by Van ©2012
		Chapter 5

Sub-space, Rory thought.  That's what Fi called it.  Rory squirmed in Fiona's tight and increasingly uncomfortable hogtie bonds.  Okay, she wasn't that uncomfortable, but was in increasingly significant distress—not physical distress, of course, but Damsel-in-Distress distress.  Sub-space.

The Captive Dancer had been languishing in her conical, wooden, attic prison for something like three hours.  She couldn't be sure about that—there were no clocks in the attic—but it felt like three hours, maybe.  In any case, it had been a looooog time since she'd been kidnapped and abandoned.  Kidnapped and abandoned... wow!

Fiona's ropes remained exactly where the Evil, Sadistic, Kidnapping Bitch had placed them, enforcing what she'd called a "category three hogtie."  Rory's wrists were less than six inches from her ankles, with ropes cinched around her lower legs and thighs that made doubly sure she wouldn't be straightening her legs.

Suddenly—Finally!—the plywood floor drummed under Rory's helpless body, the unmistakable sign of approaching footsteps.  She heard the padlock securing the door unlock, the rattle of the hasp being thrown back, and the faint squeal of the door's hinges.  She lifted her chin off the carpet and glared at the welcome vision of her smug cousin.

Hands on hips, Fiona smiled down at her willing kidnap victim.  The mostly empty rope duffel was slung on her right shoulder.   "So, the auditions are over, Ginger-Swan.  Everyone was very surprised and disappointed you decided to blow off your big chance to dance the lead in Giselle.  I guess I might as well untie you... either that or stuff you in a trash bag and take you out with the rest of the garbage."

Rory continued to glare.

"Okay, okay," Fiona chuckled, then dropped the duffel, knelt, and began untying Rory's bonds.  She worked her way through the groupings of cinched rope bands and the cord binding Rory's big-toes, but left the wrist ropes, thumb cord, and Elastoplast tape-gag intact.

Rory awkwardly scrambled to her knees, sat on her butt, crossed her legs, and watched Fiona coil and stow the various lengths of cotton rope.

Fiona zipped the duffel closed, stood, and started towards the door, then paused.  "You coming?" she inquired, smiling back over her shoulder.

"Mrrf," Rory complained, climbed to her bare feet, renewed her angry glare, then stomped past her cousin and out the door.

Fiona followed.  "So... lunch followed by sauna, or sauna followed by a late lunch?"

"M'mmpfh," Rory "answered."

"Sauna it is, then," Fiona giggled, taking Rory by the arm and leading her down the back stairs, along the hallway, and into the Momma-Fox bedroom.

Rory expected Fiona to untie her so she could undress.  Instead, she stood and watched (that is, glared) as Fiona undressed.  The Dastardly Kidnapper's jeans, t-shirt, bra, panties, and sandals were soon neatly folded and/or stacked atop her mom's neatly made bed.  The nude villainess turned and smiled at her still clearly displeased cousin.

"You are so cute like that, Ginger-Swan," Fiona chuckled, then led her into the bathroom.  "I'm not just being a gloating bitch," she said, "although being a gloating bitch is part of my due diligence as your cruel villainess."  She put her right arm around Rory's arms and waist and stood beside her in front of the mirror over the washbasin.  "I just had to make sure you see this."

Rory stared at her reflection.  Most of her tight dancer's bun was still intact, but a few wispy, ginger strands of hair had somehow managed to work themselves loose as she'd squirmed and struggled against Fiona's ropes up in the attic.  The strands hung to either side of her pink, slightly flushed face and across the wide strip of beige tape plastered over her mouth and lower face.  I really can see the shape of my lips, just like Fiona said.  It's... kinda cool.  Rory continued staring at herself (without the daggers she'd directed at her Cruel Captor) as Fiona freed her thumbs and untied the knots of the ropes binding her wrists.

Fiona tucked a couple of folded towels under her left arm and grabbed a water bottle.  "See ya soon," she giggled, opened the sauna door, and ducked inside.

Hilarious, Rory fumed.  Actually, it was kinda funny the way Fi was pretending to be an Evil Bitch, seeing as it was manifestly obvious that she was not.  Rory padded back into the bedroom, twisting her wrists and freeing herself as she went.  She dropped the tangled rope on the bed, then stripped off her borrowed leg-warmers, leotard, and tights and dumped the tangled, soiled, and slightly sweaty mass atop Fiona's folded clothing.  She padded back into the bathroom, released her bun, and shook out her hair (all the while giving her Elastoplast gag another close examination).  She leaned close to the mirror and teased back a corner of the tape rectangle, then slowly peeled the strip from her lips and face.  Her skin stretched as the tape's adhesive surrendered its grip.  Wow!  She folded the sticky part of the tape onto itself and tossed it in the little trashcan under the washbasin, then turned and entered the sauna.

