by Van © 2020
			Chapter 2

Skilled and experienced amateur rigger that she was, it didn't take Skye very long to bind and gag her naked BFF in exactly the same manner she'd bound and gagged Harper.  Pallavi and Harper's situations were identical, their backs and butts against adjoining steel support columns, wrists crossed behind said columns, white cotton clothesline binding them in place from shoulders to ankles, and gagged with strips of white medical tape with their own panties stuffed in their mouths.

They were works of art, in Skye's humble opinion, and at the moment, Skye's opinion was the only one that mattered.  Smiling as she admired her squirming handiwork, Skye was the very picture of gloating satisfaction.

Harper: naked, bound, gagged, the nipples of her pert, milky-white breasts pointing, her mostly freckled skin smooth and firm, and her neatly trimmed, dark-blond pubic bush and flushed hoo-haw on open display... totally helpless.

Pallavi: also naked, bound, gagged, the nipples of her tan and much fuller breasts pointing, her uniformly tan skin smooth and firm, and her neatly trimmed, black pubic bush and flushed hoo-haw also on open display... totally helpless.

Skye held all the power!  Skye was in charge!  Skye was the boss!  Yes, Skye was satisfied.

And then she wasn't.

Identical is boring, Skye decided.  Her two victims (meaning playmates) weren't identical, so why should their bondage be identical?  It was an affront to Desimopo ("Bondage-babe"), the muse of bondage.  Actually, there was no recognized muse of bondage, but Skye figured there ought to be, so she made one up using Google Translate in English-to-Greek mode.  Anyway... Harper was just fine the way she was.  As for Pallavi...

Skye's helpless victims watched (with understandably keen interest) as Skye stooped, reached back into her gym-bag of bondage goodies, rummaged around, and pulled out a neatly coiled bundle of white "parachute cord."  Still smiling, she sauntered towards Pallavi and her column, swinging her hips in a seductive manner.  Skye couldn't help it, meaning both the smile and her hip-swinging being seductive.  Skye had accepted a long time ago that she was naturally beautiful, gorgeous, and alluring, and therefore seductive.  Why fight it?

Pallavi's slightly worried, brown eyed gaze was locked on the bundle of cord.  She had a good idea exactly what Skye had in mind.  She continued watching as her captor unraveled the coil and found its center, threaded the looped center under the cotton ropes above and below her breasts, and formed a lark's head or cow-hitch.  Pallavi heaved a deep sigh of tragic proportions as Skye pulled out all the slack, the cord slithered through the hitch, and the bands of clothesline came together to form an "X," squeezing her breasts from the top and bottom.

This wasn't Pallavi's first rodeo.  Far from it.  Skye liked tying up her boobs, and obviously she was doing it again.

In the course of her research, Skye had learned that separating a doubled rope was frowned upon by bondage aficionados.  There were exceptions, of course, and prominent among them was boob-binding.  She tied a hitch to maintain the tension (which required more cord-slithering as she pulled the free ends through the second hitch), then set about the task at hand.  Deciding to start on the left, she took turn after turn around the base Pallavi's left breast... something like twenty turns.  She make the resulting coils tight, but not excessively tight.  The boob in question didn't turn purple.  In fact, it only flushed a slightly darker shade of tan (compared to the rest of Pallavi's totally tan body).

Binding Pallavi's left boob required a lot of lifting, shifting, and general manipulation of the fleshy globe in question, but Skye didn't mind (and Pallavi didn't have anything to say about it).

Pallavi's right breast received symmetrical treatment, then Skye lifted and tied the free ends of the cord together behind Pallavi's neck, lifting her bound breasts just a tad and turning the arrangement into what might be called a cord halter-top.  The arrangement both squeezed and lifted Pallavi's flushed, bulging boobs.

Skye thought her final enhancement of Pallavi's situation was nigh on perfect, icing on the proverbial cake.  Pallavi's boob-balloons were very pretty.  She grinned, formed her fingers into feline claws, and lightly scratched the boob-balloons in question.  Her helpless victim (and BFF) winced and shivered in her bonds.

