Sbf


by Van ©2019

Chapter 7








DRAMATIS PERSONÆ



OUR STORY CONTINUES


I like a good presentation.

I think that's true of most talented, intelligent, and reluctantly adorable bureaucrats.  Crafting good bullet points and matching them with just the right clip art is a gift.  The same goes for choosing just the right method of charting and/or graphing numerical data.  I've made my share of presentations and I've certainly sat through my share of them, good and bad, and there's nothing like a good one.

Power Point is my friend.

So, did Gabby give a good presentation?  I'll get to that, but first, a quick review.

Kelly, Logan, and myself were cooling our heels in a concrete cell on the second sub-basement level (aka "S2") of The Mansion.  Actually, "concrete cell" is redundant, because as far as I had seen (and not counting the steel doors), S2 was nothing but concrete.  Also, the cell was hot, meaning someone should turn down the thermostat.  The rest of S2, meaning the corridors between the elevator and our current overheated location, had been cold enough to raise goosebumps.

Logan was dressed as a "Celtic Dominatrix" in knee-boots, skintight pants, and bustier/bra, all in black leather tooled with subtle Celtic knot patterns.  Actually, I'm going to go out on a limb and officially change the designated color of Logan-the-Red's outfit from "black" to "dark chocolate brown."  Although, under the blue-white LED lights of S2, it did look pretty much black.

Myself.  {Sigh}  I was dressed in a full-blown, flat-out, take-no-prisoners Sweet Gwendoline costume.  Periwinkle-blue high-heel pumps (with pretty bows)—white stockings—frilly white garters with periwinkle-blue rosettes—a white linen, off-the-shoulders, mini-dirdl/mini-dress—a periwinkle-blue bustier—and with my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and tied with a periwinkle-blue ribbon.  Sweet Gwendoline.  It was humiliating and disgusting (and sexy).  Also, I was ball-gagged and my wrists were crossed and tied behind my back with black parachute cord.

Kelly was naked—her wrists and hands padlocked in black leather suspension cuffs (with chrome hardware)—her ankles padlocked in black leather cuffs (with chrome hardware)—and she was up on her toes with her arms stretched over her head.  Also, her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and she was gagged with what Logan claimed was a custom-made panel-gag with a double-bite-protector-mouth-plug.  Oh-by-the-way, there was a stainless steel choker around Kelly's neck that Logan also claimed was an electrified obedience collar, although I'd yet to see objective evidence that the thing actually was an electrified obedience collar.  That means if it was a joke, Kelly was in on it and was keeping her gagged remarks to herself.

Gabby was also present, but only in the form of an image on a big-screen TV.  She was actually at an "undisclosed location" which I assumed was her upstairs office, and she was seated behind a desk.  She was neither bound nor gagged and was wearing the same blouse she'd worn while feeding me my breakfast up in the kitchen.  I assume she wasn't naked from the waist down, but as I said, she was seated behind a desk.  Kelly's little sister was beautiful.  I was impressed.

More about Kelly.  I previously mentioned that the cell was overheated (IMHO), especially relative to the S2 corridors, and Kelly was sweating.  Her smooth, tan skin glistened with sweat.  The pale-pink triangles over her semi-stretched boobs and pale-pink pubic triangle (with luxuriant brown pubic bush) also glistened with sweat.  I assumed the pale (glistening) triangles in question were artifacts of sunbathing and/or swimming while wearing string bikinis.  Anyway, Kelly was bound, gagged, naked, stretched, and sweaty.  She might be 40-something, but golly-gosh-darn she was one sexy Captive Mistress!  (Pardon my French.)

Okay.  All caught up.  On with the presentation!


Sbf 
 Chapter 7

"Annie," Gabby's image said via the TV, "I've already explained how we conduct a lot of our business via teleconferences."

She was referring to the talk we'd had upstairs in the kitchen while Gabby and Logan-the-Red were taking turns feeding me my bacon and eggs.

