by Van ©2015
		Chapter 8

Naked, ball-gagged, and standing in a full spread-eagle up on tiptoe, Kennedy waited for Lena to return.  Five minutes... ten minutes... Kennedy couldn't be sure of the precise interval.  Her gaze kept returning to the rack of whips, crops, canes, paddles, and floggers.

I've been kidnapped! Kennedy thought, for real!  And my toes hurt.  The cuffs buckled around her wrists and ankles were wide and thick and well-padded, so they weren't causing her distress, not at the moment, anyway.  Her toes were another matter.

And what about Vivienne?  Is Lena doing something to her... right now... something bad?

Finally, the chamber door opened and Kennedy's wait was over.

Lena entered the Whipping Chamber first—and what else could Kennedy call her surroundings but "the Whipping Chamber?"  The evilly smiling Lena was dressed as before: sandals, jeans, and a black tank-top.  In her right hand was a leather leash, the kind one would use to control a large dog, and at the other end of the leash—

"Mrrrk?"

Vivienne minced into the chamber behind Lena, and mincing was her only choice.  Her feet were laced into a wicked pair of black knee boots.  They kept her feet on point, like a ballerina's toe shoes, laced up the front, and had ridiculously elevated spike heels.  Viv was on tiptoe, like Kennedy, and but for her boots and other restraints was just as naked.  Her arms were folded behind her back and encased in a black leather tube or bag or whatever you call such things, with a harness of black straps pinning her upper arms to her sides and yoking her shoulders.  Her head was laced into a skintight, black leather hood with only her nose, the tops of her bulging cheeks, her blue eyes, and her forehead and bangs exposed.  Finally, a wide, black leather collar was buckled around her neck.  It was the collar to which the leash was attached.

Lena sauntered close to Kennedy's stretched form with Viv mincing in her wake.

Kennedy stared, wide-eyed, at Lena's hands, for they were approaching her breasts!  And then—"Nrrrf!"—Lena cupped said breasts and began toying with her nipples with thumbs and forefingers.  "M'mmpfh!"  Kennedy's temper flared, once again, but now it was tempered by her surroundings and the time she'd spent contemplating the contents of the whip-rack.  She stared daggers, again, but they were somewhat dull and blunt.

"I've never been a huge fan of either freckles or red hair," Lena purred, "but I'm beginning to see the attraction."  She nodded back over her shoulder at Vivienne.  "Snow White, back there, is attractive in her own way.  Pale, clear skin, fine, dark-brown hair... very pretty.  Your skin is also pale, Gingerella, where it isn't dappled by freckles; but even in the freckle-free areas, it's peachy-pink... from all those millions of tiny ginger hairs."  Lena's smile widened.  "I like those names.  From now on, you're Gingerella, and you—"  She turned to Vivienne.  "—are Snow White."

Kennedy glared at Lena.  Whips, crops, canes, paddles, and floggers be damned!  She was not going to answer to a pet name... except for Viv.  Viv could call her 'Ken-doll' if she liked, but Lena could take 'Gingerella" and shove it!  "Mrrrrpfh!"

Lena dropped Vivienne's leash and strolled to the rack.

Once again, Kennedy's heart was hammering, if it had ever stopped.  She watched as Lena ran her right hand over the hanging instruments.  "You may not believe me," the blonde sighed, "but I don't enjoy inflicting pain.  But just as a devoted mother sometimes finds it necessary to paddle the bare bottom of a misbehaving toddler, a Mistress must whip a wayward slave.  Discipline is important."  Her hand tightened around the grip of a long, thin cane, and she lifted it from its hook.

Kennedy's eyes were glued to the cane, as were Vivienne's.  It was about a meter in length.  At the braided leather handle it was about three-quarters of an inch in diameter, then gradually tapered to about a quarter-inch at the tip.  Lena took a couple of steps away from the rack and gave the cane a sweeping swing.  Kennedy winced at the whistling sound of its passage through the warm, still air.

