by Van ©2022
		Chapter 7

The new day dawned, but the previous night's dream remained very much on Scotti's mind.

Scotti didn't experience erotic subconscious idylls very often, but they had been known to happen, from early adolescence on, and the dream hadn't even been her first with a fictional/literary theme. 

She remembered one instance in which she'd channeled Nancy Drew and was caught snooping through a stereotypical creepy old mansion for clues to... something... was captured by the mansion's elderly but surprisingly fit and physically capable resident and was bound hand and foot, gagged, and locked into a dark basement room, in which she... languished ...enthusiastically.

Another time Scotti was an Intrepid Female Reporter in Victorian times and was caught infiltrating an arguably mad doctor's private asylum and found herself stripped naked, strapped in a straitjacket Harry Houdini would have found inescapable, gagged, and locked in a padded cell with the promise that all sorts of unspeakable things would be done to her in the morning!  O the horror!  She gave the straitjacket quite a workout (especially the crotch-strap).

However, this was the first time she could remember being captured by female elves who strongly resembled actual friends and being stripped, bound, gagged, and subjected to titillating, teasing—uh—titillation!  Explicit-intentional-erotic titillation... and not just her tits! She was pretty sure she'd remember if it had happened before.  And don't get her started about the threat of involuntary marriage to the shape-shifting "Fox King"!  Where the hell did that come from?

Anyway, Scotti showered, dressed for the day, and made her way to the DuPont's kitchen for breakfast.  This particular morning everybody collectively agreed on coffee (which goes without saying) and museli-type cereal with milk.  While they caffeinated themselves and munched the crunchy, nutty, yummy concoction... the Plan of the Day was formalized.

Sybil—There was paperwork that needed doing (as always), including e-mails that needed answering, but after lunch the DuPont matriarch would help Amy in the shop.

Amy—There was a big dining room order that needed finishing, so Amy would be in the shop all day.

Iris—She promised to help Amy in the shop in the morning, but the largest flowerbeds in the backyard needed weeding.  That would occupy her afternoon.

Scotti—The previous night's dream had been inspirational (although Scotti didn't mention it to the DuPonts) so the notes for her still nascent First Novel needed extensive revision; however, she'd help Iris in the garden after lunch.

After breakfast cleanup, the DuPonts (including the honorary ginger-haired DuPont) dispersed to begin the day's activities.

Scotti's Medieval High Fantasy dream really had been inspiring, but she decided to shift the focus of her novel in a somewhat more Late 19th Century Steampunk direction and make her heroine a naturalist/explorer.  She already knew enough about Victorian fashion and style to get started and, as always, the internet (especially Wikipedia) was her friend.  She'd do her best to enhance the "authenticity" of her descriptions and use of general color as her writing progressed.  She was halfway through her preliminary revision and/or alteration and/or improvement of her character notes when her iPhone's clock app reminded her it was time for lunch.

Scotti frowned.  She was on a roll.  But she did need to eat, and she'd promised to help Iris ruthlessly decrease the diversity of her flowerbeds, so things would just have to... simmer.  She took it as a sign that she was on the right track.  The revised novel would be, dare she even think it, better than what she'd originally had in mind.

Lunch was sandwiches of miscellaneous sliced meat, miscellaneous sliced cheese, miscellaneous sliced vegetables, all on miscellaneous sliced bread with miscellaneous condiments.  Scotti went with ham, turkey, Colby, tomato, and lettuce on white with mayo.  The others... didn't.  Scotti was too busy making her own sandwich choices to notice, as well as thinking about last night's dream.  She resolved to screw her courage to the sticking place and beard the dragon in its den.  That is, she decided that now was the time to talk about "context" with Iris, once they were fully involved in gardening.

Scotti thought it was cute the way Iris was "spiritual" about the weeding process.  As she worked, every now and then she muttered a sort of semi-vocalized prayer to the weedy volunteers she was pulling and/or grubbing from among the nursery-bought non-native plants with their unnaturally huge genitalia (flowers) she'd intentionally planted.  It was an apology for terminating their brief lives and consigning their corpses to the compost pile.  It was sort of the way Native American/First Nations/Indigenous hunters apologized to whatever game they killed and thanked them for their meaty protein value.  Anyway, Scotti thought it was cute.

