by Van ©2019
		Chapter 14

Gwyn crossed her arms under her breasts, defiant in her skimpy, black string-bikini, and favored Rada with her best Imperious Gaze (the one that fairly dripped Aristocratic Disdain and she'd been practicing in front of the mirror since she was thirteen).

"Mother has visitors," the Daughter of the Manor intoned (stating the obvious).  "Now is not the time for silly games.  I will not 'strip for Rada,' and neither will Mandy."

Mandy blinked her green eyes.  "I won't?"  She'd already parted her long, straight, ginger hair and grabbed hold of the ends of the bow securing the top string of her skimpy, dark-jade string-bikini.  Arms raised and still gripping the top strings, she leaned close and whispered in Mandy's ear.  "Are you crazy?"

Mandy's steely blue eyes remained fixed on Rada.  "Mother said she wants us to meet her visitors," she noted with confidence.  "I suspect both of them are Action Directorate Operatives!  We can't meet Fellow Sisters naked and wearing whatever you've got in your stupid bag, and we certainly can't meet them if you've stashed us away in secret cubbyholes or dragged us to the dungeons and locked us in a cell."

"Uh... yeah," Mandy agreed, finally taking Gwyn's lead.  She released the bikini-strings and crossed her arms under her breasts, mimicking Gwyn's defiance.  She had zero expectation that Gwyn's "cunning plan" was going to work, but then, Rada was wearing one of her servant outfits.  That meant that at least for the moment, Spooky Roget Manor was in formal mode... or as formal as things were going to get until the next time the High Mistress decided to throw one of her fancy parties, so... it was worth a try.  Also, whatever Rada had in her "stupid bag" (the black duffel ominously resting on the carpet next to Rada's sensibly-shod right foot), it was almost certainly not the harbinger of good times for Gwyn and herself.

"In the first place," Rada purred, still smiling broadly, "it is not for a pair of Sisterhood Brownies to question the orders of their superiors."

"We are not 'Sisterhood Brownies,' Rada," Gwyn objected, stamping one bare foot for emphasis.

"We're at least Sisterhood Girl Scouts," Mandy chimed in.  "Or maybe Girl Guides, since the Sisterhood is international.  And we're the senior kind... with all the merit badges."

Her blue eyes still fixed on Rada, Gwyn gently kicked Mandy's closest leg.  "Stop helping," she whispered.

"Ow!" Mandy pouted.

"And in the second place," Rada continued, ignoring her prey's objections, "I've already asked Sally to lock the reading room doors.  If you make Rada chase you around, Rada will use all the accessories in Rada's stupid bag."  She nudged the duffel with her sensible shoe and it rattled in smug agreement.  "Even the nasty accessories in the side-pockets of Rada's stupid bag."

Gwyn and Mandy turned their heads, locked eyes, heaved simultaneous sighs... then removed their bikinis.  It didn't take very long.  Soon, they were completely nude and the bikini's (what there was of them) were draped across the back of a nearby easy chair.

"Why is she talkin' in the third person?" Mandy whispered to her girlfriend while they watched Rada unzip the main compartment of Rada's Stupid Bag.

"She gets all grandiose now and then," Gwyn whispered back, "or when she's in an especially wicked mood."

Mandy frowned.  "You sure it's not her Norwegian accent coming to the surface?  Maybe she does that when she's feelin' grandiose or wicked."

"Silence!" Rada barked (somehow managing to stifle the laughter bubbling to escape her smiling lips).  She then reached into the bag and set to work.

A few minutes later... Rada finally stood back to admire a job well done.

Both naked young "Sisterhood Brownies" were wearing complete, interconnected sets of "serving chains" with collars, manacles, and fetters.  Being from the Roget Family Collection, the sets were deluxe stainless steel models with wide, thick, smooth (inside-and-out) neck, wrist, and ankle restraints and double-locking internal mechanisms where each restraint met its gleaming chain.  There were no unsightly and noisy dangling padlocks.

There was more.  There was much more.  There were chastity belts!

The belts were stainless steel, lined with black leather, and locked around Gwyn and Mandy's waists by means of locking steel snap-buckles, each engraved with a decorative "R" for Roget.  The vertical crotch-panels had secondary crotch-panels with flush-mounted brass padlocks and leather-padded chains linking the bottoms of the crotch-panels to the backs of the belts.

