The new day
dawned, but the previous night's dream remained very much on
Scotti didn't experience erotic subconscious idylls very often,
but they had been known to happen, from early adolescence on,
and the dream hadn't even been her first with a
She remembered one instance in which she'd channeled Nancy Drew
and was caught snooping through a stereotypical creepy old
mansion for clues to... something... was captured by the
mansion's elderly but surprisingly fit and physically capable
resident and was bound hand and foot, gagged, and locked into a
dark basement room, in which she... languished
Another time Scotti was an Intrepid Female Reporter in Victorian
times and was caught infiltrating an arguably mad doctor's
private asylum and found herself stripped naked, strapped in a
straitjacket Harry Houdini would have found inescapable, gagged,
and locked in a padded cell with the promise that all sorts of
unspeakable things would be done to her in the morning! O
the horror! She gave the straitjacket quite a workout (especially
However, this was the first time she could remember being
captured by female elves who strongly resembled actual
friends and being stripped, bound, gagged, and subjected
to titillating, teasing—uh—titillation! Explicit-intentional-erotic
titillation... and not just her tits! She was pretty sure
she'd remember if it had happened before. And don't get
her started about the threat of involuntary marriage to the
shape-shifting "Fox King"! Where the hell did that come
Anyway, Scotti showered, dressed for the day, and made her way
to the DuPont's kitchen for breakfast. This particular
morning everybody collectively agreed on coffee (which goes
without saying) and museli-type cereal with milk. While
they caffeinated themselves and munched the crunchy, nutty,
yummy concoction... the Plan of the Day was formalized.
Sybil—There was paperwork that needed doing (as
always), including e-mails that needed answering, but after
lunch the DuPont matriarch would help Amy in the shop.
After breakfast cleanup, the DuPonts (including the honorary
ginger-haired DuPont) dispersed to begin the day's activities.
Amy—There was a big dining room order that needed finishing,
so Amy would be in the shop all day.
Iris—She promised to help Amy in the shop in the morning, but
the largest flowerbeds in the backyard needed weeding.
That would occupy her afternoon.
Scotti—The previous night's dream had been inspirational
(although Scotti didn't mention it to the DuPonts) so the
notes for her still nascent First Novel needed extensive
revision; however, she'd help Iris in the garden after lunch.
Scotti's Medieval High Fantasy dream really had been inspiring,
but she decided to shift the focus of her novel in a somewhat
more Late 19th Century Steampunk direction and make her heroine
a naturalist/explorer. She already knew enough about
Victorian fashion and style to get started and, as always, the
internet (especially Wikipedia) was her friend. She'd do
her best to enhance the "authenticity" of her descriptions and
use of general color as her writing progressed. She was
halfway through her preliminary revision and/or alteration
and/or improvement of her character notes when her iPhone's
clock app reminded her it was time for lunch.
Scotti frowned. She was on a roll. But she did need
to eat, and she'd promised to help Iris ruthlessly decrease the
diversity of her flowerbeds, so things would just have to...
simmer. She took it as a sign that she was on the right
track. The revised novel would be, dare she even think it,
better than what she'd originally had in mind.
Lunch was sandwiches of miscellaneous sliced meat, miscellaneous
sliced cheese, miscellaneous sliced vegetables, all on
miscellaneous sliced bread with miscellaneous condiments.
Scotti went with ham, turkey, Colby, tomato, and lettuce on
white with mayo. The others... didn't. Scotti was
too busy making her own sandwich choices to notice, as well as
thinking about last night's dream. She resolved to screw
her courage to the sticking place and beard the dragon in its
den. That is, she decided that now was the time to talk
about "context" with Iris, once they were fully involved in
it was cute the way Iris was "spiritual" about the weeding
process. As she worked, every now and then she muttered a
sort of semi-vocalized prayer to the weedy volunteers she was
pulling and/or grubbing from among the nursery-bought non-native
plants with their unnaturally huge genitalia (flowers)
she'd intentionally planted. It was an apology for
terminating their brief lives and consigning their corpses to
the compost pile. It was sort of the way Native
American/First Nations/Indigenous hunters apologized to whatever
game they killed and thanked them for their meaty protein
value. Anyway, Scotti thought it was cute.
