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LA ROQUE'S "SIRÈNES CAVERNE"
Amanda sighed through
her gag. Her eyes were on her fellow captive, and Chessy was
gazing back. Ball-gagged—their arms folded
backs with their hands and forearms encased in rigid, neoprene-lined,
ankles locked together in plastic, neoprene-lined cuffs—heavy steel
and chains linking them to steel staples embedded in the rock wall of
their kidnapper's fantastic subterranean pool—gazing was about all
either of them could accomplish, other than make the occasional
movements necessary to find some comfort on the hard, sand-textured
Amanda's skin and freshly combed hair were beginning to dry, but Chessy
was a pathetic sight. No longer
flushed and sweaty from the steam room she'd shared with their captor,
the redhead's toned, athletic body wasn't really a problem. Her
hair, however, normally copper-red and
hanging in full-bodied waves, was a tangled, greasy,
Amanda continued gazing at Chessy. She desperately
wanted to learn how she'd been captured, how long she'd been Petra's
prisoner, and whether she'd made any headway towards what she knew
would be their common goal—escape! What
information had she
managed to gather? What plans had she made? Had she made
any escape attempts? How close had she come... and how had
been punished? Chessy's assistant—what was her
name? Fiona? Was she also
Out in the pool there was a loud splash, and Petra's alto laughter
throughout the cavern. The captives turned their heads and
watched as their "employer" cavorted with two
the mermaids—the calico-colored
Koi-maid and the blonde
goldfish-maid. A great deal of playful tickling and sensual
caressing seemed to be involved, as well as the thrashing of
arms, the kicking of Petra's feet, and
the slapping of the surface by the mermaids' flukes.
After a couple of minutes, all three swam towards the spillway of the
waterfall emanating from the
cavern wall. Petra entered the rushing stream and began a
strong crawl, easily maintaining her position in the churning
water. Amanda realized the spillway was actually a cleverly
stationary lap pool, allowing Petra to swim against the current at full
maintaining her relative position. The mermaids watched
for several seconds, then dove
beneath the surface and were gone.
Just then, two female figures emerged from the cave entrance between
Amanda and Chessy.
Amanda recognized Keira and Hime, the petite maids known
as "Petra's Pair"—or rather, she
recognized the redhead's freckled body and vaguely Celtic golden mask,
and her raven-haired, fair-skinned companion's traditional Japanese Noh
mask. Both were
completely nude, but for steel chastity belts locked
waists and through their loins, the cuff-like steel bands locked around
their wrists and ankles, the collars around their throats, and the
full masks covering their
faces. Cuffs, belts, and collars were all connected by light
steel chains, but with enough slack to allow limited freedom for the
maids' arms and legs.
was carrying a folded towel and a thick, quilted,
rolled mat, while Hime was carrying a silver tray laden with covered
bowls, a silver carafe, and a single goblet of long-stemmed
crystal. Amanda and Chessy watched as Keira unrolled and deployed
the mat, roughly
halfway between the cave entrance and the steps leading into the
pool. Simultaneously, Hime set the tray on a low, flat
rock. The ease and grace with which the maids executed
tasks, despite the restrictions of their chains, bespoke long
familiarity with such restrictions.
Amanda very much doubted the close proximity of the
perfect place for Keira to position the mat and the perfect picnic
table rock for reclined dining was
a coincidence. It was yet another example
of the exquisite forethought that had gone into the design of Petra's
"natural" subterranean aquatic playground.
Amanda noticed a change in the pattern of splashing sounds echoing
through the cavern and turned her gaze back to the pool. Petra
was nowhere to be seen. Seconds passed... then their blonde, tan
captor rose from the depths, slowly climbing the steps to the "patio",
water dripping from her perfect body and an irritatingly smug smile on
her perfect face.
Keira stood ready with the large bath-sheet towel—but Petra waved her
smiling and dripping, she strolled towards Chessy, then stood and gazed
the helpless redhead, hands on hips.
Chessy returned her gaze. Amanda could see defiance in her
friend's eyes, as well as a little fear, but mostly her expression was
one of... resignation. Amanda found this profoundly
disturbing. In her considered opinion, Chessy Golden was as tough
came. If her spirit was even beginning
to break... what chance
did Amanda have? Despair knotted Amanda's stomach. She
tried to remember the last time she'd seen anything in the
trades or entertainment news about Chessy. Nothing for... weeks? Several weeks,
at least. How long has she been a prisoner? A shiver
went up Amanda's spine. Does
anyone even know she's gone? Does anyone know I'm gone?
