastoplast tape-gag," Megan explained, "but, she's being punished, so..."

Rory nodded.

Megan flipped the light switch next to the door, plunging Fiona and the bedroom into darkness.  "Good night, naughty girl.  Love you."

"G'night, mom," Fiona answered.  "Love you.  You too, Rory."

"Good night," Rory called.  "Love ya."

Megan pulled the bedroom door closed, then led Rory towards Caitlin's room.

Caitlin was awaiting her mother's arrival, reclined on her back on her bed and still wearing her panel-gag.  However, unlike Fiona, she was under the covers.  From her bare shoulders (and the context of recent events), Rory surmised Caitlin was also still naked.

"Ready for bed, naughty girl?" Megan inquired.

"Mr'rrf," Caitlin "answered."  Despite the circumstances, her eyes twinkled.

With Rory at her side, Megan walked to the bed and pulled back the covers.  A pair of tan leather straps dimpled the surface of the sheet-covered mattress, one near the foot and the other across the middle.  Padded cuffs of the same tan leather were wrapped around Caitlin's ankles.  Slots in the padded inner cuffs passed through heavy staples and were secured by narrow straps that encircled the inner cuffs, threaded through the staples, and then were buckled tight.  A belt of similar design was buckled around Caitlin's waist and empty cuffs on either side awaited her wrists.

Rory watched as Megan checked the tightness of the ankle cuffs, and then the waist belt.  Rory noticed there were empty buckles dangling from straps clipped to D-rings on the waist belt.

Meanwhile, Megan was buckling the remaining cuffs around Caitlin's wrists.  Once finished, her oldest daughter was now bound to the mattress with her ankles about two feet apart and her wrists about a foot to either side of her waist.  Megan noticed Rory's focus on the empty buckles on the belt, reached down, and gave one of them a shake.  "She was hoping I'd deploy her favorite vibrator and buckle it in place," she explained, then smiled at Caitlin's gagged face.  "When naughty girls are tucked in for the night," she purred, "they do not get to play with their friends."

Rory blushed, but didn't say anything.

Megan opened a drawer in Caitlin's nightstand and produced a roll of Elasoplast tape and a pair of bandage scissors.  She pulled a seven inch strip from the roll, snipped it free, then handed it by one corner to Rory.  "Hold this for me, would you?"

"Uh, sure."  Rory muttered, and gingerly accepted the strip.

Megan leaned close, unbuckled Caitlin's gag, pulled it from her mouth, then kissed her lips.  "Good night, Caitlin."

"Good night, Mother," Caitlin answered.  "I'm glad you're home."

Megan kissed her daughter, again, then smiled at Rory.  "Would you do the honors?"

Rory blinked in surprise.  "Huh?"

"The tape?" Megan responded with a grin.

"Oh... oh!  Uh, sure."  She focused on Caitlin.  "If you don't mind."

Megan and Caitlin laughed, then Caitlin cleared her throat.  "No, Ginger-Fox, I don't mind."

Rory swallowed nervously, then (still blushing) leaned close and kissed Caitlin's lips.  "G'night, Cat."

"Good night, Rory," Caitlin responded, then pursed her lips.

Rory stretched the tape between her hands, pressed it over Caitlin's mouth, then smoothed it against Caitlin's lower face with her fingers, ensuring a good seal.  A delicate thrill rippled through her crotch as she sealed her naked and helplessly bound older cousin's lips.  Caitlin's nipples were erect (and Rory realized her own nips were also standing at attention, under her cotton robe).

Megan restored the top sheet and bedspread, once again covering Caitlin up to her shoulders.

Rory watched as Megan knelt and closed a plastic clip on an upper corner of the top-sheet and bedspread, then clipped the attached bungee cord to an eye-bolt on the underside of the bed's side-rail.  (Rory made a mental note to check the side-rails of her bed for similar eye-bolts when she returned to her bedroom.)  Meanwhile, Megan walked around the bed, knelt, and (Rory assumed) engaged a matching clip and bungee cord on the other side.  The covers were now securely in place, and Rory seriously doubted Caitlin's bonds would allow her to dislodge them, no matter how she struggled.

Megan put an arm across Rory's shoulders and led her towards the door.  Rory looked back over her shoulder, staring at Caitlin's helpless form, bare shoulders, and gagged, pillow-cushioned head.  The bedroom's overhead lights winked out, then, they were in the hallway and Megan was pulling the bedroom door closed.

"Now," Megan said as she led Rory down the hall, "according to naughty girl Fiona, you were undergoing your final trial and were about to graduate to Bondage Brownie status.  Am I correct?"

Rory skidded to a halt and stared at Megan.  "It's real?" she gasped.  "The club, I mean.  It's real?"

"It's real," Megan chuckled.  "C'mon."  She led Rory into the master bedroom.  "I'm going to finally get out of this suit and take a shower, but first..."  She gestured towards the bed.

Rory gasped.  Several coils of light brown rope lay on the bed.  Her eyes wide, she turned to stare at Megan.

"I'm giving you a choice," Megan purred.  "The sixth trial is supposed to last twenty-four hours, at the very least.  If you truly want to be a Bondage Brownie, I can return you to your cell down in the dungeon—"  She gestured at the bed.  "—or, you can be more comfortable."  She kissed Rory's forehead.  "As a third option, you can wait 'til I finish punishing Fiona and let her come up with a new sixth trial."

"Uh... I'll take the bed," Rory answered.

"And the rope?" Megan purred.

Rory swallowed.  "And the rope," she whispered.

"Don't worry, Ginger-Fox," Megan chuckled.  "It's conditioned microfiber.  It looks like jute, but it's soft against the skin when properly applied."

"Wonderful," Rory muttered, staring at the brown loops waiting on the dark jade bedspread like so many coiled and slumbering pythons.

"Okay, Rory," Megan said.  "Time to lose the robe."  She glanced down.  "And the bunny-slippers."

Her heart hammering and the butterflies fluttering, once again, Rory reached for the sash of her pink robe with suddenly trembling fingers.  What the hell am I getting myself into this time? she wondered.