They worked for about an hour, resplendent in their jeans,
long-sleeve shirts, floppy sunhats, and gardening gloves... and
then... Scotti decided the moment was right.
Iris smiled. "Uh, Scotti?"
"About this 'context' thing..."
Scotti swallowed before continuing. "Uh, exactly how, uh,
contextual does all this context stuff get during games
"And such?" Iris inquired innocently. "Such as what?
In what context?"
Scotti responded with an even stare.
"Sorry," Iris chuckled, then dropped her weeding tool in the
green bucket they used to transport murdered weeds to the
compost pile and stripped off her gloves. "Hydration
break," she decreed, then stood and headed for the house.
Scotti dropped her tool and gloves and followed.
Beverage selection happened in the kitchen... then they trooped
out to the deck and settled into a pair of padded chairs next to
a small café table with Mountain Dew® Baja Blast® with Zero
Sugar in tall glasses with ice and lime wedge garnishes
(just to be fancy). That time of the afternoon that part
of the deck was in shade and there happened to be a slight
breeze, so they were quite comfortable.
Scotti enjoyed a refreshing sip from her glass... then heaved a
Iris smiled. "Scotti. Chill. It's me."
Scotti forced a smile and sighed again. "I know.
That's part of the problem."
Iris' smile broadened (and turned mischievous). "You've
never thought of me in a contextual manner?" she
"Shut up," Scotti snapped. "Also... no."
"How disappointing. I've thought about you in a
contextual manner, meaning an objective contextual
Scotti frowned. "Huh?"
"You're a cutie, Scotti Hunter," Iris chuckled. "You're
not exactly a Daphne Blake, but you're definitely a
"Oh, thanks," Scotti responded. "In that context, you're
no Scooby-doo yourself."
"Thanks," Iris chuckled.
"You are sort of a punk Wednesday Addams," Scotti
added, "but you clean up nice." That earned Scotti a
significant look, but she could tell her friend was still
"Anyway," Iris continued after a sip of bubbly Baja, "context
is, shall we say, playful. Nobody dives into anything
explicit. Things happen... meaning places and things get
teased now and then... but no means no. If you're
comfortable with something, just let it happen. If not..."
"No means no," Scotti nodded, than frowned. "But what if
I'm gagged? By which I mean what if a hypothetical damsel,
not necessarily myself, is gagged?"
"No is easy," Iris chuckled. "It's pretty clear when
somebody's trying to tell you to back off, not counting
damsel-in-distress role playing, of course."
"Of course," Scotti agreed. I suppose it's a matter of
trust, she thought, then smiled and gazed at Iris as they
both sipped their drinks, and I trust Iris... and by
Once the hydration break was over, Scotti and Iris went back to
weeding. Nothing more was said about context.
The rest of
the day passed in typical DuPont Compound fashion, and after
dinner (burgers on the grill) Scotti returned to The Cottage and
put a couple of more hours into revising her notes.
Finally, enough was enough. Scotti prepared for bed and
climbed between the sheets.
Since moving into The Cottage Scotti had gotten out of the habit
of wearing her panties-of-the-day and a t-shirt or tanktop to
bed and had started slumbering in the nude. It was no big
thing. It just sort of happened. Anyway, The Cottage
was dark, except for the starlight shining from billions of
years in the past, across the vastness of the expanding
universe, and through the open windows (with their drapes pulled
back but bug-screens in place and on duty). Scotti's eyes
were closed and she was just drifting off to sleep when—Click!—it
The Cottage door opened, Amy and Iris entered, Amy closed the
door behind them—Thud!—and turned on the overhead
Scotti sat up in bed, the covers fell down, exposing her naked
boobs to the world, and she quickly clutched the top-sheet and
pulled it up to her freckled chest, restoring her modesty.
"What's happening?" she sagely inquired.