Petra leaned close and unlocked Chessy's collar. With
professional detachment, Amanda noticed this involved the use of the
pinkie ring on Petra's right hand. Magnetic lock, she surmised; but
she couldn't follow the exact manipulations required to disengage the
mechanism. Petra's arm had been in the way. Amanda twisted
and tugged on her bonds. In her bound condition, Petra could lay
detailed diagrams of the locks and present her with her own ring, for
all the good it
would do her.
Meanwhile, Petra had pulled Chessy to her bound feet, hefted her onto
her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and was sauntering back towards the
pool. She climbed the rocks until she was up on the boulder from
which she had executed her dive. She turned and smiled at Amanda;
then, with a shrugging heave, tossed Cheesy into the water!
Petra hopped off the rock and allowed the maids to start drying her
with the bath sheet—but Amanda's eyes
were on the pool. Chessy hadn't surfaced! She was still
somewhere under the
water! The seconds ticked away... and became
a minute. Amanda tore her eyes from the pool's wavy surface, and
focused on Petra.
Petra's eyes were on Amanda, and the maids were still busily rubbing
her down with the oversized towel. "Don't worry about my
pretty fox," she said. "My mermaids will take care of her...
like they took care of you."
Amanda looked back towards the water, and was relieved to see a
yard-wide field of bubbles snapping and popping in the middle of the
pool. She surmised the mermaids had taken Chessy to the bottom
and were treating her to the same bubble-massage they had given
her. She took it on faith they'd also swapped her ball-gag for
the scuba-gag-mask Amanda had worn, or had some other means of
Chessy with air. There was no way Petra would just drown her... not when there were
still a near infinite number of
costumes and humiliating, erotic tortures to inflict on her "pretty
fox", to keep the blonde bitch entertained.
"Just look at those angry eyes,"
Petra remarked. "Have you ever seen
such resentment?" Her gagged and masked maids didn't
answer, of course. Keira was busy refolding the bath sheet, and
Hime was removing the covers from the bowls on the waiting tray.
Amanda shifted her gaze to the food. It appeared to be Thai or
Japanese. A neatly arranged platter of several different
varieties of sushi was definitely Japanese.
Petra had noticed her interest. "Oh, not for you, my pouting
pussy," she cooed, as she gracefully reclined on her side, and used a
pair of chopsticks to pop a shrimp
roll in her mouth. She chewed with obvious enjoyment, taking
her time. "Yumm..." she mumbled, then swallowed. "Pouting
Pussy... yes, I like that." She snapped her fingers, and Keira
handed her an iPhone from the tray. Petra tapped the screen
several times, then handed the device back to the waiting maid.
"There, your costume is finalized and I've got myself a new pet.
I can hardly wait 'til morning."
Amanda's eyes were still on the food.
"Not for you, Pussy. I told you," Petra said, waving her
chopsticks. "I don't share all
my meals with my employees. Your dinner is waiting in
your cell. You're simply here to add to the enjoyment of the
meal... by which I mean my meal,
Insufferable bitch! Amanda
fumed, doing her best not to
telegraph her feelings, but she knew it was pointless to even attempt
such a deception. Amanda knew that Petra La Roque was well aware
of the infinite depth of her
contempt. She was far too
intelligent to think otherwise. She shifted her gaze back to the
pool, and focused on the field of popping bubbles.
"And don't worry about Chessy's repast," Petra added, between bites of
a seaweed and tuna roll. "She'll be... dining with the fishes!" She
paused, waiting for a reaction, but Amanda simply continued to stare at
the water. Petra shrugged, but her smile never
wavered. "I thought
it was funny," she chuckled, and selected a conger
"Anyway," Petra continued, "Chessy will be my
guest, and their
entertainment for the evening. They have a cave..." She
waved her chopsticks towards the far wall. "...back there,
somewhere. Access is by an underwater tunnel, but the cave itself
is quite dry. Employees on mermaid rotation need
someplace they can dry out. Otherwise, they become
waterlogged. It's quite unattractive,
and medically dangerous."
Petra paused, as Keira filled her wine glass from the carafe.
"Oh, still pouting, my
pretty Pussy?" She focused on the red-haired maid. "Keira,
go and lighten Ms. Pressfield's mood, would you please?
