by Van © 2020
was... interesting. Skye spent the night in Mistress' bed,
naked, her wrists padlocked in padded leather cuffs, the cuffs
padlocked together behind her back, and a taut strip of
Microfoam tape sealing her lips and tightly adhered to her lower
face from nose-to-chin and ear-to-ear.
And oh-by-the-way, Mistress shared the same bed. (It was
her bed, after all.) Mistress was also naked;
however, inexplicably, other than a little "innocent" cuddling
and a goodnight kiss, she kept her hands and lips to
herself! Skye was relieved... and disappointed... and
confused. Mistress had diddled her silly once today, but
now... she wasn't going to follow-through with nocturnal diddling?
Geesh. And with no explanation? Double-geesh.
And, of course, once the tape-gag was in place, it was
impossible for Skye to politely inquire exactly why Mistress
considered it unnecessary to take the obvious step of
reinforcing this afternoon's lesson by bringing her devoted
student to orgasm again... a few times. It was
intellectually frustrating... among other things.
Sunday morning dawned clear and sunny. By all indications
(including the official forecast), it was going to be a glorious
day, suitable for hiking in the country, long bike rides,
extended runs in the park and/or down shady suburban streets,
trips to the beach, and/or leisurely backyard barbecues.
Unfortunately, Mistress had other ideas.
After Mistress freed Skye from the leather-cuffs, she planted a
good-morning kiss on Skye's taped lips, then sent her on her way
to the guest bathroom with the traditional
slap-on-the-butt. Cliché and stinging? Yes,
but Skye didn't mind. In fact, she giggled through her
tape-gag as she scampered—yes, scampered—down the
Once in the bathroom, Skye paused to admire her tape-gag in the
mirror. She loved the way Microfoam/Elastoplast
tape hugged a damsel's face, highlighting the three dimensional
contours of their pretty mouths. Pallavi and Harper looked
incredibly cute when gagged with Microfoam/Elastoplast, and it
was gratifying to confirm that Skye, herself, could hold her own
in the pulchritudinous damsel-in-distress department. Her
curiosity (vanity) satisfied, Skye teased back a corner of the
tape and slowly, carefully peeled it away. Her mouth and
lips stretched in the process, of course. She then took
her morning tinkle, brushed her teeth, showered, shampooed,
dried her body and hair, and emerged from the bathroom ready to
face the trials, tribulations (and possible orgasms) of
Still naked (of course) Skye padded to the kitchen. There,
she found Mistress preparing to cook breakfast, resplendent in
bare feet, designer jeans, and a very pretty cadet-blue
blouse Skye recognized as Plumeria merchandise.
Obviously, Mistress had conducted her morning toilette
and ablutions in a slightly less dilatory manner, using the
luxurious bathroom attached to the master bedroom while Skye was
busy taking her time down the hall.
Breakfast was ham and cheese omelets, cottage fries, toast, and
mixed fruit. Skye offered to cook, but Mistress wouldn't
hear of it. However, she did allow Skye to man
the one-cup coffeemaker (with its reusable pods) to keep the
While they ate at the kitchen table, Skye pestered Mistress to
share her official plan-of-the-day, only to be met with amused
silence. Finally, Mistress stated that as a matter of
policy she was never going to warn Skye about the
horrible (or wonderful) things that were about to happen to
her. Skye decided this was because Mistress was a Great
Big Gorgeous Meanie who took Sadistic Pleasure in
watching Poor Innocent Skye Suffer Sinister Suspense.
Oh, the drama! That was how Skye saw it, anyway.
Actually, and much to her surprise, Skye found Mistress'
mysterious reticence somewhat intriguing. When she
played with Pallavi and Harper, Skye was always the one
in charge, the one calling the shots, the tip-top Top.
That made not calling the shots and being kept in
ignorance a novel experience, a turnaround that was going to
take some getting used to.
