morning Scotti and Iris reported for breakfast like the dutiful
ginger house guest and semi-Goth baby-of-the-family that they
were (respectively), Sybil made an announcement... and Scotti
reflected that it was almost as if the universe wanted her
to cash in her Penalty Kick and torture—no, strike that—entertain
Amy in the fifth storeroom of The Storage Building!
It would seem Sybil had been invited to visit friends in
town! They'd do some shopping, eat lunch at a charming
little restaurant, and she wouldn't be returning home 'til very
late in the afternoon, bearing a gigantic take-and-bake pizza
for everybody's supper. In short, Sybil would be absent
from the compound and therefore unavailable for either referee or
rescue duty... all day! For gaming purposes,
the senior DuPont would effectively be off the board!
There would be no authority figure present to overrule
and/or veto any part of the Evil Plans Scotti and Iris had
devised for Poor Amy!
And as for Amy herself, she was the very picture of the
Unsuspecting Innocent. Her plan-of-the-day was to goof
off. Having finished the furniture order from the previous
day, she intended to give the machinery in the work shop a
detailed cleaning and oiling (as opposed to the thorough
cleaning she gave everything at the conclusion of every
workday)... then inspect the air filtration system and see if
the filters needed changing... then do the same in the spray
booth... then see what else needed doing.
Scotti mused that the oldest Dupont sister had a peculiar idea
of what constituted "goofing off." In any case, Scotti and
Iris knew that today little if any shop cleaning was likely to
happen. They exchanged knowing winks that went unseen by
both Sybil and their unsuspecting target.
After breakfast Sybil changed into a very pretty sundress.
Her daughters and Scotti remained in their usual boots, jeans,
and work-shirts. Everybody escorted Sybil to her SUV and
waved as she drove away. Gravel crunched on the driveway
as the SUV disappeared into the trees... and she was gone.
Amy turned towards the shop. "Later, losers," she purred.
"Not so fast!" Scotti barked. "Strip!"
Amy turned back to face Scotti and her sweetly smiling sister
and raised a dubious eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Scotti struck what she hoped was a Heroic Pose. "I hereby
invoke the Ancient and Sacred Privilege of 'Penalty Kick', order
and require you to remove all of your
clothing, jewelry, accessories, and accouterments, and
submit to Righteous Punishment, on pain of Maternal
Disappointment and, in the event of defiance and/or
noncompliance, the possible addition of additional penalties
and sanctions as Maternal Authority may deem fit!"
"Oh, bravo!" Iris laughed, clapping her hands.
"You're mental," Amy chuckled, smiling her trademark dimpled
smile and crossing her arms across her boobs.
"No, I'm in charge," Scotti grinned. "You can putter
around in the shop tomorrow. Today... you're toast!"
"Naked toast!" Iris giggled.
"You're both mental," Amy purred. Then, still
smiling, she began unbuttoning her work-shirt. "Remember
the first rule of the game," she cautioned as she shrugged out
of the shirt, stooped, and began unlacing her work-boots.
"No contact with pre-warp civilizations?" Scotti suggested.
"No, that's much further down the list," Amy corrected
as she finished removing her boots and socks and unzipped her
jeans. "The first rule is... 'What goes around,
Iris shook her head. "No, the first rule is 'Do no harm'."
"They're both the first rule," Amy countered.
"That's reasonable," Scotti grinned.
In short order Amy was naked and standing with her feet apart
and hands atop her head. Iris had bundled her big sister's
clothes and had them tucked under one arm while Scotti was
smiling and thoroughly in charge (for once).
"To The Cottage!" Scotti decreed.
"To The Cottage!" Iris agreed.
Amy rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
The trio stepped off with Scotti in the lead, Amy padding along
in the middle with her fingers still interlaced and her palms
still resting on top of her head, and Iris bringing up the rear.
arrived at The Cottage bondage happened, as might be expected,
but not before some careful preliminary preparations.
