A Quiet Place

A Quiet Place

by Van ©2022

Chapter 6

 Dramatis Personæ 


Storeroom #4 was the same size and shape as Storeroom #1 (the one with the pillory and stocks that Scotti had already visited).  Also, it had the same long, narrow bank of cloister-style windows set high in the back wall, so there would have been plenty of light, even if Iris hadn't switched on the overhead light, which was an LED bulb shining in a fixture hanging just clear of the exposed rafters.  The floor was the same concrete and the walls the same unstained and unpainted barn-wood.

Also, like Storeroom #1, Storeroom #4 was not empty.  It contained something!  And that something was Amy DuPont and a large, square, upright wooden frame of heavy timbers supported by heavy diagonal transverse braces and resting on the floor!  Granted, Amy and the frame should have counted as two somethings, but the older DuPont sister and the frame were one!

That is, Amy was up on her toes with her limbs flung wide in a standing spread-eagle and she was secured in place by steel chains and thick, wide, black, well-padded leather cuffs around her ankles and wrists!  The wrist-cuffs were wider than the ankle-cuffs, by the way, and Scotti recognized them as sterling examples of "suspension-cuffs," products designed to support the wearer by her wrists and the bases of her hands with minimal discomfort and without causing damage to her joints or skin.  Whether or not they actually worked that way, Scotti wasn't entirely sure, but Amy didn't seem to be in any serious distress.  What she did seem to be, however, was ticked off!

And just to be clear, the elder DuPont sister was standing in the form of an X, like Leonardo da Vinci's famous Vitruvian Man.  Taut steel chains led from the ankle-cuffs to steel eye-bolts solidly screwed into the base of the left and right vertical timbers, where they met the horizontal beam resting on the floor.  Equally taut chains led from the wrist-suspension-cuffs, through steel guide-runners mounted on the underside of the top horizontal timber near the upper corners, then disappeared into slots in the corners themselves.

Yes, Amy was in full-stretch, and she was also naked!  That meant her breasts were semi-flattened and her musculature clearly defined, making her something of a detailed anatomical display!  Actually, Amy wasn't quite naked.  A wide collar that matched the wrist and ankle restraints in color, weight, and style was buckled around her neck.  Also, a black, perforated, silicon-rubber ball-gag with a black leather strap was tightly buckled in her open and grimacing mouth, filling it to capacity and inducing the usual chin-dribble of glistening saliva that spotted her chest and pale breasts.

Her long, dark brown hair was coiled in a rather haphazard coil/bun atop her head, held in place by a few tight turns of thin cord.  Several riotous brown strands had eluded capture during the bun-making process and framed her glowering, ball-gagged face in a frizzy cloud.

Finally, Amy's stretched, taut, fair-skinned body was glowing... meaning shining with a light patina of sweat.  That wasn't particularly surprising as it was a hot afternoon and the sun had been beating on the storage building roof all day.  Amy glared at Scotti with her big, brown, doe eyes.  Clearly, she was not happy.  In fact, by all appearances she was supremely pissed off!  She was also naked, spreadeagled in semi-suspension, gagged, and directing her angry gaze at Scotti, not her little sister, the obvious perpetrator of her captivity.

Green eyes wide, Scotti stared at Amy and her predicament.  Then—"Thud!"—she flinched.  Iris had closed the door behind her, meaning them, meaning all of them, Amy included.  Why is she scowling at me? Scotti wondered, still staring at Amy.  I didn't do anything.

Meanwhile, Iris had freed the tails of her work-shirt from her jeans and was unbuttoning the buttons.  "Mother calls this her Standard Vertical Rack."  She shrugged out of the shirt and pointed to the frame's upper left corner, where the chain disappeared into the timber.  "The tightening mechanism is a system of steel gears, guides, and roller-chains Mother buys from Archer Metals, a company in Northern California.  It has all sorts of applications, meaning the system and its components.  All we have to do is come up with joinery that hides most of it... and that looks good, of course."

