by Van © 2023
		Chapter 8

The up side of Kenzy and Gabby having the entire mansion to themselves was that nobody else was there to witness the Brave Stoic ginger's naked, bound, and gagged humiliation as she was dragged (led) down the stairs, along the hallway, through the kitchen, down to the basement, through the massive Gothic-style carved wooden door in the back, and into the Dungeon Maze.  (The Munro Sisters had decided "Dungeon Maze" was the logical label for the Nordberg's subterranean complex of secret chambers, the one that included the Ridiculously Over-Complicated Rack Room and who knew what else.  Sam had suggested labeling the elaborate main portal into the labyrinth the "Not-So-Secret Door," but that was still a topic of debate.)  Anyway...

The down side of being alone in the mansion with only an insane blonde for companionship was there was nobody home to rescue Kenzy from the clutches of Gabby, the kidnapping, bondage-happy, insane blonde in question.  This was bad, of course... for Kenzy.  For Gabby it was the reverse.  Anyway...

Clothing free, hobbled with traditional medical-restraint-style dark-tan (with white padding) ankle-cuffs joined by a too-short length of black bungee cord—her wrists cuffed behind her back by a pair of shining steel Irish-8's—gagged with a silicon rubber hideous-purple combination bite-protector, tongue trap, and general oral-cavity plug (which Sam called a "blob") with a taut strip of off-white medical tape covering her entire lower face from ear-to-ear and nose-to-chin—Brave Kenzy padded (defiantly) to her unknown fate, her green eyes flashing as she stared into the distance and concentrated on not tripping over her bare feet because of the hobble.  Tripping would be bad, of course, thanks to the cuffs.  She might not be able to catch herself, and Gabby was probably too busy gloating to even notice if it happened.

Resplendent in sandals and her sundress-of-the-day, Gabby shepherded her irate but otherwise compliant prisoner to the aforementioned unknown fate.  Once in the dungeons, the duo made turn after turn... passed iron-studded wooden door after iron-studded wooden door... and finally Gabby called a halt and used the golden barrel-style Magic Key she carried on the golden chain around her neck to unlock the door she'd seemingly chosen at random.  Click!  She opened the door in question...  Creeeee!  (The hinges needed oil.) ...and after the obligatory pause to gather her courage, Kenzy strode (padded) bravely across the threshold, her tape-gagged head held high, her green eyes still flashing, and her short-cropped ginger hair fluttering behind her like a Banner of Righteousness.  Also, her nipples were pointing in, uh, defiance—then she abruptly skidded to a hobbled halt as she got her first good look at the venue beyond and her first hint with respect to her still undisclosed destiny!

The chamber was about the same size as the Ridiculously Over-Complicated Rack Room, but with something like twice the lighting, all in the style of adjustable spotlights attached to an overhead grid, and all the fixtures were focused on the piece of furniture in the middle of the room.  Or maybe it was an armature.  A framework?

Whatever its proper designation, the object was stainless steel---shining brightly under the bright lights---complicated, and Kenzy quickly categorized it as undeniably ominous!  She also decided it was an excessively elaborate and antique examination-table, similar to the more simplified versions found in the offices of gynecologists (and mad scientists).  All of its elements were independently adjustable, including several brown-leather-padded sections that were currently arranged in a chair configuration with a seat, back, and headrest.  Also, there were steel troughs to either side, ready to cradle a hypothetical occupant's splayed legs.

And speaking of ominous, the "chair" was festooned with a plethora of dark-tan-with-white-padding medical-style restraints, similar to Kenzy's hobbles.  With respect to style, while the chair/armature was mostly stainless steel, its overall design was arguably "Victorian."  Nothing was sleek, streamlined, Modern, or Contemporary.  Its many articulated elements could be adjusted by means of gears and hand-wheels, all of which had a brushed finish and totally unnecessary engraved ornamentation.  In Kenzy's opinion, it would be totally at home in Victor Frankenstein's laboratory.

"Mrrrmfh," Kenzy remarked, her green eyes blinking.

"I know," Gabby agreed as she closed and locked the chamber door behind them.  (Creeeee!  Thud!  Click.)  "Gorgeous, isn't it?  A real work of art."  She led Kenzy forward.  "And just wait 'til you try it!"

