by Van © 2020
			Chapter 1

Mikki Clarke

On her tenth birthday, Michelle Clarke flipped her long, bright red curls from her face, set her pouting lips, and solemnly announced to the world that henceforth and forever more she would be known as "Mikki" Clarke ("with two 'i's and two 'k's").  She also began dotting the "i"s in her name with cute little hearts ("♥"), but only in her name, because dotting all her lowercase "i"s with hearts would be "mental."  Anyway, the hearts lasted until the middle of her freshman year in high school, at which time she decided to put girlish things behind her (like "gag-me-with-a-spoon-cutsie-little-hearts"), thus proving to the entire world that she was a fully mature adult and should be treated as such.

Mikki wanted to be a writer, and that being the case, kept a personal journal and filled notebook after notebook with story ideas and drafts.  Her English teachers were impressed with her imagination and rapidly blooming language skills and she got excellent grades.  Also, Mikki regularly published short stories in her high school newspaper (The Timberwolf Howl) and the school's Literary Journal (Paw Prints).  Mikki's future was bright.

Unfortunately, tragedy struck in her sophomore year when both of Mikki's parents were killed by a drunk driver in a terrible accident.  To say the least, Mikki was devastated, but her friends and the rest of the community provided the necessary support and she discovered she was made of sterner stuff than she had previously suspected.  She was adopted by two of her parent's close friends (who Mikki had always liked and quickly grew to love).  Luckily, they lived only a couple of blocks away from her old house, so she didn't have to change schools.  It took a while, but eventually, Mikki's life settled into a new normal.
 
Mikki's parents had provided for her higher education, and with her grades and recommendations, getting into Lewis & Clark University was a snap!

All freshmen at Lewis & Clark are required to either live in the dorms or commute from home, and in its cybernetic wisdom, the computer in the Campus Housing Office paired Mikki with an instant new friend who, in a matter of only a few weeks, became her Best Friend Forever.  (Truth be told, the roommates' circle of other friends considered them to be a bit of an odd couple, but the inexplicable bond was forged, nonetheless.)

Elke Björkqvist

The BFF in question was one Elke Björkqvist, a stunning blonde of Swedish extraction from out of state.  She was 5' 9", and therefore "tall."  (Mikki was 5' 6", so of course Elke was officially designated as "tall."  There was never any question.)

As for the diaresis or umlaut (omljud in Swedish) over the letter "o" in her last name, Elke used it only when writing her name by hand, never when typing it on a keyboard.  She knew the correct keystroke (Alt+0246), of course, and had since well before the time she first started getting excited about algebra (which was about the same time "Michelle" had announced to the world that she was "Mikki"), but Elke realized it would be pretentious and quite possibly irritating if she used the "ö" all the time.   It was one thing to celebrate one's Swedish heritage (half-Swedish/half-German, actually), but being a total and complete dweeb about it was something else.  "It would be like capping your lowercase 'i's with little hearts," she explained to Mikki.  That was soon after they'd exchanged the complete stories of their childhoods, and it may have been at that precise moment that the friends became BFF's.  Mikki really appreciated a good dig.

As for the stunning part, Elke was gorgeous.  The problem was, she either didn't know it or didn't care.  Her long, fine blond hair, symmetrical, girlish features, and stunning blue eyes turned heads, but Elke habitually dressed rather plainly and insisted on wearing glasses that she just barely needed.  In fact, Elke made it her habit to walk around campus in a plain white blouse and black skirt, unconsciously presenting the aspect of the stereotypical "schoolgirl in uniform."  It was a fashion scandal!

Mikki, being the gorgeously beautiful but not at all conceited red-haired goddess that she was, tried to help.  On more than one occasion she selflessly offered to use her superb style acumen to give her BFF a complete make over, but Elke always smiled her full-cheeked smile and politely declined.  (Actually, Elke's "Nerd Outfits," as Mikki put it, were clever camouflage.  They allowed her to glide between classes undetected and undisturbed by the campus Lotharios.  That was how Elke saw it, anyway.  Also, not caring about her wardrobe made dressing herself a lot cheaper and easier.)

