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by Van ©2008---
Chapter 9_
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Eventually, Amanda and her two handlers arrived at a steel door.  There was a pause while the lime-green glamazon entered a code in its cypherlock keypad.  She used her body to block the actual entry from Amanda's sight, as always.  The door opened and they crossed the threshold.

The room beyond was large, with a high ceiling.  A grid of track-mounted fixtures cast a bright, uniform light.  The walls were clad with woven fabric in a rich, golden tan, and thick pile carpeting of a similar hue covered the floor.  Matching, opaque drapes stretched across the far end of the room, and Amanda couldn't tell if the drapes were covering a wall, a window, or some additional space beyond.

Petra La Roque was waiting.  She was dressed—or rather, half-dressed—in beige stockings and garter belt, and matching panties and demi-bra.

Suddenly, whatever else might be around her, Amanda was aware of only one thing—the object of her burning hatred was in her presence!  Her field of vision narrowed, until only her blonde, smug, semi-dressed nemesis seemed to be in focus.  Everything else was a fuzzy, red-tinged cloud, and time slowed to a surreal crawl.  She felt her leash go slack as the lime glamazon let its terminal loop slide from her gloved wrist.  The lavender glamazon had turned away, her immediate attention on something other than Amanda.  Aware of the physical limitations imposed by her hobbling shackles—equally aware of how her balance would be affected by having her wrists cuffed to the back of her steel waist belt—Amanda took five chain-abbreviated steps towards Petra, lowered her head, screamed through her gag, and delivered a head butt to Petra's stomach!

Amanda's rage abated and her senses returned to normal.  The glamazons were gripping her by the arms, one of them had a boot planted over her hobbling chain, and the other had a tight hold on her tousled hair.  Petra was on the floor, clutching her stomach—and laughing!  Amanda glared at the mirthful blonde through her cat mask and growled through her ball-gag.

"Oh, my Pretty Pussy is angry," Petra noted as she climbed to her feet.  Amanda continued glaring as Petra examined her cat mask.  "Perfect," the smiling blonde remarked.  She reached out and cupped Amanda's breasts, and gave them a gentle squeeze.  Amanda flinched and struggled at her touch, but her handlers held her firm.  "I apologize that the rest of your Calico Kitty costume isn't ready."  She used the palm of her left hand to give Amanda's right nipple a slow, gentle massage with a light circular motion, and let her right hand slide down Amanda's abdomen until her fingers slid among the dark curls of the prisoner's pubic bush.  "They fabricated mittens and kitty-boots, as well as a matching corset, but I decided they just didn't look right."  She slid her right index finger against her prisoner's sex and Amanda flinched.  "Everything is being redone.  In the meantime, we'll have to make do with your pretty mask..."  She favored Amanda with an infuriatingly coy, gloating smirk.  "...and that magnificent robotic tail."

Amanda's breasts were heaving, and her nipples had both popped erect.  Every twitch and swish of the yard-long tail attached to the curved, steel hook embedded in her rear caused the egg-shaped knob at the end to quiver, ever so slightly.  The sensation was... unsettling, and did nothing to help her control her anger.

Petra continued teasing Amanda's nipples and sex.  "I forgive your aggressive display," she cooed.  "Pussycats have their moods.  Yes, exquisite body... unmatched skills as an escape artist... and that unconquerable spirit...  The very qualities that make you such a valuable employee.  It would be foolish to damage any part of such a stunning combination, even in well-deserved punishment."  Petra focused on the green, reflective faceplate of the lime glamazon's helmet.  "On the other hand, incompetence requires immediate correction.  Are you sorry you let the control of your charge slip?"  The glamazon lowered her helmeted head, and Petra gestured towards Amanda.  "Put Pretty Pussy to bed, using double chains, then..."  She focused on the lavender glamazon.  "...take your green companion to the auto-fuck rack, strip her, oil her from head to toe, and install her..."  She turned back to the lime glamazon.  "...hmm, face-down, I think.  Use the vacuum bra option, and set the program on full stretch and total frustration, at its slowest speed.  I'll be using her for whip practice... sometime late this evening."  She snapped her fingers.  "Now!"