Don't worry, Hime will take care of things over here."
Keira strolled to Amanda's side.
Amanda looked up at the petite maid's golden mask, then let her eyes
wander down her freckled, toned body. Mask aside,
Amanda had to admit she was attractive, and the graceful manner with
which she carried her chains and handled her captivity was...
intriguing. (And she was the
one who had squeezed Amanda's hand at breakfast.) Nevertheless,
had her pride, and she wasn't about to be part of a sex show for Petra
la Roque's entertainment.
Keira reclined against Amanda's side, draped one arm behind her
shoulders, and used her other hand to cup her left breast.
Amanda tried to squirm away, then paused. She stared into the
glassy eyes of Keira's mask, but could see nothing through the dark,
slightly reflective lenses. Amanda
willed herself to stop struggling. No need to call Petra's wrath
down on the little maid by spoiling the "fun"... or would failing to
struggle spoil the show? Amanda stole a glance at Petra, and
found her concentrating, for the moment, on her meal. She gazed
back into the eyes of Keira's mask—and winked.
Keira gave Amanda's shoulder a gentle squeeze, then began running her
right hand over her tummy.
"Oh, don't you start
pouting, Hime-sureibu," Petra
said, with a laugh. She was addressing the Japanese maid.
"Just look at the pretty contrast between Keira's freckles and red
curls and Ms. Pressfield's fair complexion and raven locks. If
I'd sent you in her place,
it would have been too much of a good thing, don't you see?"
Hime was kneeling back on her heels, her hands resting on her thighs,
and her masked face lowered.
Petra reached out, seized the maid's left nipple with her chopsticks,
and gave it a playful tweak. "You silly little thing," she
purred, and returned to her dining. "I can deny you
nothing. You may share my bed tonight. And as for
you..." She shifted her gaze to Keira. "Show a little more
enthusiasm, or you'll spend the night in the cage behind the bedroom
mirror, watching your
precious Hime have all the fun."
Keira extended her caresses to include Amanda's hips and thighs.
Apparently, this satisfied Petra, because the smug blonde returned to
consuming her meal, this time concentrating on a small bowl of some
kind of noodles.
Amanda shivered under Keira's touch. Poor kids, she thought. This
close to The Tower's throne, their lives had to be a living hell of
uncertainty, never knowing when the La Roque bitch would condemn them
some horrific and/or erotic torture on a whim... unless the tiny
playing the game willingly.
Amanda shuddered, again, as Keira's hand slid between her thighs and
brushed against her sex. Even if the game had started with their
consent, Amanda was sure their enslavement was real—as real as Amanda's
kidnapping and captivity... or Chessy's... or Gloria's.
Amanda gazed out at the bubbles still rising to the surface of the
pool. How the
hell are we
going to get out of this?
LIZETTE LA ROQUE'S BEDROOM
THE NEXT MORNING
Gloria became aware
of arguing voices. She would have performed her usual
coming-awake rituals—stretching, yawning,
blinking the sleep from her eyes—but her condition
this impossible. Her bondage from the night before was
elastic tape banded the soles of her pointing feet, her ankles, and her
knees. It also encased her fingers, hands, and forearms, keeping
folded behind her back. More bands pressed against her lips and
and encircled her head from chin to crown. She sighed through
the panties crammed in her mouth and squirmed, causing the chain
linking her leather collar to the foot of Lizette's bed to clink and
The voices were Lizette's and Fiona's.
"It's supposed to be a rest
day!" That was unmistakably Fiona.
Lizette: "You know exercise is always
a part of rest days. Mercy's Employee Fitness Program?
Fiona: "But not... together!
Lizette: "It's also inventive, and Mumsy likes it when
Fiona: "Oh, Liz. You're never going to satisfy that
bitch. Can't you see that? No—m'rmfh!"
Lizette: "I've told you, don't you ever call Mumsy a bitch. She
bitch, but you don't
get to call her a
bitch. You can bite ball-gag 'til breakfast—and for calling
names, that'll be plain oatmeal with mashed-up nutrition
nuggets—for both of you!"
Gloria heard Fiona's chain rattling, then a frustrated growl from her
fellow captive. Several seconds later, she heard a
Gloria relaxed in her bonds, and waited. And another fun day in The Tower
begins, she mused.
