Bracelets 4 Foxes

by Van ©2012

Chapter 2

Dramatis Personæ

Our story continues.

Rory was embarrassed, as in crawl-under-the-bed-and-DIE embarrassed.

Okay, it wasn't that bad.  No need for drama—much.  Complicating things, she had no idea how she was going to get dressed with handcuffs locked on her wrists.  If they'd been the bracelets-and-chain kind, that would have been one thing, but they weren't.  The one-piece design locked her hands together palm-to-palm like a set of old-time stocks, and they were tight.  Not painfully tight, but business-like snug, and twisting her hands around was exceedingly difficult—ow!—as in more-or-less impossible.

She sat in the bed in her lacy, gauzy baby-doll nightie, her ginger hair a tousled mess, and considered her options.

Jeans or shorts?  Maybe, but what was the point?  Rory's nightie was sheer, as in almost see-through, both the sleeveless top and the panties.  It left very little to the imagination—not that her boobs were all that spectacular.  Okay, they were small, as in "perky", but they were there, and, at the moment, in semi-plain sight under the whisper-thin, lace-trimmed fabric.  Anyway, wearing the cuffs there was no way she could don her robe or a t-shirt or blouse.  So... what was the point of pants?

Screw it, Rory decided.  Like Fiona had said, it was "just us girls."  She stood, slid her feet into her fuzzy pink bunny-slippers, and padded down the hall to the bathroom.  She managed to take a tinkle (which had been a slightly awkward exercise, but doable), then splashed some water on her face.  Not too bad, she decided, staring in the mirror.  The marks left by her self-imposed gag were fading fast.  Her hair, however, was a semi-lost cause.  She grabbed her brush and tried to straighten it a little, but the cuffs didn't allow the complete comb-out and brushing required to deal with all the snarls and tangles, especially in the back.

She sighed, put down the brush, left the bathroom, and stomped down the stairs to the first floor—and yes, you can stomp in bunny-slippers.  It's a matter of attitude, not acoustics.  She headed for the kitchen.

Fiona was readying bacon and eggs for their turns in the big cast iron skillet already heating on the stove top.  Coffee was brewing and slices of bread were waiting by the toaster.  She turned and smiled as Rory appeared.

"I suppose you think this is funny," Rory huffed as she walked to the breakfast nook built into the kitchen's bay window alcove and settled her panty-clad rump on one end of the cushioned bench.

"Funny?" Fiona giggled.  "Try hilarious."  She walked over and lifted Rory's cuffed wrists.  "You couldn't get out of them?  Really?"

"Really," Rory muttered.  "The slot's facing the wrong way."

"Nuh-huh," Fiona responded, shaking her head.  She reached into her pocket and produced the key.  She slid it into the lock, gave it a quarter-turn, and the cuffs popped open.  "Watch," she said, and proceeded to lock her own wrists in the cuffs with her wrists and the key-slot in the same relative position that had frustrated Rory.  "With the slot facing your hands, it's difficult but possible to reach the lock, but with the slot facing away..."

"I know," Rory said, "your hands are useless.  I tried.  It's impossible."

"So, you use your mouth."

"I tried that too," Rory responded.  "You still can't—oh."

Fiona had taken the key between her teeth, lifted the cuffs to her mouth, deftly inserted the key in the slot, and unlocked the cuffs.

Rory sighed.  "I did have the key flipped around the wrong way.  The groove, I mean."

"You would have figured it out."  She lifted Rory to her feet.  "Here, turn around."

Rory allowed herself to be turned.  "Why do you want me to—Hey!"  Fiona had pulled her hands behind her back and snapped her wrists in the cuffs.  "Fiona!"

Fiona placed the key in Rory's cuffed hands.  "Give it a try," she suggested.  "Scrambled or over-easy?"

"Fi-O-na!"  Rory twisted her arms to the side and looked over her shoulder.  The key-slot was in the facing-away-from-the-fingers position.  "I can't possibly..."  She turned to face her cousin, who had returned to the cook top and was dropping slices of bacon in the skillet.  The long strips sizzled as they hit the hot iron.  "This is mean," Rory pouted.  "Scrambled."

"I'll add a little grated cheddar."

Rory tried to use the key to escape, but it might as well have been back in Fiona's pocket.  She fumbled and fiddled and groped and tried everything she could think of, with predictable results.  She just couldn't maneuver the end of the key anywhere near the slot in the cuffs.  "This is mean, cruel, and... mean," she complained.

"And funny," Fiona agreed.