Unlike clothing, however, there was something Elke very much cared about, and that was numbers.  Elke was a Math major, and she was good at it... even for a Math major.  While Mikki chalked up good grades in general and especially in English Literature and Creative Writing, Elke did the same in Math.  By her senior year, Elke was taking graduate-level courses and still doing well.  Numbers were her passion, as well as her hobby.  Mikki filled notebooks with stories.  Elke filled them with proofs.

And speaking of hobbies, in addition to her writing, Mikki indulged in another casual pastime: "Bondage Meditation."  That is, Mikki liked to tie herself up... for relaxation purposes, of course, as well as for literary research and inspiration.  The "Damsel-in-Distress" might be an overused literary cliché, but another word for cliché is classic.

Mikki wasn't fanatical about it, of course, only indulging in the practice now and again, and she was never all that elaborate with her, uh, arrangements.  A couple of turns of soft cotton clothesline around her ankles, maybe a few around her knees, maybe even a few around her upper arms and above and below the ol' boobs, then all that was required was to wiggle her wrists into a few snug loops of rope secured with a simple hitch, pull out the slack and rely on friction to play the role of the knot-tying villain, and voilà, helpless damsel.

And as for gagging herself, Mikki never gagged herself.  What if she damaged the corners of her unarguably gorgeous mouth?  Or, heavens forbid, bruised her full, lucious, bee-stung lips?  Mikki's full, luscious, bee-stung lips were arguably her best feature!

Finally, Mikki was very careful not to ever get caught, always restraining herself under the covers of her bed and only if Elke was elsewhere, at a study group or furiously tapping a keyboard at the campus Undergraduate Math Lab (with its supercharged computers and advanced modeling software).  Either that or at night, after Elke was asleep.  What could possibly go wrong?

What could go wrong, of course, was that with two BFFs first sharing a tiny dorm room and later a slightly less tiny two bedroom off campus apartment, Elke stumbling in on Mikki in the act of tying or untying herself was semi-inevitable.  In fact, it was virtually a sure thing... and it happened.

Mikki was mortified.  Elke was amused.  Eventually, Mikki got over it.  Also eventually, Elke offered to help (just out of curiosity, of course).

So, from that point forward, whenever Mikki was in the mood for "literary research" and Elke was available, a cruel, blond, super-villainess tied up poor, innocent, brave Mikki!  Actually, Mikki still did most of the tying.  Elke's contribution was tying Mikki's wrists, usually behind her back, 'cause that's the way it was almost always done on movies and TV, right?

The only problem was that for someone who'd aced a very challenging Introduction to Topology course, Elke proved to be unexpectedly lousy at knot tying.  Almost always, Mikki managed to wiggle, squirm, and/or grope her way out of her BFF's handiwork.  Elke was devastated.  Of all the things to suck at, tying up Mikki?  It was depressing.

Mikki wouldn't have it and decided to take tying her hands into her own hands (so to speak).  She bravely ventured to a "specialty store" a few blocks from campus where she purchased a pair of furry police handcuffs (and by "furry" Mikki meant the handcuffs, not the police).  They were shiny steel ratcheting cuffs separated by three links and padded with pink fake-fur (for Mikki's struggling comfort).  Truth be told, they were more toys than actual restraints, but were secure enough for, uh, literary research purposes.  Anyway, once Elke ratcheted them closed around Mikki's wrists, she was truly and for real helpless.

Oh the drama!

Mikki's continuing (once a week) experiments usually happened at bedtime, meaning Mikki tied herself up with the cotton rope, Elke secured the pink cuffs, and Mikki was "free" to explore her situation until dawn.  Mikki was usually dressed in her preferred pajama substitute: panties and either a tank-top or a French t-shirt (with no bra).  Elke would drape the top sheet and blanket over her helpless victim's helpless body, wish her a pleasant evening of struggling and writhing, then turn out the lights and close her bedroom door.

Oh the drama!

Mikki discovered that being a Damsel-in-Distress sometimes leads to... tension relief (if she worked at it hard enough).  Who knew?

