by Van ©2019
		Chapter 4

Penny had endured an additional hour of languishing in the Bastinado & Tickle-torture Parlor when―Click!  Thunk!  Creeeeeee!―the dungeon door was unlocked, the bolt was thrown, and it swung open.  And then... Rada strode across the threshold.  The statuesque blonde had changed out of her Viking Dominatrix costume and into sneakers and anklets, calf-length spandex workout pants, and a sports bra, all in Evil Villainess Black.  Her flaxen locks were still parted down the middle and plaited in a pair of braids.

Rada's new ensemble might be "normal," but it was still sinister, as far as Penny was concerned.  Despite the Norwegian's firm, toned, richly-tanned, and very feminine physique―and despite the way the spandex pants hugged her buns and the bra cups elastically and enthusiastically embraced her generous boobs (with pokies)―Rada was sinister.  There were the issues of her flat-but-sculpted and exposed stomach (and super-cute bellybutton), strong arms, and gorgeous smiling face, but Rada was Rada, so... sinister.  Of course, at this point, as far as Penny was concerned, Rada in a nun's habit singing Greatest Hits From The Sound of Music while playing with puppies and kittens would look sinister.

Penny glared at the giantess as Rada unbuckled the bench/lounger's thick, wide, leather straps, one-by-one... then unbuckled the lambswool-fleece-lined leather cuff confining her ankles... then untied the cord binding her big-toes together... then untied the black hemp ropes binding her legs, crotch, and waist.  Only Penny's Rada-box-tie, steel collar, and black ball-gag remained.  Penny eased herself off the hard wooden bench/lounger and rather stiffly stood erect.  It felt very good to be able to move her legs again.  She twisted her still upper-body-bound body, lifted and flexed her legs, flexed her bare feet, and heaved a ball-gagged sigh.

Meanwhile, Rada had quickly and efficiently coiled all the recently removed lengths of black rope and used the recently removed toe-cord to bundle them together―all the lengths of rope but one, that is.  Still smiling her evil (gorgeous) smile, Rada tossed the bundled ropes over her left shoulder like a rope bandoleer, then looped one end of the rope through the ring in the front of Penny's collar and tied a quick knot.  Once again, Penny had a leash.

Penny supposed she could have tried to resist, and might even have managed to plant a swift kick between the towering Norwegian's perfect legs and right in the muffin basket, but she'd still be box-tied and scampering around the dungeon, and she wasn't at all a sure thing she'd find her way upstairs before Rada recovered from the kick enough to recapture her.  And what would happen then?  Nothing good, Penny was sure of that.

Rada took a firm grip on Penny's new collar-rope-leash, turned, and strode from the cell, her rope-bandoleer swaying with each graceful stride.

Penny had no choice but to pad in Rada's wake.  As they walked, she took the occasion to continue ogling the blond amazon's spandex-covered, dimpled butt, strong thighs, and tan calves.  It helped pass the time, but mostly Penny worried about where Rada was taking her next.  Was some novel and insidious piece of dungeon furniture and/or torture engine in her future?  Or would it be another empty dungeon cell for yet more languishing?

Penny's kidnapping-for-hire training included Enhanced Situational Awareness, the art of noting and especially remembering the details of her surroundings.  And though Penny's mental map of the dungeon was far from complete, if forced to guess, she thought they just might be heading back to the iron gate and the stairs leading up to the basement.

She was right!  They came to the iron bars, there was a pause while Rada unlocked and opened the gate.  They climbed the stone steps... then continued on, traversing the basement.

Next to the stairs that led from the basement and up to the kitchen was a deep-sink and a tall wooden stool.  Rada shrugged out of her rope-bandoleer and let it drop to the concrete floor, then lifted Penny by the waist and planted her butt on the stool.

"Mrrrf!" Penny complained, staring daggers at the grinning giantess.

Rada spoke for the first time since reappearing at the Bastinado & Tickle-Torture Parlor to "rescue" Penny.  "Time to clean your dirty little Føtter, Kattunge," she purred.