They worked for about an hour, resplendent in their jeans, long-sleeve shirts, floppy sunhats, and gardening gloves... and then... Scotti decided the moment was right.

"Uh, Iris?"

Iris smiled.  "Uh, Scotti?"

"About this 'context' thing..."

"Yes?"

Scotti swallowed before continuing.  "Uh, exactly how, uh, contextual does all this context stuff get during games and such?"

"And such?" Iris inquired innocently.  "Such as what?  In what context?"

Scotti responded with an even stare.

"Sorry," Iris chuckled, then dropped her weeding tool in the green bucket they used to transport murdered weeds to the compost pile and stripped off her gloves.  "Hydration break," she decreed, then stood and headed for the house.

Scotti dropped her tool and gloves and followed.

Beverage selection happened in the kitchen... then they trooped out to the deck and settled into a pair of padded chairs next to a small café table with Mountain Dew® Baja Blast® with Zero Sugar in tall glasses with ice and lime wedge garnishes (just to be fancy).  That time of the afternoon that part of the deck was in shade and there happened to be a slight breeze, so they were quite comfortable.

Scotti enjoyed a refreshing sip from her glass... then heaved a sigh.  "Uh..."

Iris smiled.  "Scotti.  Chill.  It's me."

Scotti forced a smile and sighed again.  "I know.  That's part of the problem."

Iris' smile broadened (and turned mischievous).  "You've never thought of me in a contextual manner?" she purred.

"Shut up," Scotti snapped.  "Also... no."

"How disappointing.  I've thought about you in a contextual manner, meaning an objective contextual manner."

Scotti frowned.  "Huh?"

"You're a cutie, Scotti Hunter," Iris chuckled.  "You're not exactly a Daphne Blake, but you're definitely a Velma Dinkley."

"Oh, thanks," Scotti responded.  "In that context, you're no Scooby-doo yourself."

"Thanks," Iris chuckled.

"You are sort of a punk Wednesday Addams," Scotti added, "but you clean up nice."  That earned Scotti a significant look, but she could tell her friend was still amused.

"Anyway," Iris continued after a sip of bubbly Baja, "context is, shall we say, playful.  Nobody dives into anything explicit.  Things happen... meaning places and things get teased now and then... but no means no.  If you're comfortable with something, just let it happen.  If not..."

"No means no," Scotti nodded, than frowned.  "But what if I'm gagged?  By which I mean what if a hypothetical damsel, not necessarily myself, is gagged?"

"No is easy," Iris chuckled.  "It's pretty clear when somebody's trying to tell you to back off, not counting damsel-in-distress role playing, of course."

"Of course," Scotti agreed.  I suppose it's a matter of trust, she thought, then smiled and gazed at Iris as they both sipped their drinks, and I trust Iris... and by extension, Amy.

Once the hydration break was over, Scotti and Iris went back to weeding.  Nothing more was said about context.

The rest of the day passed in typical DuPont Compound fashion, and after dinner (burgers on the grill) Scotti returned to The Cottage and put a couple of more hours into revising her notes.  Finally, enough was enough.  Scotti prepared for bed and climbed between the sheets.

Since moving into The Cottage Scotti had gotten out of the habit of wearing her panties-of-the-day and a t-shirt or tanktop to bed and had started slumbering in the nude.  It was no big thing.  It just sort of happened.  Anyway, The Cottage was dark, except for the starlight shining from billions of years in the past, across the vastness of the expanding universe, and through the open windows (with their drapes pulled back but bug-screens in place and on duty).  Scotti's eyes were closed and she was just drifting off to sleep when—Click!—it happened!

The Cottage door opened, Amy and Iris entered, Amy closed the door behind them—Thud!—and turned on the overhead lights.  Click.