Vivienne winced as well, then whined through her gag and hood as Lena turned in her direction and used the tip of the cane to point at the floor.

"Down on your knees, Snow White," she ordered.  "Then lean forward and touch those milky white tits to the floor."

Vivienne settled to her knees, as ordered, then leaned forward until her nipples and forehead kissed the hard stones.  This put her vulnerable, naked butt very much on display.

Lena lifted the cane until the last several inches of its sinister length hovered above Viv's butt-cheeks, then gave the pale-pink globes a deliberate tap.

Vivienne flinched at the instant of contact, even though the blow wasn't really a blow and couldn't possibly have been painful.

Lena lifted the cane, paused, then brought it down with sufficient force to cause a loud smack—it was loud in the otherwise silent chamber, anyway.  Both buttocks dimpled and rebounded from the impact, and the cane left behind a red stripe.  It wasn't a welt or a cut, but it was there, and it slowly faded from red... to reddish pink... to light pink.

"No, I've changed my mind," Lena said as she returned the cane to the rack.  "I don't want to stare at a pair of zebras for the next week."  Again her hand traveled along the dangling instruments, causing them to sway.  Finally, she lifted a flogger from the rack.

Kennedy froze in her bonds.  The flogger had twenty or more long, thin, ribbon-like tails dangling from a braided handle.  Its overall length was about eighteen inches, or maybe a little more, and the tails swayed and rattled together as Lena slid her wrist through the retaining strap and gripped the handle.

"Yes, discipline is important," Lena sighed as she slowly, deliberately strolled behind Kennedy's back.

Kennedy's anger was gone, replaced by fear.  Her blue eyes wide and staring into space, she panted through her gag and her breasts heaved.

"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me," Lena said.  There was a pause.  And then...

"Mrrrpfh!"

A seriously painful blow had landed on Kennedy's back!  And was followed by another!  And another!

"Mmmf!"

A total of six blows punished Kennedy's back.  And then...

"Nrrrrm!"

Six deliberate blows landed on her buttocks.

Kennedy continued panting and her breasts continued to bob as she endured the flogging.  Her eyes were wet with tears.

Lena continued working over Kennedy's back, buttocks, and thighs.  Blow after blow stung her flesh.  And then... finally... the punishment stopped.

Kennedy panted and sobbed through her gag.  Her back was on fire from her shoulders to the backs of her knees.  She knew she had to be bleeding.  The flogger had to have sliced her open in a thousand places.  She let her head drop, and through her tousled ginger curls she watched drool drop from her ball-gagged mouth to the floor, directly between her splayed legs.  Surprisingly, there was no blood splatter, nor was blood dripping down her legs and pooling around her aching toes.

Lena stepped close to Vivienne's kneeling form, lifted her hand, and let the tails of the flogger slide across the shivering captive's buttocks and thighs.

Kennedy noted the absence of blood on the tails.  Maybe it was the black leather, but there was no evidence the cruel instrument had turned her back, butt, and thighs into mincemeat.

"I want you to promise to be good little slave-girls and follow Mistress' every command from now on," Lena said.  "Will you do that for Mistress?  Will you, Snow White?"

Vivienne shook her head in agreement.

"Good girl," Lena chuckled, then smiled at Kennedy.  "Gingerella?"

Kennedy gazed at Mistress—at Lena—through wet eyes and continued to sob.

Lena sighed, drew back her arm, and delivered a solid whack to Vivienne's buttocks.

"Mrrrf!" the brunette pixie complained.

"Gingerella?" Lena repeated, holding the flogger at the ready.

"Nnnnh!" Kennedy nodded in frantic agreement.  At least some of her anger was returning, but mostly, she was a submissive, well-punished slave-girl.

Lena let her arm drop, then returned the flogger to the rack.

Kennedy watched as Lena pulled a small plastic bottle from her hip pocket, snapped open the lid, and poured a dollop of white creme into her left palm.  As she strolled back behind Kennedy's spreadeagled form, again, she capped the bottle, returned it to her pocket, and rubbed her hands together.

