Van © 1996
of our stay at Aunt Carol's farm was relatively uneventful, from
a bondage point of view. True to her word, Aunt Carol
freed and forgave Erin for her supposed abuse of yours truly
during my previous week-plus of captivity back at the
loft. For her part, Erin was remarkably subdued, even
nonchalant about her capture and "torture" at the hands of Aunt
Carol and the twins (and their "fickle feathers of fate," as we
started calling the twins' instruments of tickling
torment). She apologized to me for being insensitive and
not balancing our bondage game with either affection or
compassion. I forgave her in turn and was about to
apologize to her for the liberties I had taken during the
previous night's bondage in the barn, when I saw Carol signaling
me to desist. I did so, not telling Erin that the
insatiable tongue that had been her only companion during the
previous long night had, in fact, been mine. We shared a
group hug the likes of which has not been seen since the last
Christmas show on Dr. Quinn and sat down to a
The next two weeks were characterized by fresh air, good food,
and plenty of hiking, swimming, and riding. Towards the
end of the second week Erin e-mailed her boss and received
permission to take the promised third week of vacation, but
rather than continue on the farm, Erin and I decided to return
to the loft and spend our last week of freedom from toil
enjoying the pleasures of the city.
I soon learned that Erin was hatching a nefarious scheme for
good-natured revenge. She enlisted me as co-conspirator
when we were alone that evening. We had been sharing one
of the larger bedrooms and it was about time to retire when Erin
revealed her plot.
Erin looked up from her book as I turned down my bed.
"I've asked the twins to be our guests next week so we can show
them the city."
"That's nice," I said. I knew the look in Erin's eye. She
was up to something. "This won't be just a nice little
family visit, will it? What are you planning?"
"Revenge, my dear!" Erin rubbed her hands together with a
villainous chuckle. "I'm going to find a way to capture
the twins, pop them in the vault for a few hours, and make them
rue the day they tickled my tootsies."
"You're insane. Aunt Carol will kill you, figuratively of
course, even if you could find a way to capture Nikki
"I've already cleared this with Aunt Carol. Just as she
thought I deserved a taste of my own medicine
for what I did to you, she thinks the twins got entirely too
much fun out of bringing me down a notch. She thinks
it's time they got a taste of their own
"Let me get this straight. Nikki and Vikki did what Carol
asked them to do—so she want's them punished?"
"I think it's more a matter of education than punishment for
Carol. For me, it's revenge! Carol even
suggested how we might go about it."
"Do tell," I said. I was beginning to warm to the
idea. The thought of the twins as our prisoners was
Erin explained Carol's approach. It might work, and if it
didn't, we could always wait until we got them separated, alone,
and unsuspecting, and take them by brute force. Egad!
Was I being seduced by "The Dark Side" of "The Force?" I
was going to start wearing black and kicking puppies if this
kept up. (Don't get us wrong, nothing really bad was being
planned. The twins would still get their Big City Adventure,
only it was going to start out with a lot more melodrama than
they were expecting.)
The twins accepted our invitation with such charming girlish
enthusiasm I nearly called the whole revenge thing off, but a
wink from Aunt Carol reminded me that it was all in fun (of
to the loft on a Friday night, and promptly treated the twins to
dinner at one of our favorite haunts (their first taste of West
Indian cuisine). The next day we shopped 'til we dropped
and returned to the loft for a night in.
Faithful readers of this series (and God bless you all) will
remember that "the loft" is a collection of brick and iron
barred rooms which began life as home base for a bonded storage
company and in its current incarnation was the loft apartment
home for a couple of urban ingenues: yours truly, Brooke, the
moppet haired, cute as the proverbial bug, munchkin of a
supremely talented writer (I'm humble too); and Erin, my
disgustingly beautiful red haired computer expert and
roommate. (Hey! Come to think of it, the twins,
Nikki and Vikki, Erin's distant cousins, are also
beautiful redheads, as is Carol, Erin's forty-something aunt and
the twin's guardian and mentor. Four percent of the U.S.
population is red haired, and 80% of the people in my story are
carrot-tops. Something's going on here. If a dog
walks into the story, it will no doubt be an Irish Setter.
If we find a cat it will have to be a marmalade
tiger. Oh well, on with the story.)
The twins were watching TV in the "living room" (one of the
larger spaces near the door) when we commenced our carefully
"I still think you did a lousy job of tying me up when I
was your prisoner," I remarked to Erin as we ever so
nonchalantly entered the room. "If I hadn't been rescued
by Aunt Carol it would have only been a matter of time until I
escaped and tied you up."
