by Van ©2017
		Chapter 1

You can't say Kelly McBride takes unnecessary risks.

At the moment, the door to her crappy studio apartment was double-locked, and with the chain engaged for even more security.  Also, all the windows were closed and latched with carefully measured scraps of wood propped in place to make them impossible to jimmy from the outside, even though there was no fire escape and a five story drop to the alley below.  Granted, said crappy apartment was in a relatively low crime area of Brooklyn, but given the circumstances of the evening, caution was appropriate.

Kelly, a 20-something, 5' 6", professional waitress, wore her red hair cropped short in a practical, charming, and tip-inducing pixie-cut and was blessed with clear, pale skin that blushes peach-pink and blossoms with freckles after extended solar contact.  Also, she has big green eyes and a memorable smile, both of which are also tip-inducing.  She watches her diet and exercises on a regular basis, and as a result her shapely body has excellent muscle tone and is pretty close to the ideal body fat index.  Her boobs are nicely shaped (if she does say so herself), albeit not particularly large.

And at the moment, Kelly was writhing on her bed, completely naked, tightly and inescapably bound, and quite effectively gagged.

Specifically, Kelly's mouth was stuffed to capacity with a pretty but slightly worn cotton bandana that was held in place under several stretched, tight layers of an allegedly "flesh"-colored elastic bandage that covered her mouth and more-or-less mummified her lower face with its ends firmly knotted together at the nape of her neck.  Also, the neck in question was buckled in a wide, stiff, restrictive leather collar, her only item of actual " fetish gear".  She'd picked it out in a nice little Goth/Sex shop in the Village.

In terms of bondage, an inch-and-a-half-wide brown leather belt, regularly perforated by pairs of holes along its entire length and secured by a double-tongued buckle, pinned her upper-arms to her torso and squashed her breasts.  A second, identical belt tightly bound her folded legs together, pressing against her shins and dimpling the flesh of her thighs.  In addition, a length of cotton clothesline encircled her waist and passed through her crotch, cleaving her pussy and butt-cheeks and securing the connecting chain of the pair of chromed steel Peerless handcuffs currently locked around her wrists.  Finally, her big toes were bound together by means of a milky-white plastic cable-tie.

Kelly McBride was naked, well-gagged, and inescapably bound!  Who had done this dastardly deed?  Who had perpetrated this act of despicable depravity?  The answer was simplicity itself: Kelly McBride.

The self-imprisoned prisoner writhing on her bed had been into self-bondage since junior high school.  It wasn't what one could call an obsession, but Kelly did enjoy the occasional bout of "restrained relaxation".  While attending high school and later community college Kelly had taken the precaution of having a "safety" in the form of her giggling BFF, Bess Ryder.  Before capturing herself, Kelly would alert Bess that she would have to come to her rescue in the event that she didn't receive an all's clear phone call by a prearranged time.  Unfortunately, the use of that sensible safeguard had ended when they both graduated and moved on to the big-wide-world of full employment.

Kelly had paid her tuition with various waitress jobs and she'd continued this "career" after completing her Associate's degree.  Unfortunately, there was no way she could afford to continue her studies at a four-year school and earn her Bachelor's.  Actually, Kelly had big plans to move up in the restaurant world from waitress to hostess to assistant manager, eventually winding up at a fancy Manhattan establishment and making the semi-big bucks.

Bess, on the other hand, had taken a job as a live-in maid, of all things.  Actually, Bess explained on those rare occasions when their mutually busy schedules allowed the friends to meet for drinks, the job was more that of "lady's companion" than maid, although some housework was involved.  Kelly didn't see the attraction.  She'd much rather spend long hours on her feet with a glued-on smile taking orders and carrying food to tables of snooty women and leering men.  Anyway, Bess was no longer reliably available for safety duty, so Kelly was forced to rely on herself.

Dangerous?  Not really, in Kelly's humble opinion, not if she kept things smart and simple, and that meant the old standby of handcuffs and an ice-timer.

On self-bound occasions (such as tonight) that meant the key to the cuffs binding her wrists could be found dangling at the end of a stout, braided nylon cord and suspended several feet above Kelly's fluttering fingers, out of reach no matter how she struggled, stretched, and groped in "desperation."  However, after an hour or two... or three... the key would reliably and automatically drop within her easy reach.