The sensitive state of Pallavi's bound breasts confirmed, Skye took a step back, spun on her heels, blew each of her naked, bound, and gagged victims an air-kiss, then scampered across the basement, up the stairs, turned off the basement lights, and closed the kitchen door.

Harper and Pallavi's dungeon was now in near total darkness.  The only illumination came from the feeble glimmer of the window-wells and the orange glow of the space-heater.  The helpless, naked, bound, and gagged damsels heaved tragic, simultaneous sighs... and settled in to wait for their nefarious kidnapper to decide she was their rescuer.

The next Monday...

---

Mothers are not stupid.  In point of fact, mothers know everything.  Mothers know all.  Mothers are omniscient.  Skye might think her biological mom was clueless about to her serial bondage shenanigans, but she was mistaken.  Also, Jodi Gilroy, the bio-mom in question, was resourceful.

Citing the excuse of Home Security (including the discount on her home insurance premium that would ensue) Jodi purchased and had installed a set of compact (2" x 2") and unobtrusive video cameras.  They were connected to her home computer via Wi-Fi, were motion-activated, and automatically switched to low-light mode in the dark.  Camera #1 was a specialized door-bell camera looking out onto the porch from the front door; camera #2 was positioned to cover both the living room and entryway from the inside; and camera #3 was tucked under the eaves in a back corner of the house, positioned to monitor the outside of the kitchen door, most of the backyard, and the bulkhead door leading to the basement.

Skye knew all about the system and enthusiastically approved.  The doorbell camera was especially helpful with expediting pizza deliveries.

What Skye didn't know about, however, was camera #4.  Using her do-it-yourself skills, Jodi had installed the camera herself while Skye, Pallavi, and Harper were out of town on a weekend camping trip to Olympic National Park.  Camera #4 was in the basement, discretely tucked in a corner and up near the ceiling, deep in the shadows.  It was positioned to cover most of the room, and while it wasn't actually hidden, per se, Jodi knew that Skye would have to really look for it to see it, and why would she go looking for it if she didn't know it existed, right?

Jodi absolutely refused to spy on her daughter, but home security was home security.  Granted, she strongly suspected the basement was one of her darling daughter's favorite bondage prank venues, but it was also a "public space," right?  It wasn't like she was monitoring Skye's bedroom.  That would definitely cross the line.  Anyway...

Jodi was taking a break in the private "Boss Office" (as the shop-girls called it) in the back of Plumeria, enjoying a cup of tea and using her iPad to review the events that had transpired in her basement the previous Friday.  A grim smile curled her lips as she gazed at the video images on the screen.  On the one hand, she was proud of her daughter's acquired rigging skills.  On the other, she was worried that her Skye was on a dangerous path, one that could eventually lead to disaster.

Granted, Pallavi (Jodi's gorgeous non-biological daughter) and Harper (adorable, hardworking, cute-as-a-button Harper) were willing participants in Skye's games, but it was only a matter of time 'til something unforeseen happened and Skye's life blew up in her face.

Skye's hobby needed... structure, boundaries, a more defined path.

Camera #4 had captured excellent images of Harper's post-tie captivity from the front.  Pallavi's bondage was depicted from the side and at the edge of the screen, but was also clearly visible.  Jodi had positioned the camera to capture as much of the basement as possible, but some degree of compromise had been required.  Anyway, it was clear exactly how Skye had tied up her friends and that she'd done a very good job.

Just then, the office door opened and Kanoa entered, a happy, dimpled smile on her beautiful face and the day's freshly-delivered mail in her right hand.  She noted Jodi's pout, carefully closed the office door behind her, then started sorting envelopes into the appropriate in-boxes.  "Worse than you thought?" she inquired with a grin.

Jodi sighed.  "Her rigging skills are first rate," she huffed.

"And have been since she was twelve years old," Kanoa chuckled as she flopped into the office chair on her side of the double-desk the partners shared.

"Skye's rigging skills were adequate when she was twelve," Jodi muttered.  "Now... first rate."

