by Van ©2019
		Chapter 3

There's an art to languishing in tight bondage.  Penny had received formal instruction in languishing as part of her ongoing kidnapping-for-hire training from Cousin Beebe and Aunt Suki, and she knew both sides of the issue, meaning proper methods of rigging and the correct way to writhe in ropes.  Maybe "art" was the wrong term, seeing as the required skills didn't involve much in the way of action.  Can something be called an 'art' when it's almost totally passive?  Penny wasn't sure.  In any case, she knew physical conditioning and mental preparation were fundamental to successful languishing.

Yoga classes and regular exercise (with pre and post-stretching) took care of the physical part... mostly... usually.

As for mental preparation, meditation exercises helped, especially if the languishing in question turned out to be long-term (like when Aunt Suki was the instructor).

Another factor was the skill and especially the intent of the rigger.

Suki had browsed the internet for "interesting" videos (for intellectual/educational purposes, of course) and had seen enough rigorous and highly elaborate rigging to know that at least some people seemed to be into torture-by-rope.  The people in question usually tied up their models with enough hemp or clothesline to rig a dozen damsels, and in positions that had to be instantly excruciating and clearly not conducive to long-term languishing.  Yes, some of them were real bastards―meaning the riggers, not the poor models―but some of the riggers in question were only pretending to be bastards.  They used a lot of rope, but skated to the edge of torture without crossing the line.  They were role-playing rope torturers.

In any case, Penny was quite familiar with overkill-bondage, both as rigger and rigee.  Is 'rigee' a word? she wondered.  Not important.  Anyway, Penny called it "ultra-bondage," Cousin Beebe called it "Überbondage," and Suki called it "bondage on days ending in Y."  Whatever you called it, the rigger's skill and intent were the keys.

Fortunately for Penny, Gwyn, and Mandy, Rada obviously had the required skill-set for ultra-bondage but was not a rope-torturer.  Penny's bonds were elaborate, numerous (meaning overly numerous), and tight enough to dimple her skin; but her circulation was unimpaired and even the knotted crotch-rope was punishing only when she tried to move.  That would change if she was left in her current predicament for hours... but at least for now...  Piece of cake.

To summarize (and what else did Penny have to do but summarize) Penny herself was naked, ultra-hogtied, ball-gagged, and chained by the neck to the wall of a dungeon cell beneath Bethany Roget's basement, which, in turn, was beneath Bethany Roget's gigantic Gothic mansion.  And as for her friends, Gwyn was naked, ultra-shrimp-tied, ball-gagged, and chained by the neck to the wall of the very same dungeon cell.  Mandy was naked, ultra-ball-tied, ball-gagged, and chained by the neck to the wall of the very same dungeon cell.  Also, all three damsels had their hair (blond, dark-brown, and ginger, respectively) plaited in a tight braid and tied back in a manner that required them to permanently lift their saliva-dripping chins.

Penny noted that her fellow damsels seemed to be handling the situation quite well.  Also, Gwyn and Mandy both looked really hot sporting their birthday suits (Snow White complexion and peachy-pink pale with freckles, respectively) and ultra-bonds (shrimp and ball, respectively).

It was a pity the ball-tie was hiding Mandy's breasts.  Mandy had very nice breasts, but she also had cute knees, especially when they were tied together, lashed to her Rada-box-tied upper body, and squashed against said unseen breasts, and the same went for Mandy's lightly freckled, bare feet (and tied-together big-toes).

Gwyn's pale breasts were visible, and were hanging a little, thanks to her shrimp-tie-enforced crunch.  The ropes enforcing the crunch were in the way, partially, but Penny could see (ogle) most of her pale, semi-pendulous boobs.  Anyway...

Had it been an hour?  Possibly.  It hadn't been long enough for the languishing to become onerous; but then, despite her training, prolonged languishing had never been high on Penny's list of preferred "special entertainment activities."  Watching other damsels languish?  That was something else, but when Penny was sharing the languishing experience, it lessened the impact.  Penny heaved a tragic sigh.  Her fellow damsels noticed, but didn't reply in kind.  They just stared at her.  Oh well.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a key turning the lock of the cell's heavy wooden door (with elaborate iron bands).  Click!  This was followed by the sound of its heavy bolt being thrown back―Thunk!―followed by the door itself swinging open.  Creeeeeee!