Still staring at Amy (who was still glaring back), Scotti nodded.

"We buy most of our steel brackets, braces, side-rails, lashing-points, and the like from Cody Archer."

Scotti nodded, again, but her eyes remained glued to Amy's stretched, helpless body... and gagged, glaring face.

Seriously, Scotti thought, I didn't do anything.  She then realized Iris had been explaining more about the rack's metalwork and... joinery?  "Huh?" Scotti inquired profoundly.

Iris rolled her eyes, then started pointing at the frame's various components.  "The base and right-vertical timbers are solid, but the horizontal and left-verticals are hollow, four planks box-joined to look like solid timbers.  The tightening mechanism runs inside."

Scotti nodded yet again.  The illusion of the entire box-shaped frame being made of solid timbers was perfect... or looked that way to her non-woodworker eyes, and without crawling all over the thing with a magnifying glass.

"See the wheel on the outside of the left-vertical?"  Iris pointed at the wheel in question.

Scotti had noticed it earlier, but had been preoccupied by being glared at by a naked, spreadeagled, glistening, gagged, and angry Amy DuPont.  Anyway, the wheel was made of wood, with hefty spokes and rim, and only about nine or ten inches in diameter.

"It tightens both wrist chains, with a pawl to maintain the tension," Iris continued.  "It makes the most entertaining clattering noise as it tightens."

All Scotti could do was nod.  She was at a loss for words.  Also, her heart was hammering and a bead of sweat was dripping down her right temple.  It really was hot in Storeroom #4.  Maybe not hot-hot, but definitely hot.  It certainly wasn't cool.

Meanwhile, Iris had finished removing her work-shirt—leaving her dressed in boots, jeans, and a white tank-top with spaghetti-thin straps (and no bra)—and had hung the garment from the first of a row of six iron coat hooks screwed into an exposed stud near the closed door.  And hanging by their retaining straps from hooks two, three, and four were:
Hook #2—A black leather riding crop!  And in Scotti's semi-informed opinion, it was a very nice crop.  Well made.  First-class leatherwork.

Hook #3—A black leather flogger with something like twenty long, thin, dangling tails and a braided handle!  Like the crop, it was also quite obviously well made.

Hook #4—A wooden paddle!  A spanker!  It was stained walnut (and might very well have been walnut for all Scotti could tell).  Its handle was tightly wrapped with more black leather.  The business end was six to eight inches long and perforated in a regular pattern down its entire length by about a dozen evenly spaced, half-inch diameter drilled holes.
Scotti was still speechless (as well as wide-eyed and sweating), and her thoughts eloquently summed up the situation.  Oh.  Shit.

Smiling a truly wicked smile, Iris ran her right index down the handles of the hanging instruments, causing each to start swinging.  She then selected the riding crop, slipped its retaining strap over her right wrist, then casually... very casually... sauntered in the direction of her helpless, naked, collared, gagged, and spreadeagled older sister, mincing her booted steps, swinging her hips, and putting on a show.  Iris was enjoying herself... and still Amy was glaring at Scotti!

Why aren't you glaring at her? Scotti silently demanded.  She meant Iris, of course.  She's the villainous villainess, not me.

Scotti's heart was still hammering, her armpits had become noticeably moist, and were approaching squishy.  She considered removing her own shirt, but decided that might send some sort of signal that she might wish to participate in whatever was about to happen as more than a wide-eyed, innocent observer, which would give Abby an empirically objective excuse to retaliate against her for her presence while Iris did whatever it was Iris was about to do.  Scotti knew Amy needed no such excuse and was already fully convinced that she was fully guilty, meaning totally and irretrievably complicit in the current situation, but there was no need to dig the hole any deeper.  She continued wearing the shirt (and her armpits graduated from moist to undeniably damp).