Kanoa continued smiling.  "It's time," she stated.

Jodi heaved another sigh.  "Maybe."

Kanoa reached across the desk, took hold of Jodi's right hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Skye is as smart as they come, anything but lazy, and her instinct for customer service is first rate... just like her bondage skills.  And we could trust her with all the bookkeeping if we wanted to.  She'd make an excellent floor manager... but her heart isn't in Plumeria or fashion in general, and you know it.  You've said so yourself."

Jodi nodded.  "I have."  She focused on her good friend and business partner.  "Pallavi is already a de facto floor manager.  All the other girls love and respect her.  Everybody loves Skye as well, but my little hellion has no ambition to be more than the simple shop-girl she was in high school.  She helps out in the office because we ask her to.  Her passion is... elsewhere."

"Make the call and beg for a meeting," Kanoa urged as she rose from her chair.  "I'll go along for moral support."

Jodi sighed yet again, and managed a smile as Kanoa headed for the door.  "We should promote Pallavi, immediately."

Kanoa paused with her hand on the doorknob.  "I agree, but it can wait 'til after we handle the Skye situation.  For now, Pallavi will be just fine as an unofficial manager."  And with that, she was gone, back out on the show floor to supervise the shop-girls.

Jodi stared at the iPhone lying on her side of the desk for several long seconds... then picked it up, opened her contacts list, and placed a call.  "Hello, Mistress," she said when the call connected.  "Kanoa and I would like to make an appointment... to talk."

Two days later, with Pallavi acting as Floor Manager back at Plumaria...

---

Lacey Monjeau lived in a very pretty Victorian-style house on the edge of town.  It was surrounded by three acres of cedar woodlands, set well back off the highway, and afforded plenty of room for her "Lifestyle Consulting" business, as well as the required privacy.  There were the usual sitting rooms, parlors, and bedrooms, a modern kitchen, and a finished attic, but a surprisingly small basement.  The basement in question was host to all the usual utilities and had storage shelves and the usual clutter, but the space was quite obviously much smaller than the footprint of the house.  There was a very good reason for that, but that's a topic best left for another time.

Precisely on time, Jodi and Kanoa arrived at the gravel parking area between the main house, a charming garden shed, and the detached garage.  They were not early for their appointment, however.  The scheduled time of their appointment was also the expected time of their arrival.  It wouldn't do for one of Lacey's arriving customers to encounter one of her departing customers, and the consequences of arriving late were simply too horrible to contemplate.

I might as well confirm what you probably already suspect: Lacey Monjeau was a professional dominatrix.

Anyway, with Kanoa at the wheel of her BMW (Jodi being too nervous to drive), they arrived, crunched across the gravel to the front gate, past Lacey's tasteful business sign, down the front garden path, and up the porch steps to the front door.  Both were dressed in stylish, light, airy summer dresses and very pretty sandals.  As always, they were walking advertisements for Plumeria.

They waited patiently at the front door... stealing glances at their watches to confirm that the seconds were, indeed, counting down to the specified start of their appointment.  (They didn't even think about ringing the doorbell.  That would imply they were summoning Mistress.  One learned quickly that one did not summon mistress.)

Seconds passed as Jodi and Kanoa waited patiently... and the time of their appointment came... and went.  Despite the evidence of their watches, Mistress was not late.  Jodi and Kanoa might be slaves to the tyranny of the clock (and Mistress), but Mistress was slave to nothing.

Finally... the door opened and Mistress (Lacey Monjeau) was there!  She was dressed much like her visitors, which was only a little surprising.  After all, Jodi and Kanoa were only there to talk and Mistress was one of their regular customers at Plumeria, so there was no logical reason Lacey (Mistress) should be "in uniform," meaning poured into one of her skintight, super-sexy, super-scary, mostly leather outfits (which most definitely had not been purchased at Plumeria).