"I really don't enjoy punishing you," she purred, "but I do enjoy this part."

Kennedy flinched as Lena's cold, oily hands began gliding over her shoulders and back.  It hurts!  And it burns!  And... Kennedy shivered in her bonds.  ...it feels good!  Go figure.  She was still sobbing, a little, but had decided she was glad Lena was rubbing what was obviously some sort of ointment on her horrible wounds.  Lena's hands continued to glide, and strangely, their passage over Kennedy's skin was smooth... which meant her skin had to be smooth... as in not sliced to ribbons.  Go figure.

"Such a pretty shade of pink," Lena whispered as she continued massaging the creme into Kennedy's flesh.  Her hands slid down the stretched, shivering captive's shoulders and spine and gave a full, even coat to the ginger's pink buttocks.

Kennedy's thighs were next... then her buttocks, again.  Kennedy continued to shiver.  Then, she gasped through her gag and froze in her bonds.  Lena's oily fingers were sliding through her crotch from behind, and were caressing her labia!  And they continued caressing her labia!  And the creme burned!  And it felt good!  Kennedy stared into space, then let her gaze settle on Vivienne.  Her fellow slave-girl's butt—her fellow prisoner's butt, she corrected herself—was a rosy pink, but not at all damaged.  The stripe from the cane was still there, but only just.  Viv's face was turned towards Kennedy, and despite the hood she could tell her friend was... jealous?  No, Kennedy knew she had to be mistaken.  It was anger, anger directed at Mistress.  That had to be it.

Suddenly—"Mrrrf?"—Lena's hand went away.  Kennedy shivered and tugged on her wrist cuffs, looked back over her shoulder and watched Lena first fiddle with the windlass, then turn the crank.  The chains lowered a few inches... then Lena locked the drum.  Kennedy's feet were now flat on the floor, for which she was very grateful, especially her toes.

"All right, then," Lena said as she strolled to Vivienne, took hold of her leash, and gave it a tug.  Vivienne awkwardly but obediently scrambled to her booted feet.  "Take the rest of the day to settle into your new role, Gingerella," Lena continued.  "Your inventory work will resume tomorrow.  And for the record, I'm revoking your clothing privileges."  She gave Vivienne's leash a snap.  "Both of you."

Kennedy watched with dismay as Lena led Viv through the door, then closed it behind them.  She heard a key turn in the lock... followed by silence.  She tugged on her wrist cuffs, again.  With her feet on the floor she had additional leverage, but it wasn't nearly enough for her to extricate her hands, not by orders of magnitude.

I have to get out of here, Kennedy thought, then remembered her fellow slave-girl.  Viv and I have to get out of here.

Lena led Vivienne upstairs.  As the leash was still snapped to her collar and the other end was in Lena's hand, the pale-skinned pixie had little choice.  She minced up the stairs, tottering on her ridiculous and increasingly uncomfortable ballet-boots.  Their destination was the kitchen.

"Sit," Lena ordered, pointing at the table and chairs.  She then went to the large refrigerator and started transferring items from its various drawers and shelves to the work island.

Meanwhile, Vivienne managed to pull a chair away from the table using the toe of her right boot.  She then eased her butt down onto the seat and heaved a gagged sigh.  The foam ball, strip of Elastoplast tape, and the mouth-panel of the Gwen hood encasing her head effectively sealed her lips, but she managed a sigh.  She watched Lena slice carrots, celery, onions, and potatoes, and place them in a slow cooker.  This was followed by homemade broth, various dried and fresh herbs, and chunks of meat.  Vivienne wasn't sure whether the red cubes were beef or venison.  Her toes ached, but they weren't too bad.  Her toes weren't the reason her eyes were sad and glistening with unshed tears.