The details of Kelly's system were as follows:  The far end of the cord was tied to an eye-bolt screwed into the ceiling at the far end of the apartment.  The other end passed through a second eye-bolt directly over the bed (and Kelly), then was tied to a hefty fishing weight from which dangled six additional inches of cord and the handcuff key.  Meanwhile, in the center of the room and well away from the bed, the middle of the cord passed through the hook of a "suet cage birdfeeder" containing ice cubes and resting in a large bowl on the floor.

The fishing weight outweighed the empty cage and was more than sufficient to lift it from the bowl and thereby allow the key to drop within range of Kelly's fingers, but not with the added weight of ice in the cage.  In other words, the ice had to melt before gravity would allow Kelly to free herself, and the more ice in the cage, the longer she'd have to wait.

The system was elegantly engineered, well-tested, and foolproof, but Kelly was no fool.  There was a backup.  The second key that had come with the cuffs was on the nightstand and within Kelly's semi-easy reach.  There was a catch, of course.  The key in question was at the bottom of a decorative, 16 oz. Mason jar full to the top with honey.  If Kelly decided she needed to avail herself of said backup key to free herself, she couldn't do so without unscrewing the lid and making an unavoidable and colossally sticky mess she'd have to clean up afterwards.  It was a contingency she never intended to exercise.

Aficionados of the self-bondage experience might wonder why there was no vibrator tied between Kelly's legs and snuggled against her rope-cleaved pussy.  Kelly owned a wand-style Hitachi and had added it to her bondage ensemble a time or two, but after the initial orgasm she found the continued buzzing quickly turned into a decidedly unpleasant ordeal.  Even on its lowest setting the nonstop hum against her post-orgasmic, hypersensitive hoo-haw was the proverbial itch she couldn't scratch.  Kelly had plans to procure a programmable electronic timer to turn the thing on and off at regular intervals and thereby allow for reasonable rest periods, but she hadn't gotten around to it.

Maybe now I'll have the time, Kelly thought as she relaxed in her self-imposed bondage, before I run out of money and get thrown out onto the street.

A week ago, along with the rest of the restaurant staff, Kelly had been informed that Portabella, the trendy bistro at which she was currently employed, would be going out of business at the end of the month.  It wasn't the first time a place of work had closed on her, and Kelly knew she'd land on her feet.  She had several prospects, but unfortunately, some were slightly iffy and accepting any of them would mean a step or two back down the seniority ladder.  She had sufficient savings to last two or three months and knew she'd be getting a good letter of reference, but the uncertainty was something she would just as soon live without.

Kelly heaved a well-muffled sigh through her gag and tried to get back to concentrating on her current damsel-in-distress status.  She thrashed and struggled on the bed and mewled through her gag.  "Mrrrpfh!"  Help-help! she mentally declaimed, I've been kidnapped and... and...  Oh, screw it.  It was all very melodramatic, but she could tell that tonight it just wasn't gonna happen.  She was too worried about the impending job hunt.  This was a bad idea, Kelly decided, meaning her choice of the evening's recreation, and heaved another gagged sigh.

The problem was, of course, that her cleverly engineered delayed release system didn't give a fig if she'd changed her mind.  It worked whether or not she wanted to call off the exercise.  And to make matters worse... Kelly found she wasn't entirely sure precisely how many cubes she'd loaded into the cage before flopping onto the bed and rendering herself helpless.  Was it three or four?  Certainly no more than five.

That was another project she'd been putting off: running a Science Experiment and establishing the precise relationship between time 'til release and the number of ice cubes.  Up until now she'd just randomly loaded a few cubes in the cage and been "rewarded" with two or three hours of captivity... sometimes four.  Anyway, she'd just have to wait for the ice to melt... which might be a while... which would be a while.

Suddenly, Kelly's iPhone gleeped, announcing the arrival of a text message.

Well, Kelly thought, staring at the phone on the nightstand next to the jar of honey containing her backup handcuff key, whoever and whatever it is, I hope it's not time critical.

With the passage of time and the inevitable triumph of thermodynamics and gravity, Kelly freed herself and learned that the text was good news (maybe) and not an emergency.  The message was from Bess, and in her BFF's own thumb-typed words: "Have i got a deal 4 u!!!"   This marginally informative statement was followed by a smiley-face emoticon.

