| THE ADVENTURES OF BONNIE & GEORGE
| by Van ©2011
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Two Weeks Later,
Still Deep in the Junn-Junn...
The purple and rose glow on the
eastern horizon was brightening, and delicate rays were just
beginning to pinpoint the position of the sun's arrival.
In the clear, dry air of the Junn-Junn, the stars still filled
the indigo sky, but the weakest were beginning to fade.
George had the watch, but she hadn't had to touch GWENDOLINE's
automatic controls for more than an hour. The wind was
steady, and had been all night. After the sun rose and
began heating the rocks, that would probably change, but the
resulting mild turbulence wouldn't be George's concern.
Bonnie had the next watch.
Soon after leaving the Sand Amazon capital, George had changed
back into Luropean dress: boots, stocking, knickers, camisole,
traveling dress, and pith helmet. The costume was less comfortable in
this climate than her loincloth, bra-top, and robe, but it made
her feel better (meaning more proper).
Bonnie was taking her time reverting to more complete
coverage. She had added jodhpurs to her ensemble, but
still refused to don blouse and jacket, retaining her red,
Bondara, of course, continued wearing her boots, loincloth, and
bra-top, and showed no interest in experimenting with Luropean
clothing, even at George's repeated urging and kind offers to
help with the required alterations. In fact, on occasion
(at least once a day, actually), Bondara would select a sunny
spot on the foredeck and sunbathe in the nude! George was
oddly enough, important shipboard tasks required her to remain
on deck for the duration of the brazen spectacles).
The morning glow was beginning to touch the tops of the sails
when Bonnie came on deck, quietly easing the hatch closed and
joining George at the wheel. "Good morning," she said,
handing her partner a steaming mug of tea.
"Good morning," George answered, taking the mug and a delicate
sip. "Ah, thank you. I've been thinking about tea
for a solid hour."
Bonnie smiled and nodded, then pointed. "There's another
one. Three points off the port bow."
"I see it," George answered, and took another sip.
Miles away, many miles
away, a ghostly shape was slowly flapping a pair of long, thin,
giant wings. It was a dragon, or sky-god honker as the
Sand Amazons called them.
"I think it's a big one," George said. "I wish we could
get a closer look and determine its true size."
Bonnie chuckled. "Invisibility would be my first wish, followed by getting a
closer look. Crawling all over it with a measuring tape
would be much further
down the list."
George giggled. "Cheeky monkey. Oh, it's
landing." The dragon was, indeed, settling atop a distant
butte and folding its wings. "I wonder if they have roosts
all over their territories."
Bonnie shrugged, then opened the log and read George's latest
entries. She then consulted the map that was folded open
and clipped to a board mounted beside the desk. "Okay,"
she said, finally. "Anything else to report?"
George shook her head. "Base course remains
one-seven-five, magnetic. Wind has been from the starboard
quarter at three to five knots."
"And should quicken with the dawn," Bonnie nodded. "All
right, I relieve you."
"I stand relieved," George answered, making her final entry and
signing the log.
Bonnie smiled. "So... heading below for breakfast?"
George set down the pen. "Uh... perhaps. I may take
a nap and eat later."
Still smiling, Bonnie nodded. "It's quiet below decks."
Bonnie shrugged. "As far as I know."
"Oh." George turned and headed for the hatch. "Uh...
I'll be below." She opened the hatch as quietly as she
could, then tip-toed down the ladder.
Bonnie watched the hatch sloooowly
slide closed, then chuckled to herself. The glowing
band on the eastern horizon was now predominately orange and
gold. The first appearance of the sun should be moments
the Junn-Junn Wastes
white-painted passageways below deck were lit only by the weak
glow of small electrical lights in the overhead, set purposely
dim for the watches of the night.
If I can just get to my cabin
and lock the door, George thought. She paused to
listen, then took another sip of tea. All was quiet, as
Bonnie had said. Maybe
she is asleep.
George reached for the knob of her cabin door, gave it a slow
Suddenly, the door of the cabin across the passageway flew open,
a dark figure emerged, and grabbed George from
behind—"Mrrf!"—clamping a hand over her mouth.
It was Bondara, of course, and she was completely naked.
"Oh, thank you, Little Trout," she said as she took the mug from
George's hand and drank the remaining contents. "Most
considerate of you."
"Nrrrf!" George was struggling and kicking and trying to
pry Bondara's hand from her mouth. "Mrr'tr'mfffh!"
Once relieved of the mug, she pulled and slapped with both
hands. She might as well have been trying to pry apart
"What's that?" Bondara chuckled. "You'd like to come
in? Very well, if you insist." Bondara was learning
the Luropean manner of discourse, under George and Bonnie's
tutelage. They all agreed it would have a positive effect
during trade negotiations, once they returned to the Grand
Alliance. Bondara regularly complained about all the
"extra words," declaring them to be as unnecessary as George's
"extra clothing." However, she was making a serious effort
Bondara backed into her cabin, taking the struggling George with
her. George managed to grab the door frame, briefly, but
her efforts to impede their progress were as futile as her
struggles to squirm free or dislodge Bondara's hand.
Bondara sat on the bed, crossing her legs around George's waist
and trapping the diminutive prisoner's arms against her
sides. She pulled off George's pith helmet—including its
strapped-on pair of polychromatic, stereoptical, polarizing, and
magnifying goggles—and tossed it aside. She then released
"Oh bother!" George hissed in a hoarse whisper. "Release
me this instant!"
Bondara had shaken out a soft linen cloth and was balling it
into a wad. "Don't be silly, Little Trout," she chuckled.
"I'm tired," George whined, then asserted her authority as
second-in-command. "Let—Me—Go! Nrrrf!"
