by Van © 2023
		Chapter 1

tom•boy (tŏm′boi′)  n.
	1.	A girl who behaves in a way that is stereotypically masculine, often dressing in a boyish way and liking rough outdoor activities.  See also hoyden.
	2.	Either one of the Munro sisters.

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Kenzy Munro

Sam Munro

Kenzy and Sam Munro were incurable tomboys.  Always had been.  Always would be.  Deal with it.

They were also inseparable, even though big sister Kenzy was a little over 30 and three-and-a-half inches taller than her five-foot-four and a-little-over-twenty baby sister Samantha ("Sam").  Did they bicker like a pair of alley cats?  Well, yes, but everybody agreed the siblings loved each other like crazy.  Sam could be a handful, but she knew "Big Sis" always had her best interests at heart and was neither a tyrant nor a total buzzkill.

Oh-by-the-way, the Munros were redheads, as in flaming redheads, with the green eyes and fair, peach-pink complexions prone to freckling that went with it.  Also, Kenzy and Sam kept themselves in great shape—great curvaceous shape—and they were lookers, blessed with even and undeniably attractive features.  Kenzy kept her ginger locks cropped short and off her shoulders while "Baby Sam's" copper-red curls were habitually long and flowing.  While working she pulled them back in a scrunchy-enforced ponytail while Kenzy usually relied on elastic headbands to keep her shorter locks pulled back and out of her face.
 
Tragically, the sisters had been orphaned just as Kenzy reached legal adulthood, so she'd had to shoulder the twin burdens of finishing raising Sam while completing her apprenticeship and earning her general contractor's license.  It hadn't been easy, but they'd managed.  Their parents modest legacy had helped, as did Sam's idol worship of her older sibling and an unshakable desire to follow in Kenzy's footsteps and become a professional handy-woman.  Sam followed Kenzy everywhere, and Kenzy would do anything for Sam... within reason.  After all, Kenzy was the senior partner in Munro & Munro and somebody had to be responsible and/or mature.

The sisters led a semi-nomadic existence, but didn't mind it in the least.  They both enjoyed traveling and took jobs all over the Pacific Northwest.  Their 2016 F-150 Maverick (in "Area 51" gray-green) was outfitted as a home-away-from-home and mobile workshop.  If they arrived at a remote job and there was no place to stay, they pitched their tent (an Alto TR-1 from REI) and made do, but that very rarely happened.  Their clients almost always had a spare room they could share 'til the job was done, or they could find a reasonably priced motel somewhere nearby.

Recently they'd been crashing in an old shack on a friend's farm, but the truck was packed up and they were ready to move on in the morning to their latest gig—and it looked to be a very promising gig.

Through mutual friends they'd been hired to start an open-ended renovation of the great big gothic-style mansion of a family of blondes they'd never actually met.  The mansion in question was a five hour drive away on the far side of Stevens Pass, and based on phone calls and e-mails exchanged with the clients, it looked like mostly rewiring and carpentry work; but as always, the first step would be a full inspection of the entire structure for any safety issues.  Depending on what they found, there could be days, weeks, or even months of meaningful employment ahead of them, and the client had promised they could stay in a pair of spare bedrooms and meals would be provided.  Also, supposedly, a complete workshop was available that should greatly expedite their progress.  That was something else that would require an initial inspection.  Some clients considered half a workbench and a few old hand tools to constitute "a complete workshop."

Anyway, Kenzy had stripped to her usual pajamas of panties and a tank-top or t-shirt and was about to slide between the sheets of one of the shack's six crude-but-functional twin-size beds.  (Apparently the structure had begun life as a bunkhouse for seasonal workers.)  She watched as Sam emerged from the shack's washroom, naked and with a damp towel thrown over her shoulder.

"You didn't leave a mess in there, did you?" Kenzy demanded.  "I don't want to delay our early morning departure, so you need to clean up after yourself tonight."

Sam rolled her green eyes as she hung up the towel to dry and donned tomorrow's panties and tank-top.  "Pl-eeeze.  I did.  You know me better than that."

Kenzy grinned.  "Just asking."  She was lying on her back and resting the back of her head on her hands.  "Remember the plan.  I meet with the client while you start the initial survey.  Let's hope they have a set of general plans for us to work from.  Otherwise, you'll have to make floor-by-floor drawings."

"I always get stuck with the boring stuff," Sam huffed as she padded to the wall switch next to the shack's front door and turned off the overhead lights.  Fortunately, there was enough moonlight leaking through the shack's closed curtains for her to easily find her way back to her borrowed bed.