Kelly gazed at the message with a decidedly more dubious smile than the one on the screen.  Her BFF always meant well, but sometimes...

Kelly heaved a sigh and glanced at her bedside alarm clock.  It was too late to go out tonight, and from experience she knew Bess would want to explain whatever she was proposing in person so she could act smug and drag things out and milk the situation for all it was worth.  Therefore, the proposed "deal" would remain a mystery for the immediate future.

"This better be good," Kelly muttered as her thumbs began negotiating with Bess' thumbs for a mutually agreeable place and time to meet.

Thus it was that her next day off from Portabella—which was scheduled to be her final day off before the restaurant closed its doors forever—Kelly found herself climbing the front steps of a townhouse in Manhattan's decidedly upscale Upper West Side.  It was a really nice brownstone, borderline Gilded Age Robber Baron nice, in Kelly's humble opinion, not that she was much of a scholar of the architectural history of New York City.  She rang the front buzzer and waited.

Kelly watched through the thick glass of a sidelight as Bess-the-BFF opened the inner door, entered the vestibule, then opened the front door.  She looked Kelly up and down with a condescending air.  "I'm sorry," she intoned, eyeing Kelly's reasonably priced but undeniably flattering yellow dress, "riff-raff should use the servant's entrance in the rear."

Kelly responded with her best We-are-not-amused moue.  "Hilarious.  You're not doing a lot to dispel the whole 'snotty rich people' thing I was worried about, especially dressed like that."  She was referring to earlier conversations and Bess' current attire: a typical black and white maid's uniform of sensible shoes, trim-fitting dress with short sleeves and lace trim, apron, and lace bonnet.  The ensemble was modern and, Kelly admitted reluctantly, not that ugly, but it was a maid's uniform.  On the plus side, the skirt was short, almost mini-skirt short, and the scoop neckline allowed (meaning required) Bess to show a reasonable amount of cleavage; at least Kelly thought those attributes might be considered pluses.  Without a doubt Bess looked hot—not sexy-French-maid-Halloween-costume hot—but hot.

Bess unleashed her trademark goofy smile and Kelly fired back.  Both friends had smiles that could and had been characterized as goofy, even devastatingly goofy.

"I really appreciate this," Bess said as she stepped aside and held the door for Kelly to enter.  "Welcome to 'Castle York'," she added with a grand gesture.

"It isn't a done deal yet," Kelly retorted, "and shouldn't you be curtsying and groveling like I'm one of your employers' guests?  What if they come downstairs and find you acting human?  Won't you be fired?"

"In the first place," Bess chuckled as she closed the vestibule door behind them, "the York sisters might be super-rich, but they're really nice people.  And in the second place, they're both out for the day.  Even the cook is out.  We have the place to ourselves."

"Wonderful," Kelly said evenly as Bess led her down the central hallway.  She gave the various sitting rooms or parlors or whatever they called them the once over as they passed.  Without a doubt, the York sisters were loaded, really loaded.  From what she could see the townhouse screamed money.  Also, good taste.  Everything—furniture, drapes, carpets, the art on the walls—was expensive, but it was money well spent.  Nothing was gaudy or gauche (in Kelly's humble opinion).  Also, the place looked lived in, and had been that way for years, meaning generations.  If pressed, Kelly couldn't have put a finger on any specific details that had led her to that conclusion, but there was a lack of... sterility?  The townhouse was a home, not a Hollywood movie set or an exhibit in a style museum.

"I'll give you the grand tour," Bess said, "but first, I want you to see your room."

"You mean your room," Kelly huffed.  "Like I told you, this isn't a done deal yet.  Don't count your chickens before they cross the road."

"Point taken," Bess purred, "I suppose I am putting the cart before the gift horse's mouth."

Fractured Proverbs was an ongoing game between the two friends, and protocol required them to suffer each others efforts in stoic silence.

Anyway, the deal in question, the "deal" hinted at in Bess' text the night of Kelly's last excursion into self-bondage, was for Kelly to take Bess' place as the York sisters' live-in maid while Bess went on vacation for a month... meaning Kelly was being offered the "opportunity" of thirty days of servitude toiling as the domestic helper of a couple of rich old ladies.

They passed through a door and into what Kelly realized was "The Servant's Wing."  The hall was slightly narrower and the artwork sparse, but it was basically the same decor and ambiance as the brownstone's public area—what Kelly had seen of them thus far, anyway.