"Hah! Real freakin' likely! That's why you were my
prisoner for eight days, 'cause I did such a lousy job of
"I could have done better."
The twins were watching our verbal sparring like it was center
court at Wimbledon, heads turning in unison. Obviously we
were much more interesting than the sitcom on the tube.
"Prove it? How can I prove it?" I asked. "Tie you
"No, that won't work. We'll have to hold a contest.
We'll each tie someone up and then time their escape. The
one whose rope work takes the longest to escape from is the
"Agreed, but who do we tie up?" We pretended to innocently
ponder this question, all the while prepared to launch into a
meticulously planned, frightfully clever dialogue
fiendishly designed to maneuver the twins into volunteering for
our little contest. I was about to fire the opening verbal
salvo when quite unexpectedly our prey sauntered into the trap
and pulled the door shut.
"Tie us up," the twins said together.
"It'll be fun—"
"—and it will be a perfect contest—"
"—because we're both—"
"I don't know," I said, pretending to be skeptical. "How
do I know whichever of you gets tied by Erin won't only pretend
to struggle, so she'll win. You flame-tops stick
"Oh please, Brooke," pleaded the twins.
"We promise to be fair—"
"—and try our best to escape—"
"—and not play favorites."
"Please!" they finished together.
Erin and I looked at each other in disbelief. All our
carefully planned stratagems designed to make them prisoners—and
they were literally begging for it.
"Well...OK," granted Erin, "but we have to agree on the rules of
"You really have a thing for rules and contracts, don't you," I
"I only want to be sure the contest is fair and equitable so you
won't complain when I trounce you," Erin smirked.
"My, my! Aren't we confident?" I looked at the twins as if
studying a pair of dueling pistols. "We'll each randomly choose
a victim, ah, er, I mean subject, and each use identical
materials under identical conditions."
"Agreed! I think I have just what we need." Erin left the
room and returned with a double armload of cotton clothesline
cut into various lengths and coiled into neat hanks.
Launching into the next appropriate part of our prearranged
script, I eyed the twins appraisingly with hand on chin.
"What should they wear for this. We want them to have
freedom of motion. Did you two bring any exercise
The twins looked at each other and answered together, "No."
"Swim suits?" Erin ventured.
"Hum," I pondered. "I guess we'll have to go with
underwear. Why don't you two strip down while Erin and I
sort out the rope?"
The twins looked at each other uncertainly as Erin went for the
kill. "Underwear, my ass," she said.
"Underwear my ass too," I deadpanned. "Why you talk like
The twins laughed.
"No, I mean it," Erin said with a smirk. "To make the
contest realistic the twins should wear the same thing you were
wearing most of the time when I tied you up."
"Nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing," she answered.
"You want us naked?" asked Nikki. (I think it was Nikki.)
"Oh come on!" said Erin. "Don't suddenly get all prudish on
us. We all went skinny-dipping in Aunt Carol's
pond last Wednesday."
"Well..." ventured Vikki.
"It would be more realistic that way," I cajoled.
"OK!" the twins agreed, and began peeling off their jeans,
T-shirts, and panties.
Soon they were standing side by side in all their befreckled
glory. Although they had nothing over Erin in terms of
beauty, they were rather better endowed in the breast
department, and they had that late-teenager muscle tone that
came to them effortlessly (and that Erin and I hung onto only
through regular workouts). It was also instantly clear
that last Wednesday was not the first time the twins had
been skinny-dipping. They each had about triple the number
of Erin's freckles, and neither twin had a hint of tan-lines (or
in their case freckle-lines.)
Erin reached into her pocket, pulled out a coin and prepared to
flip it in the air towards me.
"Call it," she said.
"A quarter?" I ventured.
"How droll," Erin said and tossed me the coin.
I caught it, slapped it over the back of my left hand.
"Tails," I predicted, then slowly uncovered the coin.
"Tails it is," Erin observed. "Which tail do you want?"
"I'll take the tail with all the freckles," I answered.
The twins giggled. Erin gave me her patented We-are-not-amused
"I'll take Vikki," I answered more seriously.
"OK," said Erin. "Since the President isn't here to throw
out the first ball-gag, I guess we'll just have to start the
contest on our own. May the best villainess win, ...and
let's hope this doesn't end in a tie."
The twins and I groaned.
"She was bound to say something like that," snickered
"I wish she'd stayed tongue-tied," quipped Vikki.