Lacey was beautiful, as always.  Her long, gleaming, raven-black curls were loose about her shoulders, framing her symmetrical, smiling, stunning face,  Her fair-complected skin was smooth, firm, and flawless, and her figure athletic and unmistakably feminine.  Her pale blue eyes and full lips smiled in welcome.  Without a doubt, Lacey was gorgeous.  And while she was welcoming, there was no question who was in charge.  In charge of what, you might ask?  In charge of everything!

Polite greetings and kisses were exchanged.  To a hypothetical outside observer, Jodi and Kanoa were two well dressed friends greeting a third, but there was no outside observer, real or hypothetical.

"We'll do this in the greenhouse," Mistress decreed as she turned and strolled away.  "Island Girl, tea," she ordered.  "Freckle Face, with me."  ('Island Girl' was Kanoa's slave name and 'Freckle Face" was Jodi's.)  Both visitors were very familiar with the layout of Mistress' lair.  Kanoa hurried towards the kitchen while Jodi followed Mistress, one full step behind as was proper and expected.

The greenhouse was spacious and architecturally true to the Victorian style of the house.  It was one of Mistress' favorite venues in the entire dwelling (above ground, anyway).  There were hanging baskets, large pots on iron stands, and very large freestanding pots, all holding arrangements of annual and perennial flowers, ferns, miniature fruit trees, bromeliads, or orchids.  The atmosphere in the greenhouse was warm and humid, fragrant with the aroma of healthy soil and the perfume of countless blossoms.  This time of day, direct sunlight filtered through a retractable interior awning of loosely woven green fabric.

Lacey settled into her accustomed chair, the largest, most comfortable, and undeniably throne-like of four wrought-iron chairs clustered around a wrought-iron table with a glass top.  Jodi pulled back the chair on Mistress right, obviously preparing to sit, and Lacey's lips pursed into an amused but disapproving moue.  "Freckle Face," she purred, "what are you thinking?"

Jodi blushed and blinked in alarm.  "Sorry, Mistress," she gasped, then scurried to a low cabinet off to one side and began to undress.  Jodi had violated protocol!  She'd assumed that since she was only here to talk, the visit would be on a more, uh, casual level.  Obviously, she was wrong, or from a fashion point of view, entirely correct.  One can't dress more casually than total nudity.

Soon, Jodi's dress was neatly folded and resting on a shelf inside the cabinet, next to her sandals and neatly folded panties and bra.  Naked as the proverbial jaybird (or submissive slave) she padded back to the table and stood behind the half pulled out chair, her feet eighteen inches apart, her arms folded behind her back, forearms together with her hands clutching their opposite elbows, and her gaze on the tiled floor.

Mistress let Jodi contemplate her appalling faux pas for a few seconds... then indicated the chair with a graceful gesture.  "Sit," she ordered.

Jody completed pulling back the chair and settled into its forest green padding, as ordered.  Her knees were a very unladylike twelve-inches apart, her arms on the chair's padded rests, and her hands palms-down with her fingers gracefully curled.  This was how a slave sat, allowing Mistress' gaze to fall where it may—on Jodi's thighs, pussy, curly red bush, flat tummy, breasts, nipples—wherever Mistress cared to look.  A slave enjoyed only as much modesty as Mistress decided to allow.

Just then, Kanoa returned, carrying a tray laden with a very pretty English tea set (a Royal Albert pattern, if Jodi wasn't mistaken).  Oh-by-the-way, unlike Jodi, Kanoa had followed proper protocol and changed into her birthday suit back in the kitchen.  That is to say, she was completely naked.  She set the tray on the table, then took a step back and assumed the position—feet apart, arms folded behind her back, and head lowered.  She'd stolen a glance at her best friend and fellow naked slave during the process, and a ghost of a smile curled her lips and dimpled her cheeks.

Jodi managed not to glare at her business partner and best friend, but it was a near thing.  Does she know I violated protocol? she wondered, then did glare at her best friend.  You should have reminded me to follow the rules when we were back in the car, Jodi fumed.  She knew I was nervous.  Jodi was mostly angry at herself for breaking protocol, but Kanoa was a ready target... a naked, curvaceous, richly tanned, gorgeous target.