...and what did Fiona mean by 'together'?
was, indeed, plain oatmeal with mashed nutrition nuggets.
Gloria and Fiona were involuntarily fed this concoction by a "feeding
machine". Clear, thick-walled rubber tubes attached to
funnels delivered motor-driven globs of the warm, gooey
mess to their ring-gagged mouths at regular intervals. With
clamped in pillories that enforced chins-up postures, and their arms
still box-taped, they had no choice but to swallow the slugs of
semi-liquid gorp as they dropped into their open mouths.
The "meal" was followed by enemas, showers (cold, of course), and a
change of bondage to single-sleeve armbinders of black leather.
pressed their elbows together and their hands palm-to-palm, and once
they were laced up their entire length, broad,
thick leather straps buckled over the sleeves and around their
wrists and elbows, reinforcing their helplessness. Single, much
passed under their armpits and behind their necks, yoking their
shoulders and preventing the sleeves from slipping or being pulled down
It was overkill, of course. The tightness of the sleeves and the
wrist and elbow
straps would have
made pulling them down impossible, in any case.
Like all of the Special Apparel restraints Gloria had seen or worn
the "apparel" fit their arms to perfection, with no unsightly
or strain in the leather, even at the attachment
points of the straps. Gloria sighed through the ring-gag still
strapped in her mouth. The binders were works of art—strong,
without being masculine in proportions; pleasing to the eye; and
surprisingly comfortable (in a mildly shoulder-wrenching kind of
way). She reasoned that they must have features that protected
the pressure points of their arms—Gloria rolled her
that she could feel special padding or anything, just uniformly tight
Yes, the sleeve was beautiful, and a triumph of design, but Gloria
wished she was admiring the thing on someone other than Fiona and
herself... like Lizette, for
example—but rather than the
semi-matte, slightly pebbled black of their
armbinders, Gloria decided she'd
put the little blonde sadist in something dyed shocking
All of this bodily maintenance and change of bondage had been
accomplished by four of The Tower's latex-clad and helmeted drones,
with Lizette nowhere in sight. In addition, a pair of the leather
helmeted, and baton-armed
she-goons stood watch. Gloria took Fiona's lead, and neither
prisoner gave the drones any trouble. Gloria's spirit was far from broken, as was Fiona's,
idiot could see that resistance was a waste of energy, and probably
earned them additional punishment.
The final step was the rinsing of their ring-gagged mouths with warm
water, and the forcing of what looked like black, latex-coated whiffle
balls through their gags and into their mouths. Special tools
balls to contract, so they could pass the rings, and then expand, once
they were inside and
firmly seated against their tongues. Each
ball had a pair of thick, elastic loops dangling from a short, central
of stiff rubber, and the loops snapped over steel flanges on the straps
their ring-gags, further anchoring the balls. Size
alone would have made them impossible to expel with their
tongues. The loops made such a prospect doubly impossible.
Once the dresser-drones were finished, the she-goons dropped nooses of
black rope over the captives' heads, pulled them taut around
throats, and led them out into the corridor. Fiona and her
handler were in the lead, followed by Gloria and her handler. The
parade of four took many turns, climbed a set of stairs, took more
turns—then Gloria's eyes
They were passing another parade
In the lead was a lone she-goon. Her costume was a deep
eggplant, with a purple-mirrored finish to the face shield of her
helmet. A chain was in one of her gloved hands, and attached to
the chain was a coffle of no less than twelve female captives.
All were naked, except for their bonds. Their hair varied in
color, and those not sporting pixies or pageboys had their tresses
pulled back into tight ponytails. Their complexions ran the
gamut of humanity: pale ivory, tan, brown, and black. All were
more-or-less average in height, although one of
the two blondes was quite short, and a damsel of African heritage was
They were restrained in leather, torso-hugging harnesses with
wrist and elbow cuffs that locked their hands behind their backs and
pinned their arms to their sides. They also wore ankle-cuffs with
hobbling chains, and ball-gags were strapped in their mouths.
collars linked by chains formed the coffle.
Gloria watched the bizarre procession pass, unconsciously slowing her
pace. In addition to their restraints, the prisoners had two
other things in common: all were young (in their early to mid
and all were very beautiful.
They ignored Gloria, apparently unsurprised and/or unimpressed by
the sight of other captives.
Again, there were two exceptions:
(1) A fair-skinned, dark-haired, and big-boobed prisoner in the middle
of the line focused on Gloria as they passed—and winked!