"Observe," Gabby intoned as she picked up an iPad and pressed a virtual button.

The screen flashed and a grid of windows appeared.  In the upper left window of the grid appeared the image being captured by the camera mounted atop the TV.  That is, it was real-time video of Kelly, Logan, and myself down in our S2 cell and facing said TV.  The image of Gabby, seated at her desk and wearing a blouse (and probably jeans), had shrunk and moved to a largish window next to our image.  Below "The S2 Gang" and Gabby's windows was a row of smaller windows, all empty.  It was a teleconference screen.

"I include my sister's image in all of my teleconferences," Gabby explained—"even when she's 'unavailable' or 'tied up at the moment'—but only on my screen.  The other participants most definitely do not see her, not even as an empty window."  Gabby's smile widened.  "I don't know if she does the same when it's my turn to be the one that's unavailable, but I really enjoy watching Kelly's helpless reactions to what's going on, especially when things aren't going her way and she's unable to object."

I stole a glance at Kelly.  She was staring daggers at the smugly smiling image of her little sister.  In a flash I realized that this game The Sisters were playing was even more complicated than I'd originally thought.  Obviously, the sister not bound, gagged, and invisible held all the cards at that particular moment and could make choices and order actions she knew her sister might not like.  But as the slave repeatedly said to the conquering Roman general during the victory parade:  "All glory is fleeting."  What would happen when their roles were reversed?  The sisters had to strike a balance between personal interests, family interests, and the enjoyment of watching their beloved sibling squirm in helpless bondage.

Complicated.

Gabby's presentation continued.  "The same goes for e-mails, texts, and telephone calls.  All of that appears on a screen wherever the absent family member is cooling her heels.  We make every effort to keep everybody up to date at all times."

"It's a real pain in the butt when it's my turn," Logan said.  "I'm 'copy to' on almost everything that goes on around here, including the social calendars.  Imagine trying to read or listen and absorb all that business stuff while you're riding a sybian... or a horse."

My eyes widened and I started blinking.  Sybian?  This place has a sybian?  No, wait!  This place has a horse?

"Logan!" Gabby snapped.  "Stop teasing your little friend and stick to the script."

Smiling, her green eyes dancing, Sexy Celtic Dominatrix Logan dropped a quick curtsy.  "Yes, Mistress," she responded.  "Sorry, Mistress."  I've seen raccoons caught raiding picnic baskets show more contrition.

I continued blinking.  There's a script?  More importantly, there's a HORSE?

(For the uninitiated... I wasn't amazed that The Mansion might have a riding stable, but I was horrified The Sisters might posses a horse of the medieval torture chamber variety.  Equine horse?  No problem.  Torture horse?  Problem!

I focused on Kelly for support, and found her pretty blue eyes twinkling above her custom panel-gag.  She was smiling.  Smiling!  No support there.  I was on my own.  Thanks a bunch, fellow captive.

"Now see what you've done?" Gabby chuckled.  "You've frighten Sweet Gwendoline."

"Sorry," Logan purred, then hugged me from the side and planted a kiss on my ball-gagged lips (mostly on the baby-blue rubber ball).  "Don't be a chicken, Kitten," she whispered in my ear.

"Mrrrf!" I huffed.  Logan might be a fox and not a rat, but she might be a fox possessed by a rat.

"Is there anything else, Mistress?" Logan inquired.  Obviously she was speaking to the "Mistress" who wasn't naked, bound AOH, up on her toes, and silenced by a custom-panel-gag and an obedience collar.

"I suppose that's about it from my end," Gabby said.  "You can take it from here, Red."

"Thank you, Mistress," Logan chuckled, then dropped another curtsy.  I favored her with a dubious, ball-gagged expression.  Celtic Dominatrices look ridiculous dropping curtsies.

Apparently, Gabby agreed.  She rolled her eyes, tapped her iPad, and the demonstration teleconference was instantly replaced by a blank screen.

"Well then," Logan purred.  "On with the show."