Both items were perfect fits, just tight enough to dimple Gwyn and Mandy's flesh.  Trying to use their questing fingers to reach under the crotch-panels would be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible.  Regarding sanitation, if the pouting damsels respectfully begged Rada to unlock and remove their secondary crotch-panels, they'd be able to relieve themselves, but playing with themselves (or each other) with the panels in place was out of the question.

O the drama!  O the tragedy!  O the looming hours of erotic frustration!

In Mandy's humble opinion, Gwyn had never looked hotter.  All fair, flawless skin, long, tousled, dark-brown/black hair, incredibly beautiful face, and big, blue, sad eyes... she was gorgeous!  Tight hogties and ball-ties and other exotic/elaborate ties had their place, but Captured Princess Gwyneth was hot!  (In Mandy's humble opinion.)  This did not help the ginger beauty's frustration problem.

Gwyn's assessment/appreciation of her slightly taller, freckled, ginger-haired, and green-eyed fellow captive was similar, only, to Gwyn, Mandy was the captured daughter of a Celtic Chieftain, all Brave Defiance and smokin' hot pulchritude.  Actually, at the moment, Mandy was looking neither brave nor defiant, but Gwyn knew her quite well (and in the biblical sense) and could supply the required haughty insolence from memory.

"All right then, ladies," Rada instructed as she zipped closed her now rather depleted Stupid Bag, "go to one of your bedrooms, I don't care which one, and braid each others hair.  And be quick about it.  Then, report to the kitchen.  Sally has a list of tasks for you to help prepare tonight's dinner.  Also..."  Rada's smile widened.  "You'll be serving the meal.  And before you start whining and complaining..."  She gave the Stupid Bag a shake.  It rattled in response (a little).  "Accessorizing is still an option."

"Rada!" Gwyn and Mandy whined in response.  They couldn't help themselves.

"Don't make me fetch the matching scold's bridles," Rada purred.  "Sally, unlock the doors."

Sigourney Weaver's voice answered.  "Consider it done."

Gwyn and Mandy locked eyes and heaved another simultaneous sigh, then stomped (and clattered) from the reading room.  Yes, they were barefoot and technically padding rather than stomping, but their pouting lips and rattling hobble-chains made their shared unhappiness abundantly clear.

Rada watched the girls depart... then, still smiling, turned to the next task on her list.  "No rest for the wicked," she said under her breath.

"Tell me about it," Sally's voice agreed.

Penny was finding it difficult to relax.  Being naked, with her feet locked in an ankle-foot-toe neoprene/rubber-tubing binder-thingie, her arms bound behind her back in a neoprene single-sleeve armbinder, and her upper body bound in a neoprene body-harness, wasn't conducive to relaxation.  Equally unhelpful was having been dumped in Bethany's big, luxurious, outdoor pool.  Likewise being tickled by Frankie, the gorgeous, athletic, naked member of the mysterious organization that had supposedly recruited (or was it captured?) Cousin Beebe and Aunt Suki.

Granted, Frankie, the naked, smiling, gorgeous older woman currently running her fiendish fingers over Penny's wet, helpless body did have a beautiful face and sparkling blue eyes, but still...

This was a lot to take in!  Penny needed time!  And she was unable to properly defend herself!  Or retaliate!

Also, Bethany (clad in a skimpy, black string-bikini) was sitting poolside and sipping a rum cocktail.  Jane, the older gorgeous, athletic, and supposedly senior member of the mysterious organization (and wearing a really attractive, summer-weight dress and not a bikini), was also sitting poolside and sipping a rum cocktail.  And they were both watching Penny kick and squirm, sputter and giggle, and do her best not to drown!  That wasn't helping Penny to relax either.

Was it too much to ask for a little personal time to process what she'd been told?  Her apprenticeship with Dr. Bondage was cancelled?  Beebe and Suki were incommunicado and hidden away... somewhere?  And Penny was supposed to take all of that in stride and let gorgeous, naked, blue-eyed strangers dunk her in the pool and tickle her silly?  Is that what was really happening?

Apparently... it was.

