|by Van ©2011
languished in the bondage chair for what had to be at least an
hour. Wow, she
thought, sighing through the ball-gag. Languishing in a bondage
chair... Nancy Drew never languished in a bondage
chair. In your face, Drew!
Finally, the door opened and Fiona returned to the scene of her
despicable crime. "How's it goin', Ginger-Fox?" she
Rory glared at her captor and growled
through her gag. "Mrrpfh!"
"Temper, temper," Fiona chuckled. She stepped behind the
chair and unbuckled and removed Rory's gag. "Well?"
Rory worked her lower jaw and licked her lips before
answering. "Well what?"
"How's it goin'?"
"It's not goin',"
Rory answered evenly. The "it" in question being Rory,
she'd made a highly factual statement. With her wrists
cuffed behind the chair's back post and broad, thick, tight straps buckled
across her chest, waist, thighs, and ankles, Rory wasn't going
"Enough lounging around," Fiona giggled, and began unbuckling
the straps. She worked her way down Rory's nightie-clad
body to her ankles. "So, do you want in the club?" she
asked as she unbuckled the final strap. "You think you can
Rory snorted in disgust. "Noting how you've told me almost
nothing about the so called 'trials' you expect me to
pass—yeah, sure. Bring it on, Baby-Fox."
Fiona giggled, again, stepped behind the chair, and unlocked
Rory's cuffs. She picked up Rory's fuzzy pink
bunny-slippers and dropped them on the initiate's lap.
"Here. Get yourself upstairs, take a shower, and for
cryin' out loud, put some clothes on."
"You are such a
comedian," Rory huffed, but the smile threatening to curl her
coral lips betrayed her true feelings.
"I'll meet you in the library for tea," Fiona announced, and
left the chamber.
Rory watched Fiona depart, then slipped the bunny-slippers on
her feet and hopped off the chair. "I bet I'm gonna regret
this," she muttered as she opened the door to the secret passage
and followed her cousin.
treated herself to a long, hot shower, thoroughly scrubbing
She slid the soapy washcloth between her legs much longer than
was necessary to get clean... or even really clean. No, she scolded herself. Later. I need to talk to
Fiona. She rinsed off, turned off the water, and
toweled herself dry. Her damp hair wrapped in a towel, she
donned panties and a bra, followed by shorts, a t-shirt, and
sneakers. She then returned to the bathroom and used her
hand-dryer, brush, and comb to finally deal with her mussy hair. Her
long locks tamed to their usual long, straight, ginger glory
(with bangs), she bounced down the stairs to the first floor and
into the library.
Megan Whelan's collection boasted more volumes than the public
libraries of some small towns. Rory smiled.
"Mama-Fox" was a tenured professor of English Literature.
Fiona was waiting, sitting in one of a pair of comfortable
chairs and sipping from a cup and saucer. "Doesn't that
feel better?" she inquired with a broad smile.
Rory rolled her eyes. "Better than being strapped and
cuffed to a bondage chair in a subterranean dungeon? Hmm,
let me think." She flopped into the other chair.
Fiona giggled as she gestured towards the tea set on a nearby
table. "How do you take your tea?"
"Uh, I'm not a big tea drinker," Rory admitted.
"Allow me to educate," Fiona smiled. She poured a generous
dollop of milk into a cup from a small pitcher, then lifted the
tea pot and filled the cup's remaining volume.
"Darjeeling," she explained, then handed the cup and saucer to
Rory. "You take your coffee black, so I'll assume no
"Milk?" Rory asked, taking a cautious sip.
"It's traditional," Fiona answered.
"Pretty good," Rory conceded, and took another sip.
Fiona smiled. "No doubt you have questions."
"Questions?" Rory shrugged. "No, not me—other
than... when the hell are
you finally going to tell me everything about the damn trials I
have to pass to get into into your damn club?"
"Language, young lady," Rory smiled. "The club is actually
an ancient and secret society." She paused to sip her
tea. "We're like the Freemasons, only with a lot more
kink... I assume."
Rory rolled her eyes.
"There are different levels," Fiona continued, "like I told you
before. You'll be qualifying for the entry-level rank of
Rory rolled her eyes, again. "Bondage Brownie?
Really? For a second I thought you were serious."
Fiona smiled. "Six trials at three levels."
Rory nodded. "Three at level one, two at level two, and
one at level three."
Fiona sipped her tea, again. "Level one of the
trials. The specific details are left to your
examiner—" She gestured at herself. "—moi, in this case; but
there are binding rules, pun intended. Two of the first
trials must employ rope and the third must employ something other than rope. With
the rope, you must be tied to
something, and then tied not to something."
"All will become clear, Initiate," Fiona chuckled.
