by Van © 2020
permutations of I'm-in-trouble! and Woe-is-me!
cycled through Skye's fevered brain for the next few
minutes. She wiggled and squirmed inside the tight hemp
web of her box-ladder-Karada-tie semi-suspended bondage,
overriding the complaints of her tied-together big toes and
knot-nudged clit. She couldn't help herself. It was
impossible to stand still. Skye was naked, bound, and
gagged in a fully equipped torture chamber!
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Skye reflected that she did
the same thing when she visited the dentist. She squirmed!
No matter how painless and necessary the procedure, Skye
couldn't help but clinch her fists, point her toes, and wiggle
in the chair. And in the office of Dr. Anna Melzl, DDS,
she wasn't naked, bound, and gagged (not counting the
times the Dental Assistant felt it necessary to cram cotton pads
between her teeth and gums). Here, in Mistress' Torture
Chamber, she was naked, bound, and gagged!
And then, Mistress returned!
Apparently, wherever she'd gone to put the black spandex hood in
to soak wasn't far—and Skye no longer thought of Lacey as
"Lacey," or even as "Mistress Monjeau." Dressed as Lacey
was, and naked and helpless as Skye was, and given their current
surroundings, Skye could only think of her hostess/captor as...
Mistress smiled at her prisoner/guest. An objective
observer would probably consider Lacey's expression to be
more-or-less friendly (and absolutely gorgeous), but
Skye was anything but objective. To Skye,
Mistress' smile was wicked and chilling.
"There's no reason to continue gagging you," Mistress purred in
her husky, alto, very sexy
voice. "No practical reason,
anyway. This chamber is completely soundproof. A
potential rescuer could stand in the outer basement and hear
nothing, no matter now loudly or persistently you might scream
for help. But rescue is not the issue.
Psychologically, an effective gag can have a devastating effect,
taking the feeling of helplessness to a higher level.
You're unable to beg for mercy or do anything to influence
unfolding events." Mistress' smile became a
dread-inspiring smirk. "Except by making whimpering,
whining, well-muffled, and highly entertaining noises, of
Skye watched as Mistress spun on her boot-heels and (swinging
her undeniably sexy hips) sauntered to a row of whips, riding
crops, multi-tailed floggers, paddles, and canes hanging from a
row of steel hooks. Skye continued wiggling in her
incredible rope bondage, panting and sweating. Understated
sarcasm, voiced or unvoiced, was something of a Skye Gilroy
trademark, but at the moment, some pithy, nonchalant observation
regarding Mistress' obvious interest in the hanging instruments
of torture arrayed before her was not forthcoming.
What was filling
Skye's very worried consciousness, however, was the phrase Oh-my-god! running
in a continuous loop.
After several seconds, Mistress selected a bundle of twenty or
more individual canes with a handle of tightly wrapped braided
cord, a sort of cane-flogger!
"There's an art to flagellation," Mistress lectured. The
cane-flogger was in her hands but she continued staring at the
hanging implements. "Any ham-fisted amateur can flail away
until her victim's flesh is reduced to hamburger, but it takes
training and experience to cause exquisite pain without also
causing lasting damage." She turned back to face
Skye. "A rosy pink blush is to be expected, and with
proper aftercare it will fade quickly, but if the flagellator
knows her craft, the agony can still be unbearable... or
rather would be
unbearable if her victim wasn't bound in place."
Mistress' turned and her smile became even more disquieting and
maleficent, something Skye hadn't thought possible.
"And don't worry," Mistress purred as she stepped forward, "the
ropes won't get in the way. You're in expert hands, Skye."
Skye did not find this reassuring, especially when Mistress
stepped behind her and out of sight. Flagellation?
she thought. Skye had never tried flagellation.