"Now, as you can see..." Iris purred, still smiling like a gloating villainess (which she was), then tapped the right vertical timber (the solid one) with the business end of the crop.  "Mother's Standard Vertical Rack is, indeed, an actual rack."  She gestured with the crop to the wheel on the frame's left upright.  "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

Scotti blinked and shook her head vigorously, causing her straight, ginger pageboy to sway from side to side.

"Are you sure?" Iris inquired.  "I can probably tighten this thing several clicks before Dear Sister passes out."

Scotti shook her head even more vigorously.

"No?  You're not sure?" Iris purred.

"Don't!" Scotti managed to gasp/croak.  She was sure.  She was very sure.

Iris shrugged.  "Just as well.  Mother would be very cross with me if I actually tortured poor Amy, no matter how much she deserves it.  It would probably mean no desserts for a week.  Maybe even a month.  Anyway..."  She strolled behind the rack... then delivered what had to be a stinging slap to her big sister's left butt-cheek with the crop.  "Mother's rack is also an excellent venue for whipping, flagellation, spanking, paddling, and other fun activities, front and back."

Amy had flinched when the unexpected butt-stroke landed, but her angry brown eyes remained fixed on Scotti.  Meanwhile, Iris was lightly dragging the little flap at the end of the crop up and down Amy's back... from her butt... to her shoulders... down to her butt again... then between her splayed legs to caress both of her upper thighs!  And while this was happening, Amy neither squirmed nor complained.  She just continued glowering at Scotti.

I didn't do anything! Scotti silently pleaded.  Really!

"This is the sort of context Mother wanted us to explain," Iris continued, "vis-à-vis the Special Catalog items and The Game."

Scotti had been busy telepathically convincing Amy that she was a bona fide innocent bystander, so was slow to process Iris' statement.  But when she did, she shifted her focus to the younger DuPont sister, as opposed to the naked, gagged, stretched, and glowering older DuPont sister.  "What?  Context?  What context?"

Iris had strolled all the way around the rack and was now using the crop to lightly trace the undersides of her big sister's semi-flattened breasts.  "Yes, context.  Rope and dungeon furnishings have their practical purposes, of course, like restraining kidnapped heiresses or entertaining snoopy girl detectives..."  She used the crop to circle Amy's bellybutton, then slid the tip up and down her flat abdomen, between her black, curly, well-defined pubic thatch and the bellybutton in question.  "...or as means for a spoiled princess to punish wayward maids in her daddy's dungeon."  She slid the paddle-shaped tip of the crop even lower, until it rested squarely atop Amy's pubic bush.  "But context also includes an erotic component."

Erotic?  Scotti opened her mouth... but nothing came out.  Somewhere between her brain and her vocal cords she'd tripped a circuit breaker... metaphorically speaking.

"Do you know what a 'one-bar prison' is?" Iris inquired.

Scotti's green eyes popped even wider and her cheeks blushed bright red.  This was followed by a frantic bout of nodding and blinking.

Scotti did know what a one-bar prison was.  She'd stumbled across the concept (so to speak) in the course of her research.  It was a vertical steel rod, embedded in the floor or mounted on a platform, usually adjustable in height, and with a vertically mounted phallus on the upper end!  A damsel was made to stand over the rod, and the height was adjusted until the phallus impaled her pussy!  And once it was properly adjusted it would be well-nigh impossible for her to lift herself off the insidious thing!  Add a little bondage and it was impossible.  Her only choice was... to stand there... in helpless humiliation!  Scotti continued nodding to the affirmative (somewhat frantically).

Iris pointed to three holes drilled in the center of the upper surface of the rack's base timber, directly under Amy's spread legs.  The outer holes were each about a half-inch in diameter, but the center hole was more like an inch-and-a-quarter.  "A steel bracket supporting a vertical steel rod goes there, screwed tight on either side.  Another Archer Metals product.  The height is fully adjustable, of course, and there are several attachments, including a simple phallus, a mini-Sybian saddle, and a wedge-shaped mini-horse, all with or without vibration."

Scotti stared at the three holes, her heart hammering.  Sweat was now dripping down both of her temples and beaded on her forehead, and her green eyes remained wide, but at least they were no longer blinking.  This is... a lot.