"Mrrrf?" I inquired.  I suppose Gabby's part of the presentation had been okay, but I would have finished with a clear and concise summary.  On a scale from "one" to "ten," I'd give it a "This place has a HORSE??"

"Mrrr?"

This time it was Logan who rolled her eyes.  "Yes, we have a horse," she muttered.  "Get over it."

She continued demonstrating a talent for interpreting my ball-gagged-garbled inquiries, but I'd also been inquiring about what to expect in the ongoing "presentation."

Logan reached back into her thigh holster thingie, pulled out the obedience-collar remote, and the answer to that question began to unfold.


Sbf 
 Chapter 7

It turns out the obedience collar Logan locked around Kelly's neck is something of an insidiously evil technological wonder (IMHO).  It not only shocks its wearer if she tries to speak, but has a "cooperation" feature.  When a particular code is entered in the remote in Logan's hand, the remote starts beeping and a two minute countdown begins.  If two minutes are allowed to pass without Logan reentering or cancelling the code, the collar goes into continuous shock mode!

In this case, for example, that meant that when Logan entered the code and released Kelly from her AOH/full-body-stretch bondage, Kelly had no choice but to stand there and let Logan change her bondage.  If Kelly decided she'd rather wrestle with her red-haired handler, however, after the two minutes expired she'd get zapped!

Logan explained all of this in the form of an irritatingly perky lecture as she fiddled with the remote (and it started beeping), then proceeded to release Kelly from her AOH/full-body-stretch bondage and re-secure her in a different manner.  And Kelly let her do it!  Probably because Kelly didn't want to get zapped.  Maybe there actually is no countdown feature, it was all bullpuckey, and Kelly was cooperating as part of the presentation, but the end result was the same.

When the proverbial dust settled and the obedience collar remote control wand was no longer beeping and was back in Logan's thigh holster thingie, Kelly was no longer up on her toes (which had to feel good), and was ready for travel.  Kelly's ankle and suspension cuffs were intact, but now the ankle-cuffs were linked by about a foot of light chain and her suspension cuffs were padlocked together behind her back.  Her custom panel-gag and obedience collar were unchanged and were still stifling/eliminating her voice.

Logan strolled to the cell door and pulled it open.  "Let's go, ladies," she purred.

I had no idea where we might be going, of course, but apparently Kelly did.  She minced across the cell, out the door, and turned left down the corridor.  I blinked at Logan a few times... then followed in Kelly's wake.  Oh-by-the-way... Logan delivered a slap to my right butt cheek as I passed.

"Mrrrk!"  I glowered at her smugly smiling face, then turned and stomped from the cell.  The very nerve!  I'll show her!  Somehow.  Someday.

Kelly had waited patiently (and nakedly) in the corridor, and now we were a parade of three padding (in the case of Kelly) and tapping (in the case of Logan and myself) down said corridor and passing steel door after steel door.  The lighting fixtures overhead winked on and off as we passed, illuminating our immediate concrete surroundings.  Darkness ruled in front and behind.  It was eerie (as I mentioned earlier.)

We arrived at the elevator and Kelly paused again, waiting for Logan to step forward, pull out her key-ring, and summon our ride to... wherever we were going.

Instead, Logan smiled and spoke a single word: "Stairs."

Kelly favored her employee (and handler) with a chilling stare.  Her silent message was clear: just you wait, you'll get yours, etc., etc., and then she turned (in a naked, bound, and gagged huff) and minced away down the corridor.  It was very cute.

And speaking of chilling, my goosebumps were back.  And if I was cold, poor Kelly had to be freezing.  Sweat drying on her probably overheated naked body?  Kelly had to be freezing... even if she wasn't showing it.  Kelly was a brave, naked, stoic damsel.  I was impressed.