"Nrrrm!" Kenzy objected, shook her arm free of Gabby's grip, took an involuntary step backwards, and bumped her bare rump into the back of the closed door.  Her immediate options were flight, fight, or total meltdown.  Unfortunately, Gabby's restraints and the locked door had put the kibosh on her first two choices, and no self-respecting tomboy would throw a hysterical tizzy-fit—even if she was naked, bound, gagged, presented with a scary piece of dungeon furniture, and in the power of a gloating blonde with a proven track record of bondage-kinkiness.  So... Kenzy blinked, stared at the chair-thing, ignored her pounding heart, and tried not to sweat.

Seconds passed...

"Well," Gabby purred finally.  "Take a load off already.  You don't think you're foolin' me, do ya?  I know you're curious, and trust me, you'll better understand this thing once you're sitting on it."

Kenzy continued staring... and blinking.

Gabby draped her left arm over Kenzy's freckled shoulders.  "You aren't... scared... are ya?"  She then leaned close, kissed Kenzy's tape-gagged lips, and whispered in her ear.  "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, Red... and by hurt I mean harm, of course, physical harm.  Anyway, don't be such a scaredy-cat... I mean sacredy-fox."

Kenzy tore her gaze from the chair-thing and glared at her smiling, gloating blonde tormentor.  Kenzy hated being called "Red," she was pretty sure Gabby knew it.  Also, "scaredy-fox" was ridiculous, and she wasn't scared ...much.  Continuing to glare, she shrugged Gabby's arm off her shoulder, stomped (padded) to the chair... and sat on the appropriate pad.  So there!

"I knew you weren't a wimp!" Gabby gushed as she stepped forward, knelt at Kenzy's feet, and began unbuckling her hobbles.

Kenzy watched the process.  She considered taking advantage of her no-longer-hobbled condition to give her smiling/gloating handler a swift kick in her smug face, but decided that would be rude... and then it was too late.  Gabby had lifted her left leg, settled it into the chair's left leg-trough, and buckled the trough's padded ankle-cuff around her ankle.  The grinning blonde then shifted her efforts to Kenzy's right ankle and leg... and now it was far too late for any sort of kicking, rude or otherwise.  Next, Gabby completed the task of helping Kenzy experience the full potential of the chair.  The glowering, pouting redhead's Irish-8 cuffs were unlocked... then quickly replaced with padded leather wrist-cuffs.  Next, dark-tan unpadded leather straps stretched across Kenzy's waist and above and below her breasts and were buckled tight.  More straps tightened across her legs, above and below her slightly bent knees, a pair of padded cuffs tightened around her forearms, another pair around her upper-arms, and finally, a padded collar tightened around her neck!

"Mrrrmpfh!" Kenzy complained.  The collar had been more than she could accept in stoic silence.

"Hold yer horses," Gabby laughed as she started turning a series of hand-wheels.  "Wait 'til I finish the adjustments, then freak out."

Kenzy didn't wait.  She continued complaining—"Mrrrrm!—and commenced tugging on her restraints and squirming against the chair's pads as Gabby cranked various hand-wheels and various gears and screw-shafts turned.  The chair's back lowered into a semi-reclined position, Kenzy's arms involuntarily raised to either side until they were even with her shoulders, and her already splayed legs became even more splayed, nearly into something bordering on a full split!  "Nrrrmpfh!"

"There," Gabby purred as once again she strolled to the area between Kenzy's legs, crossed her arms under her breasts, and smiled (like the gloating villainess that she was).  "Naked, bound, gagged, sequestered in a subterranean dungeon, no one to rescue you, no one even knows you need rescuing, and most important of all, no one to stop me from doing anything I want to do to you.  Poor helpless Kenzy!"

"Mrrrf!" Kenzy growled, staring daggers at the Evil Blonde.

"Well..." Gabby said after several seconds of imaginary daggers harmlessly bouncing off her smug body and wickedly gorgeous face, "I can't do much until I gather some supplies, so..."  She spun on her sandal-clad feet and strolled to the door—Click!  Creeeee!  Creeeee!  Thud!  Click!—then was gone, abandoning her prisoner/playmate in the Chair Chamber.