First off, Scotti ordered her naked prisoner to don a pair of
skintight blue-green latex gloves she'd "borrowed" from the
shop, then sit on the end of the bed. She then proceeded
to mummify Amy's clenched fists using silver-gray duct-tape, and
the tape was the "good" kind, super strong and with a very aggressive
adhesive. That was why the gloves were needed, to prevent
skin irritation and residual sticky residue upon the
hand-mummy-sheathes eventual removal. The tape layers
neatly overlapped and Scotti had applied them with a slight
stretch, thereby reducing Amy's dexterity index to an
And while this was happening, Iris was sitting cross-legged on
the bed directly behind Amy and using a brush and comb set to
neatly and tightly plait her big sister's long, black hair into
a tidy and compact three-part braid. Then, she neatly and
tightly wrapped and knotted a length of brown cord around the
end of the braid to keep it from unraveling.
Next, Scotti used two coils of coffee-stained conditioned cotton
clothesline to bind Amy's upper body in a neat, tight, elegant,
elaborate, aesthetically pleasing, and quite inescapable
Yes, neat and tight were the themes of everything that was
happening in The Cottage!
The end result was Amy naked and stylishly box-tied with her
mummified hands and wrists crossed, raised a few degrees above
the horizontal, and lashed against her spine. Just about
every rope junction was cinched, and while Amy's circulation was
unimpaired, the web-like pattern of rope was tight enough to
dimple her smooth, pale skin (just a little). And once
Scotti tied the final knot and announced her satisfaction with
her efforts, Amy's Courtesy Struggle was entertaining but
decidedly ineffectual. There was no give or take in the
box-tie. Amy's arms might as well have been folded behind
her back and super-glued to her torso from armpits to
wrists! Her rope-framed boobs were "free" to flop around a
little as she twisted at the waist and rolled her shoulders, but
were unable to aid in their owner's escape.
"Outstanding," Iris purred. "I'm proud of you Gingerella."
Grinning ear-to-ear, Scotti gazed at her squirming
captive. "I have a good teacher," she countered.
"Ahhh," Iris sighed, then pulled Scotti in a tight hug—which
quickly became mutual—and they kissed.
Still testing her neat and tight box-tie, Amy rolled her
eyes. "Gag me with a spoon," she muttered.
"Hold that thought," Scotti
grinned, "except for the spoon part," She broke the
embrace with her rigging instructor, reached into a side pocket
of the source of Amy's box-tie bonds, the black nylon duffel of
bondage goodies she'd "borrowed" from Amy, and produced a black
rubber panel-gag with a spherical mouth-plug and a friction
buckle. "We'll use this thing instead."
Amy heaved a disappointed sigh, but didn't resist when Scotti
popped the gag's plug in her mouth and tightened the strap until
it stretched and pressed the panel against her lips and mouth
until her cheeks bulged.
The naked prisoner assumed Scotti's next move would be to
"force" her down onto the bed and lash her in place, thereby
condemning her to several long hours of languishing in
comfortable captivity... until Mother returned from her day-trip
and ordered her release. She was wrong.
A burlap hood dropped over Amy's gagged head—"Mrrrf!"—catching
her by surprise! Her traitorous little sister must have
done the deed while Amy herself was busy glaring her defiance at
Scotti. The hood was relatively loose-fitting and the
fabric loosely woven, but it was doubled over the eye region so
it could to serve as a blindfold. Amy could easily breathe
through the main hood, and like the cotton clothesline so
effectively binding her upper body, the burlap had been washed
and conditioned. It was neither rough, scratchy, nor itchy
against her face. Amy had worn the thing before and had
used it on Iris on more than one occasion, so the hood itself
was no big deal. It was being caught unawares that she
And then—"Mrrrk!"—a rope tightened around Amy's neck and the
hood! It was knotted in some manner, leaving two long free
ends separated and trailing down her front and back... but not
for long. Both ropes snapped taut—"Mrrrf?"—forcing Amy to
her bare feet, and she was led away. The captive had no
idea which of her handlers was clutching the lead rope, but her
money was on Scotti. After all, it was Gingerella's
Penalty Kick and Iris was Scotti's Igor, meaning her sycophantic
and groveling minion.
Anyway, they were leaving The Cottage... so Amy realized her
assumption (hope) that she was in for a day of naked, bound, and
gagged languishing on a soft mattress was almost certainly
Iris chose a circuitous and decidedly indirect path from The
Cottage to The Storage Building, pausing now and then to spin
Amy around several times before resuming their journey.