Rada Grabhands entered the cell, still rocking her black leather Viking Dominatrix outfit.  She stood and smiled at the trio of naked, ultra-bound, and chained-to-the-wall-by-their-collars damsels, her strong, tan, and grabby hands resting on her shapely, leather-clad hips.  Penny had to admit, their giant amazon captor was stunningly hot (and scary).

The naked, ultra-bound, and chained-to-the-wall-by-their-collars damsels stared back.  Penny noted that Rada's riding crop was tucked down the top of her right knee-boot, its handle and dangling retaining strap the only parts visible.  It's important for a naked, helpless damsel to keep track of things like whips and riding crops, another lesson Penny had absorbed from her kidnapping-for-hire training.

Apparently, having at least temporarily achieved her gloating quota for the morning, Rada said nothing, but proceeded to release Penny's wall-chain from the back of her collar, then untie her hogtie.  When the straw settled, Penny's collar was still around her neck but chain-free, and Penny was able to straighten her legs.  She remained naked, ball-gagged, and elaborately bound from her big-toes to her shoulders.

And then, still without saying a word, Rada picked Penny up, slung her over her right shoulder in a fireman's carry, feet to the front and head to the rear, and strode from the dungeon.  Penny's last sight of her naked, ultra-bound, ball-gagged, and chained-to-the-wall friends was their sad blue and green eyes.  Then...  Creeeeeee!  Thunk!  Click!  ...the cell door was closed, bolted, and locked, and she was being carried down the dungeon hallway.  At least the end of her braid was no longer tied to anything, which, in her scalp's humble opinion, was a very good thing.

Penny noted the passage of door after door on both sides of the semi-dark stone corridor.  All were made from heavy timbers (with elaborate iron bands), and as far as she could tell, none were labeled in any manner with signs or symbols.  Apparently, Rada had the floor plan memorized.  They made a right turn and passed more wooden doors (with elaborate iron bands).  Then, there was a pause...  Click!  Thunk!  Creeeeeee!  ...as Rada unlocked, unbolted, and opened a door.

Penny was carried inside, slung off Rada's shoulder, and deposited on a hard wooden bench... or maybe it was a hard wooden lounge chair.  One end of the bench/lounger ended in a slightly elevated wooden post, and mounted atop the post was a single wide, thick, oversized cuff of brown leather, well-padded with woolly lambskin.  The other was a back-rest/support that sloped upwards at something like 45°.

Rada lifted Penny's bound feet, quickly and deftly untied her ankles, then placed her ankles in the padded cuff and buckled it tight.  Once she realized what Rada was trying to do, Penny struggled and fought, but, as always, her resistance was futile.  Rada defeated her attempts to squirm free and/or kick her toe-tied feet with trivial ease.  Next, Rada stepped to the other end of the bench and did something behind Penny's back that she couldn't see.  There was a series of clicks and thunks, and the bench/lounger's back slid forward and locked in place.  Obviously, the thing was adjustable.  The clicks and thunks repeated themselves in reverse order... then Rada stretched, tightened, and buckled broad, thick straps of brown leather across Penny's lower legs, just below her knees, across her mid-thighs, and across her waist.  Two more straps followed, across her upper body and arms, above and below her breasts.

Penny squirmed (wiggled) and bucked (quivered), then focused her blue eyes on her smiling captor and glared for all she was worth.  Penny was already rope-bound and totally helpless, and now she was strapped to the damn bench/lounger and barely able to move.  It was ridiculous!  (Penny made a mental note to document the apparatus in her things-to-do-to-damsels idea journal at her earliest opportunity.)

And then, Rada used a length of black cord―probably the same cord she'd used to link Penny's tied toes to the end of her hair braid―to link her tied toes to the crotch-rope (with knots) still cleaving and "entertaining" her private parts whenever she moved.  Then, smiling evilly (and gorgeously), Rada pulled out the slack 'til Penny's toe-tied feet were stretched back as far as they could go!