Rory's put-upon pout suddenly changed to knowing outrage.  "You planned this!" she accused.

"I already told you I left the cuffs for you to find," Fiona chuckled as she cracked eggs into a bowl, "but I didn't expect you to play with them before we could talk."

Rory idly twisted her cuffed wrists.  "Talk?"

"I know you remember the games we used to play in the woods," Fiona said.  "We talked about it last night before we went to bed... and you tied yourself up."  She'd added a dollop of half-and-half and was whisking the eggs.

Rory nodded, and blushed.

"And I know you had a lot of fun being the 'Junior Fox' and Designated Damsel and being tied to the trees all the time."

Rory's blush brightened.  "We were kids.  It's normal to play like that."

"Perfectly normal," Fiona agreed.  "Anyway, as soon as mom decided to invite you to become an honorary Whelan, I told sis we should let you in on the Big Family Secret, right away.  She said to wait, but—"

"Big Family secret?" Rory interrupted.

Fiona's smile broadened.  "I told her you'd be curious.  Caitlin, I mean.  Mom would skin us alive if she knew we were planning on initiating you without her approval."

"Who wouldn't be curious?" Rory demanded, then frowned.  "Wait... initiating me?  Initiating me into what?"

"The Big Family Secret, silly," Fiona giggled.  "I'll explain after we eat."

"And how am I supposed to eat like this?" Rory huffed, twisting to the side and presenting her cuffed wrists.

"I'll be the momma bird and you'll be the baby bird," Fiona explained.  "You take your coffee black, as I recall."

"Black," Rory sighed.  "You're a meanie," she accused.  "A big, mysterious meanie."

"I try," Fiona chuckled, "but change the track.  Stop calling me 'meanie'."

"Meanie, meanie, meanie!" Rory muttered (but they both knew she wasn't really angry).

4 Foxes
Chapter 2

Breakfast was delicious—and humiliating, in a being-teased-by-a-big-meanie sort of way.  Anyway, Rory had to admit her Cruel Captor was a good cook.

The last bite consumed, Rory watched as Fiona loaded the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rinsed and wiped out the cast iron skillet, and generally tidied up the kitchen.

"Okay, now we can talk," Fiona announced and resumed her seat next to Rory on the breakfast nook bench.

"Right after you remove these cuffs?" Rory suggested.

"Don't be silly, Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled.  "What would be the fun in that?"

Rory sighed.  She hadn't really expected it to work, anyway.  "Big Family Secret?"

Fiona nodded.  "Big Family Secret.  We're all into bondage."

"Oh, the Not-so-big Family Secret," Rory sighed.

"No," Fiona giggled.  "I don't mean kids'-games-in-the-woods bondage, I mean bondage bondage."

"Oh.  Thanks for clearing that up," Rory said dryly.

"I think I better just show you," Fiona said, and stood.  "C'mon."

"C'mon where?" Rory demanded.

Fiona's smile turned theatrically evil.  "To the dungeon," she cackled, rubbing her hands together.

Rory blinked in surprise.  "The what?"

"You should see your face," Fiona giggled, then helped Rory to her feet.  "C'mon."

Fiona led Rory to the basement door, swung it open, then preceded her down the stairs.

The stairs in question were typical basement access: three stringers, horizontal treads, handrails (useless to Rory in her cuffed state), and that was all.  Their destination, the basement, was also typical, with walls of mortared stone, a floor of poured concrete, exposed floor joists and pipes, and dangling light-bulbs with simple metal shades shrouded with cobwebs.  They weren't Haunted House cobwebs, but it had been a long time since anyone had been down here with a feather duster.  Also typical were two tiny basement windows, one on either side and set high up on the walls near the ceiling.

The only atypical aspect was the basement's size.  It was something like twenty by twenty feet, and Rory didn't need to start pacing off distances to tell it didn't come close to encompassing the footprint of the house.  The furnace and water heater were off to the right, next to the washer and dryer.  To the left were a modest pile of cardboard boxes and a semi-cluttered workbench, all covered with dust.  The place screamed "unused."  Rory knew Fiona did her woodworking in an outbuilding behind the main house.

"This is your 'dungeon'?" Rory asked, dryly.  "Over-dramatize much?"

"Silly Ginger-Fox," Fiona giggled, and led Rory to the far side of the basement.  It wasn't a long trip.  They stopped before an old wooden wardrobe with double doors.  It was tucked against the stone wall and was decidedly banged up; "distressed," as they say in the antiques trade.  Also, substantial parts of its decorative trim were missing or damaged.  "The dungeon is inside," Fiona explained as she swung open the doors.