This was in order to disorient Amy, of course. Whether or
not it was working or not was in no way clear. Maybe Amy
didn't know where she was being taken, or maybe she did, but she
wasn't showing any signs of terror and/or anxiety. Her
captors were disappointed, of course, but things might pick up
once they arrived at Storage Room #5.
But as it turned out... not so much.
The parade entered The Storage Building... trooped down the
central corridor to the fifth padlocked door... there was a
pause while Iris produced her key-ring, unlocked the lock,
opened the door... then they entered the twenty-foot by
twenty-foot space beyond... and Scotti got her first actual look
at the Special Catalog contained within!
Naked, bound, gagged, and hooded, Amy remained nonchalant (as
far Scotti or Iris could tell).
Iris' lips curled in her best Wicked/Sardonic Smile, then she
turned to savor Scotti's reaction.
Scotti had been briefed on the item's size, shape, and purpose,
but now the discussion had moved from the realm of imagination
and she was seeing the thing for real! Her green
eyes popped wide, her heart started thumping in her chest, her
breath began coming in a shallow pant, and her boobs heaved
(just a little) under her shirt, tank-top, and bra.
The object in question was centered in the chamber, lit by a
ring of a dozen tiny spotlights in a circular track mounted to
the overhead rafters. It was constructed of heavy timbers
and included a couple of strategically placed boards lightly
padded with black leather. Its proportions and the details
of its joinery were quite pleasing, and yet, there was no
decorative detailing. The object was utilitarian and
totally functional. And speaking of function...
There had some debate among the DuPonts when the object in
question should be called when it was originally designed and
constructed. Sybil finally settled on... "The Sybian
Scotti knew a typical "Sybian" is more or less a well-padded,
half-barrel-shaped hassock with a vibrating ridge on top, often
clad latex, and with or without a vertical phallus. The
rider straddled the Sybian with her hoo-haw resting on the ridge
and impaled on the phallus (if it had one). The Sybian
Saddle, however, had more in common with a saddle-stand than a
hassock. That is, it was like a sawhorse designed to
support an equestrian saddle, as found in the tack rooms of many
riding stables. Its padding was limited to the
aforementioned pair of boards, strategically positioned and
slanted to allow the rider to "comfortably" straddle the piece
of furniture with her legs to either side.
Truth be told, there was more than a little of the infamous Torture
Horse in the Sybian Saddle's design heritage; however,
there was no horizontal triangular ridge to punish the rider's
pussy. It fact, there was a three-inch gap between the
padded boards! The hypothetical rider's pussy would be
resting on... nothing. That said, directly under said rider and resting on the
floor was a wooden box the size of a small trunk that housed a
powerful motor and a computerized control system, as well as a
vertical telescoping steel shaft! And attached to the
shaft was a wedge-shaped vibrating mini-saddle and a
vibrating phallic extension, both clad in black latex.
After the appropriate adjustments, the rider would find her
thighs resting on the padded boards, her pussy and most of her
weight resting on the triangular mini-saddle, and the phallus
perfectly positioned to thrust up and down and in and out of her
pussy, independent of the now stationary mini-saddle!
Sybil had nearly named her brainchild the "Sybian Horse," but
decided "Sybian Saddle" sounded, uh, nicer and therefore less
likely to scare away her more squeamish potential buyers.
Scotti had found Iris' description of the device to be quite
scary, but the actual sight of the Saddle was terrifying!
Still smiling, Iris leaned close and whispered in Scotti's
ear. "Don't you dare chicken out."
Scotti blinked, still staring at the Sybian Saddle. "I'm
not," she whispered, "I mean I won't." She swallowed
nervously. "Let's get on with it."
Leaning against a wall of the chamber was a folding step-stool
they unfolded and placed next to the Saddle. They then
"encouraged" the unsuspecting Amy to step up on the stool,
straddle the device, and settle her weight onto the padded
boards. The mini-saddle and phallus were in the fully
retracted position, so there was nothing anywhere near her
pussy. Scotti and her co-conspirator then busied
themselves by taking several doubled turns of the ubiquitous
coffee-stained clothesline around each of Amy's ankles...
followed by turns around each foot... and then a hitch around
each big toe. They then pulled out all the slack and
lashed Amy's stretched and splayed legs in place, using a pair
of conveniently placed iron rings set in the base of the
Saddle's wooden frame on either side.