(2) The last prisoner
in line was a short youngster with a healthy tan, a trim figure, pert
and straight, honey-blonde hair in a Lu-lu bob. Her striking blue eyes were brimming
with tears. She met
Gloria's gaze—and just about broke
the Latina's heart. Poor kid!
She was cute as the proverbial button, and was obviously not a
Gloria's leash snapped taut,
and they were past. She looked back over her shoulder to watch
the tail end of the coffle, including the
pathetic little blonde, disappear around a corner. Who
are they? Where are they
going? What's gonna happen to them? It was one more Mystery of The Tower to add to
Gloria's ever-growing list.
occurred to Gloria that the winking brunette might be a submissive playing at being a captive.
And was the sad little blonde a genuine kidnap victim, like Gloria,
was she also
submissive volunteer, who
had found herself in over her head? This
madhouse is even more complicated
than I thought, she decided.
her head as she pattered after her handler. Poor
thought, again. She then put the little
her companions from her mind. Gloria had herself (and
Fiona, and Amanda, and Chessy Golden) to worry about.
stopped at a steel door. The lead she-goon entered a code in its
cypher-lock keypad and it opened. Lizette was waiting in the
space beyond. She was dressed in a business suit (jacket, blouse,
and skirt), hose, and sensible pumps, all in tastefully matching shades
of pale salmon-pink. Gloria blinked in mild astonishment.
She was used to seeing the little hedonist-bitch in various states of
undress and/or bondage, and while the choice of pink was hardly new,
poise with which she carried off the whole Ms. Junior Executive thing
was something of a surprise.
"Ah, here you are," Lizette
said with a bright smile. She pointed to a stainless steel cart
laden with what appeared to be thick, coiled, black leather
belts, and the she-goons dragged the prisoners closer.
Gloria surveyed their surroundings. The space was very long,
narrow, and straight, more a corridor than a room. The walls were
covered, from ceiling to floor, in quilted, silver-gray padding,
inside of the door. The floor was textured rubber, with countless
tiny silver and copper studs embedded in the pattern. Track
lighting in the high ceiling lit the entire length of the tunnel-like
space. They were at one end, very close to one of the padded
"Fifi's been here before," Lizette said, "but I'll explain the routine
for your benefit,
Glowie." She gestured towards a plate-sized disc mounted on the
wall. It was a bright, metallic red, and protruded from the
padded surface like a giant pushbutton. "That's your lap
counter." She pointed at the opposite end of the room. "And
another down there."
Meanwhile, the she-goons had pushed Gloria and Fiona face-to-face and
were strapping them together. Their breasts were squashed
together by a broad belt that encircled their upper torsos. Then,
a second, much narrower belt slid through loops in the elbow straps
of their binders and the sides of the torso belt and was tightened,
snugging the binders and the torso belt
together. An even broader belt was used to press their stomachs
together, bellybutton-to-bellybutton. Again, a second, narrower
was passed through loops in the sleeves over their encased forearms,
through loops in the waist belt, and buckled tight.
Gloria focused on Fiona's gagged (and beautiful)
face, and sighed. Isn't this
cozy, she mused, then one of the goons produced a black plastic
rod and pushed it into the short tube protruding from the whiffle-ball
in Gloria's mouth. It locked in place with an authoritative snap. Next, with one goon
holding Gloria's head and the other guiding Fiona's, the other end of
the rod was forced into the tube in Fiona's gag. There was
another snap, and the
captives found themselves linked face-to-face, with less than an inch
between the tips of their noses.
"The idea, of course, is to make your way from button to button,"
Lizette continued to lecture, "before the timer—" She pointed
at a large flatscreen mounted over the button, close to the
ceiling. "—ticks down to
zero. The floor's electrified, you see, and if you don't make it
to the button in time, you get a series of escalating shocks."
The she-goons pushed the cart from the room, and Lizette and the
prisoners were alone. Fiona voiced an angry, mewling complaint.
Gloria found the concomitant vibrations transmitted through their
linked gags to be most unsettling.