I picked up a length of clothesline and examined one tip.
"I'm at the end of my rope," I sighed.
"Enough!" laughed Erin. "Cut the comedy and put Vikki
at the end of your rope." She then spun Nikki around and
had her hold her hands behind her back, palm to palm.
Erin went for the classical approach: wrists tied with a broad
band of wrappings, cinched and knotted well out of reach—elbows
tied neatly together with an even broader band of
wrappings, also cinched and knotted—upper arms bound to the body
with repeated tight wrappings above, below, and crossing between
the breasts, cinched under the arms and anchored to the elbow
bindings—several tight windings around the waist to anchor a
tight set of crotch ropes that were tied off at the small of the
back and to the wrist bindings—lower arms further secured with
several windings around the hips and stomach, cinched around the
forearms, and anchored to the back of the waist bindings—ropes
wrapped and tightly cinched above and below the knees.
Finally (after Nikki was helped to flop down and lay flat on the
couch), the ankles were crossed, wrapped, cinched, and knotted.
The entire process took almost half an hour. Vikki and I
watched mesmerized, the silence being broken only by occasional
simultaneous grunts and gasps from the twins as the various
parts of Nikki's bindings were cinched tight and securely
knotted. Towards the end I noticed that both twins were
breathing rather rapidly, and watching Vikki from the corner of
the eye I noticed her hands covertly and very lightly caressing
her breasts and between her legs. At least for now, the
twins seemed to be enjoying themselves. Erin finished her
task and we watched Nikki writhe on the couch, twisting,
bending, and making her first tentative attempts to get
free. This continued for several seconds, then both twins
turned to Erin (well, Nikki didn't exactly turn—she sort of
craned her neck), and said, "Good job."
"Yeah, real good job," I remarked. "And you also
used up two thirds of the cotton rope. What am I
supposed to use?"
"We could run down to the hardware store," answered Erin.
"It's only four blocks away. I'm sure Nikki won't mind
waiting an hour or two for us to return." The twins
laughed, Nikki a little less enthusiastically than Vikki.
"That won't be necessary," I said. "I'll use some of that
thicker rope, the half inch braided nylon we've got in the
"That's not nearly as escape proof as the thin cotton
stuff," Erin said. "I don't want you to accuse me of
rigging the contest after Vikki wiggles free in ten minutes."
"She won't be wiggling free of what I have in mind," I
answered, winking at Vikki. Vikki smiled, somewhat
I went to the vault and returned with several coils of the rope
in question, then went behind Vikki and ran a length under her
left armpit, around the back of her neck, and back under her
right armpit. I tied this in a non-slipping knot between
her shoulder blades (a "bowline" for the Scouts, sailors, and/or
rock climbers among my readers) leaving the rest of the long
coil trailing to the floor and a good two feet of free end at
the knot. I tucked the free end under the rope at the nape
of her neck (to keep it out of the way,) and began wrapping her
upper arms in a series of loops and turns, each time pulling the
entire long rope over and through each successive coil. The
result was a chain of rather loose figure-eights, each joined to
the next by a cinching loop between her arms. I then went
back over each loop, pulling out slack and tightening each
figure-eight. I repeated the process, removing even more
slack, and soon Vikki's shoulders and upper arms were pulled
back with her elbows nearly touching by a running hitch of fat
coils extending from just below her armpits to just above her
elbows. I hitched the remaining couple of feet of rope
through and around the final cinch and pulled it taut.
"Try that on for size, Vikki."
"You're finished?" both twins asked in unison.
"No, I'm not finished. I want you to test out
phase one, Vikki" I answered, and began sorting through the
remaining cotton clothesline.
Vikki began by waving her arms and fluttering her fingers, then
moved into some enthusiastic (if limited) back twists and
stomach crunches. After several seconds, the only results
were a little sweat, some heavy breathing, and a face full of
All knots were impossible to reach, and there was no
slack. Vikki tossed her head and blew vagrant strands of
hair to either side as best she could.
"Pretty tight," she observed.
"Just stand there like a nice docile prisoner and I'll make it
even tighter," I promised. It was pretty tight,
but not what you could call extreme—or punishing.