Actually, it was abundantly obvious what was happening. The
Game was happening!
Amy was wearing the same boots, jeans, and workshirt she'd worn
all day, whereas Iris was naked, except for a pair of pink
panties, of all things, pink being very un-Iris.
Also, Iris' hands were behind her back, a rope leash was around
her neck with its far end in Amy's left hand, and a strip of
Microfoam tape covered most of Iris' lower face,
"Tonight?" Scotti yelped.
"No, next Tuesday," Amy chuckled as she led (dragged) her little
sister to the bed, shrugged a bulging black nylon duffel-bag off
her shoulder and let it drop to the floor, then looped the end
of her little sister's leash around the bed's foot-rail and tied
a quick knot. "This is the live-action teaser-trailer, to
get you excited... so to speak."
Scotti was not amused. (Actually, she was amused,
but the proper move was to appear to be unamused, so she forced
Meanwhile, Amy unzipped a side pocket of the duffel and pulled
out a six-inch roll of clear shrink-wrap, a roll of silver-gray
duct-tape, and a pair of bandage-scissors. "These are for
your hands," she explained.
"Huh?" Scotti gasped.
Amy shifted her smile to her little sister. "Show her,"
Iris rolled her eyes, then executed a half-pirouette that
exposed her back, as well as her silver-gray-duct-tape-mummified
hands! Each hand was neatly and separately wrapped with
tight, overlapping layers, from her wrists to her fingertips,
the very tips of which emerged from the silver sheathes.
And wrist-rope-bondage had been applied after the
mummifications. That was obvious. The rope was over
the tape covering Iris' wrists.
"Hands," Amy ordered as she jerked the covers from Scotti's
hands and readied the shrink-wrap for use.
"Hands?" Scotti inquired (objected).
"Hands," Amy confirmed.
Blinking in alarm (or something) Scotti extended her right hand
and watched as Amy used the clinging plastic to tightly wrap the
hand from wrist to extended fingertips.
"The shipping-wrap protects your skin from the duct-tape
adhesive," Amy explained, "which is super strong.
Gorilla brand. Only the best."
Scotti nodded, and continued watching as Amy shifted from
shrink-wrap to duct-tape and the mummification process was
repeated. The result was the same tautly stretched,
uniformly overlapping layers as Iris' hand-mummies, and the
shrink-wrap was covered completely. She stared at her
right hand, weakly testing the silver-gray cocoon, then
presented her left hand for similar treatment without really
thinking about it. It too disappeared under stretched,
tightly wrapped shrink-wrap... followed by stretched, tightly
Amy returned the rolls to the duffel. The deed was
done. Scotti's fingers and hands were encased and utterly
useless. Scotti continued examining her silver flippers as
Amy carried a wooden straight chair from its normal position
against the wall next to the closet and to the foot of the
bed. "Have a seat," she suggested (ordered).
"Me?" Scotti inquired.
"You," Amy confirmed.
Scotti heaved a sigh, slid all the way from under the covers,
planted her feet and stood, then padded to the chair in
question, sat... and watched sullenly as Amy pulled a neatly
bundled coil of the DuPont family's apparently limitless
stockpile of coffee-stained, conditioned, cotton clothesline
from the duffel and prepared it for use.
Scotti turned her head and took the occasion to examine Iris'
attire (what there was of it) in more detail. She revised
her initial assessment from a pair of panties to a skimpy
swimsuit bottom. It was in a dark-pink/light-lavender
shade and festooned with disgustingly cute cartoon cats, white
stars, lavender flowers (or maybe heart-clusters), and the
appellation "Hello Kitty." It was something Iris would never
buy for herself in a billion years and would wear only after
hell had frozen solid, so Scotti surmised the disgusting garment
was a fashion humiliation imposed by her big sister... which was
Meanwhile—"Eep!"—Amy had pulled Scotti's flipperized hands
behind the chair and was binding her wrists together with her
tape-covered-hands palm-to-palm. She noted that her
armpits comfortably rested on the top of the chairback.