And then, the tickling stopped, Frankie (the gorgeous, naked, blue-eyed stranger in question) swam a few yards away and floated on her back, lips smiling, blue eyes closed, and her gorgeous face turned to the sun.

Penny managed to tread water... in a neoprene-bondage-hampered and highly resentful manner... and glared at Frankie.  What an outrage!  She tried to drown me by tickling!  But then, the water was refreshing... so that was good.  It was best to ignore the offending beauty sharing the pool and take advantage of this, her first real opportunity to reflect on her drastically revised future.

First, however, Penny decided to relocate to the shallow end so as not to have to tread water in a neoprene-bondage-hampered and highly resentful manner... and she did so (in a highly inefficient, thrashing and neoprene-bondage-hampered manner).  Finally, her bound toes touched the bottom of the pool and she no longer had to tread water.  She'd reached the beginning of the shallow end.  So... time to think.

Oh, Beebe...  Oh, Suki...  Penny silently sighed.  What happened?  And what can I do about it?

Thanks to Beebe's paranoid but justifiable security regime, the one designed to frustrate law enforcement, Penny had no way of even starting an investigation, no way to sneak to one of Beebe and Suki's many hideouts, abodes, or lairs, search for cues, and (hopefully) pick up their trail.  Why?  Because she didn't know where any of their current hideouts, abodes, or lairs were located... and the ones she did know about were all inactive/abandoned.  Beebe and Suki were always on the move, staying in one place no more than a few days or weeks at a time, especially after having just completed a job.  Penny was always required to wait for Beebe to contact her with instructions on how to find them.  Always. 

So... what to do?  What can I do?

Penny stood, her bound toes and feet brushing the concrete bottom as she semi-floated in frustration.  This sucks... although the water is refreshing.

After several minutes...  (It felt like several minutes)...  Penny noticed Rada strolling back to the pool from the mansion.  Still wearing her Senior Servant Uniform, she was carrying a stack of large, fluffy towels and a black canvas duffel bag was slung on her right shoulder.

Penny watched, warily, as her titanic (and gorgeous) nemesis deposited the towels on a side table, dropped the duffel on the tiles, smiled, and strolled in her watery direction.

"Come here, Kattunge," Rada purred, beckoning for Penny to hop/swim to the edge of the pool.

"Bite me!" Penny responded, and then―"Eeee!  Hey!  Stop it!  Let me go!"―Frankie suddenly emerged from the depths, grabbed her from behind, and was now sloshing through the water towards Rada, taking Penny's squirming, struggling, complaining body with her!  "Noooooo!"

"She's adorable," Jane, the elder stranger, remarked to Bethany, loud enough for Penny to hear.

Rada lifted Penny from the water with depressing ease, carried her dripping, naked, neoprene-bound, and indignant body next to the towels, planted her rubber-tubing and neoprene-bound feet on the sun-warmed tiles―"Ow!"―and subjected her to the supreme indignity of a vigorous toweling.  "Leave me alone, you Norwegian Troll!"

This elicited an appreciative chuckle from Penny's lounging and swimming admirers.

"Hush, Kattunge," Rada purred, then concentrated on drying Penny's hair.

"Let me go!" Penny whined.

Surprisingly, Rada did, indeed, let her go.  That is, she tossed aside the towel, produced the required tool/key, unlocked and opened all of the many snap-buckles (and single zipper) securing Penny's ankle-foot-toe, body-harness, and armbinder bonds... and Penny was finally free!

However, as the saying goes, every silver lining has a cloud.  Penny rubbed her wrists (unnecessarily), pouted, and watched as Rada unzipped her ominous duffel and pulled out... a stainless steel Secretary-yoke!

That was Aunt Suki's name for such devices, anyway: "Secretary-yoke."  She was referencing the manacles, collar, and spreader-bar combo Maggie Gyllenhaal wore in that famous scene from the movie Secretary, of course.  Why Maggie hadn't won that year's Oscar for Lead Actress in a Bondage Drama, Penny would never understand.  Anyway, Maggie's yoke had been steel and leather, with flexible, dangling attachment points for the manacles and collar, while the model in Rada's hands was all steel and totally rigid.  However, the wearer's wrists would be held to either side of her head with her elbows-bent, so as far as Penny was concerned (and she was very concerned) it qualified as a Secretary-yoke.