The glamazons hustled Amanda to one side of the room.  Her eyes popped wide and she growled through her gag, again.  They were dragging her towards what could only be described as an oversize pet bed.  It was oval in shape, and well-padded with pale, artificial fleece.

Amanda screamed in frustration as they forced her to her knees in the center of the bed, then locked pairs of chains to her collar, belt, and the center ring of her hobble chain.  The chains were heavy.  They allowed sufficient slack to let her roll, stretch, and flex her bound body, but the ends of each pair were attached to eye bolts on opposite sides of the bed, keeping her confined to the middle of its soft, pillowy surface.  She writhed and tested her new bonds, but all this accomplished was to cause the chains to rattle and the silver bell still dangling from her diamond studded collar to tinkle.  Amanda continued her futile efforts for several seconds... perhaps half a minute... then sighed through her gag, flopped onto her right side, and glared up at Petra La Roque.

Petra was watching from a few feet away, her hands on her hips and a smile still curling her perfect lips.  "Look at that tail twitch," the smug blonde remarked.  "I think the design team deserves a bonus."  She turned, snapped her fingers, and pointed to the lime glamazon.

The glamazon to be punished pulled her baton from her boot-sheath and tossed it to her lavender companion.  She then unzipped the wide, bracer-like cuffs of her leather catsuit, shook them out, and let them droop over her closed, gloved fists.  The lavender glamazon zipped the sleeves closed, converting them, in effect, to bondage mittens.  She then spun the lime glamazon around, folded her hands behind her back, and used plasticuffs to bind her wrists to her harness, high on her back in a reverse-prayer.  She pulled more plastic ties from hidden sheathes in the lime-glamazon's costume and used them to secure her arms to her sides, looping the thick bands through straps and rings in the harness and the catsuit's sleeves, around her upper arms, above and below her elbows, and around her forearms, wrists, and through the small rings at the tips of the mitten-cuffs.

Amanda realized the glamazons' uniforms were designed with built-in features that allowed them to be quickly converted to bondage costumes as secure and inescapable as anything in La Roque's Donjon catalog.  Amanda stretched in her bonds.  Interesting, she thought.  Useful information... assuming I ever get a chance to do more than dream about making an escape.

Petra turned at the sound of Amanda's tinkling bell and clattering chains, and again, smiled down at her glowering captive.  "I'll tell you a secret," she purred.  "Sometimes, I think they make mistakes on purpose, to get my attention."  She sat cross-legged on the floor, next to Amanda's bed.  "Not to worry.  Their 'mistakes' are always minor and inconsequential, and after I've finished punishing our viridescent friend, I have no doubt that Mercy will add some 'refresher training' to her work schedule.  The others will take note, and will be more diligent in the execution of their duties... at least for a while.  From now on, I can't promise your handling won't be just a tad more... rigorous."

Amanda watched as the lavender glamazon handed Petra the remote control for her still thrashing, twitching tail, then led her captive companion from the room.  The door closed with a solid thud, and she turned her masked gaze back to Petra.

Petra leaned close and reached behind Amanda's head, unbuckled and removed her muzzle, and then her ball-gag.

Glowering at her captor through her feline mask, Amanda licked her lips—and stared.

"Oh, Pretty Pussy," Petra cooed.  "Still angry?  Well... I suppose that's to be expected."  She smiled, and did something to the tail remote.

Amanda tensed, expecting another punishing shock; but instead, the tail slowed the pace of its twitching, swinging motion.

"There," Petra said.  "Now it's in 'relaxed' mode. and will only move randomly, now and then.  It won't match your mood, unfortunately, but the batteries will last much longer before needing recharging."