Oh-by-the-way, Mistress revealed that while Skye had been
wasting hot water in the guest shower, she'd called Skye's
mother and given her a shopping list of outfits her darling
daughter would require during her "vacation."
Unfortunately, just as with the plan-of-the-day, Mistress refused
to divulge the details of any of the outfits in
question, further cementing her status as a Great Big Gorgeous
Meanie. By way of confirmation that she was serious (of
sorts), Mistress rattled off Skye's size measurements with 100%
accuracy, strongly suggesting that this mysterious outfits nonsense
wasn't nonsense. As with the plan of the day, Skye found
the lack of detail frustrating. And oh-by-the-way, the
first and "most needed" of the costumes should arrive "soon."
Skye tried one last time. "Seriously," she demanded as she
nibbled her last slice of buttered toast, "what kind of
'costumes' are we talkin' about? Pleeease?"
Smiling sweetly, Mistress deigned to reveal one last tantalizing
tidbit. "Role-playing costumes." And those
were her final words on the subject.
So, Skye mused, I'm gonna get 'role-playing
costumes' of some kind. She heaved a petulant sigh
(which only served to widen Mistress' smile). Better
than no clothing... I suppose. It was
Once breakfast was over and the kitchen cleaned up, Mistress'
mysterious agenda unfolded in stately fashion, one event at a
First came General Housekeeping. Skye was tasked with
making the bed in the master bedroom, replacing the towels in
the master and guest bathrooms, then dusting and vacuuming the
first floor. It was exhausting. (Not
Next came naked yoga in the backyard. It was much like
yesterday, only without Pallavi.
Yoga was followed by an al fresco tea-break out on the
deck. Mistress was a civilized dominatrix... a naked,
This was followed by Skye's first ever exercise session in
Mistress' home gym.
Skye hadn't even known Mistress had a home gym until
she'd found herself running the vacuum cleaner across its
wall-to-wall carpet. It was a very nice gym with a very
nice view of a very nice side-garden through a bank of very nice
windows. Equipment-wise, there was a stationary bike, a
universal resistance machine, a running machine, and a rack of
hand-weights. Everything was top-of-the-line, and Skye was
impressed. She was also impressed by the shower and dry
sauna tucked away in a tiled alcove off to one side.
They entered the gym with both Mistress and Skye still naked (of
course), and then... the specter of Dominatrix Instruction
reared its menacing (and arousing) head.
Mistress led Skye to a wooden cabinet/chest of drawers off to
one side, opened a drawer, and outfitted her with a pair of
black leather mittens (with cuffs). They encased her
fingers and hands, depriving her of all dexterity. She
then led Skye to the running machine. Four steel clips and
two light steel chains later... and Skye found herself standing
on the rubber treadmill with the cuffs of her mitts loosely
chained to the machine's side-rails.
Skye heaved a truly tragic sigh. The diabolical
device was controlled by a touchscreen mounted on a
pedestal. As she watched, Mistress tapped the screen and
worked her way through a menu, smiling all the time in a nakedly
gorgeous and irritating manner. Finally, Mistress folded a
thick, clear acrylic screen over the touchscreen and pressed a
recessed button, locking the cover in place and preventing any
naked captives standing astride the treadmill with their fingers
encased in bondage-mitts and loosely chained to the side-rails
(like Skye) from altering the program.
Skye continued pouting as she glowered at the screen. The
interface was intuitive. A timer was counting down the
seconds until Mistress' program would commence in red
numbers. 50... 49... 48...
etc. Other lines of text provided the details of the
specified routine. "A whole hour?" Skye
complained (whined). "We just did yoga."
"Not the same thing," Mistress purred. "Your first session
will be a simple power-walk. Eventually, I'll work you up
to two hours of walking and running, with hill-work."
Skye frowned at her naked Mistress. "Is this really
necessary?" she pouted. "Ya gotta admit I'm already in
Mistress smile morphed into a stern frown.
