|by Van ©2012
enthusiasm for the role of Captured Girl Detective had waned by
the time Fiona returned to release her from the post. Her
cousin's ropes had been tight and inescapable—even un-shiftable and
un-slackenable, she mused, if those are words. And standing with
her shoulders, back, rump, and calves pressed against the hard
wood and barely able to even squirm? The blush left that particular rose
pretty quickly. The hankie, PVC pipe, and rope bit-gag
pinning the back of her head to the post and semi-silencing her
Desperate Moans had overstayed its welcome, as well.
That said, Rory found herself sort of drifting in her
helplessness, not in pain, not even in discomfort (not really),
and sort of reveling
in her condition. Her fate was entirely in her Despicable
Kidnapper's villainous hands (but she was a Despicable Kidnapper
who Rory loved and trusted). Rory was completely helpless.
She knew it was a game... but she really was bound and gagged and helpless!
It's just like when we played
in the woods, Rory reminisced, when we were kids—only more
so! Her childhood games with the Whelan sisters
had been just that, childhood games. This was an adult game—not XXX,
boom-chucka-wow-wow Adult, but... grown up. It was a
decidedly kinky hobby, to be sure, but playing at being a
Damsel-in-Distress was fun!
Meanwhile, Fiona was busy dismantling her masterpiece of
elaborate rope bondage.
"Well, you're still alive," Fiona chuckled as she worked her way
through the seemingly countless knots and hitches. She'd
already released Rory's gag.
"I think so," Rory sighed. "That was... different," she
"It's called 'sub-space,' Ginger-Fox," Fiona grinned.
"Huh? What does Star
Trek have to do with it?"
"That place you go to when you're tied up like this," Fiona
clarified. "It's called sub-space."
"I still don't—"
Rory blushed. "Oh." The last rope melted away and
the Rescued Girl Detective took a tentative step away from the
post and stretched. "Arrrgh."
"I know what will make you feel better," Fiona said as she began
untangling and coiling the various lengths of rope.
"A hot shower."
Fiona's smile broadened. "Even better. Help me stow
all this and I'll show you."
Rory stretched, again, then began helping Fiona coil the
ropes. "What time is it?"
"A little after three," Fiona answered. "I decided to
rescue you an hour early, so all your rope marks will have
plenty of time to fade. Caitlin might get suspicious if
you show up for dinner in a burka."
Rory blinked in surprise. "You guys have a burka?"
Fiona giggled. "You are such an easy mark, Ginger-Fox."
"Shuddup," Rory huffed, and gave her cousin's arm a weak,
remedy for spending most of the day lashed to a post turned out
to be a sauna. Rory didn't even known the Whelan's had a sauna. She'd
already had a more-or-less complete tour of the house and
outbuildings (not counting whatever was lurking behind the other
mysterious doors in
the basement dungeon), but she'd taken the nondescript door in
the master bedroom bath—that is, the Momma-Fox bedroom bath—to be a linen
It hid a dry sauna, complete with the traditional cedar paneling
and floor, two-tiers of benches, a stainless steel electric
heater (with lava rocks), a bucket and ladle, and (she assumed)
the required ventilation. What she'd taken for a small
mirror mounted on the outside of the door turned out to be a
window of one-way glass. A wave of heat hit Rory when Fiona opened the
"Wow," Rory exclaimed. "It's okay to use it? Aunt
Megan won't mind?"
"We use it all the time," Fiona answered, "whether mom is home
or not. I turned it on before bravely coming to your rescue."
"My hero," Rory huffed.
Fiona smiled. "Put your Nancy Drew clothes on mom's bed
and I'll get the stuff you wore at breakfast."
"Okay." Rory went to the bed in question, peeled off her
bobbysoxer/Girl Detective costume, including her panties, bra,
and hair ribbons—stretched again—then padded back into the
bathroom. She opened the sauna door, stepped inside, and
the dry heat enveloped her like a blanket. She sat on the
bench—"Yow!"—and immediately jumped off. The deck boards
were hot, but the bench was HOT!
The door opened, admitting Fiona and a wave of cold air.
"I thought I heard a bloodcurdling scream. Never been in a
dry sauna before, Ginger-Fox?"
"No," Rory admitted, rubbing her offended rump
Fiona pointed at the bucket. "Feel free to wet down the
bench. In fact, I strongly
"Logical," Rory conceded.