Lena finished assembling the stew, placed the slow cooker's lid in place, and set the controls.  She then washed her hands, dried them with a kitchen towel, and walked over to Vivienne.  Hands on hips, she gazed down at the helpless captive as Vivienne gazed back.  Lena also heaved a sigh, then opened her arms.  "C'mere, Snow White," she purred.

Vivienne winced as she climbed to her feet—her poor, ballet-booted feet—then heaved another sigh as Lena pulled her into a warm embrace.

"You silly little thing," Lena said quietly, continuing the embrace.  "What did you think was going to happen?  How did you think I was going to introduce poor little Gingerella to her new life?  Did you really think Kennedy McKidd was going to salute, fall in line, and volunteer to join you in slavery?  'Oh, thank you, Viv!  Thank you Lena!  Please lock me in chains and keep me as your sexual plaything forever!'  You knew this was coming when you set everything in motion."

Gag aside, Vivienne was at a loss for words.  It was her fault.  That is, Kennedy's current predicament was her fault, but she was sure it would all turn out well in the end.  Lena and Auntie Renee were hardly innocent bystanders, but Viv had betrayed her friend... or had given her a great gift.  Time would tell.

Lena scooped Vivienne into her arms and carried her from the kitchen.  She smiled as the helpless, nearly-naked captive rested her hooded head against her breasts.  "You must be punished for making me be so mean," Lena said softly.  "You know I don't like being mean."

Vivienne shivered in Lena's strong arms.  She was also smiling, as best her gag and hood would allow.  She knew Lena meant mean-like-a-meanie, not mean-like-Lena.  The flogging she'd given Kennedy had been mean, but she hadn't broken Ken-doll's skin, or even left behind any telltale stripes, weals, or bruises.  Vivienne had suffered far worse ordeals in that very same chamber, and from the very same flogger.  She'd recognized the distinctive braiding of the handle as Lena lifted it from the rack.  Yes, far worse ordeals, but also without residual stripes, weals, or bruises.  Lena was an expert at being mean.  She was also a great big teddy bear of a softie at heart—but a teddy bear with a whip.

They entered Vivienne's bedroom and Lena sat on the bed with Vivienne still in her arms.  "Don't dwell on the process, Snow White," Lena purred, smiling down at her precious prisoner.  "Focus on the outcome.  Focus on Gingerella as your companion in captivity.  Focus on the ways you'll comfort each other."

Vivienne blinked back tears as she gazed into Lena's smiling face.  I guess she's serious about the new nicknames, she thought.  'Snow White.'  Could be worse, and 'Gingerella' is seriously cute.  She heaved another sigh, then—"Urk?"—her eyes popped wide. Lena's left hand was between her legs and her strong, tan fingers were caressing her pussy!

"Don't you dare cum until I give you permission, Snow White," Lena whispered.  "You're a wicked, wicked girl for making me be mean to your friend, and you must be punished."

Vivienne shivered and squirmed, testing her inescapable bonds, but she didn't try and clench her thighs together or roll away from Lena's horrible (wonderful) hand.

"Don't you dare cum," Lena reiterated.  "Wicked girls don't get to cum, not for a very long time."

Kennedy hung in her bonds and endured.  Actually, she just stood there in the same old spreadeagled pose, having no other option.  She'd come to accept the fact that her butt, back, and thighs weren't mincemeat.  The distress of the flogging had been greatly mitigated by the ointment Lena had rubbed on the affected areas.  And afterwards, after "Mistress" and "Gingerella's" fellow slave "Snow White" had departed, leaving her alone in the Whipping Chamber, the burn had gradually faded.  Currently, the aftermath of her punishment was no worse than a mild sunburn.

Time passed.

The burn faded even more.

Kennedy heaved a ball-gagged sigh and closed her eyes.  She didn't intend on taking a nap.  She just wanted to give her peepers a rest.  The lights in the chamber were bright.  But after a while... she fell into a sort of half-slumber... and she dreamed.