Anyway, it was Mikki's thing, not Elke's, although it continued to gnaw away at Elke's ego that she was such a lousy villainess that her kidnap victim had to supply her with handcuffs for her evil plan to work.  It was embarrassing.

Anyway, academic year followed academic year, course followed course, and eventually... graduation loomed and Senior Panic reared its ugly head.  The future was fast approaching!

Mikki's plan was to find a way to support herself while she continued writing, then find a publisher and become a bestselling world famous literary star.  Okay, it was an aspiration and not a plan, but at least she could implement the "support herself" part of her agenda, right?  Actually, she had to.  She would burn through her parents' legacy in about two years if she didn't find employment in the next several months.  Mikki needed some kind of "day job."

As for Elke, her parents were generous, but putting her through graduate school so she could continue seducing the Math God was out of the question.  They couldn't afford it.  Elke also needed a day job so she could save enough to return to school.  She had the grades but not the cash, and the only scholarships she could come up with were paltry.  She could apply for a student loan, but the schools she had in mind didn't come cheap, and she loathed the idea of spending the first half her life deeply in debt.  Would she have to find a job doing applied mathematics?  It was depressing, but there it was.

And then, on a sunny day in early April, Mikki received a very nice letter from Abby Clarke, her distant cousin who lived in the eastern, more arid part of the state.  Mikki had met her "Cousin Abby" only once, when she was something like five.  The details were sketchy, but she remembered Abby as a towering giant (like all adults) with red hair (like her mother and Mikki herself), and with a nice smile.  In later years, her mother shared that Abby was wealthy, something of a recluse, and lived in a huge house on the eastern slope of a very nice mountain.  And apparently, she was "eccentric," but in what way was never explained.  Mikki sensed that somehow, in some way, her mother disapproved of her rich cousin.  Anyway, the cousin in question was inviting Mikki for a visit and asking that she give her a call to discuss the details.

Mikki did call and had a very nice chat with her more-or-less unknown relative.  Mikki had no idea what the fuss was about, why her mother had seemed to imply that maybe their Cousin Abby was... a little off?  Anyway, Abby painted a very inviting picture of the hiking and other outdoor activities that would be available and Mikki accepted her offer of a post-graduation visit of one full month.  And then, Mikki had a brainstorm and asked if she could bring along a friend, her roommate Elke.  She must have done a good job of selling her BFF's attributes, 'cause Abby accepted!  It was a done deal (almost)!

Elke was skeptical.  "Thirty days on a mountainside in the middle of godforsaken nowhere with your elderly cousin?  Are you nuts?"

"It'll be fun!" Mikki countered.  "And it's not like we have anywhere else to be.  We can worry about jobs there just as well as here.  Also, Abby is forty-something, not 'elderly,' and her place is a palatial mansion!"  She opened her iPhone and showed Elke the relevant e-mailed photos.  Abby was an undeniably beautiful redhead and not elderly.  Also her place was Modern in style and looked nice, although it was built on an arid mountainside.  Whether or not the mountain in question was "godforsaken" remained an open question.

Elke remained skeptical.  "Palatial?"

Mikki grinned and shrugged.  "Well, I don't know if Abby's digs are actually, palatial, but ya gotta admit the place looks nice.  And she's rich!  Palatial is a definite possibility."

Elke paused to clean her glasses with a handkerchief, something she often did when confronted with one of her BFF's cockamamie proposals.  "But why do you have to drag me along?" she muttered.  "Anyway... I can't abandon my parents.  They're looking forward to my triumphant homecoming.  And I need to continue looking for a job."

"You'll get two whole weeks at home with your folks after graduation," Mikki noted.  "Only then will I show up and 'drag you along.'  And why can't we continue job-hunting at Abby's palatial mountainside mansion?"  She shook the iPhone still in her hand.  "She has Wi-Fi and the internet."

Elke gazed at her smiling BFF with the same skepticism... than heaved a long-suffering sigh.  "Okay.  I'll tell my parents."

Mikki squealed with glee and hugged her BFF.  "This is gonna be great!"

Elke rolled her eyes in patient tolerance.  "One can only hope."