"No means no," Iris quoted, "and context is everything with respect to the when, where, and how of what happens before, during, and after our fun-with-rope games, and with respect to all aspects of Special Catalog product testing.  No means no.  At every stage, no means no, to any and everything.  Understand?"

Scotti nodded again.  It was all still a lot, but no meaning no was a simple concept.

"This is a lot to process," Iris stated.

No, ya think?  Scotti was still staring at the three holes.

"Why don't you go back to the cottage and chill," Iris suggested.  "I think Mother's making Instant Pot Tuscan beef stew for dinner.  And take a shower.  You look like you need one."

Scotti nodded... then locked eyes with Amy, who was continuing to glower.  However, the naked, sweaty, spreadeagled, collared, and ball-gagged damsel might also be suppressing an expression of ball-gagged amusement.  Scotti wasn't sure.  Anyway... the totally-innocent-of-all-wrongdoing ginger slowly backpedaled to the closed door, bumped into it, frantically turned and jerked it open, then fled down the Storage Building corridor in a total rout.

Scotti didn't stop until she reached the "safety" of The Cottage.  She took a shower, as Iris had suggested, but it was more of a cool rinse, almost cold.  She then sat on the bed, set the clock app on her iPhone to wake her up with plenty of time to get dressed for dinner, and (still naked from the shower) crawled between the sheets and took a nap.  She decided to put off further thinking about things like "context" until later, after she'd calmed down... or tried to anyway.

Scotti took several slow, deep breaths to compose herself, closed her eyes, drifted off to sleep... and dreamed.

A Quiet Place 
  Chapter 6

Scotti did, indeed dream.  The alarm went off, signaling time to prepare for Tuscan beef stew, and she sat up in bed... but couldn't remember a single detail of whatever had occupied her subconscious during the nap.  And she didn't feel all that rested... and might need another shower.  Mildly confused and in something of a frazzle, Scotti  did, indeed indulge in another shower, but only a quick rinse.  She then dressed and hurried to the kitchen.  She was just in time to help Iris and Amy set the table out on the deck.

Sybil carried the Instant Pot out to the table, everyone took their place, then Mother DuPont spooned steaming portions of stew into the four plates and dinner began.  There were side-salads and thick slices of some sort of Artisan-style bread to sop up the gravy, and everything was extremely yummy and accompanied by red wine.

The DuPonts were one big happy family.  Amy appeared to be none the worse for wear and not particularly angry at anybody—Iris was her usual friendly self (in a semi-Goth sort of way)—and Sybil was tall, gorgeous, smiling, and maternal, as usual.  There was zero discussion of the events of the afternoon, meaning how Iris had semi-tortured her naked big sister in Storeroom #4.

As for Scotti, she certainly wasn't going to bring it up.  Was she nervous?  Of course.  "Context" had been added to the game, expanding the bounds of the playing field in erotic and possibly flagellatory directions!  Was Scotti prepared to discuss things like one-bar-prisons and multi-tail floggers?  Hell no!  No might mean no, but now it meant no to a lot more stuff!  Later.  Not now.  She'd talk about it with Iris tomorrow, while she helped her in the garden... or possibly in a few days... or several.  She'd have to talk about it with Iris at some point, but definitely not tonight.

Tuscan beef stew and salad were followed by diced fruit in Greek yogurt... then cleanup... then Scotti wished everyone a good night and retired to The Cottage.  Once alone and ready for bed, Scotti read a little.  She was currently enjoying a somewhat comedic High Fantasy novel with sorcerers, witches, elves, and a human princess on the run from evil relatives and having all sorts of entertaining encounters, adventures, and/or exploits.  It was harmless entertainment, valued mostly for its clever dialogue and witty descriptions.

Anyway... Scotti read 'til her eyes started drooping and she was finding it difficult to concentrate.  She then turned off the iPad, placed it on the bedside table, turned off the reading lamp, snuggled against the pillow... and drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ z z z z z z z ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A Quiet Place 
  Chapter 6

Scotti the Hunter was in her element: the Deep Wood!