Scotti sat up in bed, the covers fell down, exposing her naked boobs to the world, and she quickly clutched the top-sheet and pulled it up to her freckled chest, restoring her modesty.  "What's happening?" she sagely inquired.

Actually, it was abundantly obvious what was happening.  The Game was happening!

Amy was wearing the same boots, jeans, and workshirt she'd worn all day, whereas Iris was naked, except for a pair of pink panties, of all things, pink being very un-Iris.  Also, Iris' hands were behind her back, a rope leash was around her neck with its far end in Amy's left hand, and a strip of Microfoam tape covered most of Iris' lower face,

"Tonight?" Scotti yelped.

"No, next Tuesday," Amy chuckled as she led (dragged) her little sister to the bed, shrugged a bulging black nylon duffel-bag off her shoulder and let it drop to the floor, then looped the end of her little sister's leash around the bed's foot-rail and tied a quick knot.  "This is the live-action teaser-trailer, to get you excited... so to speak."

Scotti was not amused.  (Actually, she was amused, but the proper move was to appear to be unamused, so she forced a pout.)

Meanwhile, Amy unzipped a side pocket of the duffel and pulled out a six-inch roll of clear shrink-wrap, a roll of silver-gray duct-tape, and a pair of bandage-scissors.  "These are for your hands," she explained.

"Huh?" Scotti gasped.

Amy shifted her smile to her little sister.  "Show her," she ordered.

Iris rolled her eyes, then executed a half-pirouette that exposed her back, as well as her silver-gray-duct-tape-mummified hands!  Each hand was neatly and separately wrapped with tight, overlapping layers, from her wrists to her fingertips, the very tips of which emerged from the silver sheathes.  And wrist-rope-bondage had been applied after the mummifications.  That was obvious.  The rope was over the tape covering Iris' wrists.

"Hands," Amy ordered as she jerked the covers from Scotti's hands and readied the shrink-wrap for use.

"Hands?" Scotti inquired (objected).

"Hands," Amy confirmed.

Blinking in alarm (or something) Scotti extended her right hand and watched as Amy used the clinging plastic to tightly wrap the hand from wrist to extended fingertips.

"The shipping-wrap protects your skin from the duct-tape adhesive," Amy explained, "which is super strong.  Gorilla brand.  Only the best."

Scotti nodded, and continued watching as Amy shifted from shrink-wrap to duct-tape and the mummification process was repeated.  The result was the same tautly stretched, uniformly overlapping layers as Iris' hand-mummies, and the shrink-wrap was covered completely.  She stared at her right hand, weakly testing the silver-gray cocoon, then presented her left hand for similar treatment without really thinking about it.  It too disappeared under stretched, tightly wrapped shrink-wrap... followed by stretched, tightly wrapped duct-tape.

Amy returned the rolls to the duffel.  The deed was done.  Scotti's fingers and hands were encased and utterly useless.  Scotti continued examining her silver flippers as Amy carried a wooden straight chair from its normal position against the wall next to the closet and to the foot of the bed.  "Have a seat," she suggested (ordered).

"Me?" Scotti inquired.

"You," Amy confirmed.

Scotti heaved a sigh, slid all the way from under the covers, planted her feet and stood, then padded to the chair in question, sat... and watched sullenly as Amy pulled a neatly bundled coil of the DuPont family's apparently limitless stockpile of coffee-stained, conditioned, cotton clothesline from the duffel and prepared it for use.

Scotti turned her head and took the occasion to examine Iris' attire (what there was of it) in more detail.  She revised her initial assessment from a pair of panties to a skimpy swimsuit bottom.  It was in a dark-pink/light-lavender shade and festooned with disgustingly cute cartoon cats, white stars, lavender flowers (or maybe heart-clusters), and the appellation "Hello Kitty."  It was something Iris would never buy for herself in a billion years and would wear only after hell had frozen solid, so Scotti surmised the disgusting garment was a fashion humiliation imposed by her big sister... which was strange.