The DuPont family had been making custom furniture for at least
three generations, so it was hardly surprising the cottage chair
Scotti used for sitting in while lacing up her work-boots was
not only solidly constructed, perfectly proportioned, and easy
on the eyes, but was ideally suited for lashing a naked damsel
in the sitting position.
Scotti was fully cooperative (albeit a little fidgety) as Amy
completed her task. Loop followed loop, cinch followed
cinch, and intermittent knots were tied. The end result
was Scotti sitting in the chair with her hands and arms behind
the back, her elbows pulled together and tied about an inch
apart, and her wrist and elbow-bonds hitched through the
chairback. More rope passed above and below her boobs, as
well as across and around her waist, her lap, and the
chair. Her legs were bound together above and below her
knees, and so were her ankles. In addition, her wrist and
ankle-bonds were linked by several passes of taut rope, lifting
her bare feet off the floor and making her predicament a sitting
hogtie! Finally. Amy had tied her big toes together with
brown cord and lashed them to the horizontal cross-brace of the
chair's back legs, totally immobilizing her feet.
"That should hold you," Amy purred as she stood and smiled down
Scotti knew what was expected and began her Courtesy
Struggle. She had to admit Amy's rigging was up to her
usual nefarious standards and was totally inescapable (even if
she'd had the use of her fingers, which she
didn't). Yet, Scotti was arguably comfortable, meaning all
the tension seemed to be uniformly distributed and none of her
body-parts were tingling from loss of circulation (yet).
Also surprisingly, that included her big toes.
"You're a real bitch for tying my toes," Scotti huffed, glaring
at the accused bitch in question.
Amy laughed, winked at her little sister (who glowered in
return), then turned her smile back to Scotti. "You've
come a long way in a short time, Gingerella."
'Gingerella,' Scotti mused as she squirmed in Amy's
ropes. As nicknames went, Gingerella was pretty
cute. She hated it. With any luck it wouldn't stick.
Meanwhile, still smiling, Amy turned and strolled to the closet,
disappeared within... then reemerged holding a pair of panties
pinched between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.
Scotti recognized the panties she'd worn all day, grinding her
ass in the cushion of her desk chair while working on her notes
and sweated in all afternoon while working in the
garden with Iris. What does she want those for? Scotti
wondered. Then, the truth dawned. "No!
Don't you dare!"
Amy stooped and pulled a roll of Microfoam tape from the duffel,
then stood and grinned. "Really? You're firing off a
full blown no-means-no over a simple, harmless thing
like a panty-gag?"
"My own dirty panties?" Scotti groused. "Hell yes
Amy frowned. "How about clean panties," she
suggested, then tossed the dirty panties on the bed.
Scotti glowered at the crumpled underpants (even though it
wasn't the intimate garment's fault it was a gag-stuffing
Meanwhile, Amy had stripped a six to seven-inch strip of
Microfoam from the roll, severed it free with the
bandage-scissors, then lightly tacked it by one corner to the
top rail of the bed's foot-board. She then returned the
Microfoam and scissors to the duffel, retrieved the panties, and
smiled at Scotti. "Well?"
Scotti scowled at her gloating captor, then sighed.
"Nobody likes a party-pooper," she muttered. "Clean
"Clean panties it is," Amy chuckled, strolled back to the
closet... and returned with a neatly folded pair of panties
(mint-green with minimal lace). "Say ahhh," she purred as
she unfolded the panties and crumpled them into a loose wad.
Scotti continued glowering and did not say ahhh, but
she did open her mouth and accept the silky, mouth-filling
stuffing, then held her head helpfully steady with lips together
as Amy stretched the Microfoam between her two hands and pressed
"Mrrrpfh," Scotti complained as Amy smoothed the tape.
Actually, it was a Courtesy Mewl. The tape-gag (with
panties) was effective. She glanced up at Iris, who was
staring back, and noted from the way her semi-Goth friend's
cheeks were bulging that her mouth might also be stuffed with
something. In fact, Scotti was now sure Iris was chewing
on a wad of something. Panties? Scotti
wondered. Dirty or clean? There was no way
to tell, and she was no longer able to ask.