Bess opened a door and made a sweeping gesture.  "Ta-dah!"

Kelly took a step into the room and looked around.  "Uh... nice," she said evenly.  Actually, the room was more than nice.  It was nearly the size of Kelly's entire crappy apartment and the furniture was expensive and... nice.

Bess wasn't fooled.  She knew Kelly was impressed.

"Bathroom?" Kelly asked.

"Down the hall," Bess answered.  "You'll share it with the cook, also the sauna and soaking tub."

"No shower?" Kelly huffed.

"Yes, there's a shower," Bess purred.  "There's even a toilet.  And two sinks."

"Oh, two sinks," Kelly stated with mock gravity.  "La-de-da."

"Kelly," Bess sighed.

"Okay, it's nice," Kelly conceded, then turned to face her pouting friend.  "Don't look at me like that.  I said it was nice... and it is."

"C'mon," Bess said, her grin returning as she took Kelly by the hand.  "I'll show you the rest, starting with 'Her Majesty's Bedchamber'.  It's really nice."

"Again," Kelly sighed as she allowed herself to be hustled down the hallway and towards a rather narrow set of back stairs, "not dispelling the snotty rich people thing."

"Her Majesty is our nickname for Mistress Alice, the eldest York sister," Bess explained.  They began climbing the stairs to the second floor.

"And by 'our' you mean..."

"The cook and I," Bess chuckled.  "Or is it the cook and me?"

"It's simple," Kelly sighed.  "If you're a subject, use I.  If you're an object, use me."

"Subject to what?"

Kelly rolled her eyes.  "The subject of the sentence."

"I haven't been sentenced to anything.  And what if I don't object?"

Kelly unleashed her most devastating comeback: "Shut up."

"Shutting up," Bess chuckled, and they continued climbing the stairs.

The master bedroom was vast and luxurious, something Kelly found to be anything but surprising.  The bed was a solidly-built four poster with a king-size mattress, at least.  A smartly appointed and well organized walk-in closet held expensive shoes, dresses, and gowns for all occasions, enough to outfit an entire platoon of nice old ladies.  Kelly hadn't yet met "Mistress Alice", of course, but was willing to spot Bess her assertion that Alice York was "nice".  She could always change her mind later, right before turning down the substitute maid job and ruining her BFF's vacation plans.  There was also an attached master bathroom with a giant shower and a huge Jacuzzi-style tub, plus luxury versions of the usual washbasin and commode.

"So..." Kelly drawled, "you have to keep all of this clean?"

Bess shrugged.  "I make the bed in the morning and replace the towels, but a cleaning service comes in every week and does most of it, and except for the delicates the laundry is outsourced."

So..." Kelly drawled, again.  "I'll have to keep track of what I'm supposed do and not do in addition to actually doing it?"

Bess smiled.  "In a word, yes.  I'll make you a list."

"And the cook does the cooking?"

"Yes," Bess purred, "the cook does the cooking.  You will have to learn to prepare and serve tea in the proper English manner, but Cook will teach you."

Kelly frowned.  "The York sisters are English?"

Bess shook her head.  "No, the York sisters are American.  The cook is English, but the York sisters insist on English-style afternoon teas.  It impresses their guests."

"Okay," Kelly sighed as she turned towards the bedroom door.  "Might as well show me the rest of the place."

"Not yet," Bess chuckled, leading Kelly to the bed.  "I still need to show you something here."  She winked.  "There's an unusual aspect of the job I haven't yet divulged."

Kelly stared at her BFF.  "Well?"

Bess's lips curled in her best mischievous smirk.  "Mistress Alice and you share a common... shall we say... hobby?"

"What hobby?"

Bess opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a long, wide strap of brown leather with jingling brass hardware at either end and two wide, brown, padded leather cuffs attached.  With a practiced flip Bess arranged the strap across the middle of the bed, then reached back into the drawer, pulled out a second set of strap and cuffs, and arranged it across the bed much closer to the foot.  "Now," she said as she engaged a clip at the end of the middle belt with a fitting somewhere under the bed's side-rail, "these clamps are spring-loaded, so getting the required tension is quite literally a snap."  She secured the strap at the foot of the bed, then walked around the bed and engaged the clips or clamps or whatever they were at the far ends of both straps.  The belts in question were now tautly deployed across the neatly made bed with just enough tension to dimple the bedspread and the edges of the mattress. "See?  Easy-peasy!"