Penny seriously considered sprinting for the trees and making her way to the thriving metropolis of Roget, which Gwyn had said was the nearest town.  She was sure she could find the place.  Pretty sure, anyway.  The only problem, of course, was that Rada would be hot on her heels the entire way.  Also, if/when she arrived in town, she'd be naked and covered in scratches from head to toe from all the intervening tree branches, bushes, brambles, etc.  Also, there might be bears, pumas, wolves, coyotes, velociraptors, and raccoons lurking in the woods!

Penny decided to offer no resistance, but did offer a display of pouting-but-compliant-defiance with the adorableness factor dialed up to eleven.  It might earn her sympathy and/or style-points from the judges: Bethany, Jane, and Frankie.

Anyway―"Sigh!"―in short order Penny was in full-blown, naked, Maggie Gyllenhaal mode, elbows bent, hands to either side of her pouting (and hopefully mega-adorable) face, and her wrists and neck locked in stainless steel.  O the tragedy of it all!

While Penny dwelt on the helplessness of her situation (and decided that aspiring to the level of cuteness effortlessly displayed by Maggie Gyllenhaal was a laudable life goal), Rada handed a hairbrush and comb set to Jane, gathered Penny's former neoprene bonds and dumped them in her duffel, spun on her sensible heels, and headed for the mansion.  "Things to do!" she called back over her right shoulder.  "Dinner will be at the usual time."

"You better run!" Penny shouted at Rada's back, and Bethany, Jane, and Frankie laughed.  I guess it works better as a spoken parting shot, Penny decided.  But I still need new material.

Jane grabbed a cushion from one of the unoccupied poolside chairs and placed it on the tiles at her beautiful, sandal-clad feet.  "Come here, Penny," she suggested (ordered).

Penny directed one last scathing scowl at Rada's distant figure, then padded forward and sat on the cushion with her back to Jane and folded her legs to the side.  She assumed that was the position Jane had in mind and it turned out she was right.  Penny sighed and rested her eyes as the gorgeous stranger began gently and skillfully brushing and combing her blond hair.

It felt good... as did the sun on her skin.  And Jane's fingers were nimble and strong.  And Bethany was watching, 90-something-percent naked in her black string-bikini, smiling, and sipping her drink.  Penny decided she could use a sip from her drink, but not right now.  Right now... she was being pampered.  Penny was okay with being pampered.  After all she'd been through, she deserved a little pampering.

"Let's talk some more," Jane suggested as she began plaiting Penny's hair in a French braid.

"What about?" Penny inquired.

Jane chuckled.  "The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things.  Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax.  Of cabbages and kings."

Penny recognized the quote.  "I do feel a little like Alice," she huffed.  Bethany and Jane laughed (although it hadn't really been a joke), and Penny took the occasion to ostentatiously nod her chin at her tumbler.  "Drink?"

Bethany smiled, picked up the tumbler in question, and held it to Penny's lips.

"Thank you," Penny responded after sipping and swallowing.  Yum!

"You're welcome, dear," Bethany smiled, then focused on Jane.  "I assume you're going to give her The Talk?"

"If you're referring to the talk all Sisters give their daughters on their thirteenth birthday," Jane answered.  "Yes, or a version thereof.  She's not thirteen.  More importantly, she's not a family legacy, like your Gwyneth, or like Sister Byrne's Amanda.  Ours will not be the standard talk."

Penny blinked, once, then controlled her reaction.  'Sisters?'  And Gwyn and Mandy are members of this mysterious organization and they didn't tell me?  Those rats!

"Penny might not be a legacy, but she has been vetted," Gwyneth noted.

"She has," Jane agreed, "which is why she's getting any version of The Talk.'"  She finished Penny's braid and tied the end with a narrow blue ribbon Rada had apparently delivered with the brush and comb set.  Jane then lifted Penny up and sat her on her lap.  "Ours is an ancient organization," she said solemnly, "but the details of its origin are lost in time.  We call it... The Sisterhood."

Penny sat on Jane's lap, basked in the sun, and listened with keen attention as the lecture continued.