"Mrr-Nrmf-Rrr-Frmmf!"  Yes, it was a rude thing for Penny to say, but Rada deserved it!

Rada knotted the end of cord... smiled down at Penny for a few seconds... then, without saying so much as a single gloating word, turned and left the cell, closing, bolting, and locking the heavy wooden door (with elaborate iron bands) behind her.  Creeeeeee!  Thud!  Click!

You better run! Penny fumed, squirming in her bonds―Ow!―but only very briefly.  The toes-to-crotch cord was an effective counterargument to pointless struggling.  'You better run,' Penny reflected, then heaved a ball-gagged sigh.  I need to think up a better parting shot... even for when I'm gagged and can only hear it myself.

Penny looked around and discovered she was in another fifteen-by-fifteen-foot cell, similar to the Languishing Parlor she'd just left and where Gwyn and Mandy were still languishing.  Her former cell had afforded the amenity of a carpet of loose straw, but this new cell was straw-free.  The closed, bolted, and locked door (with elaborate iron bands) was directly opposite her toe-tied and strapped down feet.  To her right was a pair of chairs with a small table in between.  They were of solid timber construction, keeping with the established dungeon decor, but looked downright comfy, with cushioned seats and backs, and the table would be the perfect place to rest a tray with a complete tea or coffee service.  Obviously, the grouping was for hypothetical observers of whatever was happening to the damsel strapped to the bench/lounger (which in this case was Penny).

To Penny's left―Penny's eyes widened in alarm―was a comfortably padded stool, another small table (this one slightly lower) and a tall basket resting on the floor.  The basket was full of a dozen or more long, slender, upright canes!  And resting on the low table was a wooden tray holding a wooden cup full of large feathers and a second cup holding a blunt steel probe, a Wartenberg wheel (a free-spinning pinwheel with needle-sharp points), a steel fork with bent tines, and several camelhair brushes of various sizes.

Tickle-torture-tools!

The nature of the hypothetical floor-show was now obvious!  Canes for Bastinado!  Insidious tickle-tools for tootsie-teasing!  And all Penny could do was sit and stare!  Squirming was both futile and punishing!  Mewling complaints and/or forcing pleas for mercy past her ball-gag were/was equally pointless!  (Also, at the moment she lacked an audience!)

All Penny could do was stare... and drool... and sweat.  The chamber was a tad overheated.

The door to the basement opened and Rada, Gwyn, and Mandy trooped into the kitchen.

Mandy was in the rear: naked, Rada-box-tied, ball-gagged, and steel collared.  In other words... same ol' same ol'.

Gwyn was next: naked, but not Rada-box-tied, ball-gagged, and steel collared.  She was free!  Also, the end of Mandy's collar chain was in her left hand and the handles of Rada's black duffel in her right.

Rada was in the lead, still resplendent in her black leather Viking Dominatrix outfit and blond braids.  The riding crop was still tucked down her right knee-boot.

"Have a seat, ladies," Rada suggested (ordered), indicating the small table and chairs the household used for casual kitchen dining.  "I'll fix you some breakfast."

Gwyn dropped the duffel, then pulled out a chair for Mandy's use.  The nude, bound, gagged, collared, and obviously grumpy redhead settled her naked rump in the seat.  Gwyn then padded to the coffeemaker, began brewing a pot of coffee, and selected a pair of mugs from the kitchen cabinet overhead.  Once the machine's small pot was full, she filled the mugs and carried them to the table.  She deposited Mandy's mug in front of her, sat in a neighboring chair, and gave her mug a sip.  "Good stuff," she sighed.

"Mrrr!" Mandy complained, staring daggers at her fellow student and former fellow damsel-in-distress.

The naked former damsel in question smiled, leaned over, and unbuckled Mandy's ball-gag, re-buckled the strap on its first hole, then plucked the black silicon-rubber sphere from the ginger's frowning mouth and let it drop to her saliva spattered chest.  She then picked up Mandy's mug and held it so the only prisoner in the kitchen could take a careful sip.

"You're welcome," Gwyn purred, favoring the still manifestly unhappy Mandy with a dimpled (gloating) grin.