Just then, the door opened and Petra's Pair pushed a serving cart into the room.  It was laden with covered bowls—another Tower meal-on-wheels.

Petra's smile broadened.  "Ah, breakfast!"

Amanda watched as the maids, in serving chains and wearing their full-face masks, as always, arranged what could only be described as a breakfast picnic, with pastries, sliced fruit, tiny sausages, scrambled eggs, and coffee.  Her stomach grumbled.

"Hime," Petra said, "it's your turn to care for Ms. Pressfield.  Be careful, my Pretty Pussy is in a foul mood.  Don't let her bite your fingers!"

Amanda regarded the Japanese maid through the eyes of her feline mask.  "I'm not angry with you, Hime-sama..." she said in a quiet voice.  then lifted her eyes to the red-haired maid.  "...or with you, Keira."  She shifted her gaze to Petra.  "On the other hand..."

"Oh my," Petra chuckled.  "You're in a foul mood, indeed.  You certainly look like you'd bite my fingers.  I suppose it's just as well I've decided to give you a rest day... and for us to have our first discussion of expanding your contract."

"What are you prattling about?" Amanda demanded.

Petra smiled while Keira handed her a full cup of steaming coffee.  She took a careful sip, then continued.  "I have plans for you, Amanda, big plans."

Hime held a coffee cup to Amanda's lips.  She took a sip of the strong, delicious brew.  "Thank you," she whispered to the masked maid.  Her eyes remained on Petra.

"Being your senior by... a few years," Petra continued, "my pursuit of our common interest predates your own."

"Common interest," Amanda sneered.  "I'm not a kidnapper."

"I refer to Escapology, of course," Petra responded.  "Anyway, take it from your elder opposite.  It takes two to tango.  Yin requires yang."

"Good requires evil," Amanda muttered.

"Exactly!" Petra laughed, accepting a loaded plate from Keira.  She forked some eggs into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.  "Anyway..."  She paused to consume a small link sausage.  "...I know that you and Chessy talked about how wonderful it would be to have a theater, someplace, to serve as home base for your respective acts, and as a school for up-and-coming young talent."

"That was a long time ago," Amanda said, "before..."

"Before your father's untimely death," Petra responded, "when you used to lounge around the fire with Chessy, dreaming about the future... and sucking face."

"Look, bitch," Amanda hissed, "I'm sick of you talking about my father's death like it was any of your damn business, and I'm sick of your sadistic games."

"Then why don't you escape?" Petra asked, then took another bite of eggs.

Amanda didn't answer.  She had no answer.  She continued to glare at her smug, blonde captor.  Hime offered a fork-load of eggs, and she opened her mouth and allowed herself to be fed.

Petra continued eating as well, then put down her plate.  "I'm not totally insensitive," she said, eliciting a disgusted snort from Amanda, "but ours is an intimate relationship.  Yin and Yang, as I said—Ahab and the Great White Whale, Saint George and the Dragon, Austin Powers and Doctor Evil."

"You should consider therapy," Amanda suggested.

Petra laughed, then took a drink of coffee.  "I'm serious, Pretty Pussy.  One last comparison: Sir Edmund Hilary and Mount Everest.  Whether you realize it or not, I am your Everest.  If you can escape from my ropes, my costumes, my chains, my dungeons... what can't you escape from?  You truly would be... Amazing."

"You're delusional," Amanda huffed.

"Oh, not so," Petra responded.  "Of course, I'll always have the advantage in our contests... the overwhelming advantage, actually... years of experience, vast financial resources, a trained staff..."  She sipped her coffee, again, then smiled at Amanda.  "But if you were to escape!  Think about it!  Amazing Amanda, the Legend!"

Amanda didn't respond, immediately.  In a twisted way, there was something to what the La Roque bitch had said.  It would be the triumph of a lifetime to escape from Petra's Tower, but Amanda wasn't playing the game by choice.  "If you want to stage an actual contest," she suggested, "maybe we can agree to some rules; but first, you have to let Gloria and Chessy go."