You better run! Kenzy silently groused, gave her bonds a brief perfunctory struggle, then settled in to wait.  It was her only viable option.

Actually, there was something she could do.  Since entering the Chair Chamber Kenzy had been preoccupied with the chair-thing itself, the furnishing that currently had her trapped in its padded embrace, but now she had an opportunity to examine the rest of her surroundings in detail.  There was a semi-blind-spot directly behind her head, but otherwise she was "free" to look around.  She squirmed against the cuffs, straps, collar, and pads and commenced her visual exploration.

It didn't take very long.

In addition to the door, most of the chamber's concrete walls were hidden behind the sort of elaborately carved and darkly stained Gothic-style cabinets, chest of drawers, wardrobes, and shelves she'd come to expect in Nordberg Mansion.  All the drawers and cabinet doors were closed, and the only things on the shelves were unlabeled cardboard and wooden boxes and a couple of glass jars which may or may not have had any contents.  She strained against the collar, trying to look behind her, and thought she might be seeing part of a deep sink... maybe.  It was possible the chamber had plumbing.  The floor was smooth concrete in need of a good sweeping.  Overhead—Yow!—she could see nothing but glare.  Looking up hadn't been a good idea.  She blinked her green eyes and waited for her vision to return to normal.

And... that was it.  Nothing to see here.  Move along.  Unfortunately, moving along would have to wait.

Five uneventful minutes passed... and then—Click!  Creeeee!  Thud!—Gabby returned, closing the chamber door behind her.  She was wheeling a serving cart, and on it was... some stuff.  Kenzy couldn't tell what as everything was covered by a green cloth.  Gabby left the cart in the general vicinity of Kenzy's splayed and bound legs... turned and strolled to a cabinet... then returned with some sort of... brown-leather-strap-thingie.

With understandable self-interest Kenzy continued watching as Gabby released her left ankle-cuff, then began strapping the aforementioned thingie around her left foot.  Eventually it became clear the collection of straps was a new form of foot restraint, sort of a cross between a sandal without a actual sole and a minimalist suspension cuff, at least in terms of function.  A cup settled under Kenzy's heel and narrow straps with tiny buckles tightened around her ankle, foot, and big toe.  Then, Gabby clipped the end of a long wire cable through a steel ring at the tip of the sandal-without-a-sole/foot-restraint, stepped back, and secured the other end of the cable to a dangling steel chain.  She then strolled to the wall, turned a windless, and the chain and cable tightened... Click-click-click-click-click... and went taut and lifted Kenzy's foot and ankle free of the steel trough.  Gabby then returned to the chair, released the straps binding the rest of Kenzy's left leg, spun on her heels again (still smiling her gorgeous, irritating smile), returned to the windless, and gave it additional turns.  Click-click-click-click-click...  The cable and chain shortened some more... and the final result was Kenzy's left leg completely free of the trough, stretched and fully extended, and about 40° above the horizontal with her foot on pointe.

Kenzy glared at her gloating, uh, handler?  She decided "handler" was as good a designation as any.  The "sandal-restraint" was more-or-less comfortable and evenly supported the weight of her leg... but what was the point?

Then, Gabby justified the label of "handler" by stepping close, smiling sweetly, and running her hands up and down Kenzy's left leg!

"Mrrrmpfh!" Kenzy complained.

"Just as I thought," Gabby purred, her blue eyes sparkling as she smiled at Kenzy's tape-gagged, glaring face.  "You've been neglecting your leg maintenance.  I can feel significant stubble."

Under Gabby's gliding palm Kenzy could feel the stubble too.  So what?  I'll shave my legs when I damn well want to shave my legs!  She glanced at the tray and whatever was under the green cloth.  Is that what this is about?  Shaving my legs?