Next, Scotti retrieved a small but sturdy swing-gate carabiner
attached to end of a light cable of braided steel wire that ran
through a pulley directly over the Saddle, stood on the stool
and snapped the carabiner through the nexus of Amy's box-tie
bonds, just below the nape of her neck and above her shoulder
blades. She then climbed off the stool, strolled to the
wall directly behind the Saddle, and began turning the handle of
a steel winch mounted on the exposed framing
The cable shortened and grew ever more taut. Click-click-click...
click... click... ... click. Scotti locked the winch
and now Amy was firmly in place, her splayed, stretched legs and
on pointe feet tied tightly to either side and the
vertical cable preventing her upper body from slumping either
forward or back.
Being Sybil's oldest daughter and a partner in the family
business—unless Amy was truly dense, which Scotti knew
not to be even the slightest bit the case—at some point Amy must
have realized exactly where she was and what she was letting
Gingerella and Wednesday do to her. Nonetheless, she'd
"allowed" it to happen. At no point in the process of
dragging her into the chamber and getting her up and onto the
Saddle and bound in position had Amy resisted. Nor had she
made any gagged objections, complaints, or utterances of any
kind. She was totally stoic.
Scotti and Iris stood side by side and admired Amy's naked,
helplessly bound, and hooded body for several gloating
seconds. Consciously or unconsciously, Amy put on a show
for her unseen audience by testing her inescapable bonds and
squirming in place.
Finally, after something like a minute, Iris cleared her
throat. "Ahem." Scotti took her clue, stepped up
onto the stool, reached out, and snatched off Amy's burlap hood.
The Prisoner of the Sybian Saddle's reaction was to blink her
big brown eyes a few time as they adjusted to the light, then
turn her head and coolly gaze at her ginger-haired
captor in an insouciant, panel-gagged manner.
Scotti smiled, then stepped off the stool, folded it, and placed
it out of the way by leaning it against the nearest wall.
All thoughts of chickening out had vanished. If Amy was
willing to play (or at least wasn't pathetically
terror-stricken) then so was Scotti! Besides, she knew she
could always chicken out later... as things escalated.
And speaking of escalation, Iris had strolled to a cabinet
mounted on the opposite wall, opened the door, and returned with
two things: (1) a small plastic pump-bottle labeled "70%
ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL," and (2) a pair of clover-style
nipple-clamps! The smiling junior DuPont tossed the clamps
to Scotti, spritzed a generous cloud of alcohol onto her big
sister's right boob, then leaned as close as she could, pursed
her lips, and blew on Amy's right nipple!
Amy's reaction was twofold: (1) she glared at her
little sister's smug, smiling face, and (2) her sprayed nipple
blossomed erect, with visible areolar goosebumps! Then,
Iris sprayed and blew on Amy's left nipple... and Amy's stare
became a full-blown (pun intended) panel-gagged scowl as
her left nipple became as flushed and pointy as her right.
Iris shifted her sinister smile to Scotti. "Well?"
Scotti blinked her green eyes—"Huh? Oh! Yeah!—and
sprang into action. With minimal fumbling, she pinched and
stretched Amy's right nipple... then captured it with one of the
spring-loaded clamps! Amy didn't even flinch. Nor
did she flinch when Scotti repeated the process with the
remaining clamp and captured her left nipple! Amy was very
brave, as well as manifestly unhappy with and disapproving
of her treatment. Scotti took a step back and
blinked. She was thinking of the supposed first rule of
The Game Amy had mentioned earlier: What Goes Around Comes
Scotti rejoined Iris in front of Amy and the Saddle and watched
the clover-clamps connecting chain sway back and forth as Amy
squirmed in her bonds, causing her boobs to bob. She was
now scowling at both of her captors.
"Well," Iris said after several seconds of enjoyable gloating,
"let's get on with the rest."
The rest in question involved a coil of coyote-brown
paracord—the use of the folding step-stool—a steel eye-bolt with
a dangling pulley screwed into an exposed stud directly in front
of the Saddle and about seven feet off the floor—a small pulley
dangling from an eye-bolt screwed into a rafter directly over
the Saddle—and a second eye-bolt and pulley seven feet off the
floor and screwed into the wall directly behind the Saddle.