She'd never even been tempted to try
flagellation. She'd never even given Pallavi or Harper a
spanking, much less a paddling or a whipping or a cropping or
a... flagellation! Granted, she had applied
isolated slaps to her friends' naked buttocks, but only
when they deserved it, only when they got feisty, and never
as a prolonged punishment-for-punishment's-sake! This
was a brave new world that Skye had zero interest in
exploring, especially as the... Flagellee? Is
that a word? Anyway, Skye didn't want to
flagellated! That was for damn sure!
And then, interrupting Skye's mental freak out and somewhere
behind her back, she heard the sound of the canes rattling
together. There was a pause—Here it comes!—she
heard the canes whistle through the air—Mommy!—and the
cane-flogger tapped her rope-cleaved butt-cheeks!
"Mrrrrrrrf!" Skye screamed through her gag... then blinked her
green eyes in surprise. It had been a tap, definitely
a tap, and not a strike or a blow or a whack or a...
whatever. She'd barely felt it, and not even a hint of
pain had been involved, much less agony. The truth dawned:
Lacey was teasing her!
"Mrrrf!" Skye reiterated, looking back over her right shoulder
and glaring at her hostess. And this time it was
quite clear that her muffled remark wasn't a scream of abject
terror, but an exclamation of Righteous Anger (with added
"Don't get crabby with me, young lady," Lacey
chuckled. "I'm still the one with all the
power." She gave the implement in her hand a shake and the
individual canes rattled together. "As well as the
one still holding the cane-flogger, remember?"
Point taken, Skye conceded, but continued glaring.
The spell was broken. Mistress was Lacey again. Skye
returned her gagged face to the front with a disdainful sniff.
"You are such a brave, adorable young lady,
Skye," Lacey purred as she strolled past Skye and returned the
cane-bundle to its former hook. She then turned to smile
at her captive guest, "I think we're done playing with
rope. Let's try some leather."
Leather? Skye realized she was blinking
again. Or... I could go home. "Nrrr!" (No!)
"I'll take that as a yes," Lacey purred, deliberately
misconstruing Skye's obvious reluctance, then strolled to one of
the chamber's large, red-painted, steel tool boxes, opened a
lower drawer, and pulled out what Skye recognized as a pair of
leather bondage-mitts. They were black, like Lacey's
uniform, but unlike Lacey's uniform the leather was
thick and lightly padded. And like everything else in
Lacey's torture chamber, the mitts appeared to be
top-of-the-line. No cheap, shoddy workmanship for
Mitts in hand, Lacey strolled behind Skye's back and began
untying the ropes binding her forearms and wrists, pausing when
most but not all of the doubled hemp strands were dangling
free. Skye's upper arms were still pinned to her sides and
her arms still folded behind her back and held by at least a few
loops of tight rope.
"Make a pair of fists for me, darling," Lacey purred, her no
doubt wickedly smiling lips inches from Skye's right ear.
"Mrrr!" Skye huffed. Not bloody likely. She
then yelped through her gag! "Mrrr!" Lacey
had given her right butt-cheek a very businesslike slap, just
like the slap she'd received upstairs when she'd squirmed after
being hoisted onto Lacey's shoulder.
"Don't make me use my riding crop," Lacey said quietly.
A pair of fists? Yeah! Sure! Why not?
Skye followed Mistress' order and clenched her fists. She
continued holding them tight as, with minor difficulty, Lacey
slipped the mitts in place, then tightened and buckled the
straps of their integrated wrist-cuffs. Skye relaxed her
hands, but her fingers remained curled. The mitts were
well-designed. Her fingers and hands were now utterly
Lacey strolled back to the cabinet, and this time returned with
what Skye decided to call a... box-tie-binder?
That was as good a name as any.
If Lacey had her way, she would buckle a pair of, uh,
strap-cuffs around Skye's upper-arms. The strap-cuffs were
separated by a horizontal strap, the center of the horizontal
strap was attached to vertical strap, and the vertical strap was
attached to a horizontal leather tube that secured with three
buckles. Obviously, the tube would wrap around Skye's
forearms, binding them together like an oversized cuff.