Penny surmised "Føtter" was Norwegian for "feet," and while she was willing to concede that her feet probably did need cleaning, Penny didn't want Rada to do it for her!  She looked down and noted a plastic bucket resting in the deep-sink, then watched as Rada added a dollop of liquid soap to the bucket, filled it with water, then lifted a scrub brush from a nearby shelf.  Gulp!  Yes, A scrub brush!

Penny shook her head―"Nrrr!"―but before she could jump down from the stool, Rada grabbed her left foot and lifted it into the air!  "Mrrmpfh!"  Again, as always, despite Penny's strenuous resistance, Rada's size, strength, and damsel handling expertise carried the day.  It wasn't even a contest.  Rada leaned close to keep her naked, squirming, bound, and gagged captive on the stool, dipped the brush in the soapy water with her right hand, then proceeded to give the sole of Penny's left foot a thorough scrubbing!

"Mrrrrrr!"

Penny wiggled and kicked her right leg and mewled a steady stream of complaints through her ball-gag.  Thankfully, the brush wasn't all that stiff; however, even with a soft brush, when it's someone else doing the scrubbing, it tickles!  And it did!  It tickled!

"Mrrrrmfff!"

It also tickled when Rada switched feet and scrubbed the sole of Penny's right foot!  The smiling Tickle Monster then used a ratty but clean towel to dry both of Penny's feet.  Truth be told, Penny found the humiliation of being so easily handled to be the worst part of the ordeal, but the brush had tickled.

Once again, Rada took Penny by the waist, lifted her off the stool, and planted her now clean feet on the first step of the stairs to the kitchen.  She then pointed up to the closed kitchen door.  "Go, Kattunge," she chuckled.

Penny paused to deliver a... Stare of Profound Disdain... then padded up the stairs, as ordered.  After all, she wanted out of the dungeon (a goal she'd achieved) and would just as soon give the basement a pass as well.

Re-slinging her rope-bandolier, Rada followed, then opened the door to the kitchen for the still pouting Penny.  They entered the kitchen, Rada dropped the rope-bandolier, again, then renewed her grip on the end of Penny's leash and led her forward.

"Time for your daily exercise, Kattunge," Rada purred.

Penny rolled her eyes and followed.

Seriously, this is a vacation?

Penny was rowing.  Penny hated rowing.  Rowing was bad enough when she was rowing a boat.  At least when she was rowing a boat she was going somewhere.  And she was on the water.  And there were seagulls and clouds and waves and... all that other water stuff.  But Penny wasn't rowing a boat.  Penny was rowing a machine that was bolted to the floor, which meant she wasn't going anywhere.

The setting was Roget Manor's fully, elaborately, expensively, and somewhat creepily equipped gym.  And she was rowing the gym's elaborate, obviously expensive, and creepy rowing machine, and it wasn't just any rowing machine.  It was a Jules Verne rowing machine.  In fact, it was a kinky Jules Verne rowing machine.  It was a Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Kinky Rowing Machine rowing machine, with Victorian ambiance and lots of curlicue decorations and ornate brass parts.

Why kinky?  Penny was naked, with her butt planted on the machine's minimal but well-padded saddle/seat, a leather strap buckled around her waist to keep her there, and her ankles and wrists locked in steel fetters or cuffs or shackles or whatever they called the damn things in the kinky rowing machine catalog.  Penny was sure Jules Verne would not have approved.  Then again, Penny mused, he was French.  Maybe he would approve.

The seat slid freely along a metal track, and to work the machine Penny was required to bend her knees and lean all the way forward, then lean all the way back, straightening her legs and back while pulling a pair of "oars" to her chest with all her might.  The oars were really wooden poles attached to a set of pulleys and/or gears and/or, uh, other mechanical stuff, but they had oar-like handles.  Also, the oars and seat and foot pedals were all somehow interconnected and offered resistance as she rowed.

