by Van ©2012
		Chapter 6

Rory was exhausted by late afternoon.  The jingling and jangling of the belled Y-chain hobbling her ankles and padlocked to her collar was really beginning to get annoying, her back was sore from all the twisting and stooping, and she'd drooled around and through her whiffle-gag and onto the front of her tank-top (and her pokies).  To her mild surprise, she found the yoke arrangement did allow her to sort the laundry, load the washer and dryer, fold the clean laundry that needed folding, and hang blouses from hangers—with an incredible amount of wasted effort and awkward fumbling, of course.  Adding insult to grinding toil, and by obvious design, the "missing" laundry bags made it necessary for "Gingerella" to make endless trips up and down the stairs from the second floor bedrooms to the basement, and back again, all the while clutching double-handfuls of dirty or clean clothes.  Worse yet, it didn't occur to Rory to strip the pillowcases from the beds first and use them as laundry bags until the bulk of the dirty clothing was already sorted and in the basement—and it's difficult to kick one's self in the keister while hobbled in ankle cuffs and chains.

Her Sadistic Slave-Driver cousin "reluctantly" deemed Rory's morning efforts worthy of a meager lunch.  Okay, it had been a normal lunch of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, but Fiona planted Rory on the breakfast nook bench with her yoke and chain bondage intact, plucked the whiffle-gag from her pouting mouth (letting it dangle around her neck and over her leather collar), and fed her the meal by hand.  It was humiliating (and kinda funny... or something).

"You realize there's no way I can make the beds," Rory muttered between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup, "right?"

Fiona chuckled.  "And you realize I'm actually looking for an excuse to paddle your behind, right?"

"Fi-O-na," Rory whined, "have a heart."

"Spank, spank!" Fiona giggled.

"I'll tell Caitlin," Rory warned, mustering her finest pout.

"No you won't."

Rory shifted to a coy, dimpled smile.  "And what makes you so sure?"

Fiona smiled back.  "Because then we'll both get a spanking.  That, and Cat will probably make you repeat the trials.  A post-tie in the dungeon, hogtie in the attic, and day of drudge-enslavement are terrible things to waste."

"Especially a category-three hogtie," Rory muttered.

"Especially," Fiona agreed.

After lunch, Rory managed to complete the laundry (including the bed sheets), and she even managed to keep track of whose laundry was whose.  The Whelan sisters had similar tastes in lingerie and casual wear and were about the same size, but Rory—being the clever Laundry Slave that she was—mixed her delicates and other clothes with those of the Gloating Evil Bitch and only had to "waste" a couple of light loads to do Caitlin's stuff by itself.  A wise strategy, as she could easily sort her own clothes from Fiona's.  Of course, folding everything remained an onerous task, no matter who owned what.

And finally, only the Herculean task of making the beds with fresh sheets remained.

Rory actually made an attempt to make her own bed.  The result was less than satisfactory.  In fact, the bed looked like it had been made by a troop of drunken monkeys.  Rory's only option was to face her watching (and gloating) cousin, muster the best tragic, long-suffering expression she could manage, and whine through her whiffle-gag.

"Oh, the heart breaks," Fiona chuckled.  She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her key chain.  "I guess I have no choice but to spank your rump."  She proceeded to unclip the jingle-bells and unlock the yoke-bar and hobble-collar-chain, but she left Rory's now unattached leather cuffs locked on her wrists and ankles, the collar padlocked around her throat, and her whiffle-gag in in her mouth.

Rory watched Fiona drop the chain, yoke-bar, padlocks, and bells in a tinkling, clattering heap by the door, then plucked the whiffle-ball from her mouth, pulled the bungee-cord strap over her head and from under her braid, and tossed it on the pile.  Hands on hips, she glared at Fiona.  "Don't come near me," she warned.  "A broken nose is gonna be hard to explain when Big-Fox gets home."

"Okay," Fiona giggled, "no spanking, this time.  Let's make the beds."