"I'll be mother," Mistress announced as she poured herself a cup of tea, added milk, then took a sip and sighed in contentment.  "Well done, Island Girl."

Kanoa smiled (slightly, carefully) at the complement.  "Thank you, Mistress."

Mistress focused on Jodi.  "Freckle Face," she said with a cheerful smile, "be a dear and strap Island Girl to a chair for Mistress, will you?"

Jodi and Kanoa exchanged a brief, knowing glance.  Turn of phrase not withstanding, Mistress did not make requests.  Mistress delivered orders.  Jodi scrambled from her chair and padded to a second cabinet near the one holding her clothes.  She gathered what was needed, then returned to the table.  In her absence, Kanoa had pulled back a chair and sat in the required and expected position with her legs spread wide and her forearms resting on the armrests.  Jodi knelt and set to work.

Soon, Kanoa was, indeed, strapped to her chair.  Tight, broad, straps of ballistic nylon bound her ankles to the front chair legs; with similar straps binding her widely splayed lower thighs, just above her knees.  Her wrists and forearms were strapped to the armrests and her waist, upper-arms, and chest (just above her breasts) to the chair's back.  All the straps were secured by generous strips of Velcro and locking friction buckles.  Jodi made sure all the Velcro was firmly seated, then pressed the locking tabs flush with their buckles, one by one...  Click, click, click, click, click, (etc.)  ...and the deed was done.

"Gag her," Mistress ordered.  "Use...  oh, let me see... a panel-gag, as well as your panties, of course."

"Yes, Mistress," Jodi said quietly, then scampered back to the cabinets.

Kanoa squirmed in her bonds, smiled (slightly), and gazed at her Mistress.  "So... no tea?"

"Don't be cheeky, Island Girl," Mistress purred, but fortunately for Kanoa, she was smiling.  Island Girl hadn't gone too far.

Jodi returned to the table, stuffed her own crumpled panties into Kanoa's mouth, seated the 1½" silicon rubber plug of a black leather panel-gag over the silky wad, then buckled the gag's strap at the nape of Kanoa's neck, under her long, straight, glorious, sun-streaked hair.  The gag in question was not the most stringent in Mistress' inventory, but the addition of Jodi's unmentionables greatly enhanced its efficacy.  Kanoa was now naked, chair-bound, gagged, and completely helpless.

Jodi, on the other hand, was merely naked (and submissive).  At a nod from Mistress she settled back into her chair and watched as Mistress poured her a cup of tea.  She took a careful sip, then lowered her gaze to the table.  Jodi very much wanted to focus on Kanoa's captive nudity, but that was out of the question.  (She made a mental note to gloat about this unexpected turn of events when the visit was over and they were back in the safety of Kanoa's BMW.)

"So, Freckle Face," Mistress said finally, "you have the temerity to suggest that I might require an apprentice, and that your darling daughter would be perfect for the position."  She heaved a rather theatrical sigh.  "It's almost as if you want me to punish you... severely."

Jodi blushed and took another sip of tea.  "Mistress.  Please.  I would never..."  She knew Mistress was kidding, of course, but the conversation was not off to a good start.  She stole a glance at her naked, bound, and gagged companion over the lip of her teacup.  Kanoa's eyes were smiling above her bulging cheeks and the broad, tight strip of gleaming black leather pressed against her lower face.  So much for moral support, Jodi silently huffed.

Mistress picked up an iPad resting on the table, turned it on, and began scrolling through a series of photographs of the prospective apprentice in question.  Jodi had e-mailed them to her immediately after the phone call setting up the appointment.

Of course, Lacey already knew Jodi's diminutive, adorable daughter.  Skye had waited on her on several occasions while she shopped at Plumeria.

The little ginger was a scamp and trickster, cute as the proverbial bug, and sharp as the proverbial tack.  That much was obvious.  Also, the adorable little dynamo let nothing get in the way of providing customer service.  On more than one occasion, Skye had talked Lacey out of purchasing a more expensive dress, blouse, or accessory in favor of a less expensive, equally stylish, but more versatile alternative.  Skye understood what was truly in Plumeria's best interest: customer satisfaction and the promise of repeat business.