"Uh... ya gotta admit... Mistress?"
Mistress' smile returned. "Your grace period has just
about expired, young lady," she purred. "Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," Skye answered quickly. "I do,
Just then, the countdown reached zero, the console beeped,
a motor (or motors) under Skye's feet began humming... and the
treadmill began to roll. Skye had no choice but to start
The drooping chains enforcing Skye's cooperation rattled and
swayed, adding metallic, tinkling music to Skye's tragic
ordeal. At least the rubber of the treadmill is
suitable for bare feet, she fumed silently. "Thank
you, Mistress," she huffed. "You're so thoughtful,
Mistress. This is just what I need,
Mistress smiled at her delightful and adorable young apprentice
for several seconds... then padded to the cabinet and returned
with a ball-gag. This particular model had an
inch-and-a-half diameter mouth-plug of pinkish-red,
medical-grade silicon rubber, a thin, black, semi-elastic cord
to serve as a strap, and a black plastic barrel-clamp to pinch
the cord and secure the gag in its victim's mouth.
The ball's immediate destination was Skye's pouting mouth, of
course, and soon Mistress had tightened the cord around her head
and under her ginger ponytail. Skye's head had been a
moving target, bobbing as she padded on the rolling treadmill,
but this offered only a trivial challenge to an expert
rigger like Mistress Monjeau. It might not be a terribly
effective gag, but it was enough to garble any disgruntled
comments or piteous complaints Skye might have been foolish
enough to share.
While she continued padding on the treadmill (and started
drooling), Skye watched as Mistress executed a series of warm-up
stretches... then settled her firm, pale, dominatrix butt onto
the padded seat of the universal resistance machine, grabbed the
hand-grips of the lever-arms, and started getting her exercise.
The prisoner-of-the-treadmill noted that the resistance machine
had been accessorized with dangling straps and attachment
points for cuffs, but apparently Mistress didn't feel the need
to buckle any of the straps or otherwise restrain her pale,
athletic, luscious body. Skye would have been
more than happy to provide the required service, but at the
moment she was otherwise occupied. Also, if Skye using
Lacey's exquisite body as her rope-rigging practice dummy wasn't
allowed, strapping Mistress to her exercise machine was almost
Skye's naked, gagged, and tethered ordeal lasted an hour, as
programed, and was followed by a shower and a light lunch of
turkey sandwiches and iced tea.
After lunch, Mistress dressed herself in the jeans and blouse
she'd worn before stripping down for yoga, tea, exercise, and
lunch, then helped Skye complete her afternoon assignment:
familiarizing herself with the classic shrimp-tie.
Soon, on the carpet of a pleasant sitting room, Skye found
herself sitting cross-legged with her upper-body bound in a
box-tie and ropes stretching up from her bound ankles to loop
behind her neck, forcing her to lean forward in a semi-stringent
crunch. And oh-by-the-way, a tight crotch-rope encircled
her waist, cleaved her butt-cheeks and pussy, and was hitched
through the back of her box-tie harness and her
ankle-bonds. Skye could barely squirm, and when she did
so, the knotted crotch-rope rubbed her raw... or maybe raw-ish.
Also, to keep idle chitchat (as well as any begging and whining)
to a minimum, Mistress had added a knotted cloth cleave-gag to
The languishing only lasted an hour... with Mistress seated
comfortably in a winged chair and reading what appeared to be a
truly fascinating book on her iPad. Finally, Skye
was untied and given the rest of the day off. Mistress
decreed that the lower levels, meaning all the subterranean
dungeons, torture chambers, and god-knows-what were off limits,
but Skye should feel free to explore everything above ground.
This was just as well, as Skye had no idea how to open the
wicked-cool secret sliding wall that blocked access to Mistress'
Anyway, Skye familiarized herself with Lacey's Lair from the top
of the basement stairs to the attic. The doors of a
handful of upstairs rooms were locked, but from their size and
placement, Skye suspected they were closets or storerooms (or
possibly horrible upstairs dungeon cells).