"And what about the others?" Rory demanded, "the fourth, fifth,
and sixth trials?"
Fiona sipped her tea before answering. "One level and one
trial at a time, Initiate." Clearly, she was enjoying
frustrating Rory's curiosity. "I will tell you this," Fiona continued.
"Sexual stimulation is not allowed in Bondage Brownie trials."
"Huh?" A blush colored Rory's cheeks.
Fiona smiled. "Caitlin initiated me when I was fourteen," Fiona
chuckled. "Mom was furious, but she cooled off when she
discovered Cat had followed all the rules."
"And you're hoping for the same reaction," Rory purred, then
frowned. "Wait, now I'm really
confused. It's almost like there really is a secret society."
"I told you," Fiona smiled mysteriously. "All will become
"Okay," Rory huffed, "so what's the plan for the first trial."
"That would be telling." Fiona chuckled.
"Don't have kittens, Ginger-Fox," Fiona giggled. "First
trial will be tomorrow. Now—" She pointed to one of
the library shelves. "Over there are the Nancy Drew
books. We'll go through them today and decide on your
costume for the first trial." She raised a finger,
preempting Rory's opening mouth. "And that's all I'm gonna tell you."
Rory blinked in surprise. "Nancy Drew? I was just
thinking about Nancy Drew."
Fiona smiled. "While you were strapped to the bondage
Rory sipped her tea and ignored the question, unless you count
the blush coloring her cheeks as an answer. "So, am I
actually going to be Nancy,
or just a generic, royalties-free Girl Detective?"
Fiona smiled and shrugged. "That's between you and your
fevered imagination. And don't forget, not so much as even
the vaguest hint to
Caitlin. She may be a professional bureaucrat and pathetic
stick-in-the-mud, but she's not stupid. When she asks how
your day went, tell her I gave you a tour, you looked through
the library, and say nothing
about becoming a Bondage Brownie Initiate."
Rory shrugged. She knew Fiona didn't really think her big
sister was a stick-in-the-mud, but they both knew Caitlin was
plenty smart. "Not a hint," she agreed.
evening, after Caitlin came home from a hard day of pencil
pushing and number crunching, Rory cooked supper. She was
happy to pull her weight and demonstrate her own culinary
skills. They all chatted, ate, cleaned up, watched some
TV, then went to bed. Rory retired with the Whelan
library's copy of The Mystery
of the Winged Lion, the one where Nancy, George, and
Bess are captured by the bad guys and bound and gagged together
in a locked room.
With the triple inspiration of her time in the Secret Dungeon
strapped to the bondage chair, her imminent initiation into the
ranks of the Bondage Brownies, and an afternoon spent perusing
Nancy Drew books, Rory was keyed up. She'd decided a
little "relaxation" was in order. However, she decided a
replay of the previous evening's self-bondage was
inappropriate. Getting caught by Caitlin might be an exceedingly remote
possibility, but it was best not to tempt fate.
The book was set aside and the bedside light turned off.
Then... youthful fingers fiddled, perky bosoms heaved, delicate
nostrils flared, adorable toes pointed, and clenched, coral-pink
lips smothered moans of ecstasy. 'Nuff said.
Afterwards, Rory slept like the proverbial log—a ginger-haired
log with a goofy smile on its face, that is.
The next morning, Caitlin left for work at dawn, as usual.
Rory and Fiona prepared and ate breakfast, all the while
carefully ignoring the 800-pound gorilla in the corner of the
kitchen—the looming trial. Meal over, Rory bounced up the
stairs to her room to change.
So... costume. Between the combined wardrobes of Rory and
the Whelan sisters, they could have carried off either of two
Option one: Schoolgirl. None of them owned an actual
school uniform, but they could cobble together a reasonable
facsimile thereof. Clunky but sensible shoes, knee-socks,
pleated wool skirt (both tartan and heather charcoal skirts
being available), white blouse, "school tie," and a V-neck
sweater in a compatible color—it would have been easy.
There were two problems with going this route: (1) it wasn't all
that Nancy Drew, and (2) it was waaay too Hogwarts. There was nothing
wrong with some hypothetical villain stealing Hermione's wand
and tying her up (or doing the same to Ginny Weasley, in Rory's
case), but they (meaning Fiona) had decided to go with a
reasonable facsimile of Carolyn Keene's famous teen heroine.
Option two: Girl Detective. Rory donned saddle shoes,
bobby socks, a blue, over-the-knee skirt, a white cotton blouse
with a Peter Pan collar, and a fuzzy pink cardigan.
Finally, leaving her bangs intact, Rory parted her hair down the
middle and arranged a ponytail to either side, securing them
with blue ribbons. Then, it was back down the stairs and
into the kitchen.