Auntie Renee was Queen Renee.  Vivienne was a princess.  Lena was Captain of the Guard (of course), who swaggered about in skintight leather armor worthy of Xena.  Kennedy was Princess Vivienne's noble companion and best friend.  They'd been kidnapped and spirited away to one of the Queen's many castles.  It was all part of the ongoing dynastic squabbling that had plagued the kingdom for decades—all very Game of Thrones, but without the gratuitous beheading, throat-cutting, and eye-gouging.  Gratuitous torture, on the other hand...

Kennedy had to get away.  She had to escape the castle, and if she couldn't take Princess Viv with her, she'd go alone, make her way to a neighboring kingdom, and return with a band of elite warriors to rescue her friend.  Yes, that was the solution.  The problem was, of course, how to do it?  Tower cells, dungeons, chains, cruel guards, and Captain Lena, whose purpose in life seemed to be breaking the Princess' will by doing nasty things to Kennedy.  The Queen was ultimately at fault, of course, but Her Highness wasn't here.  So... what to do?

Suddenly, Kennedy snapped awake.  The chamber door had been unlocked and was swinging opening.  Lena had returned.  She was dressed in sandals, jeans, and black tank-top, rather than leather armor.  Kennedy blinked and glared at her torturer.

"Okay, Gingerella," Lena purred, "time to get you upstairs.  You've been lounging around down here long enough."

Kennedy didn't bother forcing gagged expletives through the rubber ball strapped in her mouth.  Nor did she do anything other than continue to glare as Lena produced the black hood and slipped it over her head.  She also stood perfectly still and offered no resistance as Lena released her wrist-cuffs and tied her wrists behind her back with a length of cord.  Nor did she resist when her ankles were released, her feet pulled together, and her ankles lashed together with more cord.

Next—surprise, surprise—Kennedy was hoisted onto Lena's shoulder and carried from the chamber.  Does she do this for exercise? Kennedy wondered.  I'd walk if she'd let me.

And at that instant, Phase One of Kennedy's Master Plan fell into place.  She knew she couldn't instantly transform into an obedient submissive, Lena would never buy it.  What she had to do was slowly, carefully, dial back the feisty redhead and dial up the meek ginger slave-girl.

As for Phase Two... that was still coming together.

Kennedy was too tired and frazzled to keep track of where Lena was taking her.  What was the point?  Mistress was in charge.

Kennedy did complain—"Mrrrk!"—when she was dumped off Lena's shoulder and onto a soft surface, a bed.  She felt Lena untying her wrist bonds, then Mistress stepped away.  Kennedy tugged on her bonds and pulled her wrists free of the cord.  She was reaching for her hood when she heard the door close and a key turn in the lock.  She sat up in bed, pulled the hood from her head, shook her ginger curls from her face, and blinked in the sudden light.

Viv's bedroom, Kennedy realized.  She turned her head and found Vivienne, herself, sharing the bed.  She was dressed, meaning undressed, and restrained as before, with the addition of a length of cord binding her booted ankles together.  Kennedy unbuckled and removed her gag and tossed it away.  Then, eyes locked with her fellow prisoner, heaved a sigh and set about removing Viv's more complicated gag.

The hood laced up the back, but the bow or knot was under Viv's collar, so Kennedy had to unbuckle and remove it first.  As she released the bow and worked on loosening the hood's laces, she noted that the buckles of the straps of Viv's arm bag or sleeve—or whatever you call the damn thing—were all secured by tiny padlocks.  There was no key in sight, so Vivienne's encased arms would remain folded behind her back for the immediate future.

The hood was finally loose enough for Kennedy to pull it from Vivienne's head, which revealed her tape-gag.  "Of course," Kennedy muttered, rolling her eyes.  She then carefully teased back a corner and removed the Elastoplast strip.  As always, the adhesive was reluctant to relinquish its hold and stretched Viv's lips and the skin of her lower face as Kennedy peeled it away.  Vivienne opened her mouth and Kennedy plucked the foam ball from her mouth.  She stared at the saliva-soaked ball with a disgusted frown, then tossed it away.  "Well..."  Kennedy gave Viv a cool stare.  "Care to say something?"