They proceeded to do just that, and afterwards Fiona removed Rory's remaining bonds and stowed the incriminating evidence of their unauthorized activities in her closet.

This time, they didn't take a sauna.  Fiona went to her shop to get some work done (she was getting seriously behind in her production schedule), and Rory decided to take a nap on the living room couch.

She woke to find Caitlin smiling down at her.  Big-Fox was still wearing her business suit and carrying her briefcase.  Apparently, she'd just returned from work.  "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Rory answered, then yawned, raised her arms over her head, did a full-body stretch—"Ow!"—then rubbed her back.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Caitlin inquired.

"No, it's fine," Rory answered.  It wasn't quite a lie.  Maybe I will take a sauna, she thought, after dinner.  "What time is it"

"About five-thirty."  Caitlin's eyes were on Rory's breasts.  "Nice outfit."

Rory blushed, realizing the stretch had emphasized her bra-less condition.  I knew I was forgetting something.

"What did you do today?" Caitlin inquired.

Rory's cheeks were still burning.  "Uh, the laundry.  Let me know if I mixed up any of your stuff with Fiona's."

"Laundry," Caitlin nodded.  "I see."

I hope not, Rory prayed.  "Uh, I'll start dinner."

"Okay," Caitlin smiled.

Rory scrambled to her bare feet and headed for the kitchen, ignoring her complaining back and very much aware of Caitlin's following gaze.  Cool it! she thought.  Act natural.  Why should she be suspicious?

Still smiling, Caitlin turned and headed for the stairs.

The next morning, after Caitlin departed for work and breakfast and cleanup were accomplished, Fiona led Rory into the living room.  She pointed at the couch.  "Sit."

"Bossy much?" Rory muttered.

Fiona smiled.  "Only when I'm the all-powerful adjudicator of your worthiness as a Bondage Brownie."

"Oh, yeah.  I forgot."  Rory flopped onto the couch while Fiona sat in her favorite chair.  Fiona was smiling (sort of), but there was something different about her expression, something a little more intense than usual.  Rory smiled back for several seconds.  "What?" she demanded, finally.

"This has been fun, right?" Fiona answered.

"Well... duh!"

"Okay," Fiona chuckled, then grew serious, again.  "How's your back?"

"Uh, fine."  Rory rolled her shoulders.  "No lingering ill-effects from your thoughtless cruelty."

"Excellent."  Fiona grinned.  "Anyhoo... that was level one.  Level two is more intense, and more active."

Rory frowned.  "What do you mean by active?"

"Active and inter-active," Fiona clarified (a little).  "But still with no funny business."

"No more comedy?" Rory inquired, perfectly deadpan.

Fiona's full smile returned.  "No erotic stimulation.  No sexy stuff.  No vibrators, nipple clamps, dildos, expensive machines designed to simulate intercourse, trained dogs, etc.  Is that clear enough?"   

Rory blushed.  "Plenty."

"That said," Fiona continued, "things will be more adult.  For one thing, your costume will consist of either your birthday suit or your sauna ensemble, your choice."

"Naked?"  Rory was still blushing.

Fiona nodded.  "Naked, nude, starkers, sans clothing, habiliment free, au naturel, sky-clad."

Rory swallowed, then nodded back.  "Uh... okay."  This really is getting more intense.  Wow!

"Level two will evaluate your readiness to move beyond passive bondage.  I won't go into details."  Fiona's smile broadened.  "Like before, no spoilers, but I will tell you I'll have more to do than render you helpless and walk away... especially for the fifth trial."

"Uh..."  Rory swallowed, again.  "Okay.  Mysterious and unsettling... but okay."

Fiona's smile faded.  "You trust me, don't you, Ginger-Fox?"

Rory blinked in surprise.  "Trust you?  Duh!"

Fiona's smile returned.  "All right then.  No time like the present?"

Rory sighed.  "No time like the present," she confirmed.

Fiona stood.  "To the dungeon!"