I found the longest remaining piece of clothesline and starting
at about a third of the way along its length wrapped Vikki's
left wrist in seven tight coils and tied the ends off in a
carefully compacted square knot. I then stretched the longest
free end from the left wrist across Vikki's flat stomach and
captured her right wrist in seven coils which I secured with two
half-hitches. Finally, I gathered the free ends from left
and right, pulled and held them as taut as I could, and tied a
surgeon's knot at the small of Vikki's back. Vikki's hands
were now bound at her sides, with the key securing knot
unreachable behind her back. No amount of twisting or
pulling would free her wrists, and her groping fingers were
several inches from even touching, much less untying, the
I next selected a length of the thicker nylon rope, doubled it
to find the center, slipped a bight under the cotton rope across
Vikki's stomach, and pulled the free ends through to form a
hitch (a "lark's head"), centered over her navel. I then
passed both ends between her legs and through her crotch,
(making sure they nestled in all the right places), threaded the
ends through her elbow bonds, under the knotted cotton rope I
had just knotted at the small of her back, back up through her
elbow bonds, and pulled. Vikki yelped as the cotton rope
encircling her stomach was tugged down about an inch in front
and tugged up about an inch in back. Twisting her hands
from side to side was now impossible, and everything was now much
tighter. (My use of non-compacting knots to secure her
wrists would insure near normal circulation to her fingers and
hands.) As the final touch, I pulled taut and knotted the
free end of the arm bondage I had left hanging under the rope at
the nape of Vikki's neck.
"Wow," remarked Erin. "I don't know if it's exactly new, but
I've never seen anything like it. Full points for originality."
"Full points for tightness, too," Nikki added.
"What about her legs?" Erin asked. "She can still dance
"'I won't dance—don't ask me,'" Vikki deadpanned.
"I'll remove the option," I said.
I used the last long piece of nylon rope to capture Vikki's
right ankle in several turns which I secured with a hitch and a
square knot leaving two free ends several feet in length.
At my direction Vikki knelt on the rug and flopped awkwardly
onto her back. I grabbed her right ankle, pushed until her
heel touched her buttocks and took three doubled wrappings of
rope completely around right ankle and upper right thigh.
Two frappings between ankle and thigh and a square knot later,
and her right knee was held permanently bent and any flopping
around she could accomplish would only be called dancing by an
unusually demented devotee of the avant-garde.
I rolled her over onto her stomach and secured the final two
feet of ankle rope to the body ropes at the small of her back
with a flourish of hitches and square knots.
Erin surveyed my work and nodded in apparent satisfaction.
"What about the left foot?"
"Ever hear the expression ‘less is more?'" I gathered up the
remaining scraps of rope and tossed them in a handy
drawer. "She can't go anywhere on just one left foot, but
it might be entertaining to watch her try."
"What a devilish notion," Erin applauded. "There is
a sort of perverse counterpoint to one free limb."
"Thank you," I said with a nod. "I guess we're about ready
to start the competition. Doesn't your wristwatch have a
"Not so fast!" Erin responded. "I'm not about to let my
subject use her teeth and jaws to gnaw through her ropes.
Some gagging is in order."
The twins groaned and began spirited protests.
"Teeth and jaws?!"
"Do you think we're beavers—"
Erin and I exchanged bemused looks.
"Are you going to take that one?" I asked.
"The 'beavers or something' remark you mean?" Erin smirked.
"Yeah," I answered. "I won't touch it. To obvious."
"Too easy," Erin agreed. "Can the complaints,
ladies. Distressed damsels should be seen and not heard."
Erin and I left the twins to a little pre-game struggling and
set about gathering our gagging supplies.
In keeping with the traditional theme she had used up until now,
Erin returned with several large scarves and proceeded to pack
Nikki's mouth with one, cleave-gag her with another, fold a
third over her lips, hold that in place with a fourth, and cover
everything with a fifth. All very tight (bulging cheeks,
straining jaw, etc.), all very effective (inarticulate moans,
nasal humming, etc.), and all very classical. I applauded
politely, gathered my supplies and went to work.
I had been determined to be original, but everything new in the
way of gags I could think of was either, far too elaborate,
potentially dangerous, or of questionable effectiveness. I
finally settled on a variation on the bathing cap and tape
routine. The night before I had taken my oldest rubber
racing cap and cut a hole in the back. I now pulled most
of Vikki's hair through the hole, giving her a sort of top-knot
ponytail, stretched the cap over her skull and snapped the strap
under her chin. I stuffed a large kitchen sponge in her
mouth, and secured it there with a tight cleave-gag of several
turns of white plastic tape, the kind that stretches just a
little. Repeated tight wrappings of the same tape under
chin and over the top of her head encouraged her to bite down on
the sponge. Next came a series of wrappings from the point
of her chin to the back of her head, from the nape of her neck
across the bridge of her nose, and circling her forehead, all
designed to anchor tape to bathing cap and tape to tape.