"M-medical restraints?" Bess gasped.  It didn't take any imagination whatsoever to envision a pair of ankles strapped in the lower cuffs and a two wrists in the middle pair at their owner's sides.

"Yes," Bess chuckled, "muh-medical restraints.  "Take off your shoes."

"Huh?"

Bess smiled and rolled her eyes.  "Take off your shoes.  I might as well show you how this works now, rather than later."

"Huh?"

"Don't be dim," Bess admonished.  "Mistress Alice likes to play at being a helpless prisoner.  Not every night, of course.  Maybe once a week.  Okay... twice a week."

"Huh?"

Bess rolled her eyes again.  "Fer cryin' out loud.  Take off your shoes and climb on the bed.  And don't you dare say 'huh' one more time."

Kelly swallowed nervously.  "My shoes?"

The mischief was back in Bess' smile.  "Can't have you ruining Her Majesty's bedspread, now can we?  C'mon.  You know you want to."

Kelly stared at the taut straps and empty cuffs on the bed.  They were medical-style restraints, but... obviously expensive.  If Gucci or Coach made kinky leather bondage goods, this setup would be in their catalogs.  Still staring at the waiting leather in a daze, Kelly shuffled her feet and eased out off her inexpensive but fashionable high-heeled pumps; then, as if coming out of said daze, shook her head.  "No.  No way."

"Yes way," Bess countered.  "It goes with the job."

Kelly returned to staring at the bed.  "But..."

"I have to show you how this works," Bess stated.

Kelly heaved a sigh, then climbed onto the mattress and reclined on her back in the center of the bed.

"That's my girl," Bess chuckled, lifted Kelly's right hand and placed it in the right cuff, wrapped the wide, padded, inner cuff around said wrist, tucked a slot in the inner cuff through a brass staple, slid the cuff's narrow outer strap through the staple, pulled out the slack with a firm jerk, then tucked the inner strap's end under a leather sleeve.

Kelly tugged on the cuff.  "That's tight," she complained.  The padded leather was also surprisingly comfortable, but she wasn't about to admit that to Bess.

Meanwhile, Bess was working her way around the bed.  She secured Kelly's right ankle... then her left ankle... and finally, her left wrist.  "It's supposed to be tight," she purred.  "And you'll find it quite impossible to reach the straps with your fingers."

Kelly confirmed her BFF's assertion by twisting her right wrist and groping with her fingers.  Her fingertips didn't even come close.  Just for good measure she kicked her bare feet and tugged on all four cuffs at once... then heaved a sigh of tragic proportions.

Not—going—anywhere, Kelly realized as a familiar thrill shuddered down her spine and between her legs.

"I call this the basic 'gingerbread-man' position," Bess explained, "arms at your sides and feet apart."

"And 'Mistress Alice' makes you do this to her?" Kelly asked.  "All night, or just for an hour or two?"

"Oh, all night," Bess answered.  "I tuck her in at bedtime, then release her in the morning."

"I see," Kelly muttered, then gave her wrist cuffs one last tug.  "Well, that's... something."  She mustered her best not-at-all-nervous smile and batted her big green eyes.  "Okay...  I see how this works.  Guess ya better let me go so we can finish the tour."

Bess grinned, sat on the edge of the bed, then unlaced and removed her sensible black maid-shoes.  She then scooted all the way onto the bed, close to her pinioned prisoner.  "What's your hurry?"

"Hey!" Kelly objected, squirming in her bonds and atop the still more-or-less neatly made bed.  "Hands!  Hands!"  The hands in question belonged to Bess, of course, and had just lifted Kelly's skirt and exposed her thighs and panties.  Kelly's bare legs were already exposed, of course, all the way down to the ankle-cuffs, as were her bare feet and wiggling toes.  And now one of Bess' hands was gently stroking Kelly's left thigh!

"Don't have cute little marmalade kittens," the naughty maid/BFF purred.