Fiona had wet down both benches and was reclined on her back with her knees bent and her feet flat on the bench.  One of the still folded towels was under her head, acting as a pillow.  "Wasn't that fun?" she grinned.

"Yeah, good times," Rory huffed.  She cracked the cap of the water bottle, took a generous swig, and glared at her cousin.

Fiona smiled back.

"Okay," Rory admitted, "it was fun.  I'm stiff and sore and ache all over, but it was fun."  She sat on the bench opposite, placed the second towel in pillow position, then flopped onto her back and bent her knees, mimicking Fiona's pose.  "So... what's in store for tomorrow?"

"You know better than that, Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled.  "No spoilers.  And this time, I've already worked out all the details, including your costume."

"Wonderful," Rory sighed, then took another sip of water.  The dry heat felt really good... but for some reason it seemed to be causing a low-level thrill to ripple through her crotch.  Well... something was trying to ring her chimes.  Maybe it was the sauna, and maybe not.

"So, what did you guys do today?" Caitlin inquired.  She was slouched in her favorite comfy chair in the living room with her feet up on its matching hassock.

"Nothin'," Fiona answered.  She was using the remote to navigate through the DVR menu, looking for something for them to watch.

"Nothin'," Rory confirmed.  She was munching on a bowl of popcorn, watching the choices scroll by on the screen.

"Nice work if you can get it," Caitlin muttered.

"Okay, I worked on a new dollhouse design," Fiona amended.

"And I, uh, read a book." Rory added.  It was true.  She'd read a couple of chapters of Lady of Devices by Shelley Adina that afternoon.  "I also took a walk in the woods."

"Me too," Fiona chimed in.  "The woods."  She tossed the remote to Caitlin.  "I don't see anything."

"Nothing we haven't already watched," Caitlin agreed.

"DVD?" Rory suggested.

Caitlin shrugged.  "Battlestar Galactica?   Season one?"

Fiona winked at Rory.  "Cat has a thing for Lee Adama and Starbuck."

Caitlin smiled at Rory.  "Poor Kara.  Don't you want to give her a great big hug?"  She turned her gaze to Fiona.  "Fifi, on the other hand, wants to be dominated by Number Six."

"Doesn't everybody?" Fiona shrugged.

"Apollo is dreamy," Rory sighed, then munched some more popcorn.

"Well," Caitlin muttered, "somebody in this energetic group has to get up and find the DVD."

Fiona sighed and climbed to her feet.  "I'll do it."

Rory watched "Fifi" walk to the antique chest of drawers next to the TV that served as the Whelan's media cabinet and rummage through the drawers.  Fifi, she thought.  Now I have another nickname for Little-Fox.  She imagined Fiona in a skimpy French maid's costume, using a feather duster to dust the library.  That would be so cute!

What Rory really wanted to do, other than watch the Cylons nuke the Twelve Colonies, was go to bed and "relieve the tension of the day," but it was still too early.

The next day dawned bright and clear.  Caitlin left for work, Fiona and Caitlin ate breakfast and cleaned up, then Fifi led the Bondage Brownie Initiate upstairs and into her (Fiona's) bedroom.

Fiona smiled and gave her companion a critical gaze.  "Let's see now...  Lose the sneakers and the bra and your costume will be just fine."

"Huh?"  Rory was wearing sneakers, khaki shorts, and a tank-top, over the usual panties and bra.  "Bra?"

"Bra," Fiona confirmed.

"Because?"

"It's sexier," Fiona grinned.

Rory kicked off her sneakers, then stripped off her tank-top, removed her bra, then shrugged back into the top.  "Yeah, really sexy," she huffed.  A hint of a blush colored her cheeks, and for some reason, her nipples were tingling (ever so slightly) and growing increasingly prominent.  It's the fabric, she decided.  The tank-top was ribbed cotton in powder-blue, and too thin to wear in public without a bra—but, of course, they weren't in public.

"Pokies are always sexy," Fiona giggled.

Now Rory's cheeks were crimson.  She knew Fiona was just playing with her (so to speak).  Rory's modest breasts were what you could only call perky, but they were big enough to generate 'pokies'—and at the moment they were doing just that.  Rory eyed the cardboard box on Fiona's bed.

Fiona opened the box in question.  "On with the show."  One by one, she produced four wide, leather cuffs.  They were black, with three-inch inner bands padded on the inside with a thin layer of fake-fur pile.  They also had inch-and-a-half outer straps and locking buckles.  "Left foot."

Rory lifted her left leg and planted her foot on the bed.  She watched (carefully ignoring the continuing tingle in her nipples and pussy) as Fiona buckled one of the cuffs around her ankle and snapped a small padlock through the pad-eye in the buckle's tongue.

"Right foot."

Rory changed feet and her right ankle was captured by another cuff.

"Left hand."