And it wasn't a few acres of trees the farmers hadn't yet gotten around to clearing, no siree!  This was mile upon mile of forest, mostly ancient oaks, but with other species here and there.  Overhead, the branches were twisted and intertwined, forming a dense green canopy, while underfoot was a carpet of dry leaves interrupted by scattered ferns, mushrooms, and shade-loving wildflowers.  There were patches of sunny meadow here and there, formed when a mature tree succumbed to a lightning strike or the winds of a storm and came crashing down, finally allowing direct sunlight to reach the rich forest soil.  A few acorns or tree seeds would sprout, grow, and compete for the privilege of filling in the hole in the canopy left by the fallen giant.  But for the most part, Scotti could walk for miles through the Deep Wood without the sun touching her freckled face.

Yes, Scotti was in the Deep Wood, deep in the Deep Wood and miles from the nearest farm or village.  Technically, she was still within the borders of Baron Miles' fief and the forest was off limits to poachers, but Scotti had the baron's medallion on a thong around her neck, tucked down the front of her shirt and brown leather jerkin, her Badge of Privilege to hunt on the baron's land.  And it only cost her one buck and one boar a year, delivered to the baron's kitchen dressed and ready for the roasting-spit.

Of course, if the seneschal got wind of her abusing her office by selling meat at market in any great quantity, she'd be in trouble.  But not to worry.  Scotti only culled the various herds of red deer and thinned out the families of wild pigs on the forest borders, then traded the meat to farmers for vegetables, fruit, and bread.

And by agreement with the baron and his seneschal, she bartered mostly with the poorer farmers, making sure their young ones got enough meat to grow into strapping yeomen and healthy wives.  Truth be told, Baron Miles was a kind and just lord, but anyone who mistook his evenhanded rule for weakness and tried to take advantage was in for a rude surprise.

Anyway, all understood that according to the Duke and the Crown this was the fief of Sir Zaktor Miles, but everyone also knew that he ruled at the sufferance of the land's true owners.  Close to the local farms, villages, and his castle, the The Most Honorable Baron's word was law, but the further one ventured into the Deep Wood, the more tenuous claims of human sovereignty became.  And in the very depths of the wild, others exercised unquestioned power.  And the others in question were... the fey folk!  The Ljósálfar!  The Trooping Fairies!  The Seelie Court!  The elves!

Scotti was always respectful of the fey.  She'd never actually seen one, not even tracks, but when she came across a "fairy circle," a round clearing in the forest, often with a small fire pit in the exact center, she left it strictly alone.  She only stopped to briefly admire its unusually vibrant wildflowers, then skirted the clearing and moved on.

Once, she was following the course of a small stream as it meandered through the forest and found its origin to be a wagon-size, moss covered boulder, cleaved in twain and with crystal-clear water bubbling from the crack.  It was surrounded by a carpet of white lilies blooming later into the season than was expected.  The lilies followed the stream for several yards... then dwindled out.  Scotti was sure it was a "Fey Fountain" and backed carefully away.  Everyone knew not to drink from a brook or stream where white lilies grew along its banks.  Scotti had no intention of succumbing to elf or fairy magic and being transformed in some unnatural manner.

Anyway, here Scotti was, deep in the Deep Wood, dressed in knee-boots (suitable for climbing and that protected her lower legs from brush), tights dyed stone-gray, a brown leather jerkin, a long-sleeved, loose-fitting shirt of Lincoln green, and brown leather bracers/bow-guards on her wrists and forearms.
She was armed with her trusty hunting bow, a quiver of arrows, a small ax, a large knife or short sword that was somewhat like an old Saxon seax, a much smaller skinning knife, and four even smaller throwing knives, one tucked down the top of each legging and bracer.  The bow, broadhead arrows, and skinning knife were tools of her trade.  As for the rest, it wasn't that Scotti wasn't a trusting person, but who knows what sort of outlaws and wolf's-heads one might encounter in the depths of the forest.