"Not surprising, I suppose, Gabby chuckled.  "After all, you're such a tomboy."  And with that slanderous accusation, Gabby threw back the green cloth and revealed... several glass and plastic bottles, one small spray-can, three electric razors—one with an average-sized head, one small, and the third arguably tiny—two different multi-blade non-electric razors—average size and tiny—and a stack of green hand towels.  Assuming the contents of the bottles and spray-can were appropriate, it was everything Gabby could possibly need to shave the legs of a naked, bound, and gagged tomboy who  happened to be in her complete power.  "In any case, Kimiko-sama has strict grooming standards for all her students, and at the moment you don't meet them.  So..."

Kenzy tugged on her bonds and watched (in a furious but curious manner) as Gabby began sorting through the bottles on the cart.

"I assume you're a soap-and-water kinda gal," Gabby said.  "Either that or shave cream."  She selected a plastic bottle with a flip-top cap, and smiled at the label.  "I myself favor floral-scented grapeseed oil."  She popped the cap, gave the contents a delicate sniff, then poured a generous dollop onto her left palm, set down the bottle, rubbed her hands together, and shifted her smile to Kenzy.

And then... without so much as a by-your-leave... Gabby slathered a generous coating of oil on Kenzy's left leg, from her ankle to her upper thigh (replenishing the oil on her palms as needed), and there was nothing Kenzy could do to stop it!  Okay, she could complain, but what was the point?  She could also send a steady stream of imaginary daggers in Gabby's grinning, gloating, gorgeous direction, which she did, even though she knew full well the mental cutlery was as pointless (pun intended) and ineffectual as would be any hypothetical gagged complaints.

And then, having rendered Kenzy's leg stretched, immobilized, and glistening with oil, Gabby cleaned her hands with a towel, selected one of the multi-bladed non-electric razors, and set to work!

Despite her best efforts, Kenzy flinched at the moment of contact between her skin and Gabby's razor.  She was afraid the sensation of having her leg involuntarily shaved by a person other than herself might fall under the general category of "tickling," but as it turned out, not so much.  Kenzy was fully cognizant of the well established principle that it was impossible to tickle yourself, that tickling had to be done by someone else (like, say, Gabby Nordberg for one random example).  Therefore, it was a reasonable proposition that involuntary second-hand leg shaving might be a ticklishly titilating situation, but as it turned out... it wasn't.  Go figure.  (And thank God!)

Anyway, gentle-but-firm gliding stroke followed gentle-but-firm gliding stroke as Gabby worked her way up Kenzy's leg from ankle to calf... to thigh... pausing now and then to wipe the razor with a towel.  And all the while the Evil Blonde smiled like a wicked, gloating villainess who was really enjoying herself.  It was disgusting... but at least it didn't tickle.

Kenzy had to admit the situation was kinda... erotic... as was the sensation of the aforementioned gentle-but-firm gliding razor as it depilated her leg... all the way up to her upper thigh!  Of course, however, dyed-in-the-wool tomboy that she was, Kenzy's only possible response was to ignore the gentle caress of the razor and to glare at her gorgeous groomer's smiling face.

When Gabby was finished removing the barely-even-there stubble from Kenzy's left leg... she used a different oily product to give the leg in question a cleansing aftershave rubdown... followed by a brisk toweling (which Kenzy also decided wasn't at all erotic).  The Evil Blonde then released the pseudo-sandal strap, cable, and chain foot-restraint from Kenzy's left foot... re-secured her left leg to the chair's steel trough with the ankle-cuffs and the above and below the knee straps... then turned her attention to the still unshaven right leg.

The release and re-restraining sequence was repeated, and now Kenzy's right leg was in full stretch with the foot on pointe—and the entire involuntary stubble removal process was repeated!  Brave, stoic, and with a firm grip on her emotions, Kenzy endured the second half of her not-at-all-erotic grooming trial with Angry Defiance.

Finally, both of her legs were glistening with a light, residual coating of oil, smooth as the proverbial baby's behind, her right leg was back in the right trough and the ankle and thigh cuffs buckled tight, and her not-at-all-erotic ordeal was over... or not.  Actually, as it turned out, there was a third segment of Gabby's grooming plan, and it shifted the erotic/sensual aspect of the exercise into high gear!