Dinner was a delicious stir-fry, and once again Skye slept in
Mistress' bed... with Mistress... and this time she wasn't bound
or gagged in any way. She was still naked, of course—as
was Mistress—but once again Mistress kept her hands to
herself! Go figure.
The first full
week of Skye's "vacation" passed quickly... with glacial
slowness. That is, sometimes the hours whizzed past, and
sometimes time seemed to stand still.
Yoga sessions happened every day, and Lacey always scheduled
them early in the morning when the preferred section of the
backyard was in dappled shade. This was for the benefit of
Mistress' fair skin, of course. A worthy cause to be sure,
but it didn't do much to enhance or maintain Skye's freckle
Thankfully, Mistress was aware of The Freckle Problem and had a
surefire remedy. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in the
early afternoon, Skye found herself staked out on the grass, her
wrists and ankles secured with single loops of coyote-brown 550
paracord and stretched between four steel stakes, the kind that
are more or less giant corkscrews and are used for tether a pet
by a collar and chain. The cords were secured with plastic
barrel-clamps, making it easy for Mistress to flip Skye halfway
through her tanning (freckling) sessions to ensure full, even
coverage, front and back. And Mistress was always
thoughtful enough to thoroughly coat Skye's nude,
outstretched body with the appropriate tanning (freckling)
lotion. This required a great deal of diligent, hands-on
effort, but Mistress didn't seem to mind.
Also, every day Skye was assigned routine housekeeping chores,
including dusting, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms and
kitchen, changing the bed linen, and doing the laundry.
Mistress insisted on doing all the cooking, but Skye
didn't mind in the least. She had yet to eat a meal at
Lacey's Lair that was less than yummy. Mistress definitely
had a culinary flair.
Like yoga, exercise in Mistress' home gym also happened
every day. Skye ran on the treadmill, rode the stationary
bike, and suffered grueling sessions on the resistance machine,
all supervised by Mistress and with sufficient "safety
restraints" deployed to keep Skye from "falling off the
equipment and hurting herself." Another example of
Mistress' kind thoughtfulness.
The routine was exhausting, but Mistress made sure Skye got
plenty of "down time." As it turned out, Mistress had
regular paying customers, all of whom required her
services. After all, she couldn't waste all her
time pandering to Skye's voracious appetite for bondage.
Professional Dominatrixices have clients. Who knew?
Anyway, Mistress' clients valued their privacy, so Skye would
have to be out of sight and out of mind. Luckily (so to
speak) there was a simple solution: Mistress scheduled her
student's Bondage Technique Familiarization Lessons to coincide
with her clients' appointments and ensured they took
place in a location that preserved everybody's privacy.
Skye was squirreled away before Mistress' clients arrived, and
wasn't released until after they left. The only reason
Skye even knew Mistress had clients was because she
told her. And Skye had no idea whether or not the clients
in question knew she existed.
So, twice and sometimes three times a day, Skye found
herself naked, bound, gagged, and sequestered in Mistress'
"Special Guest Bedroom" ("SGB").
The SGB was just down the hall from the master bedroom, and was,
indeed, a bedroom, albeit a small bedroom. And,
as Mistress explained with great pride, its cramped nature was
exacerbated by unique design features (unique with respect to
the upstairs, anyway). There was extra-thick padding
between the sub-floor and the room's thick, plush, dark-gray,
industrial-grade, wall-to-wall carpet. The wall-studs were
doubled, creating the depth required for extra-thick insulation
that provided first-rate sound-proofing. Finally, the
walls and ceiling were clad in thick, interior-grade plywood,
screwed into the ceiling-joists and wall-studs with a plethora
of extra-long wood-screws.
The room's decor was spartan to the point of being
nonexistent. The paneling was stained and varnished, but
any residual chemical odor had long since faded to zero.