"There's nothing inside," Rory huffed.  "You think I never poked around down here?  I checked this wardrobe out six summers ago.  No lion and no witch.  Imagine my disappointment."  There was, indeed, nothing inside, other than a row of six fancy iron hooks mounted on the wardrobe's back panel.

Fiona smiled.  "Watch and learn," she ordered.  Starting on the left, she twisted the hooks, one by one.  "Right, left, right, right, left, and pull."  Each of the first five hooks did a quarter turn in the direction stated and clicked.  The sixth hook lifted a half-inch away from the panel with another click"Voila," Fiona said, and gave the back panel a push.  It swung open like a door.  It was a door, and a rather thick, substantial door, at that.

"Wow," Rory gasped as they stepped through the wardrobe.  Beyond was a dark, narrow space.  The floor, ceiling, and walls were mortared stone, like the walls of the main basement.  Fiona twisted an old fashioned light switch and a glow emanated from ahead and below.  They were on the top landing of a set of six steps leading downwards to a narrow corridor.  Rory turned and faced Fiona.  "You guys have a secret passageway leading down to a secret sub-basement?" she demanded.

Fiona's chuckled.  "No, we have a secret passageway leading down to a dungeon.  Get with the program, Ginger-Fox."

Rory's pulse was pounding and her arms were covered with goosebumps.  "This is so cool," she whispered under her breath.

Fiona nodded.  "Mom didn't tell us about this 'til after our eighteenth birthdays.  Caitlin knew first, of course, and I was really pissed-off when I found out she didn't tell me, but mom swore her to secrecy, so I forgave her... eventually.  C'mon.  I'll go first."

Rory watched as Fiona started down the stairs.  "So cool," she sighed.  Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she followed.

"Did you ever hear the history of this place?" Fiona asked.

Rory carefully planted her bunny-slippered feet as she stepped from stone tread to stone tread.  "You mean the history of the secret subterranean dungeon I learned about five seconds ago?  Let me think."

Fiona chuckled.  "The house," she clarified.  At the end of the narrow corridor was a wooden door bound with iron straps and studded with large bolts.  "The land has been in the family for four generations," she continued, "but this is the second house.  The first burned down in the twenties."  She lifted a latch and opened the door.  "This is the basement of the first house.  Great-grandfather had it roofed over, then added gravel, French drains, a few feet of soil, and planted the back garden."

Rory stood in the doorway and stared at the large, sinister space beyond.  "Wow."

The floor, walls, and vaulted ceiling were mortared stone, the same as the basement and the secret passageway.  Four stone support columns were regularly spaced around the chamber, and it was lit by iron-caged, ceiling-mounted fixtures.  Sinister?  Kinda, but the foreboding icing on the menacing cake was the furnishings.

"Take a look around," Fiona suggested as she closed the door.

Rory shuffled from item to item, her eyes wide with amazement.

There was a table of thick, heavy timbers.  Its horizontal surface was waist height and about six by three feet.  Spaced a few inches apart on all four sides, iron rings dangled from eye-bolts.

There was also a wooden chair of curious construction.  It had a thick, triangular seat and its legs were three vertical posts embedded in the floor.  All were about eight inches in diameter.  Two were about two feet in height and the third about five feet.  Thick, wide straps of brown leather with steel buckles dangled from strategic locations.

Against the left wall and leaning a few degrees off the vertical was a frame in the shape of a giant "X", also of heavy timber.  An iron ring dangled from the end of each of its four arms.

Near the right wall was a cubical cage of thick iron bars, about four feet on a side.  The hinged top closed like a lid and was secured by a heavy hasp and a fist-sized, antique padlock.

At several locations around the chamber, pairs of iron manacles dangled from chains attached to eye-bolts embedded in the walls or columns.  All were at the traditional standing-against-the-wall-with-arms-raised height.  There were also single iron rings at various locations and heights, some near the floor, some at mid-level, and some near the ceiling.  All were ready to serve as lashing or tethering points.

Wooden cabinets stood against the walls, here and there, well away from the various dangling manacles.  All were of hefty construction and their doors secured with padlocks.  Next to one of the larger cabinets was a conventional, wooden, straight-back chair.  And next to the chair, hidden under a large dust-cloth, was something on a wheeled stand that might be a painter's easel.