Vivienne licked her lips, then swallowed.  "Uh... drink of water?" she croaked.

Kennedy held her unamused expression for a beat... then climbed off the bed, paused for a full-body stretch, and headed for the bathroom.  To her surprise, all of Viv's small, personal items hadn't been removed, as they'd been in Kennedy's own guest bathroom.  Everything was there: toothbrush, toothpaste, other toiletries, including a disc-shaped plastic razor suitable for leg shaving but useless as a weapon, and a plastic cup.  She let the cold water run for a few seconds at the washbasin... then filled the cup and drank the contents.  She then refilled the cup and returned to the bedroom.

Kennedy held the cup so Viv could drink, then set it on the nightstand.  "Well?"

Vivienne sat on the bed, her booted and bound feet tucked to one side.  Her sad, blue eyes were downcast.  She wouldn't look her friend and fellow captive in the eyes.  "Y-you hate me," she sobbed.

"Oh, get a grip, Snow White," Kennedy huffed.  "We've been over that, before Mistress Lena-bitch flogged my ass.  I don't hate you.  Tell me what the hell is going on, this time in detail.  What does your Auntie Renee have to do with it, and what do you have to do with it?"

"I..."  Vivienne's gaze rose to meet her naked, unbound friend.  "Uh, you think I have something to do with—"

"Don't even try," Kennedy interrupted.  "I know you.  And I'm not stupid."

Vivienne dropped her gaze, again.  "Uh... okay.  But could you do me a favor and get me out of these boots?  They hurt."

"As bad as being flogged?" Kennedy huffed.

Viv still couldn't meet Kennedy's eyes, and she heaved a sad, epically tragic sigh.

Kennedy rolled her eyes, again, then set about the task of first unbinding Viv's ankles, then unlacing her boots.  Untying and unwinding the cord took seconds.  The boots took a while longer.  But finally, she was able to extract Vivienne's pointed feet from the ridiculously cruel and impractical footwear, first the left, and then the right.

Vivienne heaved a shivering sigh of relief as each boot was removed, then gave her friend a weak smile.  "Thank you.  I already told you how Auntie Renee decided you should come for a visit, and the inventory of the furniture is just an excuse, well—"

"Hold that thought," Kennedy ordered, then left the bed and strolled towards the bathroom.  "I need a shower.  Wait right there."

Vivienne stared at the closing bathroom door, then smiled.  Seconds passed, and she heard the shower start running.  At least she's not hysterical, the mostly naked, mostly helpless brunette pixie mused.

The hot shower was glorious!  Kennedy scrubbed herself clean, shampooed her hair, then rinsed away the soap and shampoo, taking her time and using a scandalous amount of hot water.  She didn't care.  It felt good.  So did drying herself with a giant, fluffy towel.  She also used Vivienne's toothbrush to brush her teeth.  Last night they'd spent hours examining each others mouths and teeth with their lips and tongues, in great detail, so who was worried about a few germs?  She briefly considered wrapping the towel around her torso, but decided the S.S. Modesty had sailed some time ago, leaving poor, naked Ken-doll stranded on the pier at Port Nudity.

Her ginger curls tousled and still slightly damp, Kennedy exited the bathroom to find Vivienne kneeling on the carpet in the center of the bedroom.  Her arms were still folded behind her back and encased in leather, but she was otherwise free, naked and free.  Also, a serving cart had appeared near the bed.  On it was a quart-size ceramic serving dish with lid, an acrylic ladle, a folded cloth napkin, a ceramic soup mug, and an acrylic "spork," one of those combination spoons and forks.  There was also an acrylic pitcher of beer and a single acrylic glass.

"I take it 'Mistress' delivered dinner?" Kennedy asked.

Vivienne nodded.  "She said you're to feed me, and not to make a mess."

Hands on hips, Kennedy stared at her friend.  "Why are you kneeling like that?"