While Scotti and Iris were silently communing, Amy had been busy
making the bed. She wasn't especially fastidious about it,
but when she decided she was finished the bedspread was
more-or-less taut and the pillows fluffed and piled against the
"On the bed," Amy ordered as she untied her little sister's rope
Obviously, the command had been for Iris as there was no way
Scotti would be switching furniture without a great deal of
assistance. Anyway, Iris stomped (padded) the short
distance to the bed, sat, then reclined in the center on her
butt, back, and bound and mummified hands. Amy pulled
several more coils of coffee-stained clothesline from her trusty
duffel, dropped them on the bed, smiled, and set to work.
Scotti watched as Amy tied her little sister to the bed.
She started with Iris' right ankle, pulling it to the side and
lashing it in the right corner, then did the same to Iris' left
ankle in the left corner. She then untied Iris' wrist
bonds and tied her in a full four-point-spread, a very taut
and stringent four-point-spread. That is,
Iris was now spreadeagled on the bed in a horizontal version of
the vertical Vitruvian Man pose Amy had endured in
Storeroom #4. Each wrist and ankle was pinned in place by
multiple taut strands, half traveling vertically to the
headboard or foot and the other half horizontally, dimpling the
edge of the mattress as they disappeared off the bed to be
lashed to the lower bed frame.
Yes, it was taut and stringent indeed, and from her
chair Scotti had an excellent view of Iris, including the crotch
of her humiliating Hello Kitty bikini-bottom.
"And... the scene is set," Amy announced. She stooped,
zipped closed the duffel, and stood. "Wait here," she
instructed as she carried the duffel away, dropped it next to
the cottage door—Click!—and opened the door. "I'll
be back," she promised as she crossed the threshold, then closed
the portal behind her. Click!
And Scotti and Iris were alone in The Cottage.
Iris stared at Scotti.
Both damsels squirmed a little, seeking comfort rather than
escape. Escape was quite obviously impossible.
Now would be the perfect opportunity for Scotti to ask Iris why
her Evil big sister had forced her to wear the pink Hello Kitty
bikini-bottom, but... you know... gags. Languishing in
annoyed ignorance was Scotti's only option.
Finally, after an eternity of at least five minutes—Click!—the
cottage door opened, Amy crossed the threshold, and closed the
door behind her. Click! Yes, the Villainous
Villainess herself had returned, and she was carrying another
duffel-bag, or more precisely a small nylon gym-bag, and it was
pink, of all things. A pink nylon gym-bag.
"Let's get this show on the road!" Amy decreed, then unzipped
the pink bag, reached inside, and produced... something.
She held it for Scotti's inspection, but the chair-bound captive
had no idea what she was staring at.
The unknown object was... little, only about three inches long
and maybe a little less than an inch in width. Also, it
was ovoid in shape, with a very slight curve, sort of like a
stretched-out bean. Its ends were well-rounded, and it was
covered in a uniform coating of black latex.
"It's called a 'Panty-Teaser'," Amy explained as she continued
turning the thing for Scotti's wide-eyed inspection. "You
know the classic scenario. Our little friend is inserted
down the front of a gorgeous woman's panties, so it's nudging
her pussy-lips, then her cad of a husband or boyfriend takes her
to a posh restaurant, with both of them dressed to the nines, of
course. Once seated, he covertly toys with the Teaser's
remote control at carefully chosen and highly inopportune
moments. She struggles to conceal her reactions while he
tries his best to make it difficult. An adventurously good
time is had by all."
Now that she mentioned it—meaning the Panty-Teaser—Scotti
remembered the cunning concept from her online research.
The idea was hilarious... as long as you weren't the damsel on
the receiving end. She watched as Amy leaned over the bed
and tucked the Panty-Teaser down the front of Iris' Hello-Kitty
Iris stared daggers at her big sister and mewled what were no
doubt very rude remarks through whatever was stuffed in
her mouth and under the overlying strip of Microfoam.