There was a single window, but it was "protected" by a heavy
expanded steel grid painted flat-black and solidly bolted into
the window frame. Similar but much smaller grids covered
the lighting cans recessed into the ceiling. Finally, the
SGB had only three furnishings:
(1.) A twin-size bed with a heavy-duty, tubular
steel frame, a canvas-covered mattress, and no box-spring.
bed and chair were bolted to the floor, and the cabinet was
bolted to the wall. Inside the right side of the cabinet
were shelves loaded with coils of rope and cord, as well as a
single "safety ball-gag." Its mouth-plugging sphere was
black, medical-grade silicon, hollow and perforated with a row
of three holes for ease of mouth-breathing. Its strap was
black leather with stainless steel hardware. The left side
of the cabinet had no shelves, and was about the size
of an upright coffin. That made it suitable for the
incarceration of a naked, bound, and gagged damsel (like Skye).
(2.) A solidly built, wooden, straight-back chair.
(3.) A tall, plain wooden cabinet with double doors, each of
which was secured with its own hefty lock.
So... whenever Mistress was entertaining one of her clients,
Skye spent the time bound and gagged on the bed, tied to the
chair, or locked in the left side of the closet. Sometimes
her bonds were elaborate, and sometimes they were relatively
simple; however, they always proved to be inescapable,
and this was despite Skye's best efforts to wiggle free and
escape. It was now Mistress' standing order that Skye
should struggle for all she was worth whenever she was
"abandoned to languish." Of course, locked in the SGB,
escaping from Mistress' ropes would be a hollow victory at
best. Even when she wasn't locked in the left side of the
cabinet, she was still locked in a soundproof cell.
There was one more important aspect of Skye's first week:
Mistress decreed that Pallavi and Harper would not be
allowed to visit, not until some unspecified future date.
Supposedly, this was so Skye could get used to her vacation
routine. Wasting time with her little friends would have
to wait, as Mistress put it.
Skye was disappointed, but had more than enough to worry
about. Mistress was keeping her very busy.
Also, Skye continued sharing Mistress' bed at night, sometimes
bound, sometimes not, but Mistress continued her moratorium on
forced orgasm lessons. Skye was enduring a nookie
famine! And during the day, Skye's schedule was
booked solid, which meant she never had enough alone-time to
pleasure herself. And Mistress was making it a habit of
tying her crotch-ropes in such a manner that no amount of
wiggling and squirming on Skye's part was sufficient to ride the
cleaving ropes to orgasm... dammit!
Actually, Skye was impressed. She already had the rigging
skill required to tie a good crotch-rope... but a crotch rope
that frustrated its victim and didn't allow the release of a
climax? Not so much. Skye hoped the topic would
bubble to the top of Mistress' curriculum sometime soon.
She couldn't wait to try it on Pallavi and Harper. And
increasingly, she found she couldn't wait to do anything to
Pallavi and Harper. Nookie famines are not fun.
bright and clear, more or less a carbon copy of Saturday, and
Mistress announced that she had "something special" planned that
would probably occupy most if not all of Skye's day.
After breakfast, Mistress led her student to the same very
pleasant sitting room, located between the home gym and formal
dining room, where she'd experienced the wonder that was
Mistress' shrimp-tie. Skye was about to embark on a
"quest," as Mistress put it.
Skye blinked. 'Quest?' That's not at
The naked, freckled ginger watched with horrified dread (meaning
curiosity) as Mistress stooped and picked up the first of
several coils of conditioned hemp rope waiting in a neat stack
on the carpet. The rope was hemp, twisted, three-strand,
and ¼" in diameter, the kind of rope Mistress usually used to
tie her up; however, and it may have been Skye's imagination,
this particular collection of coils were all slightly frayed and
worn. Well up to the task of rendering her utterly
helpless, but a tad shabby... maybe.
Anyway, Mistress smiled, spun Skye around, and set to work.