Mandy turned her head and focused on Rada's back.  "Tell her I'm not talking to her," she huffed.

Rada turned and strolled to the table with two bowls of müseli (rolled oats, grains, nuts, and seeds) mixed with fresh peach slices.  "But you are talking to me?" the amazon giantess chuckled as she set the bowls in front of the naked youngsters.

"Good point," Mandy muttered, then said nothing more.

"Thank you, Rada," Gwyn said, still directing her infuriating but devilishly cute dimpled grin at the pouting redhead.

Mandy's response was to stick out her tongue at Gwyn, then resume pouting.

Rada returned to the table with a bottle of soy milk and a pair of spoons.  "You girls enjoy your breakfast.  I need to feed the little blond Kattunge still down in the dungeons."  She then returned to the counter, picked up a tray with a single bowl of müseli and peach slices, a spoon, napkin, and a small pitcher of soy milk.  Then, deftly balancing the tray in one hand, exited through the basement door.

"Kattu-whata?" Mandy inquired.

"I believe 'Kattunge' is 'kitten' in the language of Norwegian she-trolls," Gwyn explained as she poured milk over both bowls of müseli (with peach slices), then picked up one of the bowls and a spoon and shoveled a generous bite (including one peach slice) into her grinning mouth.

Mandy watched (and pouted) as her naked, alleged friend chewed and chewed, obviously enjoying the yummy mixture.  She knew her turn would be next.  Gwyn wouldn't let her starve.  Also, hand feeding her innocent, virtuous friend when she was naked and bound would be simply too much fun to pass up.

Breakfast over (and Gwyn had fed Mandy her half of the müseli), Gwyn led the naked, bound, and re-gagged Mandy through the manor by her collar-chain.  Her goal was the gym.  Gwyn knew Rada would expect her to get her daily exercise, and that included any guests in residence.  Penny would be Rada's responsibility, as she was still Rada's prisoner, but Mandy's captivity had been transferred to the daughter of the house, so exercising the grumpy redhead was Gwyn's responsibility.

Gwyn was still naked, of course.  Maybe, once she took care of her ginger friend, she'd scoot upstairs and get dressed.  Maybe not.

They arrived at the gym―and both Gwyn and Mandy froze in place―stared―then continued forward.  Mandy's green eyes were wide in amazement.  Gwyn's blue eyes sparkled and her lips were curled in a saucy smile.

The Roget Manor gym was home to many expensive and somewhat curious exercise machines.  All were highly functional, and they included:

• A rowing machine.
• A treadmill for running.
• A Nautilus-style machine for resistance training in various positions.
• And other machines designed for other forms of exercise.

None of them were the commercial models found in commercial gyms, but were either custom made or radically altered.  All exuded a Victorian/Gothic/Steampunk vibe, with brass gears, steel chain drives, brass frameworks, and decorative engravings and embellishments.  In other words, the technology was all modern, even state-of-the-art, but the ambiance was like something out of a Hammer Studios horror film.

One of the machines was a stationary bike (appropriately Victorian) that required the user to pump the foot-pedals and repeatedly push and pull a pair of long, curved arm-levers with rubber hand-grips, and it was occupied.  The occupant's ankles and wrists were buckled in padded leather cuffs, preventing her from either stepping off the pedals or releasing the hand-grips.

And the occupant in question was... Bethany Roget!

Oh-by-the-way, the mistress of Roget Manor was naked (like Mandy and her daughter), sweating like the proverbial horse, and pumping the pedals and working the arm-levers at a frantic pace.  In addition:

• A black leather "safety belt" kept her rump firmly planted on the machine's minimal saddle.
• Her nipples were captured by copper alligator clips, each with a pair of long, fabric-covered wires trailing to the console of a control pedestal in front of the bike.
• She was gagged with a black leather panel-gag with a pair of somewhat stiff, segmented, black rubber hoses that were also attached to the control pedestal.
• A steel clip with black rubber pads pinched her nostrils closed.