Donna Orlando

Donna Orlando was in her forties and in excellent physical condition.  Her Italian and French genes had gifted her with brown hair, pale blue eyes, clear, fair skin, symmetrical, unarguably gorgeous features, and generous breasts.

At the moment, Donna was naked and lying flat on her back on a hard wooden table with her arms stretched above her head and her hands and feet spread about two feet apart.  In short, she was in a stringent spread-eagle and was likely to remain that way as her wrists and ankles were locked in what amounted to heavy wooden stocks built into the table.  In point of fact, the "table" was a "rack."  The distance between the stocks was adjustable, thanks to a rack and pinion mechanism on the rack's underside and controlled by a brass hand-wheel mounted at the rack's head end.  The wrist and ankle openings had been carefully carved to fit the relevant anatomy of its hypothetical occupant with admirable precision and were "comfortably" lined with leather padding.

For Donna, unfortunately, her occupancy of the fiendish device was anything but hypothetical, and the stocks were set to stretch her straining, glistening body to just below the limit of pain.

Also unfortunately, there was more.  Donna's nipples were clamped in the jaws of a pair of steel "clover-clamps" joined by a thin, strong chain of nested steel links.  Also, the business ends of the insidious fashion accessories were lined with hard rubber pads bristling with tiny blunt spikes and the clamp mechanisms were spring loaded, designed to squeeze with increasing pressure if the connecting chain was stretched, and it was being stretched.

One end of a long length of tempered, high-carbon steel wire ("piano wire") was clipped to a small ring set in the midpoint of the clover-clamps' connecting chain, stretched up and through a pulley set in the ceiling, through a complicated setup of gears and additional pulleys, then down to a dangling, cylindrical brass weight of two pounds!  Fortunately, the weight was also being held aloft by a second wire that traveled through additional pulleys and down to a short strip of stiff leather tightly (and somewhat desperately) clutched between Donna's teeth.  And as long as she continued biting down on the strip, her nipples felt only a fraction of the brass weight's two pounds.  It was already enough to stretch her nipples and breasts, just a little, but she knew that if she let go of the strip...  Eyow!!

To elaborate, if Donna released the leather strip, a subsystem of the overhead mechanism would trigger, gears would start to turn, and slowly, over the course of about two minutes, her poor nipples would be forced to accept the upwards tug of the full two pounds of the weight, as well as the increased squeezing of the spring-loaded clover-clamps!

Donna had been stretched on the rack and clutching the strap between her teeth with grim determination for more than an hour, with nothing to distract from her predicament.  The "Rack Room," as the space had recently been re-named, was a windowless chamber with poured concrete walls and a ceiling with exposed steel "I" beams (convenient for clamping the pulleys and gear assemblies of nipple-stretching machinery).

One hour.  That was the interval Donna's sadistic torturer usually allowed for her to get used to her current circumstances, which meant that any second now...

Abby Clarke

Sure enough, Donna heard the echoing tick, tick, tick of approaching stiletto heels... and as expected, Abby Clarke, the evil, sadistic torturer in question, made her Grand Entrance.  By the way, Donna's sadistic torturer, Abby was also her BFF, legal spouse, and Top to her Bottom (with only the occasional and rare switch).

Abby, the 40-something, incredibly gorgeous, fair-skinned, ginger-haired, goddess in question, was dressed to impress in a sleeveless, V-neck top, skintight leather pants, and high-heeled knee-boots, all in midnight-black.   The smile curling her red lips and the twinkle in her dark brown eyes were chilling and sent a ripple of dread (meaning arousal) through Donna's private parts (which at the moment were anything but private).  Abby was also wearing her "Catwoman Utility Belt," a broad, stylish, low-slung accessory with a convenient array of leather pouches and holsters holding a selection of some of Abby's favorite "toys."

"Oh my goodness," Abby purred as she strolled to the rack and smiled down at her beloved victim.  "It's stifling in here.  Just look at all that unladylike sweat dripping off your flushed, stretched body and onto my nice new rack.  I meant to turn the thermostat down after leaving you here to play, but I must have turned it up by mistake."  She gently settled her right palm onto Donna's smooth, flat stomach... slowly slid it up to between her slightly stretched breasts... then down to the top margin of the dark, luxurious curls of her pubic bush.  Its passage was eased by the sweat in question.  "So sorry, darling."