Aside from weapons, the rest of Scotti's kit was some miles away, hanging from a branch halfway up an oak she knew she could easily relocate.  It consisted of her haversack, blanket, her cache of salt and dried herbs, rope, and other miscellaneous odds and ends.  Scotti traveled light, at least while going into the woods.  Going home, if her hunt was successful she'd be burdened by a great weight of dressed meat and folded hides, and she might have to make several trips to and from a hanging cache to get it all back.

And speaking of the hunt... it was on!  Scotti had an arrow knocked at the ready and another held in her bow-hand for a quick second shot.  And she was on the prowl, taking slow, careful, and above all quiet steps and scanning the forest for a suitable buck.  She'd found fresh red deer spoor in the area, so she knew a herd was somewhere in the vicinity.

Suddenly—Sproing!—a rope tightened around Scotti's ankles, she was jerked several feet into the air, and found herself hanging upside down!  "Hey!"  An instant later, a lasso was expertly thrown up and over her dangling body and jerked tight, pinning her left arm against her torso!  "No!"  And almost simultaneously, a second lasso arrived from the opposite direction and tightened around both of her arms!  Now dangling from her ankles with her head about two feet off the forest floor and pinned between two taut ropes that also pinned her arms to her sides, Scotti was helpless!  "Let me go!" she screamed.

The only answer she received was the arrival of the throwers of the lassos, who quickly wrapped, cinched, and tightened even more rope around her squirming body, and in the process relieved her of her weapons... all of her weapons.

"Let.  Me.  Go!"  And then, Scotti realized the nature of her captors and her green eyes popped wide in alarm.  "Oh!"

Scotti was the prisoner of a pair of ELVES!  Female elves!  She-elf warriors with fair, perfect skin, big brown eyes, comely features, gleaming black hair, and ears that came to a distinct point!

They were dressed in boots, tights, loose-fitting long-sleeve shirts that might have been silk, and leather armor.  All of the leather was richly tooled in flowing vines and leaves and stained in different natural shades.  Their tights and shirts were pieced together, with each strip or patch of fabric dyed in a different woodland color.  Experienced hunter that she was, Scotti could tell that unless she was staring right at them, they would disappear into the forest as if they weren't even there!

"Let me go!" Scotti whined—"Mrrrf!"—but was rewarded by having a wadded cloth stuffed in her mouth—"Mrrrk!"—and a second, narrowly folded cloth tied as a tight cleave-gag to keep it in place!  Then, despite Scotti's enthusiastic resistance and continued complaints—"Mrrrm!"—two things happened:
(1) One of the elves drew a small knife with a razor-sharp, leaf-bladed blade and set about systematically cutting, slicing, and destructively removing every item of Scotti's clothing, cloth and leather, all the way up her hanging body to the tops of her boots!

(2) And while this was happening, the other fey was retying and enhancing Scotti's rope bonds!  Her efforts to resist this process were strenuous but totally unsuccessful.
Both captors finished their tasks at about the same time, the rope cinched around Scotti's booted ankles suddenly went slack, and—"Mrrrrr!"—she fell to the ground!  Her captors lifted her to her feet and Scotti found herself naked, but for her boots, socks and the ragged tops of her ruined tights, and bound from her knees to her shoulders in an elaborate, symmetrical web of thin rope!  Her arms were folded behind her back with her wrists crossed and lashed against her spine.  Her thumbs and hands were included in the hemp lashings, and everything was tight and well-cinched.  Scotti knew she was not going to be able to free herself.  "Nrrrm!"  And thanks to the gag she'd be unable to plead her case for immediate release.