Rory remained on the couch.  "Am I going to regret this?"

Fiona chuckled, then walked over, took Rory by the hands, and lifted her to her feet.  "Of course, and all day."

"I was afraid of that," Rory sighed, and allowed herself to be led towards the kitchen and their ultimate destination, the dungeon.

They made their way to the basement but didn't enter the dungeon—not immediately, anyway.

Fiona opened the wardrobe (the Secret Portal to the Secret Dungeon), but rather than manipulate the hooks and open the secret passage, she lifted a cloth shopping bag from one of the hooks and set it on the floor.  "Okay, Ginger-Fox," she said with a grin, "let's see some skin."

"Pervert," Rory accused, then kicked off her sneakers and unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down her jeans.

"Yes," Fiona giggled, "I have earned my Pervert merit badge, but this is a Bondage Brownie Level Two Trial.  No perversity allowed."

"Then stop staring at me with that stupid grin on your face," Rory huffed as she lifted her feet free of her jeans, tossed them aside, then pulled her t-shirt over her head.

"Leering is allowed," Fiona chuckled.  "I have that merit badge, too."

Now wearing only her underwear, Rory stared at her cousin with hands on hips.  "Ha.  Ha.  Ha."

"Neatly folded, Initiate," Fiona ordered, pointing at Rory's clothes.  "You don't expect me to clean up after you, do you?"

Rory shook her head, then arranged her sneakers side-by-side, folded her jeans and deposited them on top, then folded and added her t-shirt to the pile.

"All of it," Fiona purred.

"Hold your horses," Rory muttered as she unclasped her bra, "your rude, leering horses."  She removed the bra, folded it, and placed it atop her other clothes; then hooked her thumbs in her panties, pulled them down and stepped free, then folded them and completed the pile.

"Now," Fiona purred, "why don't you give us a slooooow turn and strike a sexy pose?"

Rory mustered her best We-are-not-amused stare.  "Why don't yooooou bite me?"

"Oh, Ginger-Fox," Fiona chuckled, "it's never a good idea to give your captor any kinky ideas."  She reached into the shopping bag and produced a small roll of black cloth.  "Here, put something on."  She tossed the roll to her naked cousin.

Rory caught and unrolled the cloth, revealing a pair of long gloves.  "Gloves?"

"Opera gloves," Fiona clarified.

"I hate opera," Rory objected.  She draped the left glove over her left shoulder and began pulling on the right glove.

"Darn," Fiona giggled.  "And I was planning on serenading you with an a cappella medley of Rossini arias."

"No torture," Rory smiled.  She was flexing her fingers and smoothing the fit of the glove.  "Aren't these things supposed to have buttons on the inside of the wrists."

"In the 19th Century, maybe," Fiona chuckled.  "These are a spandex blend.  No buttons required."  Her smile turned coy smile.  "And note the padding around the wrists and above the elbows."

Rory donned the left glove.  The smooth, velvety fabric reached past her elbows and about halfway to her armpits, and the skintight sheathes fit her fingers, hands, wrists, and arms like—well, like gloves.  There was, indeed, thin padding around the upper arm and wrist areas, but it was barely noticeable.  "What now?"  Rory's eyes widened, then she sighed.  "Oh, more rope."

Fiona had pulled a coil of rope from the shopping bag.  It was white, braided nylon, about a quarter-inch in diameter and heat-sealed at the ends.  "Turn around and cross 'em," she ordered.

"Woe is naked little me," Rory sighed, then spun on her bare feet and presented her crossed wrists.  The rope was applied with what she'd already come to accept as Fiona's experienced expertise.  There were many, many neatly compacted and carefully cinched passes before her captor began tying the final knot between her forearms, completely out of the reach of her gloved fingers, even if the smooth, slippery fabric would have allowed her to get a good enough grip on the braided nylon.

"That's a stainless steel 'long D-ring' you feel flopping against your thumbs," Fiona explained.