"You get stuck with the scutwork 'cause you're the bratty little sister," Kenzy purred.  "Goodnight."

"Shut up!" Sam groused as she turned onto her side, smiled, and closed her eyes.  "Goodnight."

Nora Nordberg

As was her habit most evenings, Nora Nordberg was reading a chapter or two of her current novel before turning in.  She was wearing a flimsy negligée from her extensive collection,  That is, frilly panties and a thigh-length baby-doll top.  A matching dressing gown was draped across the foot of the bed.  This particular ensemble was silky, whisper-thin, and about as substantial as a puff of white smoke.  It did very little to conceal her toned physique and very feminine curves, but although Nora was lying on top of the bedspread and therefore totally exposed to the evening air, the bedroom's thermostat had been set high and she was quite comfortable.

Objectively and without a doubt, Nora was a hottie, even if she was in her fifties.  She wore her flaxen hair in a short and stylishly tousled crop, her smooth, firm skin had a healthy tan, her eyes were sparkling blue, and her features symmetrical and undeniably beautiful.  Add into the mix her full-cheeked smile and pleasant demeanor and Nora was stunning... a virtual Viking Queen or Nordic Goddess.

Just then (and without so much as a courteous knock) the door flew open and Nora's niece Gabrielle (or "Gabby") breezed into the bedroom, beaming her usual angelic (impish) smile.  Like Nora, she was a physically fit blonde with tan skin and blue eyes; but was something like twenty years Nora's junior.  Gabby's flaxen locks were straight, cut longer than Nora's, and was parted down the middle to frame her face.  Like her aunt, Gabby was quite beautiful, especially when she was smiling, like now.  Also like Nora, she was dressed in a short, frilly, gauze-thin, baby-doll nightie with panties but no bra; however, Gabby's negligée was periwinkle-blue rather than white, and there was no sign of a matching dressing gown.

Gabby Nordberg

"Why aren't you ready?" Gabby demanded (still smiling).

Also smiling, Nora marked her place with a bookmark and closed the book, then placed it on the bedside table.  "I am ready, silly.  You mentioned this at breakfast and I reassured you it was already marked on my calendar, remember?"

Also still smiling, Gabby rolled her eyes.  "That doesn't explain why you're wearing that ridiculous nightie.  Are you channeling Deborah Walley in The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini?"

"Why shouldn't I be wearing a ridiculous nightie?" Nora purred.  "You didn't tell me not to."

"I'm telling you now."  Gabby waved her right hand with an imperative gesture.  "Strip."

Nora rolled her eyes, then graceful slid to the side, stood, pulled the gauze-thin top over her head, pulled down her frilly panties, dropped them atop the dressing gown, then reached for the ceiling in a back-arching stretch.  "Eyaaaah."

"Back on the bed," Gabby ordered as she padded across the bedroom and entered Nora's walk-in closet.

Her lips still curled in an amused and tolerant smile, Nora followed her niece's command and resumed her supine position on the now slightly rumpled bed.

Metallic rattling noises emanated from the closet... then Gabby returned carrying four lengths of shining steel chain, each with a steel cuff attached!  The chains were 3/8" gauge and the cuffs something like 2" wide, with smooth, ½" thick walls.  They closed on embedded barrel-style locks.

Nora's smile became an amused pout.  "I thought you were going to use the medical restraints," she sighed.

"Do I look like a Nasty Nurse?" Gabby chuckled as she walked around the bed and dropped a cuff and chain on each corner of the mattress.

"Maybe a Nasty Nurse out of uniform and ready for bed?" Nora purred.

Gabby rolled her blue eyes, again, then lifted Nora's right hand and closed the nearest cuff around her wrist.  The lock engaged with an audible and authoritative click.  She then walked around the bed and captured Nora's right ankle... left ankle... and left wrist in the remaining three cuffs.  Click... Click...  Click.  In each case the cuffs were a snug fit.  Clearly, they'd been carefully sized and shaped to match the anatomy of a damsel with Nora's measurements.

Nora heaved a theatrically tragic sigh and continued watching as her "Evil" niece made a third circuit of the bed and secured the far ends of the four chains.

