by Van ©2022
		Chapter 11

The next 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.  "Well played!"

"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, comes 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.

Once they 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 approximate minus-ten.

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 box-tie. 

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 resented.

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 wrong.

Scotti and 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 Saddle."

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 timbers.   Click-click-click-click-click...  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 Around.

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 might be.

"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 scenarios.

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 pageboy.

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 cookies.

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 appreciated.  Bitches!

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 were... intense.

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 are vibrating."

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 very entertaining.

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 of revenge."

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... eventually."

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 Poor Amy.