When the proverbial dust settled, the paracord stretched from
the center of the connecting chain of Amy's shiny new
clover-clamps—through the pulley of the eye-bolt in the front
wall—up to the small pulley overhead—down to the pulley and
eye-bold in the back wall—and was tied off to the end of Amy's
braid! The arrangement was taut, with no
significant slack. Amy's nipples and boobs were stretched
(just a little), and her braid was as taut as the cord.
Amy was already firmly fixed in place atop the Saddle, thanks to
her ankle-foot-toe bonds and the vertical steel cable clipped to
her box-tie bonds; but now her ability to squirm and twist her
body was even more drastically and dramatically reduced!
Amy was not happy; however, she wasn't in visible
distress. She continued staring daggers at Scotti and her
traitorous sibling. She also panted through her flaring
nostrils, causing her nipples and boobs to stretch... go
slack... then stretch again with every breath (just a little).
Iris was having a ton of fun. She loved her big
sister without qualification, but she also loved messing with
her, just as Amy loved playing with her when it was
Iris' turn to be the Damsel-in-Distress.
Scottie, on the other hand, was having serious second
thoughts. It was one thing to fantasize about doing wicked
things to Amy. After all, Amy had done wicked things to
her... and to Iris. But still... Scotti liked Amy,
and Amy liked her. There was absolutely no animus in their
relationship, just as there was none between Scotti and the
other DuPonts. That said, Amy's role in the overarching
melodrama was that of the Senior Villainous Villainess, the one
who took the lead in guiding Scotti down the path of The
Game. So... Scotti was totally justified in
torturing the oldest DuPont sister. Also, the sight of
Amy's naked, bound, and gagged body—just starting to shine with
sweat, her clamped and stretched (just a little) nipples and
boobs, and those big brown angry eyes staring at her
above her stretched rubber panel-gag—was inspirational, as
well as educational.
However, while Amy was naked, bound, gagged, and writhing (just
a little) in a cruel predicament, Scotti and Iris' plans for
their helpless victim were not yet complete.
"Don't you dare," Iris whispered in an aside to Scotti.
Both of them remained focused on Amy.
"What?" Scotti whispered back.
"Don't you dare chicken out," Iris amplified.
"Stop saying that!" Scotti barked, then swallowed before
continuing. "I told you before. I'm not chickening
out." I'm just thinking about it.
"See that you don't," Iris intoned solemnly.
Amy had heard the entire exchange, of course, even though her
"entertainers'" had kept their voices low. Obviously, the
little pipsqueaks weren't done. They had something more in
store for her, and Amy had an excellent idea what that something
"It's hot in here," Iris observed.
Scotti nodded. It was hot. Amy was definitely
glowing and Scotti was starting to sweat as well.
After all, she was fully clothed in boots, socks, jeans,
panties, bra, tank-top, and work-shirt. She was
overdressed for the occasion. Scotti glanced at Iris and
noted a shine on her co-conspirator's smiling face as well.
"Well... on with the show," Scotti stated.
"On with the show," Iris agreed.
And then, the Dynamic Duo of Cruel Torturers turned in unison
and left the storeroom, closing the door behind them... and one
of them (probably Iris)—Click!—locked the padlock.
Amy was alone.
The Prisoner of the Sybian Saddle blinked her big brown eyes and
heaved a very careful gagged sigh. (Given her
clamped nipples and the taut system of cord, pulleys, eye-bolts,
and braid, careful movement was her only option.)
Apparently, Scotti's Penalty Kick and/or revenge scheme was on
hold... leaving Amy naked, predicament-bound, gagged, and
nipple-clamped! It was... unpleasant.
Amy was forced
to endure a full hour of languishing! She realized such
hour-long interludes were traditional in damsel-in-distress
scenarios, but that didn't mean she had to like it (especially
not when she was the damsel doing the
languishing). She'd moved on from glowing to actual
sweating. Occasional beads of perspiration trickled down
her pale, smooth, firm, athletic body. Storeroom #5 wasn't
exactly a sauna, but it could use a little ventilation... or
maybe a nice quiet fan to move the stifling air.