Fiona had finished cleaning up and was sitting at the kitchen
table making a shopping list. She looked up and smiled as
Rory lifted her skirt and curtsied. "Have you seen George
and Bess?" she inquired, smiling her dimpled smile.
Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled. "Where's your flashlight and
Rory favored her cousin with a skeptical stare.
"Really? We're going to stage a little skit? Where's
Fiona shrugged. Her sandals, jeans, and cotton blouse were
hardly the attire of a Nancy Drew villainess. "I suppose I
could steal one of Caitlin's suits and be a
Rory pointed an accusatory finger. "So it's you who are secretly
scheming to burn down the orphanage, petting zoo, and home for
cute little old ladies and sell the land to unscrupulous real
estate developers! You'll never get away with it!"
Fiona laughed as she rose from her chair. "No skit.
Follow me, Nancy."
left the house and made their way to the outbuilding Fiona used
for her bird and dollhouse business. It was in good repair
and sported the same "painted lady" color scheme as the main
house. That said, it was simple frame construction without
a lot of Victorian refinements. Inside, Rory beheld
Fiona's radial arm saw, table saw, router table, and drill
press. None of the power tools were particularly new, but
all were in good repair and more than adequate for Fiona's
purposes. There were also work tables, racks of hand
tools, some shelves and cabinets, and a horizontal rack with
various lengths of lumber.
Rory detected the odor of sawdust, as well as a faint whiff of
paint and/or varnish, but nothing that was overpowering.
The workshop was well laid out, clean, and had a rustic charm,
enhanced by prototype examples of Fiona's product line
interspersed on the shelves between boxes and small bins.
"Hmm..." Fiona surveyed her domain. "I suppose I
could tie you to one of my longest, thickest boards and rig
something that would slooowly
drag you across the table saw; but then I'd have to clean
up all the teeth, hair, and eyeballs, not to mention the
blood. Imagine the splatter."
"You're a comic genius," Rory sighed.
"C'mon," Fiona laughed, crooking a finger. She led Rory to
the back of the room and a wooden door. It had heavy strap
hinges and was secured by a wooden crossbar and heavy iron hasp
with a hefty, high-security padlock.
"I assume this is where you keep your finished birdhouses?" Rory
inquired. "So they don't get stolen?"
Fiona smiled as she lifted the crossbar from its iron brackets
and leaned it against the wall. "Yes, roving gangs of
nature enthusiasts are the bane of my existence." She
pulled a keyring from her pocket, selected a barrel key, and
inserted it in the padlock. "Actually, this is where we
put snoopy girls who stick their pretty little button noses in
other people's business." The padlock surrendered to the
snapped it closed on the open hasp, then pulled open the door.
The room beyond was small, on the order of a generous walk-in
closet, and was empty. Like the rest of the workshop, the
floor was poured concrete and the walls were exposed
studs. A small window was set high in the far wall.
Its four glass panes had been painted and admitted only a feeble
amber glow, and it was covered by a set of iron bars solidly
bolted into the framing. Finally, more or less in the
center of the room, there was a vertical wooden post. It
was a peeled log, rounded on all sides and about six inches in
diameter. Its base was bolted to an iron bracket set in
the floor and the top affixed to an overhead beam by another
bracket. Even a non-watcher of This Old House, like Rory, could tell the post
wasn't carrying any part of the weight of the roof. It
might be solidly and rigidly fixed in place, but it was clearly
"Back against the post, Nancy," Fiona purred.
"Woe is me," Rory sighed, and followed her soon-to-be
kidnapper's orders. "I assume you want my hands behind?"
"You read my evil, twisted mind," Fiona chuckled, and pulled a
hank of thin white rope from her hip pocket.
Rory sighed as the rope tightened around her crossed
wrists. "You're really good at this."
"Practice makes perfect," Fiona answered.
wondered. Practice on
who? ...or is it whom? Caitlin? The rope
was cinched, cinched again, and a knot tied. Rory could
tell immediately that it was well out of the reach of her
fingers, placed somewhere between the far side of her wrists and
against the post. Fiona took a step back as Rory tested
her bonds. "This is it?"
"Hardly," Fiona chuckled as she strolled out the door.
Rory watched her Dastardly Kidnapper depart, that being her only
option. She heard a cabinet open, then close, and Fiona
returned. In her hands were several coils of rope, the
same weight, color, and type as her wrist bonds. The
Captured Girl Detective swallowed nervously—and she wasn't
playacting. "Uh, that's a lot of rope."
"Three sixteenths braided nylon," Fiona explained, "and this is
only enough to get things started." She dropped all but
one of the coils to the floor. "Don't worry, I've got
Rory watched as Fiona released the hitch securing the coil and
shook out the rope. "Woe is me," she sighed.
was tied to the post... very
tied to the post.