"Bess!" Kelly whined.  She kicked herself—mentally and metaphorically—and for multiple reasons.  (1) She'd let Bess talk her into her current predicament; (1A) and it hadn't taken a great deal of persuasion.  (2) It wasn't exactly a revelation that Bess had grabby hands.  She was also prone to loose lips—and as if to prove that very point Bess leaned close and planted a juicy wet one on Kelly's pouting face.  And finally, (3), or possibly (2A), Bess and Kelly had an adolescent history of using each other to "practice kissing boys."  It went way back, all the way to junior high; and the same went for "second base practice," the groping and/or pawing of breasts.  Bess also began proving that point (or sub-point) by cupping Kelly's left breast and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Bess," Kelly reiterated, tugging on her bonds yet again.  "Not now!"

"Why not now?" Bess chuckled as she gave Kelly's breast another squeeze and her lips another kiss.  "Like I said, I appreciate your holding down my job while I visit the folks.  I'm just proving it."

"And I said it isn't a done deal," Kelly countered.  "Mrrrrpfh!"  Her BFF's lips and tongue were back, and this time the kiss was wet and deep.  Also, Bess' hand had left her breast and was back on her thigh, her upper thigh.  "Mrrrrm!"

"Ahem."

Bess broke the kiss, turned to the bedroom door—then leaped to her bare feet, vacating the bed as if it had suddenly and magically been transformed into a hot stove-top!  "Mistress Alice!" she gasped, then regained her composure (poorly).  "You're home early."

Kelly lifted her head to find a quite attractive older women striding into the room.  She was 50-something, possibly 60-something, with reddish-brown hair and laughing brown eyes, and was dressed in an obviously expensive business ensemble: hose, skirt, blouse, and jacket.  Kelly blushed bright red.  Also, her heart started beating double-time and her breasts heaving.  Unfortunately, crawling under a rock was not a viable option.

"This would be your friend, Kelly McBride?" the woman—Mistress Alice—inquired, smiling down at Kelly.

"Y-yes, Mistress," Bess stammered.  The wayward maid was also blushing, like her soon-to-be replacement on the bed.  "I-I was just showing her how to... uh..."

"So I see," Alice purred.  She continued smiling down at Kelly for several seconds, then turned to Bess.  "Tea," she ordered.

Bess curtsied, muttered "Yes, Mistress," then stooped, grabbed her shoes, and bolted for the bedroom door.

Yes, Bess was abandoning Kelly to her fate!  She watched her BFF's rapid retreat—Coward!—then focused on Alice.  She's really hot for an old lady, the prisoner-of-the-bed decided.  In fact, she's a ten, an old lady ten.

Alice sat on the bed, as Bess had done, but kept her hands to herself.  "Pleased to meet you, Kelly.  Bess tells us you're a waitress."

Kelly noted her soon-to-be-employer was a redhead, a dark redhead, or maybe a reddish brunette.  Auburn, she decided.  "Uh, yeah," Kelly belatedly answered.  "And me too.  Pleased, I mean."  She tugged on her wrist bonds and bit her lower lip.  "I'm looking for a new job.  Portabella, my current gig, is going out of business."

"So Bess explained."  She reached out and placed a hand on the cuff imprisoning Kelly's left wrist.  "I hope you aren't shocked by my... eccentricity.  Bess assured me you have a similar interest and would be understanding."

Kelly nodded.  She was still blushing and was managing to refrain from tugging on her bonds, but found she couldn't suppress the delicate shiver rippling down her spine (and through her hoo-haw).  The situation was... unusual.  "I, uh, yes," she finally managed to answer.

Just then another strange woman entered the bedroom!

"According to Bess the new maid is here," the stranger said with a smile.

"And she is," Alice chuckled.  "Kelly, this is my sister, Wendy."

Kelly blinked her mortified green eyes and surrendered to the urge to resume tugging on her bonds.  Wendy York was 40-something and undeniably a redhead.  In fact, she was a bona fide ginger... of the freckled variety.  She was also stunning, every bit as attractive as her older sister in her own way.  Also like her sister, she was dressed for business in a skirt, blouse, and jacket.

"Pleased to meet you," Wendy said, her lips curled in a warm smile.  "Oh my.  I simply love your pixie-cut and big green eyes.  You're adorable."

"Uh, thanks," Kelly responded.  Normally, she didn't like being referred to as "adorable," but given the circumstances...

"I quite agree," Alice chuckled, "but let's not be rude.  Bess is making tea and I'm going to change.  Then, we can continue this interview like civilized people."