Mandy was familiar with all aspects of the machine in question from her visit last summer, although she'd never ridden the diabolical thing.  (Thank God!)  The console had a prominent semi-circular dial with numbers, an elaborately decorative pointer, and was labeled "Miles per Hour" in an elegant font.  A row of tiny light bulbs (which were actually tiny LEDs) arced across the top of the dial.  The bulbs (LEDs) glowed green in the range of speeds acceptable to the machine's active computer program, and red below, designating slower, unacceptable speeds.  And obviously, Bethany was working hard to keep the pointer above the red and in the green zone.  Why?  The nipple-clamps were electrified, and punished Bethany's tits with stinging zaps if she allowed the dial's pointer to drift into the red zone.  Her problem was the red/green boundary periodically shifted as the program shifted between normal pedaling and pumping―sprint periods requiring strenuous effort (like now)―and "rest periods" requiring only minimal effort.

The nose clip meant Bethany could only breathe through her mouth, so the machine could accurately record her O₂ consumption and CO₂ production. 

Gwyn led Mandy forward until they were both standing in front of the machine and her nude, sweating, furiously pedaling and pumping mother.

"Oh, mom!" Gwyn huffed, shaking her head, "that's gross!  I just ate breakfast.  Yuk!"

Bethany blushed furiously.  Of course, her pale, glistening skin was already flushed in several places, so it was difficult to tell.  She said (or attempted to say) nothing.

Mandy stared at Gwyn's flushed, sweating, furiously exercising mother.  Bethany's boobs bobbled as she worked the arm-levers, causing the punishment wires dangling from the copper nipple-clamps to swing and sway.  Bethany was in good shape, Rada saw to that.  Naked, bound, gagged, sweating, and furiously exercising, the Mistress of Roget Manor was... mesmerizing.

Gwyn turned to her naked, captive, ginger friend.  "Do me a favor and check and see if Rada used... the egg.  I'd look myself, but..."  A delicate shudder shook Gwyn's form.  "You know... yuk!"

The "egg" in question was an egg-shaped vibrator of ivory plastic, with a hefty but flexible attached cable, also in ivory.  It plugged into the saddle, the egg was inserted into the cyclist's vagina, and the safety belt buckled to make sure it stayed there.

Mandy padded a step closer, stooped, and gazed between Bethany's thrashing thighs at the padded saddle.  As the Mistress of the Manor pedaled, the very end of the cable came and went from view.  Mandy stood erect, turned her gagged head to Gwyn, and nodded.

Gwyn shuddered, again.  "Gag me with a spoon!" she muttered, then shook her head and padded towards the gym's running machine.

Mandy had returned to ogling Bethany―her amazing bobbling boobs, pumping arms, thrashing thighs, and bare, pedaling feet―"Urrk!"―then her collar-chain snapped taut and she was dragged in Gwyn's wake.

Gwyn positioned Mandy on the running machine's rubber treadmill, then clipped snap-hooks dangling at the ends of various "safety chains" dangling from the ceiling through the shoulder-yoking ropes of Mandy's Rada-box-tie.  After she finished programming and activating the machine, the now loosely dangling chains would tighten up.  Smiling sweetly, she turned knobs and flicked switches on the control console, none of which Mandy could see from her position on the treadmill.  Then, favoring her glaring ginger friend with a dimpled grin, Gwyn pushed a final button.

The machine hummed, the safety chains tightened, and then... nothing happened.

Mandy blinked at her friend/tormentor.

"You just ate," Gwyn explained, "therefore, I programmed a half-hour pause.  After that, you can start getting your exercise."

Mandy blinked, again.  How long will I have to run?  How many miles?  She knew the running machine had a variety of programs, including simple walking, a mix of running and walking (with and without periodic sprints), and with and without "hill work," during which the treadmill canted up and down ten or fifteen degrees.  What's the program?  What have you done to me?

Gwyn smiled but didn't answer any of the obvious questions, and she was well aware that from her position on the treadmill, Mandy couldn't see any of the console settings.

Mandy heaved a disgusted sigh, then returned to angrily staring at her naked friend.

"Don't be like that," Gwyn purred.  "I could have deployed the clips and pads, ya know."