Nora's bed was an antique, Gothic-style, four-poster model and was rock solid.  One could take a firm grip and rock any one of the ornately turned and carved posts with all one's strength and the frame wouldn't even shake.  Just above the level of the mattress, each of the posts featured a hefty bronze collar.  They spun on ball-bearing mounts and featured the snarling head of a lion cast in bronze.  Gabby had pulled a gold-toned barrel-key on a light gold chain from under her frilly top and between her breasts.  At each post she turned the collar—Click-click-click-click!—until the lion head faced Nora and the middle of the mattress, then inserted the barrel-key in a lock in the backside of the collar and gave it a turn.  The lower jaw of the lions head dropped with a snap, she inserted the terminal link of the closest chain, turned the key back, and the lion's jaw snapped closed.

The end result was Nora flat on her back with her limbs flung wide in a full spread-eagle.  She gave the cuffs and chains the traditional and expected Courtesy Struggle and the chains rattled and shook, but it was clear the links were probably strong enough to defeat the best escape efforts of a seriously annoyed brown bear.  Nora had two or three inches of slack in all four directions, but clearly she was on the bed to stay... or at least until Gabby took pity and released her.  Fortunately, all the surfaces of the cuffs were smoothly polished and the inside edges "comfortably" rounded, so Nora was in no immediate danger of damaging the delicate skin of her wrists and ankles.

Nora completed her fruitless struggles, lay back, heaved another tragic sigh, then turned her head and batted her beautiful baby-blue eyes at her captor.  She also wiggled and squirmed her naked and semi-stretched body (just a little... for added effect).

Gabby was unmoved.  Actually, that wasn't true.  She moved.  Specifically, she spun on her bare feet and padded back to the walk-in closet.

Nora lifted her head and watched her villainous niece depart... gave her "cruel chains" another tug... then smiled and relaxed.

Gabby returned almost immediately holding a bundle of brown leather straps.

Nora's smile disappeared.  "No!" she objected, tugging on her chains with greater enthusiasm.  She recognized the brown bundle.  "Not that one."

"Yes, that one," Gabby chuckled as she climbed onto the bed, straddled Nora's squirming body, and settled a goodly portion of her arguably modest weight on her aunt's flat tummy.

"Oof!  Get off me, you horse!" Nora groused.  (It was clear from the twinkle in her blue eyes, however, that she wasn't really angry.)

"Nay," Gabby answered with a grin.  "And that's 'nay' as in no, not 'neigh' as in the noise a horse makes."  She then began the involved process of preparing the complicated arrangement of straps and buckles for its intended use.

Nora heaved a disgruntled/disgusted sigh.  The "arrangement" in question was a brown leather head-harness and panel-ball-gag of an unusual design.

Its brown leather straps and shining steel buckles would tightly cage a hypothetical wearer's head, passing on either side of her nose, across the crown of her head, across her forehead, and under her chin.  It would also anchor a panel of chamois-thin leather that would press against the wearer's mouth and lips; however, the panel had a horizontal double-pleat and its white silicon-rubber ball was on the outside of the panel, rather then the more traditional inside, where it would already be plugging the wearer's mouth.

Also, the ball was secured by a pair of black bungee-cord-like straps.  So, if the wearer held her mouth closed, the panel would press against her lips and the ball against the panel, but it would remain outside.  But if she relaxed her jaw, the pleat would part and both the chamois-thin leather and the ball would cram themselves into her mouth!  The gag was only marginally effective as a damsel-silencing device with the ball and panel in the outside position, but was relatively comfortable; however, with the panel and ball inside the wearer's mouth, it was both much more effective as well as much less pleasant to wear.

So... if Nora wanted to sleep comfortably (naked and spreadeagled on her bed in steel chains) all she had to do was keep her mouth tightly closed... all night.  If, however, at some point after falling asleep she happened to relax her jaws, the ball-gag system would instantly take advantage and pop into her mouth!  Nora knew from experience that if (when) that happened, it was possible to work her jaws and use her tongue to expel the panel and ball, but it required concentrated, vigorous, and usually prolonged effort.

So... the head-cage/gag was simultaneously cruel and kind.  It promised the wearer a night of relative comfort, but that comfort was highly unreliable.  While wearing the insidious device Nora had never made it through an entire night without the panel and ball cramming themselves into her mouth at least once... and usually several times... and eventually she'd just given up trying to expel the invaders and accepted her well-gagged fate.  O the fiendishness!

Finally, Gabby had the head-cage strapped in place, the bungee-cord-straps stretched, and the ball "primed" and ready.  Gabby's fingers then busily fussed in an effort to evenly distribute Nora's blond curls between the brown straps.