Donna didn't even bother to glare at her beloved tormentor.  The "thermostat routine" was an old joke, one of "Abby's Greatest Hits."

Abby continued her tactile assessment of the moist slipperiness of her spouse's tummy.  "Your little sister certainly did a good job with this thing, don't you agree?"

The little sister and rack architect in question was Lilly Orlando.  She had a fully equipped workshop on the grounds of "The Clarke Compound" and made her living designing and fabricating, shall we say, specialized furniture and props for movie studios, "hobbyists," and evil, sadistic torturers like Abby.  The rack in question, Donna's current bed, had replaced the simple bondage table that previously occupied the space, and without question, she'd done a bang up job.  The nipples-stretching mechanism overhead was also her handiwork, but it had been in place for more than two years and was not new.

"And by the way," Abby continued, "we have good news.  The youngsters have accepted our invitation.  Isn't that wonderful?"

Donna blinked and concentrated on maintaining her grip on the strip between her teeth and ignoring Abby's gliding hand.

"Mikki sent a double selfie of Elke and herself with her acceptance message," Abby continued.  "Just wait 'til you see it!  Mikki has all the best Clarke family attributes; good looks, red hair, perfect skin, and pretty brown eyes."  Abby struck a smiling pose to illustrate her point.  "And her little friend Elke is a Nordic knockout and a sexy nerd.  They're both adorable, and look like they'll be a lot of fun."

Donna rolled her eyes.  Given the circumstances, it was just about the only response she found possible.  Actually, Donna was very much all in with "the youngsters" impending visit, but she wasn't about to give Abby the satisfaction of knowing that she was happy.  Also, at the moment, Donna had little reason to be happy about anything.

Abby smiled fondly at her lover (and victim).  "We're going to have scads of fun.  I'm sure of it, and Lilly agrees."

Donna rolled her eyes again.  Of course her geeky little sister agreed.  Lilly was always egging Abby on, suggesting innovative ways to torment her big sister, then fabricating the required technology.  If Donna didn't love Lilly so much, little sister would have a permanent lock on the #1 position on her shit list.

"Don't be that way, darling," Abby purred as she resumed her lambent massage of Donna's flat tummy... then enlarged the range of her gliding hand to include her lover's inner thighs.  "You know I'm not going to go bat-shit crazy and do something... precipitous.  If Mikki and her little blond friend don't want to play, we'll all spend a nice, pleasant month basking by the pool, hiking the local trails, grilling hotdogs and burgers on the back deck, and shopping in town."  Her smile turned slightly predatory and she began rubbing the edge of her palm against Donna's labia.  "But if they are players... we'll have a lot of fun."

Donna clenched her eyes tightly closed and shivered with distress (meaning delight).  As if I don't have enough to do around here, she mused, now I have to keep Her Craziness from getting carried away.  She heaved a "distressed" sigh and tugged on her bonds—or rather, she thought about tugging on her bonds.  At its current setting, Lilly's new rack didn't allow much in the way of tugging.

"I know what you're thinking," Abby purred as she continued her pussy massage, "and you have nothing to be concerned about.  You know that I have vast reservoirs of self control."

Donna kept her eyes closed so she didn't have to roll them again.

"Now," Abby grinned, "let's play a little game.  It's called... 'Let's See What We Can Do To Make Donna Let Go of the Strap.'"

Donna watched with dread as Abby opened a pouch on her belt and pulled out one of favorite toys for entertaining and tormenting her favorite victim.  It was a pair of stainless steel Wartenberg pinwheels, spur-like discs bristling with sharp needles.  The free-spinning discs were mounted side-by-side and attached to a finger-brace.  The pinwheels were useful for stimulating exposed flesh, and depending on the pressure with which they were applied, the stimulation in question was on a spectrum from teasing pricks to stinging pain.  Donna knew that from experience.  She begged with her pale-blue eyes (her mouth being otherwise occupied and therefore unavailable).