Kenzy's legs were already bent at the knee and splayed apart (somewhat wider that the manner of a typical visit to the gynecologist's office), but she watched with trepidation as Gabby turned the appropriate hand-wheel... gears turned... and her legs spread even further apart—and then, Gabby pushed the cart with her shaving tackle a few inches closer and focused her smile on Kenzy's lewdly displayed crotch region!

Enough was enough!  "MRRRF!" Kenzy remarked as she vigorously shook her head (as vigorously as the padded collar buckled around her neck would allow).  "Nunnn!  Nuh-uh!"  Kenzy was not gonna let Gabby shave off her pubic hair!  No-sirree!  No way!  (Not that there was anything she could do to stop her, of course.)

"Don't have fox cubs," Gabby chuckled as she placed a generous dollop of oil on her left palm, rubbed her hands together... then began giving Kenzy's upper thighs, lower tummy, and pussy a slow, gentle, oily massage!

Erotic?  No, ya think?  "MRRRF!" Kenzy reiterated.  She tugged on her restraints and squirmed under the chair's tight straps, which only served to emphasize her total helplessness.  She also shivered in, uh, outrage.  Yes, it was outrage.  It certainly wasn't in response to her handler's oil-slick, sliding, gliding hands.

"Settle down," Gabby purred.  "I wouldn't dream of shaving off such a pretty ginger briar patch.  I'm only going to do a little... 'ladyscaping.'"

Continuing to feign outrage and anger was no longer possible.  Kenzy watched in tape-gagged, wide-eyed horror as Gabby selected a rather ominous electric razor from her instruments of torture... adjusted its even more ominous comb-like attachment to its maximum length—Click-click-click-click—turned it on—Buzzzzz!—then used it to delicately thin Kenzy's ginger patch... just a little.  The changes in the bush's general, uh, bushiness was nearly unchanged, as far as Kenzy could tell, but the experience was... remarkable (in a barely perceptible vibratory manner), and begrudgingly she had to admit her ginger lady garden was now arguably neater.

Next, Gabby smiled and delicately blew away any extraneous ginger clippings not trapped in the glistening oil... which Kenzy didn't find at all disturbing... then selected the multi-blade non-electric razor with the tiny head, and began carefully trimming the verge of Kenzy's garden.  She took her time, using careful, delicate strokes and using the fingers of her left hand to grip Kenzy's labia and stretch her skin to make the job easier!

Her eyes clenched tightly closed, Kenzy shivered in her tight, inescapable bonds as Gabby completed the grooming task.

"There," Gabby said quietly, then used a towel to brush (and/or scrub) away any residual clippings, stubble, and oil.  She then replenished the oil on her hands and gave Kenzy's private parts an after-ladyscaping massage.  Finally, she used the towel to give the shivering redhead's crotch a brisk rubdown.

Kenzy gazed down at her crotch, as best she could.  The overall acreage had only been reduced by about a third, and all the margins were now starkly defined.  The overall shape was triangular, as it had always been, but everything was neater.  She hated it.  She had no choice but to hate it.  It was pretty, and she was a tomboy and proud of it!

"I was thinking of sculpting your patch into the shape of a fox-head," Gabby purred, "but pubic topiary is usually rather... busy.  Don't you agree?"

Very funny, Kenzy silently fumed.  Actually, the "pubic topiary" line was pretty funny, but she wasn't about to reward her handler/groomer by responding to any humorous efforts with gagged giggling.  Kenzy continued glowering.

Gabby's smile turned rather coy.  "Ever hear of 'Red Oil,' Kenzy?" she inquired as she straightened the shaving supplies and equipment, then rolled the cart and to the chamber door.  She then returned to the area between Kenzy's splayed legs, smiled, and crossed her arms under her breasts, once again.  "Red Oil?  No?"

Kenzy blinked a few times, then shook her head (as best the wide padded collar would allow).

"I'm not sure of the exact ingredients," Gabby said, "but I believe the essential oils of stinging nettles and various species of very hot red peppers are combined or distilled or whatever.  Anyway, the result is a reddish-amber fluid with a syrup-like consistency, and when applied to bare skin it causes a truly remarkable itching and burning sensation.  It slowly builds over the course of about an hour and a half... then fades to nothing in about six more hours.  The affected skin remains hypersensitive for days.  Some claim for up to a week."