We arrived at a closed door and this time Logan did step forward, pull out her key-ring, and unlock and open the door.  Blue-white LED lights winked on in the space beyond, revealing the landing of a stairwell that led both up and down.  We crossed the threshold and Kelly started up the steps (concrete with steel treads).  She set a slow pace, dictated by her hobbling chain, and Logan followed her closely, no doubt to make sure her naked, bound, gagged, and hobbled Mistress didn't stumble.  She couldn't do cruel, wicked things to her naked, beautiful, 40-something Mistress/damsel if she'd fallen down the stairs and hurt herself, now could she?  Logan was just being selfish.

Okay, that was snarky and unfair.  I might be new to all of this (meaning the ins and outs of the interpersonal relationships at The Mansion), but it was already abundantly clear that Logan loved Kelly and Gabby and that they loved her.  What kind of love was still a tad murky and up for grabs (so to speak).

Anyway, we climbed the steps from S2 to S1.  Once again, Logan stepped forward, unlocked the door, and held it open so Kelly and myself could enter S1.

Yes!  That's right!  There were no panic-bars on the stairwell doors!  No provision whatsoever for emergency egress!  The stairwell doors of the sub-basement levels of The Mansion were in blatant violation of the municipal building code!  I made a mental note to think about seriously considering the possibility of anonymously reporting The Sisters to the building inspectors office... after I was untied and ungagged and had changed out of my Sweet Gwendoline costume, of course.

S1 appeared to be the same as S2, meaning it had the same gray concrete walls, floor, and ceiling, gray-painted steel doors, and motion-sensor-equipped LED lighting.

Kelly turned right and continued making the same slow, mincing progress down the corridor.  Step followed step... overhead fixtures winked on as we approached... and winked off after we passed.  Maybe I was just getting used to the lack of heat in the sub-basement levels, but my goosebumps were now a very minor issue.  And while Kelly was no longer shining with sweat, she wasn't shivering, either.

Kelly paused before a steel portal—I still don't know how they navigate down in the sub-basement levels—and once again Logan produced her keys and unlocked the door.

Seriously.  Paint some labels on the stupid doors!  And if you're that committed to the color gray, by all means, use a slightly darker or lighter shade of gray.  I added it to my growing list of suggestions to make to The Sisters (and Logan-the-Red) once I was ungagged.

The door opened, and beyond I beheld...  Wait for it!  Wait for it!  ...another concrete cell.  In the center of the cell was a treadmill, meaning an exercise treadmill, meaning the kind of running machine you find in any reasonably well-equipped gym.  However, this particular treadmill was accessorized, and I instantly formed the opinion the accessories in question were... sinister.

They were...
  1. An open framework of vertical and horizontal steel bars (mostly vertical) surrounding the treadmill and solidly bolted to the floor, ceiling, and/or each other;
  2. A system of pulleys and steel cables bolted to various parts the upper framework and the ceiling;
  3. What appeared to be a body harness of black leather straps (with chrome hardware) suspended from said pulley and cable system and centered over the treadmill;
  4. A TV with a 24" diagonal screen mounted on a pedestal at the far end of the treadmill.
I was still scoping things out, but obviously Kelly knew what to do.  She padded across the cell and stepped up onto the rubber track, then forward 'til her naked body brushed the open, dangling straps of the harness.

Logan followed her captive (the other captive, the one not dressed like Sweet Gwendoline) and spent the next few minutes buckling Kelly into the harness and adjusting the tension of the various cables.  When she was finally finished, Logan stepped off the machine and Kelly was on the treadmill to stay.

Diagonal straps yoked Kelly's shoulders.  Horizontal straps pinned her upper arms against her torso and passed above and below her no longer semi-stretched and now perfect breasts (IMHO).  A strap encircled her waist and the two lowest straps separately encircled her left and right upper thighs.  Vertical straps connected the various harness elements, and I noted there was no vertical strap cleaving her crotch.  I considered this... unusual?  Granted, my personal experience with bondage harnesses was limited to a little internet browsing and what was happening in front of me right now, but body harnesses almost always have a crotch strap, right?  This one didn't.  Go figure.

"There's no crotch strap to prevent chafing," Logan explained.