"I get to keep Fiona?" Petra asked.

Amanda sighed.  "So, you do have Fiona."  Petra nodded.  Amanda sighed, again, and continued.  "Let them go, all of them, and you can do what you want with me."

Petra laughed.  "To state the obvious, I can do what I want with you... now.  Besides, you're missing the sublime truth."  She paused while Keira refilled her cup, then sipped her coffee.  "This is the ultimate test.  Any element of choice, at least on your part, will diminish the value of the prize.  You're my involuntary prisoner," she continued, "as are the others, and there won't be any rescue."

Like some perverse chemical reaction, Amanda's simmering anger coalesced into soul-numbing despair.  It was true.  It was all true.  They were Petra La Roque's captive playthings—and unless Amanda, unless one of them, pulled off the impossible—they would remain her captive playthings.  Amanda struggled to control her growing depression, just as she had struggled to keep a lid on her anger.

Petra seemed to see something in Amanda's eyes.  Her smile faded, and her expression became one of... sympathy?  "Oh, Pretty Pussy," she cooed, "be brave.  You won't be harmed.  I take good care of my employees."  She smiled at Keira.  "Isn't that right, Precious?"

The masked (and gagged) redhead couldn't answer, of course.  She lifted a plate of pastries and offered it to her mistress.

Petra selected a flaky turnover, then shifted her gaze back to Amanda.  "I promise you, Amanda, none of you will be harmed, and I will set you free, eventually... after I've given you sufficient opportunity to entertain me with your professional skills."  She took a delicate bite from the pastry, chewed, and swallowed.  "A curious contest, is it not?  Like something from a kung-fu movie, with two masters of their respective disciplines, locked in combat; only, to the outside observer... nothing is happening.  Our struggle is as much in the mind as in the playrooms of my Tower.  Ropes, cord, chains, leather—move—counter move.  Will I make a mistake?  Will you see my mistake?  Will your skill and knowledge be sufficient to exploit the opening?  And while we wait for all to happen... stillness... like snow falling on a garden."

Amanda snorted in disgust.  "Yeah, things are pretty damn still after you've strapped me in several layers of tight leather, or lashed me into a hogtie with a hundred yards of rope.  This 'contest' is unbalanced to the point of not being a contest."

Petra laughed.  "You may very well be right.  In fact, you're almost certainly right, and you're almost certainly going to lose, like all the other Special Apparel Consultants before you.  But, in the meanwhile..."  Her smile turned disturbingly evil.  "I'll just have to content myself with binding and playing with that perfect body... while your salary accumulates in one of my banking institutions, slowly accruing interest."

Amanda stared at her captor, but said nothing.  Again, there was nothing she could think of to say.

"Keira," Petra said.  "Fetch my summary notebook for Project Gwendoline."

The red haired maid gracefully rose to her bare, shackled feet, turned, and left the room.

Amanda watched the little maid depart.  This morning, the maid's chastity belts were missing, and in their place were narrow loincloths.  In Keira's case, an olive, linen band bisected her butt cheeks, doing nothing to conceal the firm, dimpled, lightly freckled globes.  Her chains rattled with a tinkling music as she minced across the threshold.

"Do you wonder why I keep them around?" Petra chuckled.

Amanda turned her head to gaze at Hime.  Her loincloth was a ribbon-narrow band of snow-white silk, and the petite, Japanese maid's body was every bit as attractive as her Celtic companion's.  Petra had said her Precious Pair were in love.  Always masked and in chains, Amanda had seen nothing to confirm their mutual affection; but she'd seen nothing to suggest Petra was lying, either.  "She's very beautiful," Amanda said, quietly, addressing Hime and keeping her voice low, "Keira, I mean.  You're very lucky..."  Amanda blushed.  "...except for the captivity, of course."