Once Penny got into the rhythm, she could tell when she was doing it right.  And why should she care?  If Penny didn't get optimal effort out of any given stroke, rather than being rewarded by a quiet, nearly subliminal ding-dong at peak effort, she was punished by an electrical zap delivered to her butt-cheeks by the copper pads embedded in the saddle/seat's padding.  It stung!  Penny rowed, and quickly learned how to get it right.  Electricity can be both a good teacher and a strong motivator.

Rada had installed Penny in the machine, defeating her resistance with her usual depressing competence, then stepped to a control console and started turning dials, flicking switches, throwing levers, and doing other stuff that Penny assumed was somehow programming the rowing machine.  In any case, the controls were mounted on a pedestal and mostly hidden from Penny's view behind an unusual television monitor.  Keeping with the Jules Verne theme, the monitor's screen had an ornate gilded frame, and once Penny started rowing (at Rada's urging and to avoid getting her butt zapped) a movie started flickering on the screen in sepia tones.

Eventually, Penny realized she was probably watching a series of computer generated but photo-realistic scenes, all in the same setting and with the same characters, randomly and seamlessly spliced together to give the impression of an endless narrative.  And what was the plot of the screenplay?  A couple of hundred naked women were chained to the oars of a futuristic galley of some sort and were rowing, much like Penny was rowing.  And rather than reacting to butt-zaps, they were being encouraged in their efforts by a truly stunning woman in a skimpy leather and bronze swimsuit with a big ol' bullwhip, and she wasn't shy about using it, either!

The movie was a talkie, so Penny could hear the creak of oars, the rattle of chains, and the moans and whimpers of her fellow naked rowers.

Also―Whacka!―she heard every snap of the bitch-woman's whip, as well as the scantily clad beauty's continuous (and monotonous) chant of encouragement:  "In―out―in―out," etc.

Whacka!

Why 'in―out?' and not 'stroke―stroke?' Penny wondered.  She had no idea.  But then, this was a kinky Jules Verne slave galley, so maybe it did make sense.  Or maybe the chant had been mistranslated from the original French.  Penny was too busy rowing to worry about it.

The cast also included a pair of topless women gleaming with oil and pounding on kettle drums to set the rhythm.  They got their own closeups now and then, but the bitch-with-the-whip was clearly the star of the show.  All the rowers were extras... naked, sweaty, suffering extras.  Penny would have felt sorry for them if they weren't computer generated, she wasn't busy rowing, and wasn't already busy feeling sorry for herself.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Penny was reminded of an old movie she'd once watched.  It had a scene like this... a brief scene... but she couldn't remember the movie's name, or the plot, or who had starred in the thing, or who had played the bitch-with-the-whip.

Damn, Penny thought as she rowed.  That's gonna bug me 'til I think of it.  I'll ask the others.  Mandy will remember.  She's an old movie buff.  Penny would have asked one of the others now, of course, but she was alone in the gym... and was still ball-gagged.

"In―out―in―out―in―out―in―out..."  Whacka!

This was getting old.

"In―out―in―out―in―out―in―out..."

Penny had been rowing for at least a half hour... continuously!

"In―out―in―out―in―out―in―out..."  Whacka!

Penny blinked the sweat out of her blue eyes, and―"Mrrrf?"―suddenly, realized Rada Grabhands was casually standing to her right, smiling her evil (gorgeous) smile and with her arms crossed across her chest, under her breasts.  Oh-by-the-way, she was naked!  No Viking Dominatrix costume!  No evil black exercise clothes!  No nothin'!

"Mrrrpfh!" Penny complained, and thanks to the distraction of Rada's sudden nude appearance, fumbled her stroke―"Mrrrk!"―and was rewarded with a butt-zap!

Still smiling, Rada padded to the rowing machine's console and threw a brass lever.

The machine's motors immediately stopped humming, the oars, saddle/seat, and foot pedals locked in place, and the TV screen went dark.

Panting through her ball-gag, her breasts heaving and her body dripping with sweat, Penny stared sharp, wicked, lethal daggers at Rada.  Rada smiled back.  Obviously, Penny's visual daggers weren't all that lethal, because the expertly hurled visual knives bounced off the tall Norwegian's disgustingly perfect body, clattered to the gym floor, and disappeared in poofs of irate smoke.