Her nipples were growing increasingly grumpy and
aggrieved. Granted, the springs of the clover-clamps
currently squeezing her nips were of average stiffness, as
opposed to the clamps with the little "+" marks etched on their
sides. Those monsters had had their springs upgraded and
their clamp-pads roughened for maximum gripping power by Archer
Metals. Mother kept the notorious "plus-clips" carefully
segregated and only allowed them out to play for decidedly brief
Just then, Amy heard voices beyond the door of her overheated
cell... followed by the sound of the padlock being unlocked—Click!—and
then the door opened. Finally! the naked, sweaty,
helplessly bound and gagged captive silently fumed.
Scotti and Iris breezed back into the storeroom. Both had
changed their clothes. Gone were their former boots and
work clothes, and in their place were sandals and fluttering,
airy, sleeveless sundresses with spaghetti-straps.
Scotti's sandals were light brown and her dress a floral pattern
of white blossoms and green leaves on a sage background.
The ensemble went perfectly with her peachy-pink and
increasingly freckled complexion, green eyes, and ginger
Iris' sandals were black and her frock a surprisingly charming
pattern of black, gray, and white horizontal stripes of varying
widths. It was unarguably pretty and could only be called
Goth-like in a stretch. Go figure.
Scotti was in the lead with Iris immediately behind and pushing
a serving cart laden with a full tea service and a platter of
Tea and cookies, Amy silently fumed. I hope you
choke on it, dweebs! Not really, of course, but
being an involuntary witness to a tea party was a minor but
totally unnecessary humiliation. Full points for
sadistic window dressing, Amy conceded.
A folding café table and two chairs had been leaning in a corner
of the storeroom, unnoticed and unimportant until now. Amy
watched (continuing to glower) as Gingerella and Wednesday
arranged the cart, table, and chairs in front of and slightly to
the right of the Sybian Saddle and its sullen occupant.
They were very careful not to disturb the
nipple-clamps-cord-pulleys-hair-braid system, which Amy greatly
Finally, furniture arrangements complete, Scotti and Iris
settled into the un-padded but comfortable chairs... then
proceeded to have an actual tea party. Bitches!
Amy fumed. Oh-by-the-way, a compact battery-powered,
clip-on, oscillating fan had been resting on the serving cart's
lower shelf, and Iris had clipped it onto the edge of the table,
carefully positioned and adjusted to swivel back and forth in a
stately manner, directing a low-powered but no doubt quite
refreshing breeze from Scotti... to Iris... then back to
Scotti. Lather, rinse, repeat. Amy knew the fan could
have been adjusted to rotate 360°, and while whether the fan
was powerful enough to stir the stifling air around the occupant
of the Sybian Saddle was an open question (and probably
unlikely), it was also moot. Bitches!
Anyway, the tea party happened. Iris was Mother,
meaning she filled both tea cups. Scotti took her tea
without milk... Iris did add milk... then they
sipped their egg-shell-thin cups and smiled in
satisfaction. Cookie consumption commenced, with nibbles
punctuated by more sips of tea. The oscillating fan
stirred a few strands of Scotti's straight ginger pageboy
whenever it blew in her direction... but as Iris' hair was
pulled back in a tight ponytail, the refreshing breeze had no
visible effect on the semi-Goth little monster.
Time passed... enough for Gingerella and Wednesday to munch two
more cookies and enjoy several more slurps of tea... then
Iris set down her teacup, reached down to the cart's lower
shelf, and returned with an iPad, which she handed to Scotti.
"Now?" Scotti inquired (whined).
"Almost," Iris answered, took a bite from a shortbread cookie,
then scampered to the cabinet that had held the nipple-clamps
and cord that had been enhancing the entertainment value to
Amy's Adventure for the last hour. She opened the cabinet,
lifted a small plastic bottle from a shelf, then closed the door
and strolled towards the Sybian Saddle.
Resting on the floor and directly under Amy, the wooden box with
its protruding telescoping steel shaft, mini-saddle, and upright
phallus had been waiting patiently. And now... it would
appear its time had finally arrived! Smiling sweetly, Iris
knelt on the concrete floor, flipped up the cap of the plastic
bottle, and anointed the head of the latex-clad phallus with a
generous dollop of a clear gel about the consistency of
honey. She then closed the cap, extended her right index
finger, and used it to distribute the gel over the entire head
and halfway down the shaft of the phallus. She then
returned the bottle to the cabinet, used a small terrycloth
towel to briskly rub the remaining gel from her finger (all the
while smiling at her glaring big sister), then closed the
cabinet door and rejoined the tea party.