The elves were roughly Scotti's height and, now that she was right-side-up and could finally get a good look at them, they were, indeed, very beautiful... in an unusual sort of way.  Maybe it's the ears, Scotti mused.  Also the eyes.  And somehow, they were familiar.  One had short black hair in a very attractive tousle [Iris!] and the other had long hair, nearly hanging to her narrow waist [Amy!].  They were smiling (gloating) at her, and Scotti was staring back.  No... I don't know them, Scotti decided.  How could I?

"Mother will be so pleased," the short-haired elf purred.

"She will," the long-haired elf agreed, then looped a lasso around Scotti's neck like a leash and led her away.  Bound at the knees, Scotti's steps were shortened, but she managed to keep up.  She looked back over her shoulder to find the short-haired elf gathering her bow, quiver, arrows, and all her various blades, then following.  Scotti's ruined clothing remained behind.

Naked, bound in fey rope, gagged, and tethered, Scotti was led through the vast expanse of ancient oaks.  Apparently, she was on her way to meet her captors' family.

The journey lasted for the remainder of the day.  Scotti didn't bother to struggle against the she-elves' ropes.  It was pointless, and they were right there, one in front with her hand clutching Scotti's lead, and the other behind, no doubt staring at her white butt as she awkwardly picked her way through the debris on the forest floor.  Thankfully, it was easy going as they were following a faint game trail... which joined a more traveled game trail... and then another that was nearly an actual path.  The forest gloom deepened as the unseen sun approached the unseen horizon... and then they entered a large clearing... a very remarkable clearing.

Normally, when captured by comely female elves, stripped naked, inescapably bound, gagged, and led through the Deep Wood on the end of a leash, garden or landscape design would be very low in the order of Scotti's priorities, but her surroundings were amazing, in an entirely natural sort of way.  The clearing was circular, or possibly egg-shaped, and the surrounding oaks were all unusually tall and truly ancient, with vast spreads and some of the widest trunks Scotti had ever seen.  Their gnarled, twisted branches were festooned with flowering vines and the clearing floor was a carpet of thick green moss, vibrant and thick like none Scotti had ever seen before.  However, in the very center, where direct sunlight would fall, there was a profusion of wildflowers, all buzzing with bees.

And at the far end of the clearing was what Scotti could only call a great throne.  It was made up of a substantial pile of twisted oak branches and deer and elk antlers, all tangled, intertwined, and overgrown with flowering vines.  Its seat and back were cushioned by piles of animal skins, mostly bear, elk, and bison.  And sitting on the throne was another she-elf.  Even from across the clearing Scotti could see that she was tall, slender, and shapely, with long straight black hair, and she was very beautiful!

An inexplicable thrill shivered its way between Scotti's legs and up her spine at the very sight of her.  [Sybil!]  And as they drew closer, it became very easy for Scotti to believe the regal reclined figure was the "Mother" her short-haired captor had mentioned.  All three elves looked somewhat similar and could easily be family.  Of course, this was only the third elf Scotti had ever seen, so for all she knew all elves look alike (like Vikings).

"I see your hunt was successful," the occupant of the throne purred.  She was clothed in a diaphanous gown of pale, silvery, gauzy silk that did little to conceal her body... meaning all of her body and all of her... attributes.

"Yes, Mother," Scotti's long-haired captor responded.  "Very successful."

"Bring her here," the mother-elf ordered.

Scotti was dragged forward... then gently but inexorably shoved her down onto the throne.  The throne's seat was actually more of a bed than a butt support, and "Mother's" back was comfortably reclined against the throne's cushioning furs with her legs folded and tucked to the side.  So, when Scotti landed on the throne's expansive seat, she found herself lying half on her side with her head and shoulders cushioned by "Mother's" lap!  She blinked her green eyes and stared up into the tall elf's beautiful, smiling face.

"Will she do?" the short-haired captor-elf inquired.  "Do you think the Fox King will find her suitable as his human bride?"

Scotti's eyes started blinking and she forced an urgent inquiry past her gag.  "Mrrrk?"  Fox King?  Bride??

The mother-elf combed her fingers through Scotti's short, straight hair.  "Red hair, strong body, comely features, pretty green eyes..."  She cupped Scotti's left breast and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze.  "I have no doubt she'll give him many litters of healthy cubs."