"Position One," Vivienne explained.  "Whenever Lena is in Mistress mode, I'm to kneel in her presence, hands atop the head with fingers interlaced—unless I'm bound, of course—and I'm not to look her in the eyes without permission.  I assume you'll have to do the same... from now on."

"Don't hold your breath waiting for that to happen," Kennedy huffed, then strolled to the cart and lifted the lid from the dish.  Steam laden with a delicious aroma wafted forth, and Kennedy's stomach growled.  The dish held a generous portion of some sort of stew, easily enough for two hungry slave-girls.  "Why are you still kneeling like that?" Kennedy demanded.

Viv blinked in surprise.  "Oh.  Yeah.  Uh, I don't know."  She scrambled to her feet and strolled over to stand beside Kennedy at the cart.  "That looks good," she said, staring into the dish.  She turned her head and kissed Kennedy's cheek.  "You have to do what she says, Ken-doll," Vivienne sighed.  "She's in charge."

"Hah," Kennedy huffed.  "Sit on the bed," she ordered, then ladled stew into the mug.  As Vivienne padded to the bed and sat, Kennedy placed the spork in the mug, poured beer into the glass, then carried the mug, glass, and napkin to the bed.  She took a sip of beer, then set the glass on the nightstand.  "I've changed my mind," she said, then pointed at the carpet.  "Position One."

Vivienne heaved a sigh, then stood and dropped to her knees.  Her nipples were now inches from Kennedy's freckled knees.  "I knew it," she pouted.  "You hate me."

"Shut up and talk.  Tell me what's going on," Kennedy ordered, then took a bite of stew.

"Uh, which is it?" Viv responded.  "Shut up, or talk?"  Her eyes were on the mug as Kennedy chewed and swallowed... then took a second, deliberate bite of stew.  That was the ginger's only answer.  "Okay, Lena and I started playing the game, like I told you.  Auntie Renee knows all about it, of course.  Apparently, the Vidlers have been a kinky clan since... forever, all the way back to the old country."

"You hide it well," Kennedy drawled, then took a sip of beer.  "At least you did at school."

"I guess it's like a hidden talent," Vivienne sighed.  She licked her lips, just a little, and shifted her gaze from the beer to the stew, and back.  "Only blossoms under the right circumstances.  Anyway, we play the game, then Auntie suggested you join us.  She thinks I'm getting depressed or something.  I told her I'm not, but—"

"Join you?" Kennedy demanded.  "Join you in slavery?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."  She managed a weak smile.  "It's just a game."

"No, a game is something you choose to play," Kennedy huffed.

Vivienne shrugged.  "I didn't think she'd go this far this fast," she admitted.  "I thought we'd ease you into it."

"So, you are in on the whole kidnap Kennedy thing," Kennedy accused, then gulped more beer.

"I thought you'd... like it?"

Kennedy rolled her eyes.  "Well, I don't.  Tell her you're calling it off."

"I can't," Vivienne sighed.  "Lena's in charge.  Actually, Auntie Renee's in charge, but Lena's our Mistress.  The game has already started."

"So, I'm supposed to pretend to be your fellow slave?" Kennedy demanded.

"Yeah," Vivienne sighed.  "Just like I'm pretending to be locked in this armbinder and the bedroom door's pretending to be locked and the windows are pretending to have bars."

Kennedy stared at her friend and "fellow slave."  She's crazy.  No, she's brainwashed... or thinks this really is going to be fun.  I have to get out of here, and I can't rely on Viv for help.  She sporked more stew into her mouth, then noticed Vivienne's hungry gaze, scooped up a load of stew, and fed it to her fellow slave.

Okay, Kennedy thought, Phase Two of Escape From Stalag Vidler: gather intelligence.  I not only need to find a way out of the Castle, but I need to know where to go.  She held the glass for Viv to drink, then took a sip herself, continuing to gaze at Vivienne.  This would probably be a lot easier if I wasn't an escape committee of one, but I can't trust her. I love her... maybe... but I can't trust her.