When the hypothetical dust settled—and as Skye had been diligent
in her vacuuming duties and the dust was hypothetical—Skye
was tied up. In fact, Skye was very tied up.
Specifically, Skye was lying prone on the carpet with her wrists
bound together behind her back with her hands
palm-to-palm. Her elbows were also bound, as were her
legs, thighs, above and below her knees, her mid-lower-legs, and
her ankles. Mistress almost always included some sort of
arm-pinning harness to her compositions, and today was no
exception. Diagonal doubled strands yoked her shoulders,
horizontal strands passed above and below her boobs, an X-shaped
arrangement passed between her boobs, and a
combination of waist-encircling, forearm-binding, and
multi-strand crotch-cleaving strands pinned her forearms against
her spine and completed the... ensemble. Everything was
cinched and hitched. More than one coil had been required,
but the bondage was symmetrical, and all the rope-to-rope
junctions were well-integrated into the whole. Finally,
Mistress had included a full-body Kikkou (diamond-hitch)
and ladder-tie harness that stretched down Skye's bundled
body from shoulders to ankles.
The last time Mistress had gotten this enthusiastic
with the rope was way back on Day One, when she'd terrified the
bejesus out of Skye by showing her the torture chamber down
below (for the first and only time, so far). Skye decided
to christen her current predicament a wiggle-worm-tie, as just
about all she could do was wiggle like a worm. And oh-by
the way, all the many knots of Mistress current
masterpiece were all well beyond the reach of her
Before Skye could compliment Mistress on an elegant and expertly
applied rigging tour de force—"Mrrrf!"—her opportunity
to earn brownie-points was ruined by one of Mistress' black
safety-ball-gags, identical to the gag she endured whenever
Mistress entertained one of her paying customers and
incarcerated her in the SGB. Skye was able to
share well-garbled compliments, but what was the point
in that? Instead, Skye glowered at Mistress
(brave, feisty damsel that she was). Mistress had settling
into a comfortable easy chair, crossed her legs, and was
continuing to smile at her in her gorgeous (and irritatingly
smug) manner. Skye heaved a sigh of truly tragic proportions...
then commenced her Courtesy Struggle.
Rolling her shoulders, twisting her body, tossing her
ball-gagged head, bending at the waist, squirming her hips,
fluttering her fingers, bending her knees, and flexing her bound
feet were all possible, but only to a limited extent. And
when she did any of those things, the ropes loosened here but
tightened there, and that included the
crotch-ropes. Yow! Skye did her best to put
on a show, but it was a futile exercise. When it came to
escaping from Mistress Monjeau's bondage, struggling was always
a futile exercise.
Skye heaved another sigh—this one a theatrical lament signaling
reluctant surrender—then batted her green eyes at her gloating
Mistress chuckled, rose to her feet, and padded towards the
sitting room door.
By the way, Mistress was wearing a pair of stone-washed designer
jeans and a white cotton blouse with the long sleeves rolled up
and the top three buttons unbuttoned. There was no
bra. Quite obviously there was no bra. Her
raven-black hair was tied back in a ponytail.
"I'll be right back," Mistress announced as she crossed the
threshold... and was gone, taking her poorly concealed boobs
Skye didn't bother heaving another sigh. She'd lost her
audience. Instead, she rested her ball-gagged head on the
carpet and settled in to wait.
Mistress returned in less than a minute with a brush and comb
set in her right hand. She knelt beside her naked, bound,
and gagged student, lifted her into a tightly-bound sitting
position, and started fussing with her hair. Soon, it was
apparent Mistress was plaiting Skye's ginger locks into a tight,
three-part braid. This was slightly ominous, as Skye could
think of all sorts of unpleasant things a rigger of Mistress'
skill and experience could do with braided hair, but mostly she
just wanted Mistress to get on with it! The
sitting position was causing the crotch ropes to squeeze her
labia together, and any movement on her part caused the knotted
central strand between her labia to slide back and
Skye heard a snap, and the deed was done.