"Mrrrmpfh!" Nora complained, glaring at her smiling niece/captor.

Smiling sweetly (evilly), Gabby leaned close. planted a light kiss on the tip of Nora's nose, than sat back, cupped her naked, spreadeagled, and gagged prisoner's breasts with her two hands, and gently squeezed.  "Pleasant dreams," she purred, "and pleasant struggling... and remember, it'll be your turn to entertain me the eighteenth of next month.  Tonight should be a good chance for you to start thinking up something good.  You know how I like it when you manage something original."

Nora watched (glowered) as her smiling niece climbed off the bed, straightened the drape of her flimsy nightie, turned off the reading light on the bedside table, padded to the bedroom door, blew her helpless "victim" a kiss, then turned off the overhead light and made her exit.  Thud.  That was the sound of the closing door, of course.

The prisoner-of-the-bed tugged on her chains... just on general principles... and... not to her great surprise... found herself to be inescapably bound and gagged.  Actually, Nora had to admit the hard steel cuffs and shackles weren't all that much less comfortable than the leather medical restraints, but they weren't padded, and they were hard.  All things considered, she preferred the leather, but it hadn't been her choice to make.  It had been Gabby's.

Next month it would be Nora's turn, of course, so before relaxing and attempting to drift off to sleep, she followed her niece/captor's suggestion and began mentally reviewing her bondage options.  Unfortunately, Nora and Gabby had been playing this game for a very long time, so originality had long since become a significant challenge.

Danica Nordberg

Danica Nordberg was in a bit of a huff.  Mother and Cousin Gabby liked to pretend it was a great big humongous secret that tonight was the night they'd scheduled to play their regular monthly game, but she wasn't stupid.  She'd figured it out.  She always figured it out.  Tonight was the night and at this very moment Gabby was doing something, uh, restrictive to her parental unit... which was yucky and didn't bear thinking about... but that was neither here nor there.  The important thing was that nobody was doing anything fun to poor Danica!

Also Kimiko-sama, the Nordberg's business manager (and resident Kinbaku sensi) was on one of her periodic trips to New York to do boring business stuff and would be gone for another week, so even she was unavailable as a playmate... not that Kimiko-sama was a regular and reliable playmate when she was home.

That left only one option.  If Danica was going to play tonight, she'd have to be her own playmate.

Danica already had a plan and she'd already set it in motion.  After completing her evening business in the bathroom down the hall, she'd stripped to her birthday suit, turned up her bedroom thermostat, and retrieved a certain black nylon duffel-bag from the back of her spacious closet.  It contained several related items, but tonight she's zipped open its main compartment and one of its side pockets to extract only three things, all of which were now resting atop her neatly made bed.  They were:

1. A folded bundle of black synthetic fabric.  When unfolded, it would reveal itself to be a "sleepsack," a body-hugging sheath of two-ply nylon and Lycra fabric that when stretched in place would completely envelop and cocoon its wearer from the neck down.  It incorporated a pair of interior arm sheaths/sleeves to encase the wearer's fingers, hands, and arms and hold them against her sides, and it closed by means of a long, heavy-duty zipper that ran from the wearer's upper thigh region all the way up to the sack's mock-turtleneck collar.  The zipper had two sliders and pulls, so the top slider could be zipped closed to snugly and safely secure the sleepsack, while the bottom slider would be available to be partially opened to allow access to the wearer's crotch area.  Tiny D-rings were solidly sewn into the zipper's stops at the top and bottom.  They allowed the pulls (and therefore the sleepsack) to be secured with tiny heart-shaped padlocks, but Danica had left the locks and their key-ring in the side-pocket of the duffel-bag.

2.  A leash of braided nylon webbing of the kind designed to take a pet for a walk.  It was red, about 4' long and ¾" wide, with a wrist loop at one end and a steel snap-hook at the other.

3.  A gag, and it was a somewhat unusual gag.  Danica had discovered the manufacturer (Silencicone) on the internet, had made an initial purchase, and now several items from their product line were in the Nordberg Mansion collection.  Danica found this to be a source of great pride for some reason.  She'd made a personal contribution to the family kink!  Anyway...