Also, Skye Gilroy couldn't be any cuter... or more beautiful.  However...

Mistress shifted her gaze from the iPad to Freckle Face.  "Age?"

Jodi blushed.  "Twenty-two," she answered.  "Almost twenty-three."

Mistress raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "I'll need a copy of her birth certificate.  Notarized."

"Yes, Mistress," Jodi responded, carefully suppressing a smile.  "So," she ventured, "you're willing to give it a try?"

Mistress chuckled and shook her head.  "You and I need to have a very long and involved discussion before I even consider accepting Skye Gilroy as my apprentice."  She paused to take a sip of tea.  "And there remains the question of your punishment, of course."  Her smile became unmistakably wicked.  "Really, Freckle Face.  Such foolhardy impudence.  Delivering ultimatums to your mistress?  Parading in front of Mistress wearing clothing?"

Jodi's heart was hammering, but she wasn't really scared.  She sipped her tea before changing the subject from her supposed unacceptable behavior.  "Skye is happy.  I'd even say she's very happy.  But retail fashion isn't her passion.  She works at Plumeria to please me."  She glanced at Kanoa.  "To please us.  And because she has to work somewhere."  She sipped her tea again before continuing.  "But I can tell that being a shop-girl isn't what she wants to do with her life.  The problem is she hasn't decided on anything else, and Plumeria is safe.  I want to show her an alternative she hasn't considered.  An alternative more in line with her... recreational interests."

"A career as a dominatrix," Lacey purred.

Jodi nodded.  She stole a glance at Kanoa and found her friend's eyes were still smiling above her gag (and she was still naked, tan, gorgeous, and helpless.)  I'll deal with you and your attitude later, Jodi silently promised, then sipped her tea, again.

"Well," Mistress said quietly, "I have an actual appointment in about an hour and a half.  So... we'll finish our tea, then you'll release Island Girl so she can scamper home."  She took a sip of tea and gazed at Jodi over the rim of her teacup.  "You will be spending the night," she decreed.  "I'll tuck you away someplace, nice and comfortable, until after close of business.  Then, we'll have a nice supper and plenty of time to discuss your daughter's past, present, and future in the required detail."

Jodi blinked (nervously) and sipped (gulped) her tea.  Being tucked away someplace "nice and comfortable" was code for being stringently bound in rope and/or leather, gagged so she couldn't scream, and entombed in one of the many soundproof secret cubbyholes hidden around Mistress' lair.  So far, Jodi was familiar with a coffin-size chamber built into the floor of the garden shed, an upright gym-locker-sized alcove hidden in an attic wall, and an exceedingly cramped cubical space built into the back of a second floor closet.  She wasn't looking forward to spending the next few hours naked, bound, gagged, and sequestered in a tiny, restrictive, lightless prison.

Kanoa shifted her openly amused gagged gaze from Jodi to Lacey.  Mistress was still smiling, and Kanoa was very familiar with that smile.  Mistress enjoyed watching naked, beautiful women (like Jodi Gilroy) squirm in dreadful anticipation.  Kanoa was also well aware that Lacy was their good friend as well as their Dominatrix.  Mistress was sympathetic and supportive of Jodi's desire to ensure her daughter's future happiness and would give the proposal at hand careful consideration.

And then, Kanoa noticed that Mistress' pale blue eyes were focused on her.  Oops!

"Don't think I don't see you sitting there all smug and amused, Island Girl," Mistress purred.  "I'll deal with your impertinence at a future date."  Her smiling gaze lowered to Kanoa's breasts.  "You know how much I enjoy playing with that delicious pair of yours.  I have a bra on order that will be just perfect for you... meaning them.  You'll love it.  It's more-or-less a pair of hemispherical wire cages lined with a hundred or more needle-sharp points... each.  I'll let you know when it arrives."

Now it was Jodi's turn to smile at her nervous friend; however, as she wasn't gagged, she found it much more of a struggle to mask her amusement.  (Not that Mistress was in any way fooled, of course).