Rory's left wrist received a cuff.  Then, she presented her right hand, without waiting for instructions, and watched Fiona buckle the fourth cuff around her wrist and snap the fourth padlock closed.  "Obviously," Rory muttered, "this is the 'not rope' part of the third trial."

"I'm not finished," Fiona giggled, "but yes, professor, leather is not rope."

"Absolutely hilarious," Rory huffed, then her eyes widened as Fiona pulled another cuff from the box.  It was identical in materials and width to the others, but was somewhat longer.  Rory swallowed.  It's a collar, she realized.

Fiona smiled. "Hold up your hair for me, please."

Rory gathered her ginger locks atop her head with both hands, then turned her back to her captor.

Fiona fitted the collar around Rory's throat, tightened its strap, and snapped a fifth padlock through its buckle.

Rory released her hair and turned her head, testing the collar's fit.  The cuffs were tight, with their padding more or less completely compacted.  The collar was a bit looser, but not by much.  "What now?  Are you gonna tie me to your bed or—"

To the accompaniment of much metallic clinking and clattering, Fiona lifted a tangle of steel chains and more padlocks from the box, then knelt at Rory's feet.

Rory watched as Fiona sorted out the chain and used a pair of padlocks to hobble her ankles.  She then stood, lifting the chain with her, and padlocked its terminal link to the ring on the front of Rory's collar.  It was now clear the chain was three lengths attached to a ring, forming an upside-down "Y" with two foot-long lengths forming the hobble and the longer vertical length serving to lift the hobble off the floor.  The weight of the chain on the collar was significant, but not punishing.  "Well," Rory said, "this is... different."

"Patience, Initiate," Fiona chuckled, then grabbed a brush and comb from her dresser, sat on the bed, and pointed at the floor between her sandal-clad feet.  "Kneel with your back to me."

Rory shuffled into position, in a rattle of tinkling chains, knelt, then rocked back onto her heels.  She arranged her cuffed but unattached hands on her lap as Fiona began brushing her hair.

"A braid will keep all this ginger loveliness our of your face," Fiona explained, "while you work."

"What?"

"Hush."  Fiona completed the braid, whipped a length of black cord around the end, and tied a bow.  She then leaned down and pulled something out from under the bed.  "Let me have your right hand," she ordered.

Rory lifted her hand, turned her head, and watched Fiona padlock the D-ring dangling from her right cuff through a pad-eye at the end of a steel rod.

"Face front," Fiona ordered, and placed the center of the rod against the back of Rory's collar.

Rory felt a clip or flange of some sort being engaged, then heard and felt the click of another padlock.

"Left hand."

Rory lifted her left arm, and—click—found herself wearing a yoke, or pillory—or whatever you call it—with her cuffed hands about a foot to either side of her collared neck and her elbows bent at ninety degree angles.

"Up," Fiona ordered.

Rory awkwardly climbed to her bare, hobbled feet—clink, clatter, rattle—then turned to face her captor, who was still comfortably seated on her bed with a supremely irritating grin on her face.  "And I suppose you're gonna make me wear this all day?"

"While you work," Fiona confirmed.

"Again with the work," Rory huffed.  "What do you expect me to do with my hands like this?"  She wiggled her fingers for emphasis.

"Really Ginger-Fox," Fiona sighed, shaking her head.  "You have to learn to wait for the Big Gloating Scene.  You know, the extended exposition where the villain explains everything?  Now, Mr. Bond, the gerbils will slowly eat through the rope smeared with peanut butter, the counterweight will fall, the electric eels will be released, and then—"

"Enough already," Rory sighed.  "Get on with it."

Fiona rummaged in the box.  "We're almost there."  She produced a small wooden box, opened the lid, and held it before Rory's pouting face.

"Jingle-bells?" Rory huffed.

"Big jingle-bells," Fiona confirmed, "more like a cross between cow-bells and sleigh-bells."  She lifted one of the bells in question by its three or four inches of attached chain and small snap-hook, then gave it a shake.

The resulting noise was deeper in tone than a traditional jingle-bell, but was still quite musical.  She snapped the clip through the hasp of the padlock securing Rory's left cuff to the yoke-bar.  Three additional bells were deployed: to the right cuff's padlock, to the center ring of the Y-chain, and to the end of Rory's braid.  In the process of making the last attachment, Fiona replaced the bow in the cord with a triple square-knot.  "This way I can keep track of your location," Fiona giggled, "and it'll make you easier to chase down if you try to make a run for it."

"Such devastating wit," Rory muttered.

"Shuffle to the middle of the room and do a slow turn for me," Fiona giggled.

Rory sighed, then followed her captor's orders.  Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle...  The bell attached to her braid bounced against her back and clattered more than tinkled, but the others dangled from their chains and were quite melodic... in a humiliating sort of way.  She was very much aware of the spectacle she must present to her leering captor... in her skimpy shorts, tank top (with pokies), and inescapable leather and steel bonds.