Amy ignored her kid sister's objections, accusations, and/or
condemnations, stood upright, and continued her technical
lecture. "The Panty-Teaser system has a total of twelve
settings, variations on intensity, pulsation, and escalation.
I have a friend who dabbles in electronics, so I asked her to
rewire the remote control to add random timing between vibration
events. Unfortunately, that meant the circuitry would no
longer fit in the manufacturers' cute little pocket-size remote
control..." She reached into the pink bag and produced a
small wooden box. "But luckily, making an attractive new
home for the circuitry was easy-peasy for a talented carpenter
and woodworker such as myself."
Scotti had to admit it was a nice box, about the size
of a typical ring box. Apparently, in addition to
conventional and dungeon/torture-chamber furnishings, the DuPont
catalog included a line of cute little wooden boxes. Amy
lifted the lid and Scotti could see a couple of rows of tiny
toggle-switches, all with engraved labels too small and distant
for her to read.
"I'm setting everything on random," Amy announced as she
carefully flipped several switches, "which means five to fifteen
minutes will pass between events, and the events themselves will
only last thirty to ninety seconds." She snapped the lid
closed and placed the box on the right bedside table. Her
smile was decidedly sinister. "Of course," she purred,
"the Panty-Teaser's teasing won't be nearly enough for
poor sister to ride it to anything approaching a nice
orgasm," she purred. "In fact, I'm absolutely positive
she'll find the entire program to be downright frustrating.
Some might even say tortuously frustrating." She
shifted her wicked smile to the nearly nude, spreadeagled, and
tape-gagged little sister in question. "The battery is
fully charged and lasts for a full forty-five minutes of
nonstop stimulation on the max settings. But with
everything widely separated, quite brief, and on the lower settings,
it will last... significantly longer."
Iris continued staring daggers at her big sister, and Scotti
noticed she was panting through her nostrils and her boobs were
rising and falling in matching rhythm. At least the
Mystery of Iris' Hello Kitty bikini-bottom was finally
solved. The disgustingly cute garment was there to keep
the vibrator in place, an act of Pure Evil. Such perfidy
was to be expected from a creature as insidious and wicked as
the notorious Hello Kitty.
Meanwhile, Amy had strolled from the bedside to behind Scotti's
chair, and was resting her hands on the naked, bound, and gagged
ginger's rope-yoked shoulders. "You understand why your
fingers and hands are taped, don't you? It's for the same
reason you're naked and gagged. Helplessness. Superfluous
layers of helplessness."
Scotti understood. She'd understood as it was
happening. Superfluous layers of helplessness.
"You might not be able to tell when the Teaser decides to tease
dear sister," Amy continued. "It's very quiet. And
she may be able to hide her reactions, at least for a while."
Suddenly, Iris froze in her bonds, she clinched her big brown
eyes tightly closed, tugged on her bonds as best she
could, and a delicate shiver shook her pale, stretched
"Or maybe not," Amy chuckled. "In her defense, this might
be an unusually strong event."
Iris' body relaxed, she opened her eyes, and glared at
her big sister.
"And it's over," Amy purred, "and the wait for the next teasing
event begins." She released Scotti's shoulders, leaned
closer, and began massaging her rope-framed breasts!
"Mrrrm!" Scotti complained (or whined, or something). Amy
was teasing her nipples as well as her boobs, and the dark-pink
traitors were growing in response. Stop it
you two! Scotti silently commanded, but was ignored.
"There's only one more thing," Amy said, then her hands left
Scotti's breasts, she reached into her workshirt's left breast
pocket, and produced a pair of shiny steel clover-clamps!
Scotti's green eyes popped wide as she stared at the dangling
clamps in abject horror. And she continued staring as Amy
took hold of one clamp, letting the other drop to the end of the
connecting chain, teased Scotti's left nipple with her left
hand, then, slowly... carefully... closed the jaws of the clamp
over the nipple in question!
"Mrrrmpfh!" O the agony! O the suffering! O
the... mild discomfort! Scotti blinked in surprise.