Meanwhile—"Eep!"—Amy had pulled Scotti's flipperized hands behind the chair and was binding her wrists together with her tape-covered-hands palm-to-palm.  She noted that her armpits comfortably rested on the top of the chairback.  The DuPont family had been making custom furniture for at least three generations, so it was hardly surprising the cottage chair Scotti used for sitting in while lacing up her work-boots was not only solidly constructed, perfectly proportioned, and easy on the eyes, but was ideally suited for lashing a naked damsel in the sitting position.

Scotti was fully cooperative (albeit a little fidgety) as Amy completed her task.  Loop followed loop, cinch followed cinch, and intermittent knots were tied.  The end result was Scotti sitting in the chair with her hands and arms behind the back, her elbows pulled together and tied about an inch apart, and her wrist and elbow-bonds hitched through the chairback.  More rope passed above and below her boobs, as well as across and around her waist, her lap, and the chair.  Her legs were bound together above and below her knees, and so were her ankles.  In addition, her wrist and ankle-bonds were linked by several passes of taut rope, lifting her bare feet off the floor and making her predicament a sitting hogtie!  Finally. Amy had tied her big toes together with brown cord and lashed them to the horizontal cross-brace of the chair's back legs, totally immobilizing her feet.

"That should hold you," Amy purred as she stood and smiled down at Scotti.

Scotti knew what was expected and began her Courtesy Struggle.  She had to admit Amy's rigging was up to her usual nefarious standards and was totally inescapable (even if she'd had the use of her fingers, which she didn't).  Yet, Scotti was arguably comfortable, meaning all the tension seemed to be uniformly distributed and none of her body-parts were tingling from loss of circulation (yet).  Also surprisingly, that included her big toes.  Nonetheless...

"You're a real bitch for tying my toes," Scotti huffed, glaring at the accused bitch in question.

Amy laughed, winked at her little sister (who glowered in return), then turned her smile back to Scotti.  "You've come a long way in a short time, Gingerella."

'Gingerella,' Scotti mused as she squirmed in Amy's ropes.  As nicknames went, Gingerella was pretty cute.  She hated it.  With any luck it wouldn't stick.

Meanwhile, still smiling, Amy turned and strolled to the closet, disappeared within... then reemerged holding a pair of panties pinched between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.

Scotti recognized the panties she'd worn all day, grinding her ass in the cushion of her desk chair while working on her notes and sweated in all afternoon while working in the garden with Iris.  What does she want those for? Scotti wondered.  Then, the truth dawned.  "No!  Don't you dare!"

Amy stooped and pulled a roll of Microfoam tape from the duffel, then stood and grinned.  "Really?  You're firing off a full blown no-means-no over a simple, harmless thing like a panty-gag?"

"My own dirty panties?" Scotti groused.  "Hell yes no-means-no!  Yuk!"

Amy frowned.  "How about clean panties," she suggested, then tossed the dirty panties on the bed.

Scotti glowered at the crumpled underpants (even though it wasn't the intimate garment's fault it was a gag-stuffing candidate).

Meanwhile, Amy had stripped a six to seven-inch strip of Microfoam from the roll, severed it free with the bandage-scissors, then lightly tacked it by one corner to the top rail of the bed's foot-board.  She then returned the Microfoam and scissors to the duffel, retrieved the panties, and smiled at Scotti.  "Well?"

Scotti scowled at her gloating captor, then sighed.  "Nobody likes a party-pooper," she muttered.  "Clean panties."

"Clean panties it is," Amy chuckled, strolled back to the closet... and returned with a neatly folded pair of panties (mint-green with minimal lace).  "Say ahhh," she purred as she unfolded the panties and crumpled them into a loose wad.

Scotti continued glowering and did not say ahhh, but she did open her mouth and accept the silky, mouth-filling stuffing, then held her head helpfully steady with lips together as Amy stretched the Microfoam between her two hands and pressed it home.