Lizette laughed, stepped forward, and gave Fiona's rump a loud slap! "Don't have kittens,
Fifi," she purred, with a gloating smile. "This won't be the
running and periodic sprints you're used to. This is a new program, designed to
compensate for your... togetherness." She embraced both captives,
and began running her hands up and down the flanks of their pinioned
bodies. "It will be
demanding, of course, and I imagine it'll be incredibly awkward 'til
you find a way to move together." She patted the prisoners
thighs, gave them a final hug, and took a step back. "And I
imagine you'll both work up quite a
sweat... especially with your tits and tummys squashed together like
that. And think about all the drooling you'll be doing down that
double-décolletage. Just be glad you didn't make me really angry. If you had,
you'd be wearing the dual-dildo, shared crotch-belt that completes
the ensemble... even if this is a
rest day, and not giving your pussies a break would violate Mercy's
Lizette strolled to the button, smiled, and gave it a push. There
was a loud ping, the lights
dimmed, and the flatscreen came to life. A large, analog clock
face was displayed. It had no numbers, just the traditional pair
of hands―and the big hand had
begun to move.
little hand keeps track of finished laps," Lizette explained, "and the
big hand shows how long you have 'til the floor starts pulsing."
The gloating little blonde heaved a rather theatrical sigh. "And
it isn't waiting for you to decide to start, ladies."
Fiona took a step towards the far wall, and Gloria followed
suit (of course). They settled into a sideways crab-walk; but, as
coordinating their efforts was an
awkward challenge. Gloria focused on the far wall, and saw a
second flatscreen with a matching clock glowing above their target
"The clock will vary the
time required to complete a lap," Lizette lectured, "so keep an eye on
how quickly the lap-hand is moving. Don't worry. Like I
said before, this program is designed to compensate for
togetherness. It'll start with
several slow laps, to let
you find your rhythm. I suggest you try working out a few dance
sprint laps start, that's probably the only way you're going to be able
to move fast enough to avoid getting zapped."
Bitch! Gloria fumed, and
Fiona grunted, in obvious agreement.
"Five minute water breaks every hour," Lizette added, "and tinkle
breaks every three hours."
How many hours are we talkin'
about?? Gloria wondered. She heard a thud, switched her
gaze to the rear, and found the door closed and Lizette gone. She
returned to concentrating on the placement of her feet as they shuffled
towards their immediate goal, the button on the far wall. They
still had quite
a way to go to complete their first half-lap, and the clock was ticking!
We should try waltzing,
Gloria decided, if we can figure out
how to start... and who gets to lead. One thing was
for sure: this form of "exercise" was going to get very old, very fast.
IN THE TOWER
THAT SAME MORNING
Amanda was pissed, almost to the point she
didn't care what Petra La BITCH
did to her, as long as she got just one
chance to kick the blonde witch between the legs, full force!
Not that that was
going to happen, of course.
Upon being returned to her cell the previous night, she'd found a
pleasant little Cobb salad and some nice wine waiting on a low
table. The bowl, goblet, and the single spork were all
plastic—suitable for dining, but useless for any other purpose (like
making an escape tool or attacking one of the guards). It was
moot, in any case, 'cause two of the glamazons watched her consume the
meal, then departed with the table and
tableware, including the
paper napkin she'd used to wipe her lips.
She'd passed the remainder of the night alone, naked, and curled up on
the bed platform. Sleep had come quickly.
The next morning, she
went through the automatic, humiliating
routine of wakeup, morning toilet, and waiting, leaning
against the wall, with her hands and feet in glowing green outlines to
avoid electrical punishment.
After several minutes, a pair of glamazons appeared, one in lavender
and the other in lime
green. Amanda's wrists were cuffed behind her back and attached
to a steel
belt they'd clamped around her waist, then her ankles were snapped in
shackles. They were the
same custom-fitted, steel restraints she'd worn before, as far as she
could tell. A black ball-gag was strapped in her mouth and they
left the cell, passing through the curtained "interview room"
and out into the corridors. After a gentle reminder, delivered by
the lime glamazon via a couple of taps to the back of
Amanda's calves (with the baton on its lowest setting, thank god), she
up on her toes and minced along in the "invisible high-heels mode"
decreed would be her normal form of locomotion.
All of which was humiliating, of course, but it was not the cause of her anger.
She'd been taken to a room, and a latex-clad female drone had fitted
mask and a tail, and that was
had pissed her off!
was similar to Chessy's fox mask, but Amanda's mimicked the face of a
calico cat. It was covered with
black, and golden tan fake fur, and had large eye openings, feline
and a pink
Amanda watched, in a full-length mirror, as the drone placed the mask
her face and tightened its attached harness of thin black straps behind
head. Her hair was arranged to hide the straps, then a long shock
of white hair was clipped in place, just under the top edge of the
mask. It matched her
raven tresses in texture and length, and created the illusion that the
crest of white fur on the mask carried through her actual hair.