In other words, Skye's hemp box-tie was about to become a black
leather box-tie! Skye frowned. Or is it a black
leather kimono tie?
This time (not counting the fist-mitt fiasco), Skye tried her
best to resist the changing-of-the-bondage. She wiggled
and squirmed and twisted and complained—"Mrrrrrf!"—but once
again, Lacey demonstrated her damsel-handling expertise by
untying just enough of Skye's hemp bondage to allow her to
buckle on the leather binder's components, no matter how
vigorously Skye tried to resist.
So... eventually... Skye found herself semi-precariously
balanced on her toe-bound feet. Her rope bonds remained in
place from the crotch-rope down, but she was rope free from the
waist up. Skye was still semi-suspended from the vertical
ropes attached to the ceiling, but only by that pesky
crotch-rope! And she was still box-tied, but Lacey had
succeeded in replacing rope with leather. Also, she was
Lacey wasn't done! She strolled back to the tool-cabinet
and returned with a jingling, jangling mass of long, thin, black
leather straps. Once again, she stepped behind her guest,
then began sorting out the whatever-it-was. The majority
of the mass dropped over Skye's gagged head, settled on her
shoulders, and now draped down the front of her naked body.
It's a body-harness! Skye realized. This was
another first in Skye's remarkable day of firsts, her first
direct exposure to an actual leather body-harness! And she
was about to wear it... then was wearing it as Lacey
secured the harness' horizontal straps, one-by-one.
The straps yoking Skye's shoulders anchored the top of the
harness—a pair of horizontal straps passed above and below her
boobs—and a third horizontal strap encircled her waist and
anchored the bottom of the harness. And making the entire
shebang even more secure, the boob-framing straps passed over
the box-tie-binder's vertical strap, and Lacey had passed the
waist-strap through the oversize D-rings of the fist-mitts'
The bondage aficionado in Skye was impressed. The
fist-mitts, box/kimono-tie-binder, and body-harness were
independent restraints, but Lacey had applied them in such a
manner that they constituted an integrated system, a full,
upper-arm-pinning box-tie. Wow. Also... Yipes!
Lacey then set to work untying the remaining ropes. Soon,
Skye's was standing flat-footed on the vinyl-tiled floor, naked,
panel-gagged, body-harness-box-tie-binder-fist-mitt bound from
the waist up, and totally free from the waist down.
Finally, Skye was free to make a run for it! However, with
her fingers and hands trapped in the mitts, opening the doors
between herself and true freedom would be...
problematic. And if she somehow did manage to
escape Lacey's lair, there was the issue of cross country
scampering all the way home. The police would probably
take an interest in a bound and gagged streaker, Lacey would be
arrested, and Plumeria would lose her business. Mom
would be devastated.
Skye watched as Lacey methodically coiled her former hemp bonds,
readying them for storage. Her highly iffy escape window
was closing. Soon it would be too late for Skye to sneak
over to the torture chamber door and fail miserably at getting
it open. She heaved a gagged sigh. Why bother?
Her rope-bundling task complete, Lacey smiled at her helpless
guest. "Let's go back upstairs, shall we?"
Skye nodded. Leave the torture chamber? What an excellent
Lacey draped an arm over Skye's strap-yoked shoulders, then
leaned close and kissed her slightly sweaty forehead. "You
need a shower and shampoo, darling,"
No kidding, Skye silently agreed, rolling her eyes.
She was still somewhat piqued by Lacey's pretending she was
going to cane-flog her bound body, and then not doing it.
She wasn't mad about the not doing it part, of course, but about
the prank. Really, that was mean!