Rory looked back over her shoulder and shook the hair from her face.  There was a steel something-or-other incorporated in her wrist bonds.  "It's a what?"

"Don't worry about it," Fiona chuckled.  "You're a long way from working on your Rigging merit badge."

"You brought it up," Rory huffed, then watched Fiona pull a second coil of rope from the bag.

"This is for your elbows," Fiona explained as she loosened the coil, found the center, and formed a doubled loop.  "It'll roll your shoulders back and make your itty-bitty-titties point."

Rory mustered a wounded pout.  "My titties are not 'itty-bitty'," she muttered.

"You have the smallest boobs of the group," Fiona giggled.  "Yours are tiny, Cat's are too big, and mine are just right."

Rory had yet to see Big-Fox in the sauna, and while it was certainly true that Caitlin's boobs were the biggest, Rory very much doubted they were too big.  "My breasts are small, but they're not tiny," she reiterated.

Fiona tightened the loop around Rory's elbows, added several more bands, and neatly cinched the bondage between her arms with several vertical wrappings.  "I'm sorry," she purred in Rory's right ear.  "Your breasts aren't tiny.  How 'bout the traditional 'perky'?  And they do have a nice shape."

Rory sighed.  "I can live with perky."  The second rope was pulling her shoulders back, even though her elbows weren't touching by something like three inches, and her "perky" tits were more prominent, just as Fiona had predicted.  (And her nipples were doing their best to share the 'perky' description.)

Fiona produced a third coil of rope and proceeded to bind Rory's thighs together, just above her knees.  "This will keep you from kicking or running away," she explained as she tied the final knot.

"Wise precaution," Rory said.  "'Cause I was finding it difficult not to kung-fu your ass and hike into town."  Suddenly, Rory noticed that her pulse was pounding.  Fiona had returned to the wardrobe and was manipulating the hooks to open the secret passage. Click, click, click, click, click, clunk.

Fiona swung open the portal, then turned to face her prisoner.  "Why don't you go first," she suggested—or more precisely, ordered, given the circumstances.

Rory shuffled forward.  She wasn't at all sure her pulse had just now started to race.  It might have been pounding for some time, but the butterflies whipping a soufflé in her tummy were new.  Of that she was sure.  She's taking me to the secret dungeon!  Rory stepped through the secret door (awkwardly) and onto the landing beyond, then eyed the steps before her.

"Don't worry," Fiona said quietly.  "I won't let you fall."

The main dungeon was the same as Rory remembered—bondage chair, bondage table, X-frame, iron cage, dangling manacles, the three mysterious doors (one with a high-security padlock)—the same.

There was one thing that was different.  One of the cabinets set against the right wall was open, revealing an antique winch of the hand-crank variety.  A length of chain ran from the drum of the winch, up to a pulley hanging from an eye-bolt in the ceiling, across to a second pulley and eye-bolt over the center of the room, and down to a spherical weight and snap-hook.  The chain links were about an inch in diameter, and thick.  The dangling weight looked to be only about two or three pounds, but more than enough to keep the chain taut.

Rory was about to ask what the winch and chain were for—"Ow!"—when Fiona grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her towards the weight and snap-hook.  "Fi-O-na!"

"I knew I should have gagged you first," Fiona chuckled.  "Don't worry, I'm just doing my Evil Psycho-Bitch due diligence."  Click.  She turned and walked to the winch.

Rory tugged on her wrists and found the D-ring incorporated in her wrist bonds was now clipped to the chain.  The chain swayed and the weight bumped against her bound elbows.  "What are you—"

"Do you know anything about the Inquisition?" Fiona interrupted.  Her hand was on the hand-crank.

Rory blinked in surprise.  "Huh?  I mean, yeah.  The Holy Inquisition.  I took European history my junior year, like everyone else."

"How 'bout the term strappado?  Familiar?"

"Stra-what-o?" Rory frowned.  "Sounds Spanish."