Both of Scotti's nipples had popped rigid in response to the mother-elf's touch, and now they were tingling.  Also, the thrill between her legs was back (and she found she didn't want it to go away).  However...  Did she say litters of cubs?

"She quickens easily," the mother-elf purred.

"Shall we test her?" the long-haired-daughter-elf suggested.

"Oh!  Yes!  I want to too!" said the short-haired-daughter-elf.  "I'll tickle her feet to distract her."

"I'll spark her quim," the long-haired-daughter-elf volunteered.

"Very well, my daughters," the mother-elf," chuckled, "but slowly and gently.  We'll make it a good long test."

"Mrrrk!" Scotti objected, but her opinion was ignored.

The short-haired-daughter-elf was busy removing Scotti's boots, socks, and the remnants of her ruined tights, then binding her ankles together and firmly anchoring them to the side of throne.  Meanwhile, the long-haired-elf-daughter had found a way to lash Scotti's already bound knees firmly in place by stretching ropes between the base and back of the tangle of branches and antlers.  Scotti's legs were now more-or-less immobile and her head and shoulders still resting on the mother-elf's lap.

Scotti was cushioned by what she recognized as a very large bear skin and (ignoring the ropes) was unarguably comfortable, but she was also quite agitated, to say the least.  She tried to squirm and twist her body, but with little success.  The tangled mass of the throne's branches and antlers anchoring her ankle and knee bonds didn't even creak!  They might as well be one solid mass, rather than the haphazard pile she had taken them to be.  Also, Scotti's noted her struggles seemed to amuse her fey captors while doing nothing to help her regain her freedom.

"Don't worry, my ginger treasure," the mother-elf cooed as her daughters tied the final knots and completed their work.  "The Fox King is very handsome, both as fox and human.  Shape-shifters have to mate with mundane humans in alternate generations.  Otherwise, the fox nature of the line becomes dominant and changing form becomes more and more difficult."

"Mrrrf!" Scotti objected.  She didn't want to be the Fox King's Queen and mother his cubs!  No matter how handsome he might be!  Also—"MRRRK!"—the short-haired-daughter was now tickling her bare feet, while the long-haired-daughter was sliding her hand between Scotti's thighs and caressing her lady bits and running her fingers through Scotti's red, bushy nether-hair!  And blue and green sparks were flashing from their fingers and stinging her flesh!  Well... maybe "stinging" wasn't exactly what was happening.  The sparkling elfish fingers felt good... very good... too good!  The foot-sparklers were somewhat distracting, but the between-the-legs-sparklers more than compensated.  It was... horrible!

"Slowly, my daughters," the mother-elf whispered, continuing to smile and comb her long, strong, white fingers through Scotti's bangs.  Then, she began squeezing both of Scotti's breasts and teasing her nipples, and like her daughters, the smiling mother-elf's fingers were now tingling with blue-green fire!

Scotti squirmed, shivered, and struggled to breath through her tight, mouth-filling gag!  Her freckled skin shone with sweat, her green eyes wide and desperate, and her heart was pounding like a smithy's hammer!  The teasing of the sliding elf-fingers, with their blue-green sparks, went on and on and on... until night had fallen and the clearing was lit only by countless hovering fireflies and the stars.

And finally, inevitably, after what felt like hours, Scotti's entire body went rigid, her eyes clinched tightly closed, she whined through her gag—"Eeeee!"—and experienced a crashing orgasm that went on and on and on!

At that point, Scotti sat bolt upright in bed, her green eyes wide in the near total darkness of The Cottage.  What the hell?  Her skin was flushed and gleaming with sweat, her heart beating rapidly, her chest (and boobs) heaving as she panted for breath, her nipples pointing, and her pussy wet and tingling!

The dream—the wet dream—was over.

A Quiet Place 
 Chapter 6


Chapter 5
֍ Chapter 7