Mandy sighed, rolled her green eyes, but forced herself to stop glaring.  All the machines in the gym had provisions for punishing their users if they slacked off.  In the the case of the running machine, that included nipple-clamps, as well as TENS pads that could be adhered to strategic locations, all of which would ZAP the runner if the tension-meters built into the winch-motors overhead sensed the runner was letting the chains take her weight.  Gwyn hadn't used them, which Mandy decided qualified as being "nice."

"Arr-oo," Mandy forced through her gag.

"You're welcome," Gwyn answered with a dimpled grin.

Across the gym, the rhythmic sounds generated by the stationary bike had reduced in volume and frequency.  Also, Bethany had significantly reduced her pedaling and pumping efforts.  Apparently, she'd made it to one of the program's "rest periods."  She was panting through her gag/breathing monitor and was still dripping with sweat, but now she was also shivering and shuddering.  Also apparently, the program dictated "egg entertainment" with all rest periods.

"Rada's being a real bitch this morning," Gwyn sighed.  Both youngsters were watching Bethany's "ordeal."  A delicate shudder of deep disgust shook Gwyn's body, as before and for the same reason.  "Yuk!"

Mandy shrugged her rope-yoked shoulders, causing her tethering chains to shake.  They were too taut to rattle.  Not sharing a familial relationship with the Mistress of Roget Manor, she found the older damsel's naked, pale, sweaty, gagged, nipple-clamped, and vibratory predicament to be kinda hot.

Gwyn frowned at her ginger friend in disgust, but she understood.  She then smiled, heaved a sigh, turned, and padded towards the door that led to the indoor pool.  "Well, enjoy the rest of your morning, or day, or whatever I programmed into that thing," she called back over her shoulder.  "I'm gonna take a nice swim."

Mandy and Bethany watched the naked little brunette make her exit... then locked eyes across the gym and shared a commiserating sigh.  They were sisters in naked, involuntary exercise and inescapable bondage, so despite their age difference, commiserative sighing was the right thing to do.

Languishing.  ...  Languishing-languishing-languishing.  ...  Languishing.

Penny heaved a deep, truly tragic, ball-gagged sigh.  I am going to give this place a blistering Yelp rating, she silently fumed... then raised an eyebrow.  Does Yelp have a category for Spooky Gothic Mansions?  Probably not... unless the Rogets have a business license and this place is actually a hotel.

Anyway, being naked, elaborately and artistically bound with black hemp rope from big-toes to shoulders, strapped to a cushion-free, hard wooden bench/lounger by wide, thick, tight leather straps, and ball-gagged was getting old... very old.  And having her tied-together big toes linked to her crotch-rope (with knots) by a length of black cord pulled as taut as the proverbial fiddle string was getting colossally old.  Her feet, including her soles, were completely immobilized.  What if I get a cramp?  It'll be... torture.  She stole a glance at the "Bastinado-basket" full of canes and the wooden cups full of tickle-torture-tools resting on the low wooden table.  Torture!

Just then―Click!  Thunk!  Screeeee!―the door was unlocked, unbolted, and opened, and Rada Grabhands strode into the cell, still rocking her Viking Dominatrix drag and smiling her evil (gorgeous) smile.  She was holding a tray with (as far as Penny could see) a bowl and a small pitcher.

"Ready for breakfast?" Rada inquired.

Penny glared at her captor.  Breakfast?  Am I ready for breakfast?  Let me think.  YES!  Talk about your stupid questions.

Rada repositioned the padded stool from between the Bastinado-basket and tickle-torture-tool-table to Penny's right side.  She'd placed the tray with the cups of tickle-torture-tools on the stone floor and was using the table to support the alleged breakfast tray, and Penny could now see that the bowl held a serving of cereal (of some disgustingly healthy variety, with peach slices), and in addition to the little pitcher there was also a folded cloth napkin and a spoon.  Apparently, Rada was serious about this breakfast business.

The Viking Dominatrix leaned forward, reached behind Penny's head, unbuckled her ball-gag, and re-bucked the strap on its first hole.  She then poured milk from the pitcher into the bowl and stirred it with the spoon.