Wow.  It's as if she really can read my mind!  But... chafing?  Oh...  Treadmill.  Harness.  No chafing once she starts walking.  Got it.  I guess I was slow on the uptake because of all the... uh... emotional overload.

To complete the harness picture, Kelly's arms were folded behind her back and her suspension-cuffed wrists clipped to the back of the harness in yet another example of the box-tie configuration.  I guess that also made for good sense from a treadmill perspective.  Also, Logan had removed the light chain formerly hobbling Kelly's steps but had left the ankle-cuffs padlocked around her ankles... where they now appeared to be solely decorative.

The vertical and diagonal cable and pulley system linking the harness to the framework included several steel springs.  I assume the entire system was engineered to support Kelly's weight if she tripped, slumped, collapsed, or decided to pitch a tizzy-fit... even though Kelly was showing zero signs of pitching a tizzy-fit, or any other kind of fit for that matter.  She just stood there on the motionless, rubber, textured track of the treadmill, harnessed and held in place by the semi-slack cables, all naked and beautiful and gagged.

There was another change before the exercise fun began.  Logan opened a steel cabinet against the right wall and...

Oh, that's right.  I forgot to mention the steel cabinets on both the right and left walls.  Both were painted gray.  Big surprise.  Gray.

Anyway, Logan had opened the door of the right steel cabinet, the one next to the wall-mounted panel with the dials and buttons and small display screen.

Wait, I forgot to mention the console as well, didn't I.  Maybe I should just cut to the end result.

Kelly said nothing during the changing of the gags ceremony (I assume because she was still wearing the steel obedience-collar); however, she did heave a sad (silent) sigh just before Logan shoved the mouthpiece into her mouth and buckled the breathing-mask-gag tight at the nape of her neck, under her bobbing ponytail.  It was truly tragic (and cute).

"There's a heart rate sensor built into the lower neck-strap," Logan lectured.  "Also, pads or clips can be strapped or clamped to various parts of the anatomy to provide motivation, but I think I'll forego their use on this occasion."

"Mrrrk?"

"The shock-pads and electrified clips," Logan amplified, giving Kelly's right nipple a playful tweak as she did so.

I suppose I could call the tweak "playful" and not "painful."  Kelly favored her employee with a gagged, dignified stare but didn't wince, so I'll stick with "playful."

"If the pads and clips are in place," Logan explained, "and the runner fails to keep up with the exercise program, she receives... shall we say... gentle reminders of the virtues of vigorous exercise.  Like I said... motivation."  She smiled at Kelly.  "We discussed it and decided you watching me apply clips to Kelly's nipples and labia might be... premature."  She shifted her gaze to me.  "Baby steps, as the saying goes."

Kelly and I locked eyes above our respective gags.  I'd stepped forward to the side of the treadmill opposite Logan and the console.  It was so I could get a better view of what was happening... as well as a better view of Kelly's harness-bound but otherwise naked body.  Did I mention her boobs?  Kelly has nice boobs... full but not overly large... with bikini-tan-lines... and nipples.  I didn't stare or anything.  That would be rude.  But wow she was beautiful like that.

Also... "We decided?"  "Baby steps?"  "Premature?"  Logan and The Sisters had an agenda with respect to myself?  Some sort of program?

Also... "Electrified clips on Kelly's nipples and labia??"  Maybe "baby steps" was a good idea.  I gazed at Kelly's nipples, and decided baby steps was a very good idea.

I realized I was hearing various gleeps and bleeps from Logan's direction, shifted my gaze from Kelly's nipples, and watched as Logan punched various buttons and flipped various switches on the console.  Numbers and words flashed on the screen, but I was too far away to read anything.

"Here we go," Logan announced, and pressed a red button.  The TV in front of Kelly began to glow and the treadmill hummed.  Kelly heaved another gagged sigh (which was very cute) then focused on the screen.  I looked at the screen as well.