Finally, carefully layered wrappings from nose to chin
completely covered and sealed her lips. I was very proud
of my efforts and thought the stark white near helmet of tape
and rubber went well with the rest of Vikki's ensemble.
(Only much later did I learn that the legendary John Willie had
thought of nearly the same thing decades earlier when he showed
the world what happened when Toni Goes to the Bondage Ball—although
the maid's treatment of poor Toni was much, much rougher
than my treatment of Vikki.)
"You have a real flair for this, you know?" remarked Erin.
"Thank you very much," I answered primly. "I've had good
Erin smiled and surveyed the bound and silent twins. "OK,
you two. You can escape now."
Nikki and Vikki sighed and exchanged glances as if they'd been
told to start hovering in mid-air, spin straw into gold, control
government spending, or do something equally impossible.
Several seconds of unenthusiastic and completely ineffective
groping and twisting ensued.
"Oh, by the way," Erin added with a gloating grin. "If you
two don't start showing considerably more effort towards
regaining your freedom, I'm going to haul you into the vault and
do to you what you did to me in Aunt Carol's
The twins squealed through their gags and their attempted
escapes immediately became much more exuberant,
athletic, and determined. Erin and I settled into easy
chairs and enjoyed the floor show. (After five minutes it became
a true floor show when Nikki's struggles became a little
too enthusiastic and she rolled off the couch and onto
Although I could tell Erin was as fascinated by the spectacle as
I, we made a game of feigning indifference. As the twins
writhed, struggled, and worked up a healthy sweat, Erin and I
pretended to watch TV. The sitcom the twins had been
watching when we first entered the room was long since over, and
a made-for-TV crime-thriller had taken its place. When the
show finally ground around to the obligatory
Erin and I held an impromptu critical forum on the
psycho-bad-guy's binding and gagging technique. The panel
agreed that the ropes were too few, were too
loosely tied, were very poorly placed, and the so-called
gag would be completely ineffectual and could have been easily
removed by the supposed hostage. We gave the scene "two
thumbcuffs down," although the actress did do a credible
job of selling her plight (she managed to get in some good
struggling without the ropes falling off), and the director did
throw in a few good teary-eyed, frustrated spitfire type
By the time the credits were rolling and the announcer was
enticing us to stay tuned for the late news, considerably more
than an hour had passed, and the twins had made absolutely no
progress in their escapes, although they had managed to roll
over virtually every square inch of the carpet, (getting quite a
bit of dirt and lint plastered to their sweaty selves in the
"I guess the contest is a draw," I remarked. (This evoked
highly positive reactions from the twins.)
Erin paused for several seconds, then smiled and said "I think
we should give them more time." (This evoked highly negative
reactions from the twins.) "In fact, lets give them all
night." (Very, very negative reactions from the
"I don't plan to stay up all night to referee their efforts," I
"Neither do I," Erin said. "Whatever will we do?"
We smiled at our tightly bound guests and said together, "Let's
put them in the vault!"
We used an old blanket to haul the wiggling and squealing twins
to the center cage of the vault, one at a time. I used a
stray length of rope to tie Vikki's previously unencumbered left
ankle to a cage bar on the right side, and Erin used a second
length to secure Nikki's ankles to the left cage wall.
"Now you two won't be able to help each other escape after
Brooke and I have retired to our oh-so-comfortable beds," Erin
We removed the twin's gags (Aunt Carol had taught us that you never
leave a tight gag on an unattended playmate), releasing a wet
sponge, a soggy scarf, and a torrent of protests.
"Not all night!"
"Please! We're sorry we—"
"—tickled your feet—"
"—back at the farm, Erin."
"—made us do it."
Erin and I exchanged bemused looks as Erin locked the cage door
and I turned off the light.
"I could tell you were both really sorry you had to
torture me with those feathers most of the afternoon," Erin said
sarcastically. "'Aunt Carol made us do it.' Give me a
The vault door swung shut on two very contrite young ladies
doomed to several hours of bondage in a dark, inescapable
dungeon. Erin and I exchanged satisfied grins and prepared
to retire for the evening.
"Remember your promise," I admonished Erin. "We let them
go in the morning, and your revenge will be over."
"Of course!" answered Erin, with a slightly hurt,
you-mean-you-don't- trust-me? expression. (Based on
what happened later that night she probably had her fingers
crossed behind her back, but I somewhat naively took her at her
| Chapter 5