It was only later that night that Penny realized Jane's lengthy description of The Sisterhood and how it worked had been a mile wide and an inch deep (as the saying goes).  To summarize what Penny did learn:

• The Sisterhood's professed goal was "Human Progress" (whatever that meant).
• The Sisterhood was an exclusively female organization, although there were a number of male "associates."
• The Sisterhood was organized in "circles," mostly around specific activities like promoting education, protecting the environment, combating hunger, etc.
• Some circles were small and local, some were large, regional, or national, a few were global, and many Sisters were active in more than one circle.
• The Sisterhood was secretive.  Its existence was not to be acknowledged or discussed with non-members.  Its very name was a guarded secret.  Penny had to promise not to reference, research, or even Google "The Sisterhood."
• In the same vein, while many Sisters might be prominent academics, well-known writers, powerful politicians, or famous celebrities, their status as members was strictly secret.  And for that reason, no, Jane was not going to tell Penny which famous celebrities she was talking about, and Taylor Swift might or might not be a Sister, and Penny should stop asking!
  
• And no, not all circles of The Sisterhood were into naked bondage... only the fun circles.

At some point during Jane's lecture/briefing, Frankie had climbed the ladder from the pool... her nude, tan, athletic, gorgeous body dripping chlorinated water... then padded over to Bethany, Jane, and Penny... toweled her nude, tan, athletic, gorgeous body with one of Rada's big, fluffy towels... transferred her neatly stacked clothes to a side table... sat in her former chair, next to Jane and Penny... crossed her long, tan, gorgeous legs... and focused her gorgeous, blue-eyed, smiling gaze on Penny.  Needless to say, Penny found all that to be only mildly distracting.

By the time Jane had revealed all that she was willing to reveal, the sun was threatening to set and the mosquitoes were waking up and probably thinking about feasting on any nude or scantily clad Sisters that might be in the vicinity.  Also, it was just about time for supper.  Penny's tummy was rumbling.

There was a pause while Frankie dressed (much to Penny's carefully concealed disappointment), and they adjourned to Spooky Roget Manor.

The evening meal was a veritable feast, sure to please the palate of the most discriminating gourmand.  Throughout, Penny remained a naked, Secretary-yoked, and somewhat disgruntled captive and not the ideal dinner guest.  She did her best not to disappoint and/or embarrass her hostess, High Mistress Sister Bethany, but some degree of grumpiness on Penny's part was clearly justified, and possibly even expected.

All the traditional courses were served in the traditional order.  And in this case, "served" meant they were delivered to the table by naked serving girls wearing serving chains and chastity belts!  The serving girls in question were Gwyn and Mandy, of course.  Penny assumed the chains were so they could be serving girls, and as for the chastity belts...  Maybe they're for sanitary purposes? Penny posited, like hair nets... only steel... and not on their heads?

Snooty rich people generally ignore their servants, but when Gwyn and Mandy emerged from the kitchen for the first time, with Mandy pushing a cart laden with the soup course, Bethany proudly introduced her daughter and young, ginger-haired friend to Jane and Frankie.  The Senior Sisters smiled, exchanged niceties, and politely ignored Gwyn and Mandy's naked captivity.  As it turned out, Gwyn had already met Jane, although Gwyn had only been eleven at the time.  Mandy knew neither of the "Sisters" and blushed prettily when she was introduced.  Then, Gwyn and Mandy snapped back into Anonymous Servant Mode and the meal continued.

As she served Penny, Gwyn leaned close and whispered in her ear: "Don't worry.  We didn't spit in your soup."  She then served Frankie, who apparently had been assigned the duty of feeding Penny by hand, as the Secretary-yoked little blonde couldn't very well feed herself.  Smiling her blue-eyed smile, Frankie seemed to be enjoying the task.

There was polite and congenial table talk, none of which had anything to do with either The Sisterhood or naked bondage.  Being a Grumpy Kattunge, Penny didn't take part, speaking only when spoken to.  Finally, they adjourned to one of the decadently overdecorated, Gothic sitting rooms for brandy and more talk.  Frankie only allowed Penny a single snifter, although, given the events of the day, Penny could have done with a refill.

After several minutes of careful listening, Penny heaved a wide, deep yawn which, thanks to the Secretary-yoke, she was unable to politely conceal.  Rada appeared as if by magic, Bethany, Jane, and Frankie wished Penny a good night, and then―"Hey!"―Rada lifted her into her arms.  Penny returned the nocturnal pleasantries as Rada carried her from the sitting room... in a grumpy manner, of course.