Finally, in addition to the door from the secret passage, three additional timber and iron-banded doors led off the main chamber, one set in each of the other three walls.  On the left and right, they had heavy latches but were without apparent locks.  However, directly opposite the entry, the door was secured by a heavy iron hasp and by a modern, high-security padlock of case-hardened steel.  With the exception of the overhead lights, the gleaming chrome lock was the only unmistakably modern thing in the dungeon.  Everything else was medieval in style, including the light fixtures.  Of course, Rory knew there was no such thing as an authentic medieval light bulb.  Still, the place was medieval and cool.

"Have a seat and get comfortable," Fiona suggested, indicating the three-legged chair with the dangling straps.

Rory swallowed nervously.  Okay she wasn't really nervous; more like anxious and kinda excited, and above all, curious.  She padded over to the chair and hopped up onto the seat.  It was a little high, but all the edges were rounded and there weren't any cracks or splinters in the well-seasoned wood to snag the fabric of her nightie or panties.

Fiona carried over the straight-back chair and sat, then indicated their surroundings with a sweeping gesture.  "Well?"

"I love what you've done with the place," Rory answered.  "I keep expecting Vincent Price or Christopher Lee to step out of the shadows."

"Yeah, very Hammer Films, isn't it?" Fiona agreed.  "All we need is a helpless damsel in a frilly nightie and—"  She smiled at Rory.  "Oh, wait..."

Rory blushed.  "Very funny."

"Sorry," Fiona giggled, but obviously, she was not sorry.  "Anyway..."  She gestured, again.  "This is it.  The Big Family Secret is we have a playroom, and we use it."  She grinned.  "All in fun, of course.  None of our revered ancestors ever went all Dexter or Hannibal Lector, not as far as I know, anyway.  Mom has the family journals and diaries locked away somewhere and I've never read them.  All we do is play."

"And by we you mean yourself and Caitlin?"

"Mom too, believe it or not," Fiona said.

Rory stared in disbelief.

"Not with us," Fiona added, quickly.  "She has friends her own age, and besides... yuck."

"Yuck," Rory agreed with a delicate shudder.  "So, what do you do?"

"That would be telling," Fiona grinned.  "Initiation, remember?"


"It's a club, and this is the clubhouse," Fiona continued.  "There are levels of membership, and you have to earn promotions, advance in rank, and learn the club secrets, and you aren't a member."

"Okay," Rory responded, "so what do I have to do to get into your stupid club?"

"I knew you'd want in!" Fiona gushed, "and I'll be nice and ignore the 'stupid' remark.  Caitlin knew it too, but mom said to wait and—"


Fiona smiled.  "Okay.  First of all, there are six trials at three levels to get into the club—three at level one, two at level two—"

"I get it," Rory interrupted.  "What sort of trials?"

"Again," Caitlin purred, "that would be telling.  I will tell you that bondage is involved."

"Bondage?" Rory asked dryly.  "Bondage... to get into the secret bondage club in the secret bondage dungeon?  Big surprise."

"Smartypants," Fiona giggled.  "Oh, and very important—we have to keep this a secret from Caitlin.  She's all 'I'm in charge when mom's away,' and 'I'm the senior damsel," and—"

"A secret from Caitlin," Rory nodded.

"We have to do your trials when Cat is at work," Fiona continued, "otherwise, she'll have kittens."

"And she won't when she finds out?"

Fiona shook her head.  "You'll be in, so what can she say?  It'll be a fait accompli.  That means—"

"I know what it means," Rory huffed.  "When do we start?"

Fiona's smile widened.  "Stand up and turn around."

"Uh, okay."  Rory hopped off the chair and turned.  Fiona unlocked the cuffs and Rory turned to face her grinning cousin.  "About time," she huffed, rubbing her wrists.

"Now, sit back down and put your hands behind the back post," Fiona ordered.

Rory frowned.  "Why?"

The open cuffs still in one hand, Fiona crossed her arms over her chest.  "Do you want in the club or not?"

Rory sighed, hopped back onto the seat, snuggled her spine against the back post, and placed her hands behind.

Fiona stepped behind the chair and locked the cuffs around Rory's wrists, once again.

"Big meanie," Rory muttered.  "I assume this is the first trial—Hey!"

"Hold that thought," Fiona giggled.  She'd pulled Rory's left leg to the side and was buckling a strap around her ankle, binding it to the base of the left front post.  She then buckled a strap around her left thigh, just above the knee.

"Fiona!" Rory complained.