"Mrrrpfh," Scotti complained as Amy smoothed the tape.  Actually, it was a Courtesy Mewl.  The tape-gag (with panties) was effective.  She glanced up at Iris, who was staring back, and noted from the way her semi-Goth friend's cheeks were bulging that her mouth might also be stuffed with something.  In fact, Scotti was now sure Iris was chewing on a wad of something.  Panties? Scotti wondered.  Dirty or clean?  There was no way to tell, and she was no longer able to ask.

While Scotti and Iris were silently communing, Amy had been busy making the bed.  She wasn't especially fastidious about it, but when she decided she was finished the bedspread was more-or-less taut and the pillows fluffed and piled against the headboard.

"On the bed," Amy ordered as she untied her little sister's rope leash.

Obviously, the command had been for Iris as there was no way Scotti would be switching furniture without a great deal of assistance.  Anyway, Iris stomped (padded) the short distance to the bed, sat, then reclined in the center on her butt, back, and bound and mummified hands.  Amy pulled several more coils of coffee-stained clothesline from her trusty duffel, dropped them on the bed, smiled, and set to work.

Scotti watched as Amy tied her little sister to the bed.  She started with Iris' right ankle, pulling it to the side and lashing it in the right corner, then did the same to Iris' left ankle in the left corner.  She then untied Iris' wrist bonds and tied her in a full four-point-spread, a very taut and stringent four-point-spread.  That is, Iris was now spreadeagled on the bed in a horizontal version of the vertical Vitruvian Man pose Amy had endured in Storeroom #4.  Each wrist and ankle was pinned in place by multiple taut strands, half traveling vertically to the headboard or foot and the other half horizontally, dimpling the edge of the mattress as they disappeared off the bed to be lashed to the lower bed frame.

Yes, it was taut and stringent indeed, and from her chair Scotti had an excellent view of Iris, including the crotch of her humiliating Hello Kitty bikini-bottom.

"And... the scene is set," Amy announced.  She stooped, zipped closed the duffel, and stood.  "Wait here," she instructed as she carried the duffel away, dropped it next to the cottage door—Click!—and opened the door.  "I'll be back," she promised as she crossed the threshold, then closed the portal behind her.  Click!

And Scotti and Iris were alone in The Cottage.

Scotti stared at Iris.

Iris stared at Scotti.

Both damsels squirmed a little, seeking comfort rather than escape.  Escape was quite obviously impossible.

Now would be the perfect opportunity for Scotti to ask Iris why her Evil big sister had forced her to wear the pink Hello Kitty bikini-bottom, but... you know... gags.  Languishing in annoyed ignorance was Scotti's only option.

Finally, after an eternity of at least five minutes—Click!—the cottage door opened, Amy crossed the threshold, and closed the door behind her.  Click!  Yes, the Villainous Villainess herself had returned, and she was carrying another duffel-bag, or more precisely a small nylon gym-bag, and it was pink, of all things.  A pink nylon gym-bag.

"Let's get this show on the road!" Amy decreed, then unzipped the pink bag, reached inside, and produced... something.  She held it for Scotti's inspection, but the chair-bound captive had no idea what she was staring at.

The unknown object was... little, only about three inches long and maybe a little less than an inch in width.  Also, it was ovoid in shape, with a very slight curve, sort of like a stretched-out bean.  Its ends were well-rounded, and it was covered in a uniform coating of black latex.

"It's called a 'Panty-Teaser'," Amy explained as she continued turning the thing for Scotti's wide-eyed inspection.  "You know the classic scenario.  Our little friend is inserted down the front of a gorgeous woman's panties, so it's nudging her pussy-lips, then her cad of a husband or boyfriend takes her to a posh restaurant, with both of them dressed to the nines, of course.  Once seated, he covertly toys with the Teaser's remote control at carefully chosen and highly inopportune moments.  She struggles to conceal her reactions while he tries his best to make it difficult.  An adventurously good time is had by all."

Now that she mentioned it—meaning the Panty-Teaser—Scotti remembered the cunning concept from her online research.  The idea was hilarious... as long as you weren't the damsel on the receiving end.  She watched as Amy leaned over the bed and tucked the Panty-Teaser down the front of Iris' Hello-Kitty panties.