"Oh, Ginger-Fox," Fiona sighed.  "You are seriously cute like that, sort of a modern day Cinderella meets Secretary."

Rory frowned at her gloating cousin.  "Secretary?"

"The movie?  Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader?"

Rory shook her head.  Tinkle-tinkle.

Fiona smiled.  "We'll have to watch the DVD some night.  But don't bring it up 'til after you complete your trials, so Caitlin doesn't smell a rat."  She stood, stretched, then pulled one more thing from the box and stepped behind Rory.

"What now?  M'rrf!"

Fiona had popped a ball into Rory's mouth, and was now pulling an attached loop of bungee-cord over her head.  She lifted Rory's braid, freeing it from the loop and letting it drop—tinkle-tinkle-tinkle—then eased the now taut, fabric-covered elastic cord against the nape of the captive's neck.

"Wrff-ur-burr?"  The ball was semi-hard plastic and was hollow and pierced by many large holes.

"Yes, it's a whiffle-gag," Fiona explained.  "Not very effective as a silencer, but it will make it difficult for you to scream for help."

"Mrrft!" Rory complained as she watched Fiona carry the cardboard box from the bed to her closet.

"Now."  Fiona smiled at her captive cousin.  "Every bedroom has a hamper.  I want you to sort the delicates, colors, and cotton, then strip the sheets from the beds and—"

"Law'ree?"

"Yesss," Fiona purred, "laundry.  I want you to do the laundry.  And don't glare at me like that.  You've got all day.  Granted, there are no laundry bags available—some thoughtless person seems to have locked them all away someplace—so you'll have to make many, many trips down to the basement, two handfuls at a time—"

"Nrrf!"

"Temper, temper, young lady," Fiona purred.  "Now, get a good start by noon and I might let you have some lunch."

Rory stared daggers at Fiona.

"Anyhow, you're to get everything sorted, washed, dried, folded, and back where it belongs before Cat gets home," Fiona continued.  "I don't expect you to put everything away, except your own stuff, but I do want you to make the beds with fresh sheets.  You know where the linen closet it, right?"

Rory continued glaring at her smug cousin.  How the hell am I supposed to make the beds?

"And snap to it," Fiona chuckled, "unless you want a spanking, of course."  She clapped her hands.  "Chop, chop."  She then turned and strolled out the bedroom door.

Rory watched her go, then sent a whistling sigh through her whiffle-gag.  Cinderella meets Secretary, she fumed.  Maybe I'll get it after I watch the movie.  She shuffled to the hamper next to the open door, leaned down and flipped open its lid, stared at the collection of dirty clothes within, and sighed, again.

I wonder how senior I need to be in this 'club' before I get to do stuff like this to Fifi.

Fiona tiptoed to the back stairs.  There was a turn in the hallway that enabled her to sit on the floor with her back to the wall and listen to the "music of the bells"—the sound of Rory rattling around in her chains—without being seen from the main hallway.

Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle-tinkle...

Fiona had performed household chores in chains many times, in a variety of configurations, as had Caitlin.  At first, as teenagers, they'd worn their normal slaving-around-the-house clothes: shorts or jeans and a t-shirt or tank-top.  The no-bra rule had come as a later development... after bosom development.  The Whelan sisters had agreed it was a deliciously humiliating refinement to the game.  The barefoot rule was a safety measure imposed by Momma-Fox.  It ensured maximum surefootedness on the stairs.

Once they graduated from Bondage Brownie to Damsel Scout, the game was played without any clothing, and they pulled out all the stops.  Harness-gags, hoods (with eye-holes, of course), nipple-clamps, chastity belts or rubber panties (often with vibrators), etc.  And everything was always locked or secured with cable-ties.  Inefficient?  To be sure.  Productive?  Hardly.  But getting the chores done was only a side benefit.

Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle-tinkle...

"Poor Ginger-Fox," Fiona whispered under her breath.  Her fingers had found their way down the front of her jeans and under her panties, and were gently stroking her pussy.  It would take twelve to fifteen trips up and down the stairs for Rory to finish the laundry, something Fiona knew from experience.  Her young cousin would be tired by lunchtime, and exhausted by three o'clock.  That Fiona knew from experience, as well.  She also knew that Rory was going to find it nearly impossible to make the beds, but she'd continue threatening her with a spanking right up to the very end.  Finally, having milked the situation for all it was worth, she would unchain her slave-maid and help her make the beds.

It's fun being Gingerella's Wicked Stepsister, Fiona mused, continuing to stroke her labia.  It's a lot of fun.

Down the hall, Rory continued sorting her Evil Bitch Cousin's laundry, preparing for her first trip down to the basement to load the washer.

Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle-tinkle...