This particular Silencicone model was molded from translucent, virtually clear medical-grade silicone and included a matching strap that would buckle at the nape of the wearer's neck to secure the mouthpiece in place.  As for the mouthpiece itself, it was... complicated.  It filled the wearer's mouth much like a ball-gag, but incorporated top and bottom bite-protectors, a cup to contain the tongue, a curved panel, and a half-sphere.  Properly sized and fitted it didn't trigger the wearer's gag reflex, was as effective a damsel-silencer as any ball-gag, and could be worn for hours in relative "comfort"—at least that was Danica's experience and opinion.

Danica had carefully and gently shoved the gag into her mouth, seated her teeth in the appropriate trays, slid her tongue into the slot, then tightened the strap and buckled it at the nape of her neck under her semi-straight, longish, and unarguably quite attractive pale-blond hair.  Her cheeks bulged and she was gagged.

So far so good.  Now all she had to do was zip herself into the sleepsack and enjoy an hour or two of cozy encasement-bondage.

That was where the leash came in.  There was a decorative (but functional and quite useful) iron ring set in the center headboard of Danica's Gothic-style four-poster bed.  The naked, gagged, and unarguably hot little blonde threaded the wrist loop of the leash through the ring, pulled the rest of the leash through the loop, and thus secured the leash in place with a neat cow-hitch or lark's head knot.  So far so good.

Next, Danica climbed onto the bed, pointed her pale, dainty feet, and slid them into the sleepsack, followed up with her smooth, equally pale legs, continued pulling up the sack until her wiggling toes bottomed out, then continued sliding the rest of her smooth, fit, trim, curvaceous and pale body inside the black sheath, stretching the fabric as needed.  By the way, Danica's skin wasn't unnaturally pale, but simply Nordic-fair, not especially prone to tanning, and likely to burn pink if she made the attempt.  She'd learned to live with it, wearing lightweight fabrics and long sleeves in summer and always rolling down said sleeves when she worked in the garden or went hiking.  Also, she had a collection of decorative and functional wide-brim hats—but no bonnets.  Danica drew the line at bonnets.

Anyway...

Once she was enveloped a little beyond half-way, Danica tucked her right arm into the right interior arm-sleeve, tucked her right shoulder into the sack's right shoulder, then continued pulling up the zipper until she had no choice but to slide her left arm into its sleeve or call the whole thing off.  However, being the clever girl that she was, Danica had clipped the end of the red leash to the top zipper pull and was using the technique of "scooching" to zip the zipper the rest of the way up without using her hands.  That is, she was repeatedly bending her knees, planting her encased feet on the mattress, then sliding her body down the bed.  She would then plant her feet again and slide down the bed again, lather-rinse-repeat.  Only a truly graceful ballerina and/or acrobatically gifted young lady like Danica could have accomplished such a feat.  Okay, almost anyone could do it, but Danica was graceful and acrobatic.

The final result was Danica lying atop her bed and completely encased in the skintight sleepsack.  She squirmed up the bed until she was in the proper position with her encased feet and gagged head where they belonged and the red leash no longer taut.  She gave her black nylon and Lycra prison a tentative squirm... then a more enthusiastic squirm... and confirmed that she was a ninety-something-plus-percent helpless prisoner.  Of course, to release herself all she had to do was spin her body 180° on the bed so her feet were facing the headboard and her head the foot, then scooch herself down the mattress once again.  This time when the red leash went taut it would pull the zipper down until she'd be able to finish freeing herself.  This wasn't Danica's first sleepsack rodeo.  Reverse-scooching worked just as well as "normal" scooching.

So... self-bondage mission accomplished!  Danica was "free" to helplessly languish in the elastic full-body embrace of the sleepsack until she decided she'd had enough.  Poor Danica was helplessly encased, and she was gagged and couldn't call for help!  And if some nefarious person happened upon her in her current condition, they'd be able to do anything they wanted to her, and all she'd be able to do would be to pathetically mewl through her Silencilone-gag and squirm in the stretched, python-like embrace of her nylon and Lycra cocoon!  O the drama!

Just then, Murphy's Law reared its ugly head, the door opened, and arguably the most nefarious resident of the mansion padded across the threshold and into Danica's bedroom—uninvited!

"My, my.  What have we here?" Gabby chuckled as she padded towards Danica's helplessly encased form and the bed.

Danica's big blue eyes popped wide—"Mrrrfh!"—then she wiggled and squirmed in place and started the required spin to free herself—but was too slow.  She'd already known there was no way she'd be able to execute the escape maneuver before Gabby's intervention, but she had to try.  Anyway...