Iris stared daggers at her big sister and mewled what were no doubt very rude remarks through whatever was stuffed in her mouth and under the overlying strip of Microfoam.  "Mrrrmpfhrmfh!"

Amy ignored her kid sister's objections, accusations, and/or condemnations, stood upright, and continued her technical lecture.  "The Panty-Teaser system has a total of twelve settings, variations on intensity, pulsation, and escalation.  I have a friend who dabbles in electronics, so I asked her to rewire the remote control to add random timing between vibration events.  Unfortunately, that meant the circuitry would no longer fit in the manufacturers' cute little pocket-size remote control..."  She reached into the pink bag and produced a small wooden box.  "But luckily, making an attractive new home for the circuitry was easy-peasy for a talented carpenter and woodworker such as myself."

Scotti had to admit it was a nice box, about the size of a typical ring box.  Apparently, in addition to conventional and dungeon/torture-chamber furnishings, the DuPont catalog included a line of cute little wooden boxes.  Amy lifted the lid and Scotti could see a couple of rows of tiny toggle-switches, all with engraved labels too small and distant for her to read.

"I'm setting everything on random," Amy announced as she carefully flipped several switches, "which means five to fifteen minutes will pass between events, and the events themselves will only last thirty to ninety seconds."  She snapped the lid closed and placed the box on the right bedside table.  Her smile was decidedly sinister.  "Of course," she purred, "the Panty-Teaser's teasing won't be nearly enough for poor sister to ride it to anything approaching a nice orgasm," she purred.  "In fact, I'm absolutely positive she'll find the entire program to be downright frustrating.  Some might even say tortuously frustrating."  She shifted her wicked smile to the nearly nude, spreadeagled, and tape-gagged little sister in question.  "The battery is fully charged and lasts for a full forty-five minutes of nonstop stimulation on the max settings.  But with everything widely separated, quite brief, and on the lower settings, it will last... significantly longer."

Iris continued staring daggers at her big sister, and Scotti noticed she was panting through her nostrils and her boobs were rising and falling in matching rhythm.  At least the Mystery of Iris' Hello Kitty bikini-bottom was finally solved.  The disgustingly cute garment was there to keep the vibrator in place, an act of Pure Evil.  Such perfidy was to be expected from a creature as insidious and wicked as the notorious Hello Kitty.

Meanwhile, Amy had strolled from the bedside to behind Scotti's chair, and was resting her hands on the naked, bound, and gagged ginger's rope-yoked shoulders.  "You understand why your fingers and hands are taped, don't you?  It's for the same reason you're naked and gagged.  Helplessness.  Superfluous layers of helplessness."

Scotti understood.  She'd understood as it was happening.  Superfluous layers of helplessness.

"You might not be able to tell when the Teaser decides to tease dear sister," Amy continued.  "It's very quiet.  And she may be able to hide her reactions, at least for a while."

Suddenly, Iris froze in her bonds, she clinched her big brown eyes tightly closed, tugged on her bonds as best she could, and a delicate shiver shook her pale, stretched body.

"Or maybe not," Amy chuckled.  "In her defense, this might be an unusually strong event."

Iris' body relaxed, she opened her eyes, and glared at her big sister.

"And it's over," Amy purred, "and the wait for the next teasing event begins."  She released Scotti's shoulders, leaned closer, and began massaging her rope-framed breasts!

"Mrrrm!" Scotti complained (or whined, or something).  Amy was teasing her nipples as well as her boobs, and the dark-pink traitors were growing in response.  Stop it you two! Scotti silently commanded, but was ignored.

"There's only one more thing," Amy said, then her hands left Scotti's breasts, she reached into her workshirt's left breast pocket, and produced a pair of shiny steel clover-clamps!

Scotti's green eyes popped wide as she stared at the dangling clamps in abject horror.  And she continued staring as Amy took hold of one clamp, letting the other drop to the end of the connecting chain, teased Scotti's left nipple with her left hand, then, slowly... carefully... closed the jaws of the clamp over the nipple in question!