Bondara was stuffing the cloth into George's mouth, ignoring her
squirming resistance. She then placed a broad gag-strap of
brown chamois over George's lips and buckled it tight at the
nape of her neck. The gag was one of several items of Sand
Amazon manufacture Bondara had included in her luggage upon
joining the expedition. Apparently, the tools required to
effectively restrain and silence captives were part of an
amazon's standard field kit. The soft leather cupped
George's chin and pressed against her lower face. Her
cheeks bulged above the top of the band and her button nose
peeked through the rounded notch in the front.
George glanced to left and right and noted the coils of soft
rope scattered on the mattress, some of which were already
neatly lashed to the bunk's side rails. She sighed through
her gag and stopped struggling.
Bondara began unbuttoning George's traveling dress, working her
way down the captive youngster's back and releasing the ribbons
of the underlying camisole, as well. "I know you're tired,
Little Trout," she whispered, and kissed the back of George's
head. "Bondara make you nice and naked, tie you up nice
and tight, then help you relax before sleep."
George sighed, again, as her dress and camisole were pulled from
her shoulders and Bondara reached for the first of what would no
doubt be many coils
of rope. The Sand Amazon always made a thorough job of it when she
tied up her "Little Trout."
the Junn-Junn Wastes
looked up from the map as the hatch slid open. Bondara
mounted the ladder, a mug of tea in each hand. She was
totally naked, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and tied
with what Bonnie recognized as one of George's hair
ribbons. Not for the first time, Bonnie marveled at the
way the Sand Amazon beauty was totally at ease in her skin, to a
degree Bonnie the Social Progressive might hope to emulate but
knew she would never achieve.
"Morning," Bondara said, handing a mug to Bonnie.
"Morning," Bonnie answered. She took a sip. "And
Bondara nodded, then pulled the binoculars from the case mounted
next to the map board and scanned the horizon. She never
missed an opportunity to use the Helvetian-made
instrument. Such devices were rare in the Junn-Junn,
precision optics being one technology the Sand Amazons had yet
to master. All of their telescopes and field glasses were
captured from Tyrrenian and Iberian cavalry patrols, and some
were a century out of date.
"You eat breakfast?" Bondara asked.
Bonnie shook her head. "Not yet."
"I cook something," Bondara announced, still scanning the
Bonnie smiled. "George is asleep?"
Bondara returned the binoculars to their case, then returned
Bonnie's smile. "George in bed. Not know if George
"That's 'George is in her bed' and 'I don't know if she is
Bondara shrugged and headed for the hatch. "I never said
George was in her bed.
I cook breakfast."
Bonnie sipped her tea and smiled. The hatch slid closed
and she was alone on deck. "Lucky little bimbo," she
muttered under her breath, then returned to studying the
map. A distinctive formation of buttes should be coming
into view along their course, sometime within the next hour.
the Junn-Junn Wastes
stared up at the white overhead, then sighed through her gag.
She was naked and bound, a condition with which she was becoming
but by no means accustomed. Granted, Bondara's ropes were comfortable, as such
things went, but they were also tight, numerous, elaborate, and
Bondara had started with a box-tie, apparently a personal and
Sand Amazon favorite, then had proceeded to bind George's ankles
and legs, both above and below the knees. Next, she lashed
her to the bunk, utilizing the rails on either side of the
narrow but pleasantly soft mattress. A few simple hitches
would have been more than enough to keep her from rolling off
the bed and hopping out the stateroom door, but Bondara had felt
compelled to tie a taut, flesh-dimpling web of diamond hitches and
transverse strands. When she was finally satisfied, George
knew herself to be melded to the bunk as effectively as if she'd
been cocooned by a giant spider.
Bondara then proceeded with the "relaxation" portion of her
program. One would think that with George's thighs lashed
together it would have been exceedingly difficult, if not
impossible, for Bondara to tease the helpless little captive in
any meaningful way; however, no doubt thanks to decades of
experience entertaining bound captives (and fellow amazons), the
ex-Queen proved up to the challenge. Her strong, tan
fingers slid between George's pale, rope-dimpled thighs and
between the flushed, rosy-pink petals of her labia, and slowly,
over the course of minutes, kindled and nurtured to full flame a
veritable bonfire of
Finally, panting through flaring nostrils, her pale, flushed
skin glistening with a most unladylike glow, and the nipples of
her rope squeezed breasts pointing like a pair of pink rubber
erasers, George had glared up
at her tormentor (lover) and watched her lick her fingers, an
infuriating, leering, gloating smile curling the former Queen's
formerly Regal lips.
"There," Bondara had said. "Now, Little Trout can sleep
"Hrrmpfh!" George complained through her gag as Bondara left the
stateroom, closing the door behind her.
And now, probably for the next two or three hours if things ran
true to form, George would be left alone. A gentle, warm
breeze emanated from a small grill in the bulkhead and played
across her helpless body, thanks to the clever (if she did say
so herself) series of ram-scoops along the hull that fed the
ventilation system below decks.
I have been well and truly
frig-diddled, the naked prisoner mused. It was a
phrase she'd learned at boarding school. A crude phrase, granted, but
descriptive. It could
be worse, she thought as she relaxed in Bondara's
ropes, closed her eyes, and prepared for slumber. Trussa could have been appointed
as the Sand Amazons' Trade Envoy.
Had such been the case, George had no doubt whatsoever
the raven-haired beauty and Bonnie would be wrestling and
throwing each other about the galley, wardroom, staterooms,
storerooms, and holds, engaging in frig-diddling jûb-jûb at
every opportunity. The noise would be deafening and the
George squirmed in her bonds and sighed, once again. At least Bondara is
discrete. Bonnie doesn't suspect a thing.
the Junn-Junn Wastes