Fiona chuckled as she closed the door.
Rory followed Fiona's advice, and it worked. A splash of
water was all it took to make the seat butt-friendly.
Minutes passed... and Rory began to sweat... and it felt good!
The door opened, again, admitting more cold air and a naked
Fiona. The grinning redhead was carrying two white,
fluffy, folded towels and two plastic bottles of water.
"For a pillow," she explained, tossing a towel to Rory.
Rory caught the towel, then grinned as Fiona twisted the cap off
one of the bottles. "Gimme," she begged, accepted the cold
bottle, and chugged a generous mouthful of gloriously cold
water. "Excellent," she sighed.
Fiona had wet the bench opposite Rory and settled her naked rump
on the boards. "None the worse for wear," she observed,
visually examining Rory's flushed, shining body. "No
bruises or rope burns, I mean. No marks that won't fade
before Caitlin comes home. I'm an artist."
"Yeah, a veritable Leonardo Da Villainess," Rory drawled, then
Da Villainess? Is Leonarda a name?"
"Let it go, Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled, then smiled.
"So... one down and five to go."
Rory took another drink, then watched Fiona pour a ladle of
water over the lava rocks. They hissed and a cloud of
steam filled the close, hot space.
"This feels good," Rory sighed.
"Doesn't it?" Fiona agreed. "So, do you want to take
Rory paused before answering. "No, let's go for it."
"There's my brave little Bondage Brownie," Fiona smiled.
Rory rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."
"Now..." Fiona continued. "Level one, trial number
two. We don't have a lot of actual costumes. Girl
Detective just about exhausted the inventory. Besides,
cheerleader, police cadet, waitress, upstairs maid... Even
if we had the required outfits, they just don't do it for me,
not today, anyway."
"How 'bout 'schoolgirl'?" Rory suggested. "We talked about
Fiona shook her head. "Nah. I'll think of
Rory looked around the sauna, savoring the dry heat and the
aroma of the cedar. "Do you guys ever play in here?"
She smiled at Fiona, who was now also flushed and dripping with
sweat. "You know... with rope?"
Fiona shook her head. "Waaaaay
too dangerous, Initiate. What if I tied you to that bench
and forgot you were there? Too many awkward questions when
the EMTs and cops arrive. Too much paperwork."
Suddenly, her smile broadened. "I've got it! You
took dance classes, as I recall. Right?"
Rory nodded. "I got dragged to class for two years, when I
was nine and ten."
"And yet, no career in the ballet."
Rory favored her cousin with a scathing stare.
"Okay, okay," Fiona giggled. "Me too—I mean us too. Caitlin and
I couldn't wait to get away from the wicked witch who ran the
'Evil Dance Academy.' We endured three years before mom finally let us
quit. Anyway, I've got some old tights in the closet and lots of leotards."
Rory frowned. "You do yoga?"
Fiona smiled. "You should too, Ginger-Fox. Bondage
Brownies need to be limber. Once you pass the trials—I
mean if you pass the
trials—I'll give you some lessons."
"Wonderful," Rory sighed, and took another drink.
two of "Operation Keep Caitlin in the Dark" was successful (as
far as Rory could tell). Big-Fox came home from work at
the expected time, and tonight she was the one that cooked
dinner. And what followed was more or less a replay of the
previous evening: small talk, a little TV (with snacks), then
off to bed.
There were two new
developments: (1) Caitlin announced she'd received an
e-mail from Momma-Fox. Apparently, there was now some
question as to exactly when the planned lecture series at
Cambridge would happen. She said she'd keep them informed
of any changes in her itinerary. (2) Caitlin suggested
they go out for brunch on Sunday. There was a seafood
place near the Lewis and Clark campus that had an excellent
buffet, as well as omelets to order. Fiona gave the
restaurant an enthusiastic endorsement and they all agreed it
was a date.
Also in a replay of the night before, Rory engaged in "tension
relief" in the privacy of her bed—again, without
self-bondage. She then drifted off to sleep.
Morning came, breakfast was prepared and consumed, and Caitlin
left for work,. Fiona and Rory cleaned up and then Rory
scampered upstairs to change—and yes, she did indeed
scamper. A delicious anticipatory
dread was building for the Bondage Brownie
Initiate. Rory couldn't
wait to see what Fiona was gonna do to her. At
the same time, a dozen butterflies were staging a modern dance
number in her stomach.