Penny had a lot of new things to think about, but she wasn't distracted from the important items already on her agenda.  As they crossed the Grand Entryway and started up the Grand Staircase, Penny carefully affected her most innocent, wide-eyed expression, gazed up at Rada, and batted her big-blue-eyes.  "I know you have to make sure Bethany's guests get settled in for the night," she said, "but afterwards... are you still coming to my room?  ...so I can show you my rigging skills?"  This is going to work! Penny thought, batting her eyes again, for added adorableness.

"No, Kattunge," Rada purred.  "Rada has other plans for the evening."  She leaned close and kissed Penny's pouting lips. 

Penny heaved a disappointed and very adorable sigh.  Rats!  It was worth a try.  The journey continued until they reached The Bambi Room, Penny's gigantic, overdecorated, Gothic guest bedroom.
 
Rada helped Penny with her evening toilette (with the exception of actually emptying her bladder for her), then tucked her into bed.  And in this case "tucking" meant padlocking a pair of long chains to Penny's left and right Secretary-yoke manacle-cuffs.  The chains trailed away and were attached to the left and right rails of the massive bed-frame, somewhere near the floor.  Penny had a lot of slack, and therefore wiggle room, and was "free" to roll around on the mattress, but she'd remain in bed until released.

"This is mean," Penny huffed as Rada leaned down and kissed her pouting lips.

"At least there is no gag, Kattunge," Rada noted, then turned out the lights, leaving only the dim nightlights near the baseboards, and made her exit.  "Goodnight," she purred as she closed and locked the bedroom door.

She has a point about the gag, Penny was forced to admit.  She stared up at the dark, only just barely visible rafters, far overhead, and resolved to organize all the information she'd learned about Beebe and Aunt Suki's disappearance and/or supposed recruitment into the ranks of the mysterious Sisterhood.  That would be, of course, with an eye towards deciding what (if anything) she could and should do about any and/or all of it.

Instead, Penny fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ zzzzzzz ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Vast, Luxurious, Gothic Bedchamber of
High Mistress Bethany Roget
Later that night

---

Bethany was naked and comfortably reclined near the foot of her gigantic bed; however, tonight "naked" meant she was wearing nothing but black, conditioned hemp rope, instead of her usual baby-doll nightie, and "comfortably reclined" meant she was hogtied on her stomach.

The hogtie was an undeniable masterpiece, heavily influenced by Kinbaku but not slavishly constrained (so to speak) by traditional Japanese forms.  The details:

• Bethany's ankles were crossed and bound and her wrists tied together with her hands palm-to-palm.
• Her ankles and wrists were in close proximity with their bonds melded together in a compact, unified, highly restrictive nest of loops and cinches.
• Her hands, thumbs, and feet were also bound (together), as were her big toes (separately), and the bondage was incorporated into the wrist and ankle hogtie-nexus by tight loops and/or taut strands of thin, black, hemp cord.
• Her lower legs were lashed to her thighs in an elaborate and redundantly looped and cinched frog-tie.
• Her elbows were crushed together, tied, and cinched.
• And finally, a complex body and torso-harness pinned her arms against her sides and was tightly, tautly linked to the wrist and ankle hogtie-nexus and elbow bonds, imparting on the composition a symmetrical unity.

A hypothetical outside observer who was also an aficionado of the Bondage Arts & Sciences might have noted two glaring omissions:

1. There was no crotch-rope, and arguably, an exquisite, absolutely beautiful damsel like Bethany Roget practically demanded a crotch-rope!  Not literally, of course.  Bethany certainly hadn't demanded a crotch-rope as she was being rendered helpless.  Knowing the author of her bondage, such a demand would have been decidedly imprudent.
2. There was no gag.  Bethany was free (so to speak) to scream for help, threaten retribution, beg for mercy, or swap recipes with her rigger.  Go figure.  In any case, Jane, the rigger in question, wasn't present.  Anything Bethany cared to scream or say would remain unheard (except by Sally, of course).

Jane had rendered Bethany so nakedly helpless with Bethany's own expensive bondage rope... and then had abandoned her?  What an outrage!