Lacey led her through the torture chamber door and out into a
hallway. The floor under their bare and booted feet,
respectively, was the same Cotswold-limestone-gold and
laurel-green vinyl tiles as back in the torture chamber, and the
walls were the same sealed cinder blocks. Apparently,
Lacey's entire dungeon had benefited from the talents of a
single decorator, but Skye had yet to see whatever was behind
the steel doors they were passing on either side of the hallway,
so she couldn't be sure. The jury was still out. And
oh-by-the-way, Skye would just as soon not see what was
beyond the steel doors on either side of the hallway, not today,
anyway. Enough was enough.
And then, Skye realized Lacey was leading her to the end of the
hallway and a... blank wall! Huh? There was
a pause when they arrived and Lacey reached to the side and
touched something. Skye didn't see what as she was busy
examining the wall. Anyway, somewhere a motor hummed and
the entire wall began sliding to their left with a deep, low
rumble! Skye recognized the sound. She'd heard it
before, while naked, bound, gagged, hooded, and balanced on
Skye's eyes popped wide, again. Lacey's dungeon is
hidden behind a secret wall! Cool! This
place is amazing!
Lacey led her across the threshold, the wall rumbled closed
behind them—Wow!—and Skye found herself in a typical
basement with the usual home laundry (deep-sink, washer, and
dryer), a furnace or heat-pump or whatever-the-hell it was,
overhead pipes and heating ducts, municipal water and sewer
hookups, and metal storage shelves laden with cardboard boxes
and plastic tubs.
Skye remained impressed, not by the basement, but by Mistress
Monjeau's Hidden Dungeon! Wow! A secret wall!
While they climbed the wooden stairs to Lacey's kitchen, Skye's
stomach rumbled—Gurgle-gurgle—and she suddenly realized
she'd missed lunch.
Chinese sound?" Kanoa asked as she unlocked the front door of
the Mid-Century Modern suburban ranch house she shared with her
daughter (who would be spending the night at Harper's
"Huh?" Jodi inquired. Clearly, her thoughts were elsewhere
Kanoa knew exactly why her partner was distracted: Skye,
and whatever was happening at Lacey's house. "Chinese
takeout," she clarified as they removed and hung up their
"Chinese is fine," Jodi sighed as they crossed the threshold and
entered The Anuhea Girls' modest but stylish home. "The
Anuhea Girls" was Jodi and Skye's nickname for the Kanoa/Pallavi
mother/daughter team. It was in retaliation for the
Anuheas first branding Jodi and Skye "The Gilroy Girls."
"We need to think about hiring a new shop girl," Kanoa suggested
as they entered the living room.
Jodi frowned. "To replace Skye? That's a little
premature, don't you think?"
Kanoa's smile broadened. "Premature and insensitive," she
purred, "but we still need to think about it."
Jodi held her frown for a few seconds, then surrendered.
"I know," she admitted (with another sigh).
Kanoa pulled her partner into a warm hug. "I only said think
about it," she whispered, then gave Jodi's pouting lips a
friendly kiss. "We already have some promising
applications on file. All we need to do, when and if the
time comes, is make some phone calls, see who's still
interested, then hold the required interviews."
"When and if," Jodi agreed.
Kanoa released the embrace, took hold of Jodi's hand, and led
her to her bedroom. "Strip," she ordered.
Jodi's green eye's widened. "What?"
"Relax, Red," Kanoa chuckled, then pointed to the door leading
to her bedroom's attached bath. "Strip and take a
shower. I'm thinking the 'D' dinner for two from Emperor's
"Whatever," Jodi responded, then began undressing. "But I
like the 'E' dinner, only with Hot and Sour Soup instead of Won
Kanoa beamed. "The 'E' Dinner it is, with a Hot and Sour
Soup substitution. I'm gonna make the call." And
with that, she turned and left the bedroom.