Wendy nodded.  "I'll change too."  She turned towards the door.  "I'm so glad you're here, Kelly."

"Uh... likewise... I think," Kelly responded as Wendy made her exit.  She was still blushing... and was beginning to worry it might become a permanent condition.

Meanwhile, Alice gave Kelly's left hand a reassuring squeeze, stood, and entered the walk-in closet.

For the moment, Kelly was alone... strapped to her potential temporary employer's bed... and unable to free herself.

Bess, Kelly thought, heaving a sigh, I am so going to kill you.  And it will be slow and gruesome.  She didn't mean it, of course, but she wasn't happy.

Kelly had already established that crawling under a rock wasn't a viable option.  She now eliminated drying up and blowing away, as well as developing Sudden Onset Super-strength and bursting her bonds like Wonder Woman or the She-Hulk.  That left only one possible course of action: acting casual.  She willed her heart to stop hammering and her breathing to return to normal.  Casual... so very casual.  It became her new mantra... and lasted all of about three minutes, the time it took for Mistress Alice to emerge from the walk-in closet.

The eldest York sister had changed into Moroccan sandals, faded designer jeans, and a very pretty white cotton blouse.  Apparently, casual was, indeed, to be the style of the interview.  Alice sat on the bed, as she had before, and smiled.  "Still here, I see," she purred.

"Uh, yeah," Kelly agreed.  Alice's manner was teasing, rather than gloating.  Having just met her, that was Kelly's impression, anyway.

"Now," Alice continued, "it is a live-in position, but we know you'll need to keep your apartment, so enough to cover a month's rent will be added to your compensation.  Also, you'll need to continue hunting for a new job, so we'll allow time off for that purpose."

"And we can help."  This last was from Wendy, who was breezing back into the room.  She'd changed into jeans and a cotton blouse, like Alice, but her feet were bare.  She sat on the bed opposite her sister and smiled.  "We have contacts in the restaurant community."

Kelly looked from sister to sister.  "Uh, thanks."

Just then Bess-the-despicable-traitor reentered the bedroom and curtsied.  "Tea is served in the garden parlor," she announced.

La-de-da, Kelly mused.

"Excellent," Alice said, then stood, as did her sister.  "Bess," the elder York sister continued, "please remove your shoes, release Ms. McBride, and take her place."

"Huh?" Kelly and Bess blurted simultaneously.

"Good idea, sis," Wendy chuckled, smiling at Bess.  "We'll be able to confirm that Kelly is a quick study."

Bess heaved a sigh, then her smile returned.  "But I need to serve the tea," she noted, "and Kelly doesn't know how."  Normally, that would be a winning argument, but not today.

"I'm sure we'll manage," Alice purred.

Bess' smile faded.  There was a brief pause... then she sighed, again, stooped and unlaced her shoes, kicked them off, and arranged them side-by-side at the foot of the bed.  She then climbed onto the bed and began the process of releasing Kelly's wrist cuffs.

Kelly didn't know whether to be relieved or smug, so she went with both.  "As I recall," she said quietly as Bess scooted down the bed to release her ankles, "this'll be the first time I get to tie you up.  When we were kids you were always the one with an excuse to teach me how to not escape."

Now Bess was the one blushing.  "Shut up," she whispered through clenched teeth.

From her prospective employers' smiles it was obvious that they had overheard.  "It's true," Kelly said for their benefit, then climbed from the bed and patted the surface.  "There ya go," she said, smiling at her BFF.  "Still warm."

Bess glowered at Kelly, flopped onto her back, and assumed the required position.  She continued glowering as Kelly secured her left wrist... her left ankle... her right ankle... and finally, her right wrist.

"Brava," Alice politely applauded.  Wendy applauded as well.

Kelly grinned and executed a theatrical bow.  Obviously, she was feeling much more at home in "Castle York" and had decided the new prisoner-of-the-bed's assertion that the sisters were "nice people" was 100% correct.  Kinky and nice, she noted, but what's wrong with that?

"Come," Alice said with a smile, extending her hand to Kelly.

Kelly took her prospective employer's hand and allowed herself to be led from the bedroom.  Wendy was close behind.  Kelly looked back over her shoulder and shared what we hoped was her most infuriatingly smug smile with her BFF as she crossed the threshold.

"I'll be there in a moment," Wendy called.