Most of the display was taken up by what appeared to be a photograph of a mountain meadow: blue skies, white clouds, snowy peaks in the distance, conifers, bushes, grass, and wildflowers.  Very pretty, but to my surprise Kelly seemed less than pleased.  She turned her head and glared at Logan.

"Don't worry, Mistress," Logan said with a wicked smile.  "No running today.  Only walking."

Suddenly, the treadmill began turning and Kelly had no choice but to begin walking.  The mountainside image was moving as well, revealing that it was video, not a photo, and had been taken with a gyro-stabilized camera.

We, meaning Kelly, meaning the videographer, meaning the image on the screen, meaning whatever, crossed the meadow until we came to a hiking trail... then turned onto the trail and continued.  The trail led upwards, and we could see it turn back and forth up as it zigzagged up the slope and disappeared into the trees.  The front end of the treadmill rolling under Kelly's feet began slowly tipping upwards, simulating the rising trail.

"It certainly is realistic," Logan said, "isn't it?"

I blinked uncertainly.  Huh?

"The image," Logan clarified.  "It's actually computer generated.  Very realistic.  Photo-realistic."

We gazed at the screen, as did Kelly.  I had to agree, the mountain meadow was photo-realistic... but now that she mentioned it, the meadow was a little too perfect... maybe.

"Wait 'til you see the stationary bike setup in another cell," Logan continued.  "The monitor is twice this size and the screen splits between the view ahead and the view behind, and once the program starts, you're being chased by a predator!  There's an ever growing menu, like puma, grizzly bear, rabid marmot, a horde of zombie chipmunks... and they just added a Velociraptor.  Scary!  You have no choice but to pedal, of course, as the bike's equipped with both the appropriate wrist and ankle cuffs and electrical motivation.  But don't worry.  If you fall behind or decide to slack off, all you get is a series of painful zaps.  You don't get bitten, clawed, or eaten alive."

I heaved a ball-gagged sigh.  That was nice... I suppose.

Meanwhile... Kelly continued her hike.  The treadmill tipped up and down as the trail climbed, leveled out for a dogleg turn, then climbed again.  The treeline was getting closer and closer.  Kelly put one bare foot in front of the other, over and over and over.  Poor Mistress.  She was naked, helpless, gagged, and being forced to exercise.  Poor Mistress.

I heard a metallic sound and turned my head.  Logan had just closed the cabinet door and was strolling in my direction, a saucy grin on her face.  She grabbed my left arm—"Mrrrk?"—and led me away from Kelly, the treadmill, the digital mountain meadow, and towards the cell door.

"Don't worry about Mistress," Logan purred as she opened the door and led me across the threshold.  "It's only a three mile hike to the top of the pass, then three miles down the far side."

My last view of Kelly as Logan closed the door was of her dimpled butt-cheeks and churning legs.  She was starting to sweat again... I think.

Then, Logan closed the door, locked it, and once again we were tapping away down the corridor.

What now?  She wasn't gonna make me ride that stupid bike, was she?


Sbf 
 Chapter 7

As it turns out, no bike.  Phew!

Also, she let me ride the elevator instead of making me trudge up the stairs, and I was relieved (sort of) to find we were going up, and not down.  A teleconferencing torture chamber on S2?  An involuntary exercise torture chamber on S1?  (Or chambers, plural, if Logan was telling the truth about that bike?)  I had no interest whatsoever in whatever might be lurking down on S3.

Anyway, we rode the elevator up to the second floor (above ground), and once again I was back in Arts & Crafts Land.  Hardwood floors and carpets.  Wainscoting.  Elegant furniture with simple lines and lacking significant ornamentation.  Central heating.  No concrete.

Still gently gripping my arm, Logan led me down the hallway to a closed set of double doors, then released me and opened the doors.  I turned my head and looked back the way we'd come... then down the hallway in the other direction.

"Thinking of running again?" Logan chuckled.