Okay, the mask was clever... and beautiful... and if Petra La Roque
wanted to pretend she was a cat, Amanda could live with it. She
gazed at herself in the mirror. Actually, the mask was very beautiful. She'd have
to see if she couldn't have one made for herself, after she
escaped. Professionally, Amanda was a traditionalist, with Chessy
being the one who liked to get all Cirque
du Soleil with her act...
but the audience might like a change of pace. Amanda turned her
head to the side. Hmm... a
captive kitty escaping from Gloria, in the role of a spoiled, mean
little girl. Add a calico leotard, and a tail...
Still gazing in the mirror, Amanda noticed the drone approaching, and
there was something in her hands. And speaking of a tail...
The tail was at least a yard in length, covered in inch-long fur in the
same calico colors and mottled patches as the mask, and attached to the
end—Amanda's eyes popped wide and she took an involuntary step back—the
end was a metal hook! And it terminated in a rounded knob in the
shape of a small egg!
All fear evaporated, and Amanda's eyes flashed! She glared at the approaching
drone. You're not putting that
thing in me! She tried to kick the drone in the shins, but
her shackles made this impossible. Next, she tried a head butt,
but the drone dodged the attack with graceful ease.
The glamazons were on her in an instant, and Amanda found herself face
down, stretched over some sort of padded frame. The lavender
glamazon was holding down her upper body, and her lime partner had one
boot planted over her hobble chain, controlling her legs.
Amanda flinched and growled through her gag as the drone placed one
latex-gloved hand on her right butt cheek. She struggled and
continued her gagged complaints as a warm, wet cloth was used to clean
between her butt crack. Then—something hard, round, and cold touched her anus—and was
slowly forced past her clenched sphincter! The drone took her
time, and some sort of lubrication eased the hook's passage.
Amanda screamed through her
gag, her eyes wet with angry tears. She wasn't in pain, but it
was humiliating in the extreme
to be treated in this manner! There was a metallic click, near where her cuffs
attached to her steel belt—then her handlers released her and stepped
Amanda stood and struggled against her bonds, continuing to
growl. The hook was a perfect fit, anchored inside her rear, cleaving her
cheeks, and following her spine to the back of the belt. The tail
seemed to grow from the base of her spine—and to her utter amazement—it
The tail flexed and swung from side to side. The white tip
actually flicked! The illusion that Amanda had sprouted the tail
of an angry feline was nearly perfect. She stared at the swishing
appendage in the mirror for several seconds, then stamped her fettered
feet and screamed through
Her handlers let her stomp and struggle for several seconds, then the
lavender glamazon stepped forward, used the tip of her baton to lift
Amanda's chin, and held a small remote in her left hand for Amanda's
inspection. It had a red button above a slide-bar. The
glamazon tapped the button—and Amanda flinched, her eyes popped wide, and she grunted through her gag! The
egg at the end of the hook had delivered a mild electric shock!
She watched as the glamazon slid her baton back into its boot holster,
then slid the bar on the remote to its next highest setting. She
then shook a warning finger in Amanda's face.
Amanda took the hint and stood perfectly still, breasts heaving and
panting through her gag—but she was still PISSED!!
The latex drone wasn't quite finished. A cage-like apparatus was
fitted over the lower portion of the mask and under Amanda's chin, then
buckled at the nape of her neck. It was a muzzle, and was totally
unnecessary, even as a gag reinforcement. Clearly, it was just
one more humiliating detail
of the masquerade.
The final touch was a collar (of
course). It was black leather, studded with what appeared
to be genuine diamonds, and dangling from a ring on the front was a
silver bell. The lime glamazon snapped a leather leash to the
ring, and led Amanda out into the corridor, with her lavender companion
two paces behind.
Her masked, gagged, and muzzled head held high, her tail twitching from
side to side, Amanda stomped in the lime glamazon's wake, her hobble
chain rattling and bell tinkling. The lavender glamazon tapped
her calves with her baton. Shuddering with repressed anger,
Amanda went up on her toes.
Bitch! she fumed, eyes
flashing as she minced along. What