Actually, Jane hadn't gone far.  After tying the final knot (and briefly sucking on the toes of Bethany's left foot, eliciting a girlish squeal from her helpless prisoner), Jane stepped to the side (no doubt positioning herself within the full and easy view of her hogtied captive entirely by accident) and proceeded to undress.  She ignored Bethany's squirming body and leering, appreciative smile as she did so.  Soon, her clothes neatly folded on the seat of an easy chair and gloriously nude, Jane reached for the ceiling, far overhead, arched her back... and executed a full-body stretch.  "Arrrgh!"  She then padded into the Master Bath and was gone, for the moment.

For several very long moments, actually.

Squirming and weakly testing her bonds (with absolutely no expectation of escape), Bethany managed to piece together what was happening in the bathroom.  The hogtied damsel recognized the sound of splashing water, specifically, the faucet of her giant soaking-tub/whirlpool spa.  She knew the tub in question incorporated a flash heater, so the water would emerge from the tap at the perfect temperature.  After about a minute, the cacophonous splashing stopped and was replaced by the bubbling and churning of the spa's many water-jets.

More minutes passed.

Many more minutes passed.

Bethany decided to pass the time by being naked, bound, and utterly helpless.

Jane's hogtie was a fiendish predicament.  Bethany was impressed.  She found if she remained perfectly still... she was "comfortable."  However, if she tried to move, either to explore her bonds or attempt to relocate herself...  Ow!  Bethany decided that, for the moment, perfectly still would be just fine.

Finally―Finally!―the bubbling and churning stopped, there was a brief pause... then the gurgling sound of the tub draining commenced.  Bethany assumed while that was happening Jane had emerged from the lowering water, as well as a possible/probable snowy-white, floating carpet of bath-bead generated bubbles.  Her perfect, imminently desirable curves dripping with water, as well as with any possible/probable remnant soap-bubbles clinging to said curves (and who could blame them?), Jane had stepped from the tub/spa and onto a lush bathmat, then toweled her perfect, imminently desirable curves with a thick, fluffy bath-sheet.

And then, Jane padded from the bathroom, crossed the considerable distance to the bed, climbed onto the bed, and reclined against the vast Gothic headboard, propping her back against a pile of shams and pillows.  Her long, brown, gleaming hair was dry and loose about her shoulders and her brown-eyed smile was positively angelic (assuming, of course, the existence of angels keenly interested in the Bondage Arts & Sciences).

"Well," Jane purred.  "What do you think?"

Bethany suppressed a smile and heaved a rather unconvincing theatrical sigh.  "What do I think?  I think I'm tied up.  You're truly a World Class Rigger.  A High Mistress of the Order of Riggers.  A member of the Rigger's High Council that meets in the High Council Chamber on the top floor of the Rigger's Tower to debate Rigging.  But then, that's been true for years, so why do you even ask?  So I can stroke your ego?"  She wiggled in her incredible bonds.  "I'm not in a position to stroke anything."

Jane heaved a theatrical sigh of her own.  "All of that is true, of course―"

"Of course," Bethany interrupted, and now she was smiling.

"But it's a little sad when I come up with such a pretty, dare I say, exquisite composition," Jane continued, "and there's no one here to appreciate it."

"What am I?" Bethany muttered, squirming a little more, "chopped liver?"

"You've the composition in question," Jane chuckled, "and from that position you can't see half of my inspired rope-work, much less admire the entire design.  A pity."

Bethany heaved another sigh, and this time it was genuine.  "Sally?"

"Yes, Mistress Roget?" Sigourney Weaver's disembodied voice responded.  It was Sally, of course, and by her tone she was more than a little amused by the situation.  "Wait, should I be addressing you as 'Mistress?'  Wouldn't 'Damsel Roget' be more appropriate?"

Bethany ignored the protocol question.  "I assume you're recording all of this?"

"As always.  Would you like me to transmit a copy to the High Council of Riggers Archive in the Riggers Tower, High Mistress Jane?"

Jane smiled.  "Go away, Sally."

"Going away," Sally purred.

"She's still recording, of course," Jane chuckled, smiling at Damsel Roget.

"As always," Damsel Roget agreed, "which means I