I favored her with a gagged, disdainful sniff.  Then, holding my head high, I flounced into the space beyond.  Yeah, yeah, I know, I should have stomped and not flounced, but you try stomping in a Sweet Gwendoline costume.  You flounce.  It's unavoidable.

Logan followed, closing (and locking) the doors behind us.  I looked around and found myself in... an exercise studio?  There was no equipment, meaning stationary bikes, running machines, etc., with or without "accessories," but the floor underfoot was one giant wall-to-wall exercise mat (in dark hunter-green).  It was an exercise room, or possibly a yoga or dance studio.  There was oak paneling, a high ceiling with exposed wooden beams, and comprising one wall was a bank of windows overlooking The Mansion's expansive backyard.  Also, and it was somewhat curious (IMHO), there was a trapeze bar dangling from a pair of ropes that disappeared into a pair of steel-lined holes in the ceiling between two beams.  Yeah, that's right, a trapeze!  What the hey?  Did The Sisters practice a circus act as part of their fitness routine?

"So," Logan purred.  "Are you done having fun yet?"

I stared daggers at my smug, Celtic Dominatrix-clad bungalow-mate.  I'd show her!  No I wasn't done having fun yet!  So there!

"I'll take that as a no," Logan purred, then kissed my ball-gag (and lips).  "My brave Kitten," she whispered, then stooped and removed my periwinkle-blue high heel pumps (with pretty little periwinkle-blue bows).

Okay, we were standing on a giant exercise mat, which is no place for high heels.  Removing my shoes was reasonable.  But I wish she'd stop calling me "Kitten."

Next, Logan knelt and started peeling my right garter down my leg, followed by my right stocking!  I fidgeted in place and complained.  "Mrrrk!"  Wearing stockings and garters while standing on a giant exercise mat is perfectly okay, so what was she doing?  She answered my rhetorical question by removing my left garter and stocking... and now my legs were bare!  Then, she unlaced and removed my periwinkle-blue bustier!  Then she climbed to her booted feet and stepped behind me.

"I'm going to untie your hands so you can remove your pretty white dress," she whispered in my ear, "but only if you promise to be a good girl.  Will you be a good girl, Kitten?"

Again with the "Kitten."  More importantly...

Moment of truth.

At that point my big chicken excuse was wearing more than a little thin.  Bwack-bwack-bwack-bwack?  Get real.  Resistance might be futile, especially when you're bound and gagged behind the locked door of a subterranean torture chamber (or playroom), but Logan was offering to untie me... completely.  Should I play along and let the weekend games continue?  Should I pretend to play along, let her untie me, and then make a run for it?

Moment of truth.

The problem (if you can call it a problem) was that I loved and trusted my bungalow-mate.  Of course, exactly what was happening this weekend and especially what it all meant was still unfolding and/or yet to be worked out, but I did love and trust Logan.  Also, the double doors, the only way out of the exercise room, as far as I knew, were locked.  I'd watched her lock them, and wrestling my bungalow-mate for the keys would have been violent and just plain rude.

So, that was that.  I had no real choice but to double down on my Big Chicken Excuse and nod my ball-gagged head to signal my... submission.

"Good girl," Logan purred, then kissed my right cheek (on my face).

"Mrrrf!" I complained as, true to her word, Logan untied my wrists.  See?  Trustworthy.

And then it was my turn to be trustworthy.  I rubbed my wrists for a few seconds, then set about removing my white linen mini-drindl.  Soon, my Sweet Gwendoline costume was a thing of the past.  It was also a heap of white and periwinkle-blue off to the side and I was naked.  (Actually, I wasn't quite naked.  I was still wearing the costume's ridiculously skimpy and sexy bikini-panties.  With any luck, Logan would either forget about them or decide I looked excessively cute in them and let them stay.)

Meanwhile, Logan had opened the door of a cabinet built into the room's paneling and was pulling out—(Wait for it!  Wait for it!)—bundles of conditioned hemp rope!