Abby's smile became undeniably predatory as she slid the insidious instrument onto her right index finger, leaned close, and applied the twin wheels of torment to her lover's stretched, deliciously exposed and vulnerable abdomen.  It was a landscape that held no mysteries for the "evil" redhead, but one she delighted in exploring, nonetheless, including the delightful little crater that was Donna's bellybutton.

Donna whined around and through the strip of leather still clutched between her teeth and squirmed, as much as the rack would allow.  They'd played variations of this game before, and Donna knew that no matter how hard she tried, eventually... she'd lose.  Abby had an undefeated record and always collected her reward: one or more crashing orgasms extracted from Donna, her long-suffering victim.

Lilly Orlando

Lilly Orlando smiled and took a sip of her Campari Orange, then returned the acrylic tumbler to the side table and resumed watching the delightful little domestic drama playing out on the screen of her iPad.  Thanks to the tiny camera hidden among the rafters of the "Rack Room," she had a perfect view of the action.  The camera was one of an entire network of such "security cameras" scattered throughout the compound.  There were also hidden microphones, so thanks to the wireless earbuds tucked in her ears, Lilly could hear Abby's every word.

Abby and Big Sister knew about the surveillance system, of course, and knew that Lilly periodically eavesdropped on their playtime.  Lilly's voyeurism was tolerated for three reasons:

1. Both Abby and her better half recognized the need for Lilly to verify the proper functioning of her various tinkering projects.
2. Abby got a charge out of knowing Lilly might be watching whenever she did something "horrible" to the "Little Engineer's" beloved sister.
3. Lilly being an unconscionable peeping tomboy gave Donna a valid excuse for taking revenge, which she did on a semi-regular basis.

Lilly was relaxing by the pool, reclined on a comfortable lounge chair, and wearing nothing but a thorough, glistening layer of sunscreen, a pair of mirrored Ray-Bans, the aforementioned earbuds, and a wide, decidedly wicked smile.

The new rack was functioning perfectly, and Abby hadn't even deployed the "Robo-Stud" machine (yet). 

The machine in question was motor-driven and computer-controlled.  Its business end was a thrusting latex dildo attached to a steel rod (of course) and included a bracket that cleverly held a wand-style vibrator pressed firmly against its "customer's" clitoris while still allowing said rod and dildo to do the required in-and-out thrusting.  And like Lilly's overhead nipple stretching masterpiece, it was not new.  However, Lilly had rather cleverly (if she did say so herself) designed and fabricated a mounting bracket/adapter that, with minimal muss and fuss, clamped the machine to the rack in perfect position between the "customer's" legs.

Lilly took another sip of her cocktail... then settled back to continue watching Abby and Donna's game.  It looked like it was going to be a long first half... which would be followed by halftime (a pause for Big Sister to partially recuperate)... which would be followed by the second half.  That would probably mean either the deployment of Robo-Stud, or a shift in strategy to tickle torture, another of Abby's favorite activities.

Speaking of which, Lilly had a new toy in development: a Fiendish Feather Wand!  In truth, a great deal of design wasn't required.  The FFW would be a motorized screwdriver (battery powered with adjustable drive torque), with custom-made attachments.  The screwdriver was already on order, but Lilly didn't want to start fabricating the attachments until it arrived.  She'd start with a simple mini-feather-duster comprised of a dozen or so short, fluffy plumes.  That would be easy-peasy.  Next would be two or three stiff quills mounted in a gear assembly that caused them to twirl in an eccentric, spiral fashion.  That one might be something of a minor challenge, but the mini-duster would be a snap.  In any case, once she saw the finished product, Abby would be thrilled.

Minutes passed.

Lilly closed the iPad's cover and placed it on the table next to her cocktail, then plucked out her earbuds and placed them next to the iPad.  Next, she stood and reached for the cloudless sky, going up on her toes and executing a long, back-arching, full-body stretch.  Lilly figured she might as well take a swim.  After all, the latest episode of The Abby & Donna Show would still be running when she finished her laps, and she could always review the recording later to make sure she hadn't missed any of the juicy parts (so to speak).

Chapter 2

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