Jodi finished undressing, draping her dress and underwear across
the easy chair Kanoa used for reading and gazing out the
window-wall at her back garden... then padded into the bathroom
and took a shower, as ordered. She kept her hair dry using
an aqua-green shower cap that hung next to Kanoa's white shower
cap. There was a similar pair of green and white caps in
the master bath of "Stately Gilroy Manor," the white cap being
for Kanoa's use when the tables were turned and she was Jodi's
Jodi didn't linger. The hot water felt good, but she knew
Kanoa would want to take a shower as well. There was
plenty of time. The takeout delivery would take at least
thirty minutes. But why take chances? She dried
herself with a large, fluffy, Prussian-blue towel, removed the
green shower cap and returned it to its hook, then padded back
into the main bedroom.
Kanoa was waiting, her gorgeous smile still dimpling her
gorgeous face. And oh-by-the-way, Jodi noted that waiting
on the bed's jade-green bedspread were four loose coils of deep
hunter-green, half-inch, double-braided nylon rope.
Freckled arms folded under her freckled breasts, Jodi glared
at her still fully-clothed partner. "You were going to
find me something to wear, remember?"
"I did," Kanoa beamed, indicating the sinister coils with a
graceful flip of the wrist.
Jodi rolled her eyes. "I'm worried about my baby, who may
be tied up and helpless at this very moment, and your
idea of emotional support is to tie me up?"
Kanoa shrugged. "Well, when you put it that way...
Jodi rolled her eyes, again (carefully stifled the wicked grin
threatening to curl her pouting lips), then climbed onto the
bed. "Spreadeagled, I assume?"
"Spreadeagled," Kanoa agreed with a grin. "You know me too
When the dust settled—not that Kanoa's bedroom was anything but
immaculate, or was the entire house for that matter—Jodi was
spreadeagled on her back on the queen-size bed. Kanoa had
used what practitioners of the Bondage Arts call the "Somerville
Bowline Single Column Cuff." Six strands of rope each
encircled Jodi's wrists and ankles, and the complex knot
arrangements were non-compacting. Jodi could tug on the
ropes as long and as hard as she wished without the cuffs
tightening and impeding her circulation, but her bonds would
remain inescapable. The far ends of the four doubled ropes
were tied somewhere near the floor at the four corners of the
Jodi tested her bonds (just to be polite) and found that she had
very little slack. It was a stringent spreadeagle.
Obviously the grinning (gloating) Kanoa had done a very good
job. Lacey Monjeau and Jodi's adorable pipsqueak of a
daughter weren't the only competent riggers in town.
Jodi would have complimented her partner (and villainous captor)
on her skill, but, as the pièce de résistance of her
masterpiece, Kanoa had opened the drawer of her left bedside
table, pulled out a very pretty ball-gag, and used it to render
her "victim" mute... or semi-mute. Okay, a little mute.
The ball-gag wasn't especially effective as a damsel silencer,
but it was pretty. The strap was brown, the
hardware gleaming bronze, and the mouth-plug a 43 mm sphere of
black silicon rubber with narrow, round, rubber extensions to
either side to reduce the possibility of chaffing at the corners
of the wearer's mouth.
Lying on her back on the jade bedspread, her arms and legs
splayed and bound by taut, hunter-green ropes, and her piteous
pleas stifled by her pretty gag, Jodi was quite an alluring
sight. That was Kanoa's opinion, anyway, and it was
difficult to imagine anyone would disagree. She smiled
down at her helpless, naked, bound, and gagged partner, guest,
and lover for several long, gloating seconds... then continued
gazing and gloating as she undressed.
Jodi watched as her partner, captor, and lover reduced her
costume to a set of skimpy, sexy, and moderately expensive
underwear... hung her dress in her spacious closet... hung
up Jodi's dress as well... dropped Jodi's underwear in her
laundry hamper... then removed and placed her underwear
in the hamper. Gloriously nude and still smiling in Jodi's
direction, Kanoa reached for the ceiling and executed a
Kanoa's smooth, brown, full breasts did their best to
flatten as she arched her back, but their volume was too
great. They only flattened a little. Jodi continued
watching as Kanoa turned and padded into the bathroom. The
door closed, and she was gone... all of her... including her
firm, dimpled butt, smooth back, strong legs, and long,
straight, sun-streaked hair.