Kelly watched as Wendy closed the bedroom door—from the inside, of course.

"This way, dear," Alice purred, and they continued down the hallway.

Bess watched nervously as Wendy returned to the bed.  She also tugged on her inescapable leather bonds for two reasons: (1) it was expected that she should put on a show, and (2) the smile curling the younger York sister's lips was disturbing (in a delightfully horrifying sort of way).

"You're a wicked girl," Wendy purred.  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to punish you severely."

"I was only following orders,' the captive maid observed innocently, batting her big brown eyes for added effect.

Wendy sat on the bed, reached out, and placed her right hand on Bess' uniform-covered lower tummy.  "My sister ordered you to strap your adorable little friend to her bed?  I find that unlikely."

"Not in so many words," Bess admitted.  "I decided to show initiative.  Yeah, let's go with initiative."

"No," Wendy chuckled, "let's go with wicked."  She lifted the lower hem of Bess' dress and tucked it under the apron's waistband, then leaned close and slid the squirming maid's panties down her hips to her mid thighs.  This left Bess fully exposed from the waist down, of course.  "There's only one thing to do with a wicked girl," Wendy purred, "but first..."

Bess lifted her head, craned her neck, and watched as Wendy leaned to the side and reached into the lowest drawer of the nightstand, the very drawer from which Bess had produced the straps and cuffs that had formerly bound Kelly to the bed and were now binding her.

"Where is it?" Wendy muttered... then her smile returned.  "Ah, it was way in the back."  She straightened up and held a ball-gag for Bess' inspection.  The spherical mouth-plug was black silicon-rubber, an inch and a half in diameter, and pierced by three round breathing holes.  The leather strap was the same richly textured brown as the straps and cuffs binding Bess and its buckle the same gleaming brass.

"It's in the back for a reason," Bess explained, affecting her best pitiful pout.  "Mistress Alice hates the thing.  She hardly ever wants me to use it on her."

"I see," Wendy chuckled, "which makes it the perfect thing for punishing wicked girls.  Open."

Bess heaved the appropriate theatrical sigh to go with her pout, then obeyed Mistress Wendy's order.  "Mrrrf!"  She found the ball to be a quite adequate plug, especially after Wendy tightened the strap at the nape of her neck and under her hair, tight enough to force the ball completely into her mouth and cause her cheeks to bulge.  She locked eyes with Wendy as the smiling ginger straightened her bangs.

"Now," Wendy purred, "I think we're ready to begin."

Bess tugged on her cuffs and watched as Wendy's right hand cupped her left breast and squeezed.  "M'mrpfh."  She then lifted her gagged head and continued watching as the hand slowly, gently slid down her stomach... through her neatly trimmed pubic bush... and cupped her pussy.

"I'll only have time to prime the pump, as the saying goes," Wendy said.  "Alice and your friend will be waiting for me in the parlor, and I could use a cup of tea."  Her index finger began massaging Bess' clitoris.

"Mrrrrrf!"

"Yes, this is only a foretaste, wicked girl," Wendy purred, slowling accelerating the pace and deftly stimulating some of Bess' absolutely favorite nerve endings.

The friging continued for a full minute... then longer.  Bess continued squirming and testing her bonds, as well as voicing her displeasure (meaning pleasure).

"Mrrrrm."

Wendy's smile was truly evil, and the finger performed its magic with skilled, experienced dexterity.

"Mrrrf."

Bess was close to cumming, very close.  "Nrrrrrm."  She closed her eyes and arched her back

And then, Wendy's finger was gone, leaving Bess in the lurch!

Bess opened her eyes as the bed shook.  Wendy was already striding towards the bedroom door.  "MRRRF!" she complained.

"I'll be back after your little friend has gone home," Wendy promised.  She opened the door, then paused in the threshold to gaze at the flustered, helpless captive on her sister's bed.  "Punishing wicked girls takes time."

"MMMMF!" Bess screamed as the door closed, then heard the click of the lock turning.  She heaved a gagged sigh and relaxed in her bonds.  Spending a month with her folks and hometown friends was going to be fun, but it would also be four weeks away from "Castle York."  Every silver lining has a cloud, she mused, then the twinkle returned to her eyes.

She knew (or was 99% sure) that Kelly was going to owe her big time when all of this was over.  Big time.