Kenzy blinked several more times.  Tomboy or not, Red Oil sounded scary.

"I've never had an opportunity to play with the stuff myself," Gabby continued, "but Nora says she's witnessed it in action.  Supposedly, if you use a fine-tip brush to paint the fold between the major and minor labia, then coat the clitoris and the nipples, all the way to the edge of the areolas, the results are... amazing.  We've got a vial of the stuff around here somewhere.  Do you want me to look for it?"

Kenzy blinked a few more times... then glowered at the wicked blonde.  Scary?  Yes, but she was sure Gabby was bluffing.  The entire Red Oil thing might even be total fiction.  She wouldn't put it past her... the blond ratfink!

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Gabby chuckled, turned the appropriate hand-wheel to reduce the splay of Kenzy's legs from semi-full split to about 45°... then spun on her sandal-clad heels and strolled towards the door.  "Allrightie then.  Congratulations.  You're now in full compliance with Sensi's grooming standards.  Whenever we get a better idea of exactly when Kimiko-sama wants to conduct her first lesson, I'll let you shave my legs."  She indicated the chamber with a vague gesture.  "Not down here, of course, but up in my bedroom."  Her smile widened.  "I'll let you tie me to my bed first.  Ciao!"

And with that, Gabby unlocked and opened the door—Click.  Creeeee—pushed the cart across the threshold and made her exit—Creeeee.  Thud.  Click.—closing and locking the door behind her.

You better run! Kenzy silently huffed, then her eyes widened.  No, wait, come back!  The Evil Blonde Ratfink was going to just leave her here?  She was being abandoned in a subterranean dungeon and strapped to the combination gynecological/barber chair for who knows how long?  Why?  The answer was obvious.  Gabby Nordberg really was an Evil Blond Ratfink!

Kimiko-sama returned from her mountaintop meditation late in the afternoon, just minutes before the triumphant reappearance of the Nora-Danica-Sam Shopping Expedition.

The Nordberg SUV crunched across the gravel driveway to the garage, the shoppers piled out, gathered their booty, and entered the mansion.  Judging by the number and volume of the various shopping bags and boxes, the outing had been a rousing success.  Also, there was a truly remarkable and totally unexpected change that did not go unnoticed by the residents who had remained behind: Sam was wearing a new outfit!  And it was girl clothes!

Gabby and Kimiko smiled and complemented Sam on her new look.  Kenzy smiled (and managed not to laugh).  Nora and Danica beamed like the proud shopping consultants they'd been.  Sam blushed.

Gone were the tomboy's "formal" sneakers, shorts, and borrowed blouse, and in their place were a stylish pair of sandals and a very pretty sundress!  The mid-thigh-length frock was bodice-style and sleeveless, with a plunging neckline, spaghetti-straps, very little back, and was in a bright Hawaiian print, white hibiscus blossoms and green leaves on a red background!  Everyone was obnoxiously effusive in their compliments, with the exception of Kenzy, who grinned in sisterly silence.

Her cheeks bright crimson, Sam focused a fierce frown on her older sibling.  "Shut up!" she growled.

"What?" Kenzy chuckled.  "You look good."

Hands on hips, Sam continued glaring at her sister.

"No, really," Kenzy stated (and managed to refrain from laughing).  "That's a very nice dress.  You look... absolutely precious."

Sam balled her hands into fists and lunged at her sister, but Danica managed to hold her back.

"Stop it!" Nora commanded with a laugh, "both of you!"  She then leaned close and planted a maternal kiss on Sam's still blushing right cheek.  "You look great, Samantha."

"Great!" Danica nodded with a happy smile.

"Yeah, great," Gabby agreed.  "Very, uh... female."

Kimiko smiled but remained silent.

Nora glared at Gabby, then smiled at Kenzy.  "Don't worry, darling," she purred.  "I'm taking you shopping next weekend.  I absolutely refuse to host house-guests who don't own a single proper dress.  What if I decide to throw a garden party?"

"But if you do that," Gabby objected, "we'll all need to buy ridiculous hats."