The shower started running and Jodi heaved a deep, ball-gagged
Skye! My baby!
A mother can't help but worry about her daughter, even a mother
who finds herself naked, gagged, and spreadeagled on her best
Chinese sound?" Harper asked.
The question was for Pallavi, but at the moment Kanoa's daughter
was unable to answer. Why? As the saying goes... she
was tied up at the moment. Why? Because upon their
arrival at Harper's apartment, she'd lost the coin toss.
To be specific, Pallavi was naked and lying on her stomach on
the bottom of Harper's bathtub. Her bonds were white
cotton clothesline, laundered and conditioned with fabric
softener. A simple kimono body harness yoked her
shoulders and encircled her upper torso, framing her ample boobs
(as Harper described them), and passing above, below, and
between the boobs in question. And the harness served as
the upper anchor of a stringent hogtie. Pallavi's
wrists were bound together behind her back with her hands
palm-to-palm—her ankles were crossed and bound—her wrist-bonds
linked to her ankle bonds, close enough that her fluttering
fingers could easily touch her heels—and the nexus of the kimono-harness
was tautly linked to the wrist-to-ankle nexus of the hogtie,
half-lifting Pallavi's breasts and thighs off the cool, white
enameled steel of the tub, and leaving her mostly balanced on
her taut tummy.
The key knot was tied through the harness, between Pallavi's
shoulder blades and totally beyond the reach of her useless
fingers. Harper might be the least experienced rigger in
the shop girls' little bondage club, but she was no
slouch. Pallavi wasn't going anywhere, not until "Mistress
Harper" deigned to release her.
But how did being naked, hogtied, and rolling around on the
bottom of Harper's bathtub prevent Pallavi from voicing her
opinion as to the desirability of Chinese takeout? Pallova
was also gagged. The panties she'd worn all day while
serving countless customers at Plumeria were stuffed in
her mouth and trapped there by a wide strip of microfoam medical
tape tightly adhered to her lower face from ear-to-ear and
nose-to-chin. And Pallavi's panties had company!
Harper's panties were crammed in there too! Both shop
girls had been wearing rather skimpy bikinis, so Harper had
decided additional stuffing was an "absolute necessity."
For all these reasons, Pallavi's answer was a truly withering
gaze and an irritated but totally ineffectual wiggling squirm of
her naked, hogtied body.
"Chinese it is, then," Harmer said with a smile. "After it
gets here, we can discuss why the Skyster decided to take most
of the day off, why our cruel bosses let her get away with it,
and what we're gonna do about it. I vote we gang up and
finally tie her up—meaning Skye, of course, not the
bosses—then tickle her 'til she cracks and spills the
beans. Sound like a plan?"
Pallavi continued glowering and not escaping. Tying up
Skye was a nice fantasy but a horrible plan. Their ginger
fellow shop girl and friend would fight like the proverbial
wildcat if they jumped her and tried tying her up.
Skye Gilroy was a feisty, scrappy, competent fighter. It
would be knuckle sandwiches, black eyes, and hurt feelings all
around if they tried implementing Harper's cockamamie "plan."
"No?" Harper asked as she paused in the bathroom doorway.
Obviously, she sensed Pallavi's reluctance to stage a coup and
dethrone the mistress of the club. "Well, I'm gonna finish
changing, then order the food, We can discuss it
later." With that, she turned off the bathroom light,
closed the bathroom door, and Pallavi was alone... naked,
hogtied, panties-tape-gagged, and left to languish in total
Amateur! Pallavi fumed as she halfheartedly squirmed in
her inescapable bonds. If Skye was the one doing this,
she'd have stoppered the drain and turned on the cold water at
a slow trickle. That would be truly horrible.
This is only... mean.
| Chapter 6