Fiona shrugged.  "Yeah, it does, or maybe Italian."  She started turning the crank.  The ratchet and pawl clicked as the chain was drawn onto the drum.  Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Rory's wrists were rising... and rising.  "Uh...  Fiona."

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Rory's wrists continued rising, until she had no choice but to bend forward at the waist.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

"Fi-O-na!"  Rory was now in a half-pike with her legs and torso forming a right angle and her wrists about a foot higher than her head.  She stutter-stepped on her bare feet, then lifted her head and glared at her captor.

"Don't have a cow," Fiona giggled, then threw a lever and locked the winch.  Thunk.  She walked to another cabinet and opened the door.  Inside, dangling from hooks, were many, many gags.  Ball-gags, bit-gags, panel-gags, harness-gags, and every combination thereof.

Rory stared at the tangle of leather straps, rubber bits and balls, and steel buckles.  Maybe it wasn't every gag ever designed, but there were things in that cabinet she'd never even dreamed about before.  She was pretty sure they were all gags, but she was new at this.  Rory shook her hair from her face and watched Fiona make her selection.

Fiona stepped forward and held her choice before Rory's face.  It was a ball-gag and strap-gag combination, a rubber ball attached to the inside of a wide panel.  The mouth-covering area tapered and narrowed on either side of the ball to an inch-wide main strap.  In addition, the two halves of a much thinner strap dangled from near both sides of the ball.

"It's too big," Rory objected, staring at the red rubber sphere in alarm.  The glistening object was at the very least least two-inches in diameter.  A half-inch hole pierced it all the way through, including the chamois-thin mouth panel.

"It's medium density foam over a much smaller, solid core," Fiona explained.  "It'll conform to the shape of your mouth.  And look at the nice hole.  You'll be able to breathe right through the foam stuffing... and drool."

"How reassuring—Mrrpfh!"

Fiona had worked the ball into Rory's mouth and was buckling the main strap at the nape of her neck, under her hair.  "Lift your chin," she ordered, and Rory complied, taking the opportunity to stare poison-tipped daggers at her grinning cousin.  Fiona crossed the thin strap under Rory's chin, then buckled it tight in the back, under the main strap.

"Mrrfh!"  The rubber ball did, indeed, fill her mouth and conform to its shape.  The leather panel pressed against her lips and face like a gloved hand, and the thin strap served to lock her jaw around the tongue-trapping intruder.  On the bright side, she could breathe through the hole, as Fiona had promised.

Fiona returned to the winch, unlocked the drum, and placed her hand on the crank.  "Now, as I was saying... strappado."  Tick, tick, tick, tick...

"Nrfh!"  Rory was now up on her toes, with her heels in the air!

"The strappado was one of the standard tortures of the Inquisition," Fiona lectured.  "Victims were tied as you are now, then suspended in midair, sometimes with weights tied to their feet."  She locked the winch, strolled forward, and stroked Rory's hair.  "They would be lifted high into the air, then dropped until the rope snapped taut.  Then lifted, dropped, lifted, dropped, etc.  Eventually, it would dislocate their shoulders.  Very painful."  She leaned close and kissed Rory's tangled, ginger mop, just above her bangs.  "What you're enduring is much less severe."

"Mmpfh!"  Rory was dancing on her bare feet, again, struggling to find a position under the chain that eased the pressure on her shoulders and allowed her to plant her feet.  There was no such position.

"I could have tied your ankles, of course," Fiona said, gazing down at Rory's feet, "and your big toes, as well."  She kissed the top of Rory's head, again, then turned and walked to the door to the secret passage.  "But sometimes less is more."  She paused in the open doorway, smiling at her suffering cousin.  "Trial four, level two, predicament bondage.  I'll be back around three."

"Nrfh?"  Rory stared at the closing door.  Three?  Three o'clock?  What time is it now?  Ten?  Ten-thirty, max!  She can't leave me like this 'til three o'clock!

The door closed, the latch engaged, and Rory was alone.