Mistress gently eased her back down onto the carpet, and Skye
squirmed... Ow! ...until she could see her
Mistress. Skye could feel that her hair was, indeed, in a
She tossed her head and the braid flopped back and forth.
It wasn't attached to anything. However, Mistress had a length of thin
hemp cord in her left hand. Skye surmised it was the
severed remnant of what Mistress had used to secure the end of
her new braid. And in Mistress' right hand was a small
hook knife with a looped handle, the kind of blade specifically
designed to sever rope or cord. Obviously, the snap Skye
had heard was Mistress using the tool to cut the cord (to coin a
Still smiling, Mistress slid the knife into her breast pocket,
then held up the cord and locked eyes with her student. "I
hate to waste such excellent cordage. Whatever shall we do
with it?" She shifted her gaze to Skye's ankle-bound
feet... then directed her smile back to Skye's freckled,
green-eyed, ball-gagged visage. "Oh... I know."
Very funny, Skye fumed. Just get on with it.
And Mistress did. That is, she relocated to Skye's feet,
lifted them into her lap, and proceeded to tie the naked, bound,
ball-gagged, and pouting prisoner's big-toes together, cinching
the cord before tying the final, redundant knot.
The resulting toe-bondage was, in a word, inescapable.
Skye knew without trying that no amount of wiggling her tootsies
would loosen the cord; however, the cord in no way impaired her
circulation. The toes in question remained their usual
delightful shade of pink, rather than turning the dark-pink or
mauve that would signal pooled blood.
Mistress used the hook-knife to sever the two short free-ends of
the toe cord's knot, then stood and smiled down at her
handiwork. "Yes, yes, I know, darling," she chuckled, "I'm
a horrible person. But your 'big piggies' look so cute
tied together like that. I couldn't resist."
Skye stared the proverbial daggers at her Mistress. A
toe-tied courtesy struggle might be appropriate, but Skye found
herself in a dis-courteous mood.
"Now..." Mistress tucked the two short lengths of cord
into her breast pocket, stood, and smiled down at Skye.
She held the hook-knife between her thumb and index finger and gave it a
shake. "This is the key to your freedom. I'm going
to place it on the floor... somewhere in the house. And I
promise, wherever I put it, it will be hiding in plain sight...
but not necessarily visible from the doorway.
A knot formed in Skye's stomach. No!
"The playing field for this game will be the entire house,"
Mistress continued, "from the ground floor to the attic.
Any room with a closed door is out of bounds. Obversely,
any room with an open door is in bounds,
including closets and storerooms. Stairs and hallways are
also in bounds."
But... I'm tied up! Skye silently objected.
"Just to be clear," Mistress lectured, "your quest is to find
this knife." She gave the dangling knife another shake,
for emphasis. "And use it to free yourself. That's
old rope, ready for retirement, so feel free to slice it into as
many pieces as you find necessary."
Skye pleaded with her eyes. "Mrrrrr!"
"Now, now, none of that," Mistress purred. "You have the
entire day. I'll check in on you now and then to monitor
your progress. And please be careful on the
Skye watched as Mistress pocketed the knife, then turned and
padded towards the sitting-room door. "If you haven't
found the knife by sundown, you can try again next Sunday...
with a different tie, of course." She paused in the
threshold. "I'll be back once I find a hiding place for
the knife to let you know you can start your search. Good
And with that irritatingly smug remark... Mistress made
her gorgeous, smiling, gloating exit.
Skye stared at the open doorway, blinked her horrified green
eyes, drooled on the carpet, and squirmed in her quite obviously
inescapable bonds of "old rope." Finally, she heaved a
sigh, even if there was no audience, rested her head on
the carpet, and settled in for Mistress to return and fire the
proverbial starting gun for her Quest.
I can't wait to do something like this to Pallavi
and Harper, she mused.
| Chapter 11