"You'll get the hang of rowing, Kattunge," Rada purred.  "Next time I'll include a few intervals at ramming speed.  You'll find it to be quite strenuous."

Penny continued her hostile staring, panting, and sweating as Rada unlocked the steel fetters, cuffs, or shackles from her ankles and wrists and the collar from around her neck.  The Kinky Rowing Machine's restraints were all padded on the inside and hadn't chaffed her skin as she rowed, but she was certainly glad to be rid of the damn things.  Next, Rada unbuckled Penny's leather waist-belt.  Then, she lifted Penny into her arms―like a big, naked, sweaty, ball-gagged baby―and carried her from the gym.

"Mrrrmpfh," Penny complained.

"Hush," Rada chuckled.

Penny continued glaring at Rada (and ignoring the feel of the giant naked amazon's naked, skin against her naked, sweaty skin), then slowly reached for the buckle of her ball-gag with both hands.

Rada's radiant smile never wavered.  "No," she ordered.

It was worth a try, Penny thought, then sighed and rested her hands on her thighs.  They were entering a tiled space.  She noted a cedar door with a little window at viewing height, probably leading to a sauna―a shower area―a long, narrow table padded with brown leather―and wooden cabinets and lockers lining the wall farthest from the shower.  Oh-by-the-way, the table had padded cuffs at the top and bottom, also of brown leather!  But it was soon obvious the shower was their immediate destination.

Penny heaved another sigh as Rada turned on the water... waited for the stream to come to temperature, then carried her under the steady stream of hot water.  Rada made sure Penny got a thorough rinse, turning and lifting her naked body as required, but without ever letting her bare feet touch the tiled floor.  They were both drenched from head to toe, of course, and Penny found it humiliating to be treated like a naked toddler that needed a quick rinse.  She supposed if the height difference between herself and her handler hadn't been so great, getting flipped around and hand-scrubbed might not have been so easy.  But then, Rada Grabhands was a towering and muscular shield-maiden, so she had what it took to accomplish the wet, slippery task.

Next came the body-soap.  Rada continued using her hands, and her hands only, and made sure every square inch of Penny's wet, naked body was thoroughly soaped, scrubbed, and cleaned.  Penny struggled weakly, but didn't really try and impede Rada's efforts.  Her squirming body and batting hands were mainly a way to lodge her displeasure.

Another rinse followed... another through rinse... then Rada turned off the water and carried Penny to the table.

Once Penny noted their destination, her perfunctory struggling shifted into high gear... not that it did her any good... not that it ever did her any good.  She kicked and twisted, squirmed and mewled―"Mrrrmf!"―but couldn't prevent Rada from planting her on the table, face down, and holding her there while she buckled the padded cuffs around her wrists and ankles.  Penny was now loosely spreadeagled on her stomach, naked, wet, and squirming.

Still smiling, Rada strolled away to a cabinet, opened a door, lifted a big fluffy towel from a stack, and began drying her giant, perfect, naked body.

Penny squirmed, struggled, mewled―"Mrrrm!"―and tugged on her bonds.  Her pale body slid and squeaked against the table's wet brown leather.  It was hopeless.  She wasn't getting off the table until Rada decided to let her go.

Penny glared at the statuesque blonde as Rada padded back to the table, still smiling and drying her depressingly perfect, richly tanned form.  Penny continued glaring while Rada used the now damp towel to dry Penny's pinioned body, but the smiling blonde seemed mostly interested in drying the leather surface of the table.  Penny transitioned from wet to damp to more-or-less dry almost as an afterthought.

Penny continued tugging on her bonds and watched as Rada tossed the towel in a hamper, opened another cabinet, and started... doing something.  Her gigantic, perfect, naked body was in the way (including her well-muscled back, perfect buns, and firm thighs), so Penny couldn't follow the details.  Then, having finished whatever she'd been doing, Rada turned and gracefully exited the gym.

Penny tugged on her cuffs, again.  Yeah, you better run, or... whatever.  She heaved another ball-gagged sigh and rested the side of her ball-gagged head on the soft leather.