And speaking of dance...
Rory stripped and donned a pair of white, footless tights—a
sleeveless, camisole-style leotard in a dark, pastel shade of
burgundy—and fluffy, salmon-pink leg warmers. Next, she
padded to the bathroom, combed her hair back, and rolled it into
the traditional tight bun. She smiled at her reflection in
the mirror, then turned and headed for the kitchen—almost
running into her soon-to-be kidnapper in the upstairs hallway.
"I'm saving you the trip downstairs," Fiona explained. A
small duffel bag was slung over her left shoulder.
Rory smiled and assumed First Position, executed a passable
pirouette, then ended in Fourth Position.
Fiona applauded politely. "Not bad, bun-monkey."
Rory frowned. "Bun-monkey? We used to call each
other bun-heads, but this is the first time I've heard
"No matter," Fiona giggled. "We're going up," she
announced, pointing at the ceiling, and led her "victim" towards
the back stairs.
"Stately Whelan Manor" had an extensive attic, which was hardly
surprising in a Victorian house. It was semi-finished,
with plywood sheets covering the floor and sloping
ceiling. Under their feet was a mismatched collection of
threadbare, worn carpets. What illumination there was came
from a few widely separated dangling light-bulbs. In terms
of floor plan, it was a complex space, also not surprising given
the complexity of the building's roof design.
Fiona led Rory towards a padlocked door. "This is above
mom's bedroom," she explained as she unlocked the padlock,
folded back the hasp, and left the open lock dangling from the
"Which is also above the dining room," Rory nodded.
Stacked together, the rooms in question comprised the bulk of a
round turret with a conical roof.
Fiona smiled as she opened the door. The space beyond was
indeed conical, as expected, more or less the inside of a
plywood tepee. More old carpet covered the floor and the
bottom lens of a light tunnel glowed from above, bathing the
room in blue-white light.
"I take it the attic is the legendary lost graveyard of worn out
Whelan carpets?" Rory asked, pointing at her bare feet.
"For at least three generations," Fiona confirmed. "If
you're bad, mom makes you drag the vacuum up here. What a
Rory grinned. "So, you're up here almost every day?"
"Watch it, Ginger-Fox," Fiona warned, then slid the duffel off
her shoulder and let it drop. "Trial two, level one, rope,
not tied to
Rory heaved a rather theatrical sigh.
"Don't be like that," Fiona giggled. "You're a prima
ballerina about to be 'sequestered' by a jealous rival.
It's not the end of the world." She pointed at the
carpet. "On your tummy with your hands behind your back,
Rory settled to the floor, as directed.
"I assume you're familiar with the term hogtie?" Fiona inquired.
"Yes, I'm familiar," Rory sighed.
"Well," Fiona continued, "you're about to become really familiar."
proceeded to tie Rory's wrists together with her hands
palm-to-palm. "This is braided cotton clothesline," Fiona
lectured. "We give new batches a quick wash with a dash of
mild detergent, then tumble it dry on low heat. That makes
it nice and soft and pliant, just the thing for tying up
Rory snorted. "That's so funny I forgot to—Hey! What
are you doing to my thumbs?"
"Tying them together, of course," Fiona giggled, "with cotton
Rory sighed as the thin cord was cinched between her
thumbs. "Let me guess—because they're there?"
Fiona chuckled as she tied a series of knots. "You're
gonna fit right in around here, Ginger-Fox."
Over the next several minutes, more cotton rope tightened around
Rory's body. One long coil passed around her upper arms
and torso, above and below her breasts, and yoked her
shoulders. Other coils went around her waist and forearms,
above and below her knees, and around her ankles. Fiona
took her time, cinching the bondage between Rory's limbs and/or
"Okay, here we go," Fiona announced, threaded a doubled rope
through Rory's wrist and ankle bonds, then pulled out the slack.
Rory grunted as her ankles and wrists came together. "Do
you have to make it so—Hey!"
Fiona had leaned close and put her body into it, pressing with
her weight until Rory's wrists and ankles nearly met.
"Hogtie, category two," she explained as she threaded the
remaining rope under the rope at the nape of Rory's neck, and
"Yow!" The tightening ropes arched Rory's back,
significantly tightening her shoulder-yoking and arm-pinning
bonds. Her knee bonds had also tightened. "What is
"Wrists less than six inches from ankles, without cross-trussing
elements," Fiona explained. "Category two."