Petra had heard Amanda's remarks.  "Oh, Amanda," she laughed, "I assure you Hime and Keira enjoy their chains... most of the time, anyway.  I do find occasion to punish them... singly, or as a pair."

Amanda's anger was resurfacing.  "Bitch!" she accused, and focused on Hime's pale, petite body.  The maid's pale breasts weren't what one would call large, but they were very pleasing in shape.

Hime was still holding a plate of food.  She loaded a fork with eggs, and offered it to Amanda.  Her full-face, Noh mask made it impossible to gage her expression, and her body language was equally inscrutable.

Amanda accepted the eggs, chewed, and swallowed.

The door opened, and Keira reentered the room.  In her hands was a bulging, three-ring binder, bound in brown leather.

Petra accepted the binder, and her smile broadened.  She held it so Amanda could read the bold, tall letters of the title page.  "Project Gwendoline."

"There are three phases," Petra lectured.  "Phase one is the development of a theater complex, attached to a new hotel-casino to be built in Las Vegas.  It will host magic and escape acts, exclusively."  She leafed through the first section of the binder, and Amanda could see neatly printed diagrams and text, with many handwritten notes scrawled in the margins and Post-it notes stuck to several of the pages.  "It will include specialized workshops, to fabricate props, as well as subterranean 'rehearsal space'."  Petra winked.  "The basement chambers will all be behind guarded, secret doors, for... security purposes."

Amanda scowled at her captor.  "And I care because..."

Petra laughed.  "Because this would be that home base you dreamed of, only fully staffed and built with the abundant resources required to do things first class!"

She flipped to the next section.  "Phase two is a resort-destination in the Caribbean.  I've purchased a suitable island, and will build a, shall we say, specialized facility.  The hotel and club complex will be mainly beach bungalows, and there will be the usual five-star restaurants, casino gambling, beach sports, snorkeling and diving, sailing..."  She started turning pages.  "...and then there are the 'Special Venues' like... the Pirate Castle, with fully functional dungeons and torture chambers... the Mad Scientist's Lair, with indoor and outdoor zoo cages, and an operating theater and lab... and the Native Village.  It will have a wall built across a narrow valley, with a platform suitable for virgin sacrifice ceremonies.  Think of it—a luau-type meal, at sunset, with the guests being entertained by 'Native' dancers.  One of the guests is chosen, seemingly at random.  She's hauled up the steps and bound between two stone pillars, a huge, audioanimatronic monster appears, and—"

"You pay huge royalties to whoever currently owns the rights to King Kong," Amanda sneered.

Petra smiled.  "We may add a Pirate Ship, with regular cruises between the island and the usual tourist ports, but only after the complex is on its feet."

"You think you can run a bondage theme park, and get away with it?" Amanda asked, shaking her head.

"It would be a cross between an adult resort, and an entertainment destination."

"Sandals meets a kinky version of Disneyland?" Amanda suggested, still skeptical.

"Ninety-nine percent of the guests would enjoy a pleasant, slightly naughty vacation, frolicking in the surf, basking in the sun, and watching the staff reenact the occasional classic fantasy situation," Petra explained.  "A small number of special guests, on the other hand, would book very expensive, very special vacations.  For example..."

She turned to an illustration of the Mad Scientist's Lab.  "A wealthy executive brings his girlfriend to the island.  She's abducted from their bungalow, taken to the lab, strapped down, and surgically modified—by which I mean drugged to a dazed state and dressed in an elaborate costume, of course.  She awakens to find herself turned into a human/animal hybrid of some sort, and locked in one of the display cages in the zoo.  The regular guests would troop by, making sympathetic and/or humiliating remarks, assuming she's one of the paid staff, like the 'animals' in the other cages."  Petra's smile turns evil.  "The only problem, of course, is that she isn't a member of the staff, and she's gagged, so she can't call for help or explain her situation."