Multiple, horizontal bands encircled the post and/or her body at
the ankles, above and below her knees, thighs, waist, and above
and below her breasts. Additional bands bound her elbows
together behind the post. Not touching, of course, but a
few inches apart, with several neat inches of wrappings cinching
the bondage. All of
the bands were cinched, between Rory's limbs and body and between her and the
post. Finally, diagonal ropes—one long rope,
actually—yoked her shoulders and crisscrossed her anatomy and
the post all the way down to her ankles. Everything was
neat, tidy, symmetrical (as far as she could tell), and
obviously inescapable. Rory could flutter her fingers and
squirm a little, but knew she wasn't going anywhere. That
said, she wasn't in any real discomfort... yet.
"You've come a long way since the last time you tied me up,"
Rory conceded, "when we were kids, I mean, playing in the
"Yeah," Fiona chuckled, "we pretty much relied on volume and the
unreachability of knots back in the good ol' days."
"Which still seems to be the case," Rory sighed, testing her
bonds with an energetic (and pathetic) squirm.
"Add to that style and symmetry, Ginger-Fox," Fiona
lectured. "Also, rope placement with respect to pressure
points and breathing. Like I said, practice makes
Rory's lips curled in cajoling smile. "Practice?
Quit being a tease and tell me more."
Fiona smiled back and shook a warning finger. "No club
secrets, Ginger-Fox. Not 'til you pass your trials, take
the solemn oath, and get the required ritual brands and
Rory's eyes popped wide. "What??"
"You should see your face." Fiona chuckled, then turned and
strolled out the door. "Just kidding, about the brands and
tattoos, I mean!" she shouted from somewhere in the workshop.
"I knew that!" Rory shouted back. Thank god!
Seconds later, Fiona returned. In her hands were a folded,
white linen handkerchief and a six-inch length of gray PVC
pipe. The pipe was about an inch in diameter, capped on
both ends, and with a steel eye-bolt in each cap. A length
of the same white nylon rope binding Rory to the post was
threaded through the eye-bolts.
Rory watched as Fiona gave the handkerchief another fold.
"W-what's that for?" she demanded.
Fiona raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Rory blushed. "I'm nervous, okay?"
"No problem," Fiona chuckled. "Open."
Rory sighed, then complied.
Fiona thrust the handkerchief into Rory's mouth, centered the
pipe between Rory's teeth and over the handkerchief fold, and
dropped the eye-bolt to eye-bolt part of the rope over Rory's
head to the nape of her neck. Fiona then stepped behind
the post and pulled the free ends back from either side.
"Nrrf," Rory grunted through what was effectively a padded bit
as Fiona cinched the rope tight. The pipe and hankie were
now cleaving her mouth and binding
her head against the post. She felt her captor thread the
remaining free ends of the rope through the eye-bolts, pull the
ropes back behind the post, again, take another
cinch—"Nrrf!"—then tie a knot.
Fiona strolled back into Rory's now limited field of vision,
crossed her arms under her breasts, and smiled. "That
should hold you, and keep
Rory squirmed and struggled, but her bonds were so elaborate and
so tight, it wasn't clear exactly how hard she was trying to
"Now," Fiona continued, "a Big Gloating Scene is more or less
required for this sort of thing, so... No one will find
you here, Miss Drew. I'll be returning to town and making
a show of participating in the search for poor, missing Nancy
Drew. Then, in a few hours... or days... after things have settled down, I'll
come back and dispose of you permanently."
Rory rolled and blinked her eyes and continued squirming and
mewling through her gag. "M'mmpfh!" It was required,
given the circumstances. She knew she wasn't that good an
actress, but she had to hold up her end of the melodrama.
"This is what happens to nosy little snoops," Fiona said, spun
on her heels, and made her exit.
The door closed with a solid thud,
and Rory heard the bar slid into place, the hasp close, and the
padlock lock with faint click.
Then, she heard maniacal laughter—Fiona's, of course—fading into
What a ham, Rory
thought, then gave her bonds another struggling test. And my goose is cooked.
She stopped her pointless efforts and sighed through her
gag. I forgot to ask
about lunch, she realized, and it's a little too late now. She knew
Caitlin wouldn't be home 'til sometime between five and six,
which meant Fiona would have to release her Captured Girl
Detective somewhere around four. That meant she'd be
keeping the post company for... seven or eight hours?
Rory sighed, again, relaxed as best she could, and stared at the
bare walls and locked door. Wow! A shivering thrill of "dread"
rippled up her spine (and through her crotch). This is sooo coooool!