Eventually, Penny managed to work her jaws, push with her tongue, and force the black silicon-rubber ball from her mouth.  The ball-gag flopped to her saliva-splattered chest and became a kinky fashion statement.  She licked her lips and continued working her jaw―"Mrrf!"―then "accepted" the spoonful of cereal Rada had abruptly shoveled into her mouth.

Penny chewed... then swallowed.  Healthy or not, this stuff's good.  She licked her lips and stared daggers at her captor/rigger/servitor.  "You're a good rigger," she conceded, then accepted a second spoonful of cereal.

"Thank you," Rada purred, stirring the remaining cereal.

Penny chewed and swallowed, again.  "Let me go," she requested in a calm voice.

"No," Rada grinned, and fed her blond little captive a third spoonful.

Penny chewed, and chewed, and stared at Rada.  She finally swallowed.  "Why not?"

"Each day of your first week as Mistress Bethany's guest will include at least six hours of serious bondage," Rada explained, "so I can evaluate your fitness―both physical and emotional―and assess your familiarity with bondage techniques and best practices."

Penny blinked, considering her best response.  She opened her mouth, intending to point out that she had certainly not agreed to undergo any such evaluation, and Rada took the opportunity to shovel a fourth spoonful of cereal into said mouth.  Penny glared... and chewed... and swallowed.  "And if I say no?"

Rada chuckled.  "Oh, Kattunge..."  She fed Penny the last remaining spoonful of müseli (with peach slices).  "That's so adorable.  This is how we do things at Roget Manor."

Penny glared, chewed, and swallowed, then graciously allowed Rada to tip the bowl and empty the remaining cereal and peach flavored soy-milk into her pouting mouth.

Rada smiled.  "Mandy survived her assessment, last summer.  Are you afraid you will not?"

Penny's glare intensified.  That was a low blow, insinuating that Mandy was more of a courageous damsel-in-distress than Penny Parr!  The very idea!  "Okay, but you stripped me naked and tied me up before dawn.  Enough is enough.  Mrrrpfh!"  Rada had lifted the ball-gag and deftly shoved the black ball into Penny's mouth, and now she was buckling the strap at the nape of her neck, under her blond braid!  The ball-gag was back!  And it was as tight as before, meaning before breakfast.  How rude!

"I said at least six hours," Rada purred, then returned the table and stool to their former positions.  She then placed the breakfast tray on the floor, next to the cell door.  Next, smiling evilly (and gorgeously) she returned to Penny, prisoner of the insidious wooden bench/lounger, leaned down, and untied the slip-knot securing Penny's big-toe cord to her crotch-rope (with knots).  The cord went limp, Rada untied its other end, then coiled and stuffed the cord in the pocket of her black leather Viking Dominatrix pants.

Penny heaved a sigh of relief (before she could stop herself), then resumed glaring at Rada.

"Oh, Kattunge," Rada purred, "you should be more grateful."  Continuing to smile her evil (gorgeous) smile, she leaned forward and firmly (but gently) gave Penny's left nipple a playful tweak.

"Mrrrk!" Penny complained.  Then blinked and glared at the smiling giantess.

"I could have used clover-clamps to tie your cute little Brystvorter to your cute little Tær," Rada suggested.  "But I did not.  Rada was kind."

From the context, Penny surmised Brystvorter and Tær were Norwegian for nipples and toes.  If that was the case, then yes, Penny fervently agreed that Rada had, in fact, been kind.  She swallowed, blinked, and nodded.

"I'll be back," Rada announced, then―Creeeee!  Thud!  Click!―made her exit, closing, bolting, and locking the cell door (with elaborate iron bands) behind her.

So... Penny thought.  Back to languishing.  ...  Bummer.  At least I can move my feet.  She flexed the feet in question.  Ow!  Her toes were still tied together.  She decided her feet would be enjoying only very limited flexing until she was released.  Also...

Wait a minute!  Did she say 'your first week?'  She did!  Seven days?  Maybe five, if she's means a work week!  Anyway, a week?  Penny squirmed in her bonds, as best she could.  Everything was still snug and tight, both the black hemp rope and the broad, thick leather straps.  Bummer.  She heaved a sigh.  Still... if Mandy survived her first week... it can't be that bad... can it?