"Mrrrmpfh!"  O the agony!  O the suffering!  O the... mild discomfort!  Scotti blinked in surprise.  The clamp didn't really hurt all that much.  She could feel it.  It was definitely there.  But she couldn't call it a sting.  And then, Amy closed the remaining clamp on her right nipple!  "Mrrk!"  And to her surprise, it didn't hurt either... much  There was a sort of burn, but it was a teasing torment, more of a constant annoying presence than anything else.

And then, Amy hooked her right thumb around the clamps connecting chain and gave it a tug... until it went taut and the clamps lifted.  "Mrrr!"  Now that was a sting.  The spring-loaded things had pinched her nips, and Scotti was decidedly unappreciative.  Still... while it had hurt, she could bear it.  Go figure.

And then, Amy stepped from behind the chair, strolled to the side of the bed, leaned over her spreadeagled little sister, and used a second pair of clover-clamps with connecting chain to capture Iris' nipples!

Iris didn't even flinch in response, but her anti-sister-gagged-glower was especially accusing and baleful.

Really, Scotti thought, rolling her shoulders, which caused her boobs to wobble and the chain between her pair of clamps to sway a little, I thought these things were supposed to really hurt, but they're more irritating than painful... also humiliating.   Go figure.

Then, Amy smiled at both prisoners, returned to the pink gym-bag, and pulled out a coil of thin braided cord (coyote-brown in color), and two small steel snap-hook carabiners.  They were the key-ring kind, too small to be of much use for rock-climbing.

And then, the naked, bound, gagged, and nipple-clamped prisoners watched with great attention (see also dread, which became alarm) as Amy did a little rigging.

When the proverbial dust settled, a snap-hook was snapped around each of the clover-clamp sets' connecting chains, brown cord tied to the other ends, then stretched up and over one of The Cottage's exposed rafters, joining the captives nipples-to-nipples!  And the cord was taut, taut enough to make the connecting chains taut and just enough to make the clamps threaten to tighten and start pinching!

Scotti's nipples weren't exactly stinging, but the clamps and cord arrangement was a strong deterrent against enthusiastic squirming in her bonds and/or rocking her chair.  She assumed the clamps, carabiners, and cord assemblage was also putting a damper on Iris's squirming efforts.  And as far as Scotti was concerned, Amy's inventiveness and callous disregard for the comfort of her younger sister and their charming house guest had reached a new level of wickedness.  If the elder DuPont's skin suddenly decided to turn green, Scotti wouldn't be in the least bit surprised.

Meanwhile, Amy had dropped the pink gym-bag next to the black rope-duffel-bag and was strolling around The Cottage, using a butane pocket-lighter to light every candle she could find.  Once that was accomplished, she strolled to the cottage door—Click!—pulled it open, turned off the overhead lights—Click.—then posed in the threshold, the very picture of the cruel, sadistic, beautiful, Villainous Villainess.  "Well... enjoy yourselves," she purred, then pulled the cottage door closed—Click!—and was gone.

Really? Scotti mused, 'enjoy yourselves'?  That's the best you can do?  As parting shots went, it was pathetic.  And speaking of pathetic...

The cottage interior was dimly lit by Scotti's dozen or so candles, some of which were scented.  In other circumstances, it might have been called relaxing, maybe even romantic, but Scotti was too preoccupied being naked, chair-tied, gagged, nipple-clamped, and linked (via the ceiling) by a taut, thin cord to the nipple-clamps of her gardening-buddy Iris, who was naked, gagged, and spreadeagled on Scotti's very comfortable bed.

Suddenly, Iris flinched in her bonds and shivered as she experienced another bout of Panty-Teaser-Hello-Kitty-torment.  Iris' reaction had transmitted an infinitesimal pinch to Scotti's nips, but she couldn't blame the poor damsel.  Without a doubt, this was a real escalation of Scotti's research program.  She resolved that the next time she helped Iris with her gardening, they'd use the occasion to plot an appropriate response to Amy's indefensible wickedness... assuming they survived the night.