"Hush," Fiona responded.  "A potential initiate should be seen and not heard."  She secured Rory's right leg next, leaving her sitting in a most unladylike position.  She then pulled the bunny-slippers off Rory's feet and placed them on the floor behind the chair.  "That looks much better."

Rory wiggled her toes.  Her bare feet were three or four inches from the stone floor.  "Wait, what do you mean potential initiate?" she demanded.

"I said hush," Fiona chuckled.  She buckled a strap around Rory's waist, more or less melding her to the post.

"That's tight," Rory complained.

"A stunningly keen insight," Fiona purred.  She deployed a strap across Rory's arms and chest, above her breasts, cinched it tight, and secured the buckle.

"You're a big blue meanie with a cherry on top," Rory pouted.

"I try," Fiona chuckled as she walked to one of the cabinets.  "And speaking of being quiet..."  She pulled a key from her pocket—not the handcuff key—and unlocked and opened the door.  She lifted something off a hook, then closed and relocked the cabinet.

Rory's eyes popped wide as Fiona returned to her chair, sat, and crossed her legs.  In her hands was a red rubber ball centered between the two halves of a narrow leather strap.  "What's that for?" she demanded.

Fiona cocked an eyebrow.  "Really?"

Rory blushed.  "Okay, it's a ball-gag.  I know what a ball-gag is for.  I've seen The Ledge."

"There's no need to be nervous, Ginger-Fox," Fiona giggled.

"Strapped to a weirdo chair in a secret dungeon," Rory muttered.  "Who's nervous?"

"Anyway," Fiona continued, "this isn't the first trial.  This is your opportunity to think things over."

"I already said I wanted in, remember?" Rory objected.  Fiona was stepping behind Rory's "weirdo" chair.  "Fi-O-na!—M'rrfh!"

The ball was in Rory's mouth and Fiona was cinching and buckling the strap at the nape of her neck, under her still semi-tousled hair.

Fiona returned to her chair, sat and re-crossed her legs, then smiled, sweetly.

"Nmmrf," Rory complained, her pale blue eyes glowering at her smug cousin.

"That's only an inch-and-a-half ball," Fiona stated.  "I'd be a real bitch if I started you out with one of our two-inch models."

"Rrrf!" Rory growled.  Actually, it was a muffled, growl-like noise, with a side of drool.  It was clear, however, that she wasn't entirely happy with the situation.

Fiona stood and returned her chair to its original position against the wall.  "I'll give you some time to mull things over."


Fiona rolled over the thing covered with the dust-cloth, positioned it about where her chair had been, and pulled off the cover.  It was a full-length mirror, and Rory found herself staring at her own reflection.

Meanwhile, Fiona was walking to the door to the secret passageway.  "Bound and gagged in a secret, subterranean dungeon, and no one knows she's there.  Oh, what will become of her?  Who will save her?"  She opened the door, blew her captive cousin a kiss—"Buh-bye!"—stepped across the threshold, and pulled the door closed.  Thud.

Very funny, Rory fumed.  Hilarious.  Droll.  A real scream.  The operative word was "drool," however, not "droll," and she knew she wasn't going to be doing any screaming.  And speaking of drool... a generous, slimy dollop fell from her chin, landed on her chest, dripped down her peachy-pink skin to the strap above her breasts, and soaked into the lacy trim of her nightie's drooping décolletage. Rory twisted and tugged on her bonds.  Everything remained snug and tight.

Rory sighed through her gag.  So... a Secret Bondage Club...  She tested her bonds, again.  There was no way she could squirm out of the broad, thick, flesh-dimpling straps, or reach the buckles, or unlock the cuffs.  The key wasn't even in the room and was getting further away with every passing second.  She knew she was in the chair to stay, until Fiona came back and set her free.  Secret club, secret dungeon, secret trials, and all of it a secret from Caitlin...  Why not?

Rory looked around the Secret Dungeon and shivered in her bonds.  The goosebumps were back and her nipples were poking against the stretched fabric of her nightie, but she wasn't cold.  She noted small vents with iron grills around the room and surmised they were part of the central heating system.  She focused on the mysterious padlocked door opposite the main entrance.  Chambers, plural, she corrected herself.  I wonder what goes on in there.

She resumed her visual inventory, taking in the sinister table, the "X" frame, the iron cage, and finally, the mirror, with its image of a scantily-clad, captive maiden, gagged and tightly strapped to an immovable chair, and it was her!  Another delicate shiver rippled through her helpless body.

This is sooooo cool!

The End

4 Foxes
Chapter 2

Chapter 1
Chapter 3