Fiona smiled. "If you insist." She pulled another
coil of rope from the duffel.
squirmed as her Cruel Kidnapping Cousin looped the doubled rope
around her shins and thighs, rolling and rocking her tightly
bundled body as required. Fiona then cinched the bands
between Rory's legs and tied off the separate free ends to her
knee and elbow bonds.
"Catlin says hitching the hogtie rope through the upper bonds is
enough to make it category three," Fiona explained, "but I
disagree." She pulled another length of cord from the
duffel. "I think it takes more elaborate trussing."
Rory eyed the of cord, nervously. "What's that for?"
Then, she figured it out and curled her toes—not that it would
do her any good, of course. It was an instinctive
reaction. The Captive Dancer sighed as the cord looped
around her big toes, several times, then was cinched and
"There," Fiona gloated, "that should hold you."
"No, ya think?" Rory huffed. "Hey! Watch it!"
Fiona had rolled Rory onto her back and was straddling her
body. "Okay, you're a trussed up bun-monkey," she
purred. "Now, I need to make you a quiet, trussed up
Rory watched as Fiona pulled a pair of scissors from the duffel,
followed by a roll of off-white, three-inch wide, plastic tape.
"Elastoplast," Fiona explained, holding up the tape.
"Nothing but the best for my Ginger-Fox."
"You're enjoying this waaay
too much," Rory complained as Fiona pulled a seven inch strip
from the roll and snipped it free.
"Yes, being an Evil Villainess does have it benefits," Fiona giggled.
"Now, lips together s'il vous
Rory sighed and pursed her lips.
Fiona stretched the tape over Rory's mouth, then smoothed it
with her fingers. "I love this stuff," she purred, locking
eyes with her helpless "victim." She smoothed the tape,
again, then used an index finger to trace Rory's lips. "I
love the way it adheres to the skin. It's impossible to loosen with
your tongue, and the way I can see the shape of your lips...
gorgeous. It's almost like your lower face has been dipped
Rory's tummy was tingling. Okay, the anatomy in question
was a little lower than her tummy, but it was definitely tingling.
"Wait 'til you try this with a crotch rope," Fiona purred, then
leaned close and planted a kiss on Rory's forehead. "And
wait 'til you try category four."
She returned the tape roll and scissors to the duffel, zipped it
closed, then climbed off Rory's bound body, stood, and pulled
the duffel strap onto her shoulder.
Category four? Rory
Fiona answered Rory's silent question. "Category four is
when your gag or hair are included in the hogtie." Her
smile turned deliciously evil. "Talk about your tautly
strung bow." She strolled towards the door. "Well...
"Mrrpfh!" Rory complained as the door began to close. She
wasn't really in distress (not yet), but mewling through her gag
in desperation was the proper thing to do. The door closed
and she heard the hasp engage and the padlock click closed.
Rory squirmed and struggled. She managed to roll back onto
her stomach, but it took three attempts. "Exploring" the
attic room by wiggling across the carpet seemed marginally
possible, but what was the point? Thumb and
toe-tied—wrapped in a tight, uniform web of well-cinched
rope—gagged with medical tape—Rory knew herself to be one seriously helpless dancer!
stopped off in her mom's bedroom to confirm the status of the
home security system. The bedside alarm console,
tastefully concealed as what might easily be mistaken for a
quaint music box, confirmed that all the doors and windows were
locked, including her workshop and the garage, and that the
system was armed.
Next, she went to her own bedroom, closed the door, and
deposited the now nearly empty rope duffel in her closet.
She then went to the bed, stripped to the skin, neatly folded
her jeans, t-shirt, bra, and panties, stacked them on a straight
chair, and placed her sandals on top.
Fiona's iPhone was on her bedside table, but she'd turned off
the ringtone. Incoming calls would go to voice-mail.
If Caitlin tried to call and asked her about it tonight, she'd
say she'd been working in the shop all day and had forgotten to
bring her phone. It wouldn't be the first time.