I heaved a ball-gagged sigh—Sigh—fisted my hands at my sides, stamped a bare foot (causing my boobs to bounce), and whined through my ball-gag.  "Mr-rrf!"  ("Lo-gan!")

"Poor Kitten," Logan chuckled as she carried her double armload of light-brown hemp coils in my direction, dropped them on the padded floor
Thud!and set to work.  Again, in the interests of clarity and brevity, I'll cut to the chase, meaning the end result of my bungalow-mate's rigging efforts.
There was a pause while Logan gazed at her handiwork and smiled a truly wicked smile.  Then, she grabbed a free-end of the bow securing my bikini-panties over my right hip.

"You were hoping I'd forgotten about this cute little thing," Logan purred, "didn't you, Kitten?"

I mustered my best gagged glower and stared daggers at my bungalow-mate.  As a matter of fact, yes, I had been hoping she'd forgotten about the panties.  After all, they were very skimpy and therefore highly forgettable.

Still smiling the same loathsome, smug smile, Logan slowly pulled on the string, releasing the right bow... then did the same thing to the left bow... then pulled the panties themselves from between my legs and dropped them on top of the costume pile. This cleared the way for the final detail of Logan's composition.
Logan explained that the crotch-rope was necessary to anchor the body harness, but we both knew that to be a foul lie (or possibly a foul exaggeration).  The crotch-rope was just Logan's way of basking in her role as a wicked, evil, and downright cruel Celtic Dominatrix.

So... there I was, bound at the ankles, knees, crotch, and torso, with my arms bent back behind my head and the trapeze bar, and with my wrists crossed and bound behind my head!  I know I already told you all that, but I was impressed.  Yesterday evening I'd watched Gabby bind Logan Kinbaku-fashion and I was impressed then.  And now, while Logan's "trapeze-tie" might or might not be officially classified as Kinbaku, I was impressed again.

I was also naked, tied up, ball-gagged, and helpless.

And then, adding excess to helplessness, Logan planted another kiss on my right cheek (on my face), sauntered to a nearby wood-paneled wall (swinging her hips), opened a built-in panel, and (apparently) pressed an unseen button.  A motor hummed overhead... and the pair of ropes suspending the trapeze rose into the steel-lined holes in the ceiling with glacial slowness, lifting the bar and yours truly.  Soon... meaning eventually... my heels left the mat... and I was pulled up on my toes!

"Mr-rrf!"  ("Lo-gan!") I complained when Logan finally released the button.  How could she?  I was bound and gagged on tiptoe!  Granted, the floor was padded, and so was the trapeze bar, and Logan's impressive rope-work was evenly supporting my body weight, but...  How could she?

Logan leered at me for a while—yes, she leered—then picked up my Sweet Gwendoline costume, made sure it was wrapped together in a tight bundle, then strolled to the double doors (swinging her hips in a most irritating manner).  I watched as she unlocked and opened the doors, crossed the threshold, then turned, and leered at me some more.

"See ya later, alligator," Logan-the-Red purred, then pulled the doors closed.

Really?  "See ya later, alligator?"  That was just... silly.  I heard the click of the key turning the lock... and now I had the exercise room to myself.

I squirmed and struggled, giving my bonds a pop quiz.  They passed.  I struggled some more, giving them a more detailed examination.  They still passed.  I wasn't going anywhere.

I was facing the window-wall and therefore the backyard, and from the angle of the sun I realized it was early afternoon.  Hopefully, Logan had gone to fetch me a late lunch, but I wasn't counting on it.

But the joke was on Logan!  She'd forgotten the periwinkle-blue ribbon!  It was still in my hair, tied with a big bouncy bow!  I could feel it with my fluttering fingers!  That meant if the Sweet Gwendoline costume was a rental, when Logan brought it back to the shop and the clerk discovered the ribbon was missing, she'd get charged a ribbon replacement fee!

Hah!  Serves her right!  It almost made the whole naked, bound, gagged, and up-on-tippy-toe thing worthwhile... almost.

Sbf 
 Chapter 7


The
 End




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