Scotti was staring at the iPad's screen. Her green eyes
Iris sipped her tea... then picked up another cookie.
"Well?" she purred, than took a nibble.
"Stop pushing me," Scotti huffed, then stabbed the screen.
A red light on the front of the box winked on and a barely
audible hum filled the chamber. Scotti then
leaned close and whispered in Iris' closest ear. "Maybe
just nudging her is enough. Okay?"
"I knew you'd chicken out," Iris whispered back.
"I'm not chickening out," Scotti muttered, "it's just..."
"She's ridden that thing before, you know," Iris purred.
"No, I didn't know," Scotti rounded on her
co-conspirator. "You didn't tell me."
"An oversight, I assure you." Iris sipped her tea.
"Anyway, I know Amy will be sorely disappointed if you
don't use the program we agreed upon. And chill out.
That thing is perfectly safe, like I did tell
you. Mother wouldn't have given it her seal of approval if
it wasn't safe."
Scotti stared at the screen before her worried green eyes for
several seconds... then lifted her gaze to Amy.
Amy gazed back with what was either Brave Defiance or Stoic
Martyrdom. The panel-gag was making it difficult for
Scotti to read her expression. Finally, Gingerella heaved
a sigh... and once again stabbed the iPad's screen.
The hum intensified as the mini-saddle and phallus slowly
telescoped upwards. As it neared the padded boards
supporting Amy's splayed thighs, the gel-lubricated tip of the
phallus first nudged, then passed between Amy's labia and
continued sliding upwards! Amy flinched
(just a little), but seemed otherwise unaffected. The
penetration continued until the mini-saddle squashed Amy's
labia, then the mechanism locked in place with an audible click!
Scotti's eyes were wide and she was breathing a little
heavily. Her reaction to what she'd put in motion seemed
to be greater than Amy's, which was perplexing... and somehow
disturbing. "I guess I am a chicken," she
whispered to Iris.
"Just inexperienced," Iris chuckled. "Now, pay
attention. The initial pause should run out in five, four,
three, two... one!"
Amy flinched again, enough to make the cord linking the
nipple-clamps to her braid shake (just a little). She also
shivered, began very carefully testing her box-tie bonds, and
closed her big brown eyes.
"It's happening?" Scotti asked her fellow conspirator.
"It's happening," Iris confirmed. "The phallus is
thrusting up and down and both it and the mini-saddle
Scotti could now hear a distinct and regular modulation in
the humming noise, so it must be true. The action was all
happening inside Amy, of course, so the varying sound
and Amy's careful struggles were the only signs that things
were... amiss. According to Iris, for this particular
program and over the course of the next five minutes, the
vibrations would slowly build in intensity and the rate of
thrusting increase... then the buzzing and pumping would
abruptly stop! There would be a brief pause...
then the whole shebang (pun intended) would begin again.
Lather, rinse, repeat. At some point—being only human—Amy
would inevitably cum like the proverbial bunny, and it would be
And it was all Scotti's fault! She felt terrible.
Also... she was fascinated by the tableau before
her. Amy was bound and gagged—her pale, shivering body
shining with sweat—her nipples and boobs stretched (just a
little) as the cord quivered—and now the suffering martyr's eyes
were open and she was staring daggers at her tormentor
(meaning Scotti). Yes, it was all Scotti's fault.
She was a cruel, wicked, barbaric meanie, and despite
the fan periodically blowing air in her face, she realized she
was starting to sweat again (especially between her legs).
"And the best part is she can't get back at you," Iris said
quietly. "Retaliation for Penalty Kicks is expressly
forbidden. Amy is honor-bound to not take any form
Scotti turned to Iris. "What about you?
What's she gonna do to you?"
Still smiling, Iris shrugged. "I'll survive." She
nodded at her big sister. "And so will she."
Scotti turned back to watch her victim squirm in place
(carefully, just a little). "Seriously," she said to Iris,
"she's ridden that thing before?"
Iris nodded. "I have too."
Scotti's eyes popped wider and her breathe caught in her throat.
"Don't worry," Iris chuckled. "You'll get your turn...
The fan continued oscillating, strands of Scotti's pageboy
continued fluttering in response, and the Sybian Saddle
continued having its computer-controlled mechanical way with
| Chapter 11