"Oh no you don't!" Gabby chuckled as she leaned down and with one deft move unclipped the leash from the sleepsack upper zipper-fob and tossed the end of the leash to the side.  Danica was now more than ninety-nine-percent zipped into the sack to stay.  There was no way any amount of wiggling, squirming, bucking, kicking, or rolling on her part would cause either end of the zipper to work itself loose and start opening on its own.

Nonetheless, ever the dutiful damsel, Danica continued squirming inside her self-imposed captivity.  She also watched as Gabby gazed (gloated) down at her tightly cocooned form... from her wiggling feet to her toes to her rolling shoulders.

"Hmm..." the nightie-clad villainess purred with an amused pout.  "Not good enough, I'm afraid."

Danica lifted her gagged head and watched her Evil Cousin bend at the waist and fumble in the duffel-bag she'd left on the floor beside the bed.  There was a metallic rattling noise... then Gabby stood erect, now with the two tiny heart-shaped padlocks and their matching key-ring dangling from her right hand!

"Nrrrm!" Danica objected (whined) as Gabby leaned over the bed, threaded one of the padlocks through the D-ring and zipper-fob over her upper thighs, clicked it closed—Click!—then did the same to the D-ring and fob under her chin—Click!  Danica's stretched fabric envelope was now 100% secure.

Gabby crossed her arms under her boobs and resumed gloating.  She was still smiling, of course.  In fact, she'd never stopped.

Danica continued squirming and wiggling.  She'd never stopped doing that either.

"I suppose I could pull the body-harness out of the bag and make doubly sure you're still like this whenever I decide to return," Gabby purred.  "I could also stretch the Gwen hood over your head, then buckle the dog collar around your neck so everything would be nice and snug."  She nodded at the headboard.  "You've already been nice enough to deploy the leash for me, so I could clip it to the collar and make sure you stay on the bed where you belong... but the harness has all those snap-buckles to deal with, and arranging your hair properly to get it all under the hood is such a pain... and I'm already exhausted from dealing with your mother, so... enough is enough.

The body-harness in question was a system of steel rings, nylon-plastic snap-buckles, and nylon webbing straps that would tighten over the sleepsack (and its occupant).  Once in place the straps—which in this case were red, to match the leash—would yoke Danica's shoulders and tightly bind her body every five or six inches down its entire length.

The Gwen hood was a simple, strap-less, black nylon and Lycra version of the classic open-face hood first imagined by John Willie in his classic Gwendoline and the Missing Princess.  Only Danica's nose, baby-blue eyes, and forehead would be exposed, and the fabric would be tightly stretched, matching the sleepsack—but Danica had to admit that Gabby was right.  Tucking her hair under the hood was always a pain in the butt and the body-harness did have a lot of buckles.

As for the dog collar, it was a dog collar—thick, wide, hefty, made of more red nylon webbing, and was intended for use on a big dog (or a dainty damsel like Danica).  However, it would be no big deal for Gabby to deploy.  Obviously, her villainous older cousin was just being a lazy lump.

Truth be told, now that the self-bondage requirement was moot, Danica would just as soon Gabby went all the way and did secure her in the harness and hood and tether her to the bed with the collar and leash.  She was already 100% helpless, but 200% helpless would be even better, right?  Too much is never enough.

Also, the two "handy women" would be arriving sometime tomorrow and she might not be able to play again for some time... possibly until they finished their work and left... which mother had said could be months!  If Danica was going to be a captured damsel all night, forced to wiggle and squirm in her tightly stretched cocoon of black nylon and Lycra, cruelly self-silenced with an insidious Silencicone-gag, and forced to contemplate her theoretical Cruel Fate until dawn... they might as well go all the way, right?

Danica batted her sad blue eyes, mewled through her gag—"Mrrrm!"—and squirmed on the bed.  She knew she was an enticing (see also seductive) sight, but short of resorting to blinking her eyes in Morse code, communicating her desire for Gabby to stop being such a sloth and deploy the remaining contents of the duffel-bag was problematic.

Gabby watched her young cocooned cousin wiggle on the bed for several seconds... then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.  "Sweet dreams," the wicked blonde said as she gracefully stood erect, pirouetted on her bare feet, and padded towards the bedroom door.  "Goodnight," she added as she turned out the overhead light, crossed the threshold, and closed the door behind her.  Thud.

"Mrrrmpfh" ("Goodnight"), Danica called after her... then heaved a gagged sigh and settled in to wait for morning... when her captor would return and magically transform into her rescuer.

Chapter 2

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