"Good idea!" Danica nodded.  "Big floppy sunhats!"  She frowned.  "Or should we go for those high-fashion, completely non-functional head-sculptures they wear at Royal garden parties?"

"Stylish, wide-brim sunhats, of course," Gabby decided.  "Sunscreen smears the makeup."

"Quiet!" Nora laughed, then took hold of both of Sam's hands.  "You look very pretty, Samantha," she said, "and there's nothing wrong with being pretty."

This did not help Sam with her blushing problem.  "Thanks," she said in a near whisper, "and thanks again for buyin' me this thing."

"You're welcome, dear," Nora replied, then focused her smile on Kenzy and nodded.

Kenzy blinked a few times... then took the hint.  "Uh, you look pretty, Sam.  Very pretty.  Just don't wear that thing to work."

Still blushing, Sam managed a smile.  "Wouldn't think of it.  Thanks."

"That is a pretty print," Gabby stated, then grinned at Kenzy.  "I bet we could find something similar for you in a nice manly Aloha shirt," she purred.

"Don't be such a jerk," Danica scolded her older cousin, then gathered her purchases and nodded at Sam.  "C'mon," she commanded.

Sam gathered her purchases as well and the youngsters departed.

Kenzy watched Danica and her suddenly pretty little sister depart, then turned to Nora.  "That was very nice of you," she said, "but you don't need to buy me anything."

"Oh, I insist," Nora laughed as she gathered her purchases.  "One of the great pleasures of being rich is buying nice things for your friends.  And who knows, maybe I will throw a garden party."

"Buy her a formal and a sundress," Gabby suggested.  "That way we'll be ready for both garden and dinner parties."

"Good idea," Nora chuckled as she made her exit.  Kimiko smiled and departed as well.

Now that they were alone, Kenzy glared at Gabby.  "I don't need charity," she huffed, "and I am not letting Nora buy me a formal gown."

"It's not charity," Gabby responded.  "Nora really does enjoy buying things for others.  Isn't it obvious?"

Kenzy rolled her eyes.  "Okay, but I'm still not letting her buy me a ridiculously overpriced dress that can only be worn at fancy soirées."

How 'bout an LBD?" Gabby grinned.  "Little Black Dress?  Every gal needs an LBD."

Kenzy rolled her eyes again, then stomped away.  "You really are a jerk," she growled (and stifled a smile).

"I try my best," Gabby chuckled as she casually strolled in Kenzy's wake.

Danica turned at the sound of her bedroom door opening.  It was time for bed and she'd already made her trip to the bathroom down the hall for her evening toilette.  The nightie she'd chosen to wear lay across her bed, and she was about to start removing her sandals, sundress, and undies.  She did not remember extending any invitations for late night visits.

Sam was standing in the threshold, resplendent in her typical pajamas of panties and a tank-top and nothing else, hands on hips, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, and one of her trademark "saucy smirks" (as Danica called them) curling her lips.

Danica rolled her eyes.  "May I help you?"  It was then she noticed the modest coil of white parachute cord dangling from her uninvited and unexpected guest's right hand.

Sam entered the bedroom, closed the door behind her—Thud—then resumed her Heroic Stance.  "I told you you were gonna pay," she growled.  "I saw you conspiring with your mother, pointing at the dress rack, then pointing at me.  Don't think I didn't.  It's your fault your mother made me try on all those dresses, then bought me the red Aloha-dress and made me wear it."

Danica couldn't help but smile.  "The sandals were my fault too," she admitted.  "You have very pretty toes.  Wiggle them for me."

"No!" Sam refused.

Danica shrugged her shoulders, then nodded at the coil of paracord.  "What are ya gonna do with that?"

"Don't be dense," Sam said as she padded forward.  "I told you.  I'm gonna make you pay."

As it turned out, by "paying" Sam meant vigorously helping Danica remove her sandals, panties, and sundress, but not helping her into her frilly/skimpy nightie.  It also meant wrestling Danica's wrists behind her now naked back, crossing them atop her now naked butt, and lashing them together between, around, across, and every other way Sam could think of.  The final knot was tied between Danica's forearms where they met her now tightly paracord-tied wrists, and with the very short free ends tucked under the other strands.