"That's sick," Amanda huffed, shuddering in revulsion (and carefully ignoring the shiver of arousal rippling through her sex).

Petra laughed.  "Oh, the sick part would be after dark.  She'd be hauled into one of the 'breeding stalls', restrained in one of the special frames, and her boyfriend would appear... for a little fun.  At the conclusion of the vacation, in her presence, he'd sell her to the resort, letting her watch as they hand him a large bundle of bills.  She'd be released a few hours later, of course."

"Sick", Amanda reiterated.

"There is the rescue option," Petra shrugged.  "I imagine some guests will prefer to play James Bond or Indiana Jones, rather than the Degenerate Cad."  She began turning the pages.  "There are other scenarios, of course, like... the Viceroy's daughter captured by pirates... the lady explorer captured by hostile natives... the lady shipwrecked on a desert island...  etc., etc. ...all with numerous variations and permutations, of course."

"What does this have to do with me?" Amanda demanded.

"Wait, there's still Phase Three," Petra said, and flipped the next divider.  "The Pressfield-Golden College of Escapology!  There would be a campus in Vegas, and another on the island, and it would have professional and academic ties to the UNLV Colleges of Fine Arts and Engineering.  Isn't that exciting?"

"And you expect me to participate," Amanda scoffed, "after all that you've done?"

Petra smiled, sweetly.  "Oh, Ms. Pressfield, this is a business offer, and has nothing to do with our current contests.  Consider this the light at the end of your personal tunnel, something for the future, after I grow tired of your current employment... or after you escape, of course."

Amanda opened her mouth to tell Petra La Roque exactly what she could do with  'Project Gwendoline'—then froze.

Petra noticed Amanda's change of expression.  "What is it, Pretty Pussy?"

Amanda blinked, then carefully reasserted her previous scowl.  "Nothing.  I'm thinking."  Amanda had noticed something very interesting: a few of the notes attached to various of the notebook's pages were not self-adhesive Post-it's, but were regular slips of paper held in place by—steel paper clips!  "There would be... lucrative salaries, for myself, Chessy, Gloria, and Fiona?"

Petra smiled.  "Very lucrative.  Full senior executive compensation packages, in fact."

Amanda focused on Hime, and the maid fed her the last forkful of eggs from the plate.  She slowly chewed, deciding how to play her hand.  It wouldn't do to seem too anxious.  Finally, she swallowed.  "I'll think about it," she said.  "Let me study the plans, in detail."

"I'm afraid I have other plans for you, today," Petra purred.

"Then tonight," Amanda responded.  "I can read the notebook tonight, in my cell.'

"Hmm..."  Petra sipped her coffee, her eyes locked with Amanda's.  "Very well," she said, finally, "I'll instruct my staff to leave your lights on."

Amanda carefully stifled a smile.  Better and better, she mused.  "Okay... but I'm not promising anything."

"Excellent!" Petra exclaimed, clapping her hands.  She gestured towards the cart, and the maids started gathering and stowing the remnants of the meal.  "Keira, make sure my notebook is waiting in Ms. Pressfield's suite, tonight."  Meanwhile, she had retrieved Amanda's ball-gag, and was preparing to put it to use.

Amanda struggled against her bonds, in frustration.  "What are you going to—d'rfh!"

"We'll dispense with the muzzle, I think," Petra said, buckling the gag's strap and straightening Amanda's hair.  "There..."  She stood and smiled down at Amanda, hands on hips.  "Now, as this is a rest day, Pretty Pussy, you get to catnap in your nice, fluffy, soft bed, all day."

Keira and Hime had departed with the cart and the notebook.  Amanda watched as Petra walked to the door and pressed a button on a small panel.  The drapes across the room began to open.

"Ms. Golden, on the other hand," Petra said, "is not having a rest day."

The drapes continued to open—and Amanda's eyes popped wide in alarm.

The area beyond the drapes effectively doubled the size of the room, and suspended in the center of the new space—in the center with respect to all three dimensions—was Chessy Golden!