The clamp didn't really hurt all that much. She could feel
it. It was definitely there. But she couldn't call
it a sting. And then, Amy closed the remaining
clamp on her right nipple! "Mrrk!" And to her
surprise, it didn't hurt either... much There was a
sort of burn, but it was a teasing torment, more of a
constant annoying presence than anything else.
And then, Amy hooked her right thumb around the clamps
connecting chain and gave it a tug... until it went taut and the
clamps lifted. "Mrrr!" Now that was a
sting. The spring-loaded things had pinched her
nips, and Scotti was decidedly unappreciative. Still...
while it had hurt, she could bear it. Go
And then, Amy stepped from behind the chair, strolled to the
side of the bed, leaned over her spreadeagled little sister, and
used a second pair of clover-clamps with connecting
chain to capture Iris' nipples!
Iris didn't even flinch in response, but her
anti-sister-gagged-glower was especially accusing and baleful.
Really, Scotti thought, rolling her shoulders, which
caused her boobs to wobble and the chain between her pair of
clamps to sway a little, I thought these things were
supposed to really hurt, but they're more irritating
than painful... also humiliating. Go figure.
Then, Amy smiled at both prisoners, returned to
the pink gym-bag, and pulled out a coil of thin braided cord
(coyote-brown in color), and two small steel snap-hook
carabiners. They were the key-ring kind, too small to be
of much use for rock-climbing.
And then, the naked, bound, gagged, and nipple-clamped prisoners
watched with great attention (see also dread, which became alarm)
as Amy did a little rigging.
When the proverbial dust settled, a snap-hook was snapped around
each of the clover-clamp sets' connecting chains, brown cord
tied to the other ends, then stretched up and over one of The
Cottage's exposed rafters, joining the captives
nipples-to-nipples! And the cord was taut, taut enough to
make the connecting chains taut and just enough to make
the clamps threaten to tighten and start pinching!
Scotti's nipples weren't exactly stinging, but the clamps and
cord arrangement was a strong deterrent against enthusiastic
squirming in her bonds and/or rocking her chair. She
assumed the clamps, carabiners, and cord assemblage was also
putting a damper on Iris's squirming efforts. And as far
as Scotti was concerned, Amy's inventiveness and callous
disregard for the comfort of her younger sister and their
charming house guest had reached a new level of
wickedness. If the elder DuPont's skin suddenly decided to
turn green, Scotti wouldn't be in the least bit surprised.
Meanwhile, Amy had dropped the pink gym-bag next to the black
rope-duffel-bag and was strolling around The Cottage, using a
butane pocket-lighter to light every candle she could
find. Once that was accomplished, she strolled to the
cottage door—Click!—pulled it open, turned off the
overhead lights—Click.—then posed in the threshold, the
very picture of the cruel, sadistic, beautiful, Villainous
Villainess. "Well... enjoy yourselves," she purred, then
pulled the cottage door closed—Click!—and was gone.
Really? Scotti mused, 'enjoy yourselves'? That's
the best you can do? As parting shots went, it was
pathetic. And speaking of pathetic...
The cottage interior was dimly lit by Scotti's dozen or so
candles, some of which were scented. In other
circumstances, it might have been called relaxing, maybe even
romantic, but Scotti was too preoccupied being naked,
chair-tied, gagged, nipple-clamped, and linked (via the ceiling)
by a taut, thin cord to the nipple-clamps of her gardening-buddy
Iris, who was naked, gagged, and spreadeagled on Scotti's very
Suddenly, Iris flinched in her bonds and shivered as she
experienced another bout of
Panty-Teaser-Hello-Kitty-torment. Iris' reaction had
transmitted an infinitesimal pinch to Scotti's nips, but she
couldn't blame the poor damsel. Without a doubt, this was
a real escalation of Scotti's research program. She
resolved that the next time she helped Iris with her gardening,
they'd use the occasion to plot an appropriate response to Amy's
indefensible wickedness... assuming they survived the night.
| Chapter 7