Sam took a step back and watched as Danica bit her lower lip in an adorable pout, rolled her shoulders, twisted and tugged on her wrists, and did her best to free herself.  After several seconds of fruitless Courtesy Struggling... the naked and now bound blonde favored her grinning captor with her best pitiful pout and heaved a truly tragic sigh.

Okay, that's a start," Sam purred.  "Now, where did you say you hide your bedroom stash of bondage goodies?"

Danica affected a unmistakable air of Haughty Disdain.  "I didn't."

"Tell me," Sam demanded.  "Where's your gym-bag full of rope and ball-gags and mouth-stuffing-rubber-globs and tape and who-knows-what-else?"  She nodded across the bedroom.  "The closet?"

Danica doubled down on her righteous scorn.  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might, uh, incarcerate me.""

"No problem," Sam chuckled.  "I'll start my search in here.  I'm sure I'll find more than I need to thoroughly deal with the likes of you."  She padded to the chest of drawers.  Then, starting at the top, began rummaging through its drawers, one-by-one.

Danica watched with sullen resignation, unconsciously tugging on her bound wrists.  Her captor had already found her scarf collection, and was about to open her belt drawer.

"Eureka!" Sam crowed in triumph as she opened the drawer in question, rummaged around inside, quickly selected several narrow leather belts of various colors and styles, and tossed the tinkling mass onto the bed.  She then led (dragged) her naked and wrist-bound captive blonde to the bed and encouraged her to recline (meaning shoved her onto the mattress)!

"Hey!" Danica complained as she bounced, then watched with renewed sullenness as Sam selected an inch-wide brown belt with a dull gold buckle, forcibly bent her left leg, and used the belt to bind her lower-leg to her mid-thigh.  The Wicked Ginger then used a ¾" butternut belt with a snakeskin finish and a bronze buckle to bind her right lower-leg to her right mid-thigh.  Both belts were the kind with appropriately spaced holes running down nearly their entire lengths, so Sam was able to achieve the appropriate flesh-dimpling tightness without difficulty.  The dangling tongues of the belts were long and unsightly, even after being tucked through their retaining loops, but you can't have everything.  Anyway, Danica was now... frog-belted?  The naked, helpless blonde decided that was as good a classification of her leg-bondage as any.

"Voila!" Sam gushed, then gathered the remaining belts and tossed them off the bed and onto the floor.

With her knees bent and legs strapped Danica was more-or-less confined to her bed... and while she could squeeze her legs together, she knew Sam was strong and would easily be able to pry them apart whenever she wanted to.  Arguably, she was in a potentially vulnerable and unladylike situation.  "All I did was suggest to Mother that she should buy you a nice dress," she huffed.  "If I'd wanted to, I could have talked her into buying something really girlie, with several yards of flounced ruffles and in a shade of pastel pink not found in nature."

Sam delicately shuddered at the thought of wearing such a monstrosity, then pulled the covers out from under her naked and bound prisoner, climbed onto the bed next to her, leaned to the side and turned out the bedside reading lamp, then pulled the covers up to their shoulders.

"This is mean," Danica pouted.

"Hush," Sam said quietly, "or I'll gag you.  Your panties are on the floor somewhere, and I know where you keep your scarves."

"Meanie!" Danica whispered in an accusatory tone.

"I said hush," Sam purred, "or I'll so this."  She grabbed Danica's right breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Danica opened her mouth to complain (or maybe yelp in surprise, outrage, and/or pleasure)—"Mrrrf!"—but her protest (the aforementioned yelp) was intercepted and muffled by the arrival of Sam's lips and tongue.  The shivering blonde supposed it could be called a "kiss-gag."

Sam took her time, showing Danica all sorts of things she would do to her if she didn't keep quiet, and the Ginger Avenger was methodical, demonstrating her full repertoire of possible "punishments" (as she called them), then repeating each and every one several times and in random order, for added emphasis.

The naked, helpless blonde squirmed and wiggled and tugged on her bonds, but truth be told, she didn't really mind being "punished" by the wicked ginger for instigating her mother's generosity.  She knew it was just Sam's peculiar, adorable, tomboy way of saying thank you.

◄

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

►