Fiona padded to her writing desk, turned on her laptop, and
opened an appliance control program. She then slid an
exquisitely crafted wooden box from under the bed and opened the
lid. (The box was handmade by the supremely talented Fiona
Whelan, of course.) Inside were:
(1) A carefully coiled length of green cord, a pair of small
snap-hooks, a key inserted in a locked padlock, and a
thumb-sized electromagnet with a coil of thin, insulated wire
ending in a pair of color-coded RCA plugs. Together, they
comprised Fiona's time-tested release mechanism. She
uncoiled the wire and inserted the plugs into matching sockets
in a control module next to the computer, then unlocked the
padlock and placed it on the bed. She then stood on the
mattress and secured the snap-hooks to a pair of tiny, discreet
eye-bolts screwed into the ceiling over the bed. When she
was finished, the key was dangling near the upper right corner,
almost touching the mattress, and the electromagnet was up near
the ceiling above the lower left corner. She lifted the
key to the magnet and it clicked
in place, held against the module's steel disk.
(2) Fiona's Hitachi, wand-style vibrator. A long extension
cord was attached, as was a leather thigh-harness. She lay
the vibrator and harness on the bed, uncoiled the cord, and
plugged it into a power outlet on the control module.
(3) Four leather cuffs, three with doubled nylon straps threaded
through their D-rings, and one with a slightly wider, heftier
length of strap with a steel ring at each end. Fiona
passed the straps around the four bedposts and the result was
four cuffs waiting to receive her wrists and ankles. The
cuff with the two-ring strap was on the right with the open
padlock threaded through the rings. The other three cuffs
were secured around the other three bedposts by their cinched
double straps. All four restraints were the same length,
and this was hardly a happy coincidence. Fiona had put a
lot of effort into getting the measurements exactly correct.
(4) A ball-gag with a two-inch sphere of red medical silicon.
Fiona gagged herself, cinching the ball-gag's strap until her
cheeks bulged, then padded to the desk and tapped a key.
The control programs were now running and the electromagnet
would release the key in exactly two hours, allowing it to swing
down to her right hand.
Also in response to the program, the vibrator would turn on and
off in a carefully orchestrated sequence. The timing had
been arrived at through a series of scientific experiments, with
Fiona and Caitlin as
the test subjects. Several different programs were
available, and Fiona had selected a seesaw pattern that would
slowly crescendo over a half-hour and always resulted in a thundering multiple
orgasm. The code would then loop back to the beginning and
A five minute grace period was running, allowing Fiona to
complete her preparations. She quickly double checked the
plugs and program settings, then padded back to the bed and
flopped onto the mattress. She buckled on the harness
belt, positioned the business end of the Hitachi against her
pussy, then buckled the thigh and crotch straps. Next, she
buckled on the ankle cuffs, then lay back and buckled on the
not-yet-attached right cuff and the already attached left
cuff. This required some stretching, groping, and
fumbling, but she accomplished the task with practiced ease.
Three of her limbs were now in a loose spread-eagle. She
groped for the padlock, threaded it through the right strap's
terminal rings—and snapped it closed.
was now on her back in a full
spread-eagle, and she would remain that way until the key
dropped and she would be able to unlock the padlock. She
tugged on the cuffs and stared up at the ceiling.
Up in the attic, Rory was hogtied and helpless. She looks so cute in a tight
hogtie, Fiona mused.
Fiona squirmed in her bonds. The inactive head of the
Hitachi was nudging her upper labia, just under her
clitoris. Experience told her it was in just the right spot, and
there would be nothing she could do to shift it away. She
looked down her body, past her slowly rising and falling breasts
(and erect nipples), down her flat tummy, her dark red pubic
bush, and to the harness and vibrator. She confirmed that
the Hitachi was on its highest setting.
One time, on another occasion
when mom had been away, Caitlin had spreadeagled her just like
this, only without rigging
the release timer and with the Hitachi set on low. That had been a
very long night of
total frustration. Time after time, just when Fiona
thought the magic wand was finally
going to send her over the top... the damn program would
reset to the beginning and start teasing her all over again,
with long pauses relieved only by brief periods of pathetically
I can't wait 'til I get to do
that to Rory! Fiona thought—then moaned through her gag
and tugged on her bonds in earnest. "Mrrrf!"
The initial waiting period had finally expired and the Hitachi
was doing its thing.
Fiona continued fighting her self-imposed bonds. Just you wait, Ginger-Fox.
Once you pass your trials, just you wait. You ain't seen