She could now see what Rada had been doing.  Resting on a waist-high counter built into the cabinet was an elegant glass vessel with a spout and handle.  It was half-full of some sort of clear, amber-tinted liquid, rested on an iron stand, and was being warmed by a small candle.  Massage oil?  Penny decided the fluid was probably massage oil.  It made sense.  She was strapped to a padded table.

So... massage oil.  Penny was going to get a massage... eventually.  That's a good thing, right?  Penny closed her eyes.  Yeah...  Why not?  A massage would be a good thing... but can we just get on with it?

Mandy was still helplessly bound with black hemp rope in the exact same Rada-box-tie that Rada had placed her in before dawn, was still ball-gagged with the same black silicon-rubber, black leather, and chrome-steel hardware ball-gag, and was still naked.  When Gwyn returned from her swim in Roget Manor's indoor pool (still naked) the smiling brunette had extracted her from the running machine, taken her to the shower in the Sauna & Massage Room, rinsed her off (ropes, ball-gag, and all) then dragged her kicking and mewling (meaning led her as she padded with quiet dignity) to her bedroom―meaning Gwyn's bedroom.

The naked pair were now sitting cross-legged on Gwyn's gigantic, Gothic bed.  Gwyn was behind her ginger friend (and captive).  She'd unraveled Mandy's braid and was using a comb and brush set to gently brush her long, ginger hair.  Gwyn had already released her own braid and brushed her own hair.  Now it was Mandy's turn.

"Mrrrpfh."

Gwyn smiled.  "What?"

"Mrrrpfh!"

Gwyn set down the brush and comb, then parted Mandy's ginger tresses, unbuckled the ball-gag, re-buckled the strap on its first hole, then resumed brushing her friend's glorious red hair.

Mandy worked her jaw, pushed with her tongue, and finally succeeded in ejecting the black, silicon-rubber ball.  It dropped to the end of its strap and bounced against her pale, lightly freckled, saliva-splattered chest.

"Lunch," Mandy demanded.

"Nope," Gwyn responded.  "Mother's gonna have one of her High Teas.  We're invited."

"When?" Mandy demanded.

"Later," Gwyn replied (and smiled her dimpled smile).

Mandy heaved a sigh.  "I gotta pee," she announced, then (rather awkwardly) unfolded her legs, scooted to the edge of the bed, stood, and padded to the bedroom suite's attached bathroom.

Gwyn continued smiling and watched her naked and Rada-box-tied friend lean down, grope for the doorknob, fumble, and finally succeed in opening the ornately carved door.  She then padded from sight.  There was a pause... then the sound of tinkling water (as Mandy tinkled)... followed by the flush of the toilet... followed by the splashing sound of the toilet's bidet function... then Mandy padded back into the bedroom.

Mandy watched as Gwyn placed the brush and comb on the right bedside table, then slid between the covers and rested her head on a pillow and closed her eyes.  Mandy turned to gaze at the closed bedroom door.  Maybe I can make a break for it, she thought.

"Locked," Gwyn announced.

Mandy heaved a disappointed sigh.  Of course it is.  She padded to the bed, sat, lifted her lightly freckled legs, and rolled against her friend (and current captor).

Gwyn pulled the covers over both of them, then snuggled her pale, naked body against her bound friend's naked, lightly freckled body.

"I take it we're taking a nap?" Mandy huffed.

"Yes, Captain Obvious," Gwyn purred, "we're taking a nap.  And unless you want your ball-gag back, you'll shut your yap."

Mandy heaved another sigh.  "No need to be rude," she muttered, then closed her green eyes.  Actually, Mandy decided, taking a nap is a stellar idea.

Penny opened her eyes.  I fell asleep waiting for my massage, she realized.  Go figure.  She was still naked, ball-gagged, and loosely spreadeagled, face down, on the padded massage table with her wrists and ankles still buckled in inescapable leather cuffs.  So... that hadn't changed.  Also, the glass vessel half-full of massage oil was still warming over a tiny candle on its iron stand.  There was one minor change: a rather pleasant floral aroma hung in the air.  It wasn't strong, but it was definitely there.