She was nude, but for many, many yards of what looked to be half-inch hemp rope.  Her pose was that of a person in free fall, with her left leg extended and her right leg bent at the knee.  She was stomach down, with her arms folded behind her back and her torso and head slightly raised.

The bondage was as elaborate and artistic as anything Amanda had ever seen.  The basic shinju and kikkou techniques were at the core, but the captive was restrained with a blend of the two.  Neat, multiple bands of rope encircled and pressed the flesh of her arms, torso, and legs at numerous locations; but the hemp strands flowed between the tight bands and the diamond pattern trapping her body, head, and limbs, as well as the suspending ropes, merging it all into one complex web.

Amanda counted at least sixteen suspension points.  They stretched in multiple, taut strands from Chessy's body to rings embedded in the ceiling, walls, and floor.  The majority of the ropes provided gravitational support, a few served to introduce tension by preventing Chessy from swinging or flexing her bound body and some seemed to perform both functions at once.

The distance was too great for Amanda to trace the path of every strand, but she could see that Chessy's fingers, hands, feet, and toes were included in her bondage, as were her head and hair.  Her cranium was caged in hemp, anchoring a thick bit of rope coils in her mouth, and stretching her single, long, red braid to its full length.

The mostly symmetrical bonds combined with the asymmetrical pose in a pleasing and challenging manner—challenging for Chessy, of course, but also for Amanda, as the audience.  The grace of her fellow captive's pose, the skill with which her bonds had been applied, the combination of her firm, smooth, freckled skin and the implacable turns and hitches of twisted hemp—Chessy was a work of High Art.

Amanda was horrified (...and aroused).

Petra was dressing, off to the side, near a small, mobile, elevating platform.  No doubt it was what she had used to make her adjustments to the many suspending ropes, once she had Chessy hanging in the air.  After buttoning a white silk blouse, she donned a short skirt of ivory linen, shrugged into a matching jacket, and stepped into a pair of beige heels.

Dressed for business, Petra strolled to the center of Chessy's half of the room, and smiled up at the helpless redhead.  "Like a fly in amber, isn't she?" she purred, then reached up and caressed Chessy's right breast.  "I have something similar planned for you, Amanda," she said, "but not right away.  The composition is still gelling.  My muse will tell me when the time is right."

She gave Chessy's breast a final, gentle squeeze, then walked over to gaze down at Amanda.  "Well," she said, "I've wasted enough of the workday."  She looked back at Chessy and her expression turned thoughtful.  "Hmm... a shared suspension—bound together in an intimate pose—limbs entwined in a common web of tight hemp—breast-against-breast and stomach-against-stomach—your fair skin pressed against Chessy's peachy, freckled skin—mouths held together in an involuntary kiss—raven tresses braided with copper-red curls... hmm...  Something to think about."  She turned and strolled to the door.  "So many possibilities."

She crossed the threshold, the door closed, and Petra was gone.  Amanda turned her gaze back to the horrific (and erotic) sight of her incredibly helpless friend.  Sorry Chester, she thought, then pulled on her wrist cuffs and kicked her shackled feet in frustration.  All this accomplished was the rattling of her chains and the tinkling of her collar bell.  Evil witch!

Amanda didn't try to communicate with her fellow prisoner.  Not only would it be a futile exercise, but she could tell that Chessy had already achieved "resting trance", the same state Amanda had used yesterday, to help her endure Petra's elaborate 550-cord hogtie back in the blonde bitch's office.  It wouldn't do to disturb Chessy's' concentration.

Amanda snuggled against the pet bed's soft fleece, settling in to pass the day, shepherding her strength for the night ahead.  She suppressed her anger (as well as her arousal at the sight of Chessy's pinioned, shibari-bound body).  She cleared her mind... and a single object filled her consciousness, as if floating in space before her eyes.

And that object was... ...a steel paper clip.