Penny heard quiet footfalls, turned her ball-gagged head, and watched Bethany Roget stroll in her direction.  The Mistress of Roget Manor was wearing a really pretty spaghetti-strap sundress in a floral print (hyacinth and coral on a black background) and her smile was radiant.  Penny was impressed... and wanted off the table.

"Mrrrpfh!"

"You're absolutely adorable," Bethany purred, then opened one of the lockers and started undressing... or un-sundressing in this instance.  Soon, Bethany's attire was reduced to a very pretty matching demi-bra and bikini-panties ensemble in coral-pink.

Again, Penny was impressed.  Gwyn's mom was hot.  Pale skin, feminine but very fit physique, gleaming black hair, and gorgeous face (with that cute little cleft in her chin).  In fact, the semi-elderly, fifty-something Bethany was just as hot as Penny's semi-elderly, fifty-something cousin Beebe, just not in the same way.  Cousin Beebe was a Viking shield-maiden (like Rada), whereas Bethany was a French duchess... maybe even a queen.

Penny continued watching as Bethany covered most of her semi-naked hotness with what amounted to a pink lab coat.  She closed the locker, buttoned most of the lab coat's buttons (but left a decent amount of cleavage), then stepped to the counter with the massage oil, draped a small towel over her right arm, lifted the glass vessel, and carefully poured a small dollop into the palm of her left hand.  Then, still smiling her radiant smile, she rubbed her hands together and strolled to Penny and the table.

"Mrrrf?" Penny inquired.  She really didn't have a question, but felt she had to say something.

"Just relax, Kitten," Bethany purred, then began massaging Penny's shoulders with her smooth, slick, oily hands.

Penny shivered in... distress?  Actually, Bethany's hands felt good.  Actually, as the massage enlarged to include Penny's back and ribs, she decided Bethany's hands felt really good.  Penny continued squirming, struggling, and tugging on her cuffs, as well as mewling in outrage.  Truth be told, she was shivering and moaning with pleasure, but felt she had to keep up appearances.  Damsels-in-Distress struggle and mewl.  They don't shiver and moan.

The massage continued... with Bethany stepping away to replenish the oil on her hands from time to time... and came to include Penny's arms, butt, thighs, calves, and feet, as well as her shoulders and back.  And to Penny's surprise, the foot massage didn't tickle.  Bethany knew what she was doing... and it felt good!

Penny realized Bethany was unbuckling her wrist-cuffs... then her ankle-cuffs.

"Turn over for me, Kitten," Bethany purred.

Penny stretched full length while still on her stomach―"Mrrrrr!"―then rolled onto her back.  Bethany (still smiling, of course) held the right wrist-cuff open and Penny helpfully placed her wrist in the padding and watched as Bethany closed and buckled the cuff.  Now why did I do that? Penny wondered.  She didn't know why she was letting Bethany also capture (meaning recapture) and secure her left wrist... left ankle... and right ankle.  Now, Penny was loosely spreadeagled on her oiled and well-massaged back and just as naked and helpless as before.  "Mrrrf."  And ball-gagged.  Penny was still ball-gagged.

Bethany replenished the warm, floral-scented oil on her hands, then set to work on Penny's breasts, stomach, and thighs.

Penny blushed.  It was mildly embarrassing to have Gwyn's mom squeezing her boobs and massaging her tummy.  Okay, it was very embarrassing.  Bethany's oily hands glided towards her inner things, and Penny decided she had to say something.  "Mrrrpfh!"  Unfortunately, the ball-gag was limiting her vocabulary.

Bethany's smile never wavered, but she did cease her flesh-fondling and wiped her hands with the small towel.  She then leaned forward, reached behind Penny's head, and unbuckled and removed the ball-gag, plucking the silicon-rubber ball from Penny's mouth.

"Yes?" Bethany inquired.

Penny licked her lips, worked her jaws, and swallowed.  Now that the gag was gone, she found herself at a loss for words.

"Uh, thank you," Penny said, finally.

"You're welcome, Kitten," Bethany purred.  "I think we're done here."

"Uh... okay."  Still blushing, Penny watched as Bethany unbuckled the wrist and ankle-cuffs, one by one, then helped her sit up and hop off the table.  She rubbed her wrists (even thought they didn't really need it) and continued watching as Bethany opened a cabinet and returned with―Gulp!―what Penny instantly recognized as a set of cage-cuffs, two hinged hoops of chrome-steel set ninety-degrees apart on a common set of hinges.  They were just the right size and shape to close around a pair of crossed wrists, and secured by means of a small brass padlock.

Bethany spun Penny around, gathered her hands behind her back, crossed her wrists, and quickly, deftly locked the cage-cuffs in place―and Penny let her do it!  One might say she even cooperated, not even pretending to struggle while Bethany slid the padlock through the appropriate holes and snapped it shut!

"There we go," Bethany purred, then stepped to the locker, opened its tall, narrow door, unbuttoned her pink lab coat, and hung it up.  She then dressed in her hyacinth-and-coral-on-black floral pattern, spaghetti-strap, very pretty and flattering sundress. 

Penny took the occasion to bite her lower lip and twist her wrists, testing her new restraints.  She knew about cage-cuffs, of course.  She knew about all sorts of steel cuffs.  But this was her first actual experience "escaping" from cage-cuffs.  The problem was, with her wrists permanently crossed the way they were, she could just barely touch the flipping, flopping padlock with her fingertips, but even if Bethany was nice enough to loan her a set of lock picks, Penny seriously doubted she'd succeed in picking the lock.  Even if Bethany handed her the key, she seriously doubted she'd succeed in opening the lock.

And why did I let her do it?  First the table cuffs, and now cage-cuffs?  Why?  Penny fought like a wildcat when Rada tried (and succeeded) it tying her up or strapping her down, so why was she giving Bethany's mom a complete pass?  Why?  It's a puzzlement, a real puzzlement.

And while Penny was standing there (naked, blushing, and lightly oiled), Bethany scooped up Penny's old friend Mr. Ball-gag from the table, took her by the arm, and led her from the shower/massage room.  Bethany's sandals tapped on the tiles... then went silent when they reached the carpeted floor of a hallway.  Penny's bare feet were silent on both the tiles and the carpet.

"You're invited to High Tea later this afternoon," Bethany announced, "but in the meanwhile, why don't you take a nice nap?"

Penny opened her mouth to object... but actually, a "nice nap" sounded good.  Penny might have dozed off while waiting for her massage, but found she was still not fully recovered from her rowing machine ordeal.  "Uh... okay."

"Excellent," Bethany purred, and the journey continued.  They passed parlor after parlor after library after drawing room after parlor... climbed a set of stairs to the second floor... then trooped down the hallway to an ornately carved wooden door.

Bethany released Penny's arm, turned her until they were face-to-face, then―"Mrrrf?"―planted a warm kiss on Penny's mouth!  This was followed―"Mrrrf!"―by the arrival of Mr. Ball-gag!  Bethany thrust the silicon-rubber sphere into Penny's startled mouth, spun her around, and buckled the strap at the nape of her neck, under her blond braid.

Penny seriously considered throwing a naked, lightly oiled, cage-cuffed, and now ball-gagged tantrum, but before she could act on the impulse, Bethany had unlocked the door, gently pushed her across the threshold, then closed and locked the door behind her.  Penny faced the door and stamped her right foot on the carpet in frustration and betrayal.  "Mrrrf!"  Then turned to face the room... and her blue eyes widened above her gag.

Penny was in a bedroom, a bedroom just as gigantic and luxurious as her guest bedroom, and with the same over-the-top Gothic decor.  And half under the rumpled covers of the bedroom's gigantic bed (with colossal, towering, and richly carved headboard) were Gwyn and Mandy.  They were blinking sleep from their eyes and staring at the newcomer, meaning Penny.

Gwyn was naked (but not lightly oiled).  She sat up in bed, then combed her tousled dark hair from her face with her fingers.  "Oh... there you are," she mumbled.

Mandy was also naked but not oiled, and she was Rada-box-tied with a ball-gag dangling around her neck.  She didn't bother trying to sit up or make an attempt to clear her tangled ginger hair from her sleepy face.

"Mrrrf!" Penny complained, stamping her foot, again.

"Yeah, I know, tell me about it," Gwyn sighed, then patted the surface of the bed.  "Come."

Penny heaved an irate sigh, then stomped (padded) to the bed and sat―"Mrrr!"―then squealed through her gag when Mandy grabbed her by the waist and hauled her all the way onto the mattress.  She decided there was only one possible response.  She commenced a tirade of well-muffled complaints, squirming, and kicking.

Gwyn's counter was to wrap her legs around Penny's waist and cross her ankles over Penny's bellybutton.  "Stop that," she ordered, untied the black cord securing Penny's braid, then started unraveling her hair.

Once Penny realized what her naked but bondage-free friend was doing, she stopped mewling and wiggling, but she wasn't happy, and everyone on the bed knew it.

Penny remained a naked, cage-cuffed, ball-gagged, and pouting captive as Gwyn reached for the brush and comb on the bedside table, then put them to use.  With stroke after gentle stroke, Gwyn straightened Penny's long, blond tresses, pausing now and then to use the comb to deal with any tangles she encountered.  When she was finished, Penny's hair was slightly wavier than usual, but that was to be expected after being braided, soaked, and allowed to dry while still braided.

"Mrrrf," Penny complained as Gwyn tossed the brush and comb back on the bedside table.

"What's got your nonexistent panties in a twist now?" Gwyn sighed.

"Mrrrf!"

"I think she's griping about the gag," Mandy suggested.

Penny found her ginger fellow-prisoner's smile infuriating, but when Mandy was right, she was right.

Gwyn unbuckled Penny's ball-gag, re-buckled the strap on its first hole, then released her legs from around Penny's waist.  "You probably need to use the bathroom," she purred.

Penny spat the black silicon-rubber ball from her mouth as she squirmed off the bed.  "You can both bite me!" she huffed, then stomped (padded) to what had to be the bathroom door.  She fumbled with her cage-cuffed hands, twisted the knob and opened the door―realized the door actually led to Gwyn's walk-in closet, slammed it shut―then stomped (padded) to the other bathroom door, opened it, and stomped (padded) inside.

The bathroom fixtures were manageable―meaning Penny managed to slake her thirst at the washbasin (which had an unusually tall faucet), flush the commode after emptying her bladder, then trigger and endure the commode's bidet function―all with her wrists cage-cuffed behind her back.  She stomped back into the bedroom and glared at her alleged friends.

Gwyn grinned at Mandy.  "She's cute when she gets like that, isn't she?"

"Cute as a Kattunge," Mandy agreed.

"You can both.  Bite!  Me!" Penny huffed, then stomped (padded) to the bed.  "Well?"

"Well what?" Gwyn inquired.

"Scoot over!" Penny ordered.

Gwyn and Mandy exchanged another smile, then Gwyn pulled back the covers and patted the mattress.  "There's plenty of room."

Penny rolled her eyes, sat on the bed, and managed to scoot over until her back (and cage-cuffed hands) were against Gwyn's body.

Gwyn pulled the covers over all three of them, then rested her head on her pillow.  Soon all three heads were resting on pillows.

Several seconds passed.

"So..." Penny asked quietly, "what, exactly, is this 'High Tea' your mother invited me to?"

"We're all invited," Gwyn answered, "and its all kinds of finger-sandwiches, various pastries, fruit, cheese... the usual."

"And tea," Mandy added.

Penny couldn't help but smile.  "When?"

"Whenever Rada unlocks the door," Gwyn sighed.

Penny considered broaching the subject of when and how the three of them should mount a swarming attack to take down Rada Grabhands, but decided she'd rather enjoy that nap Bethany (of the stunning smile and magnificent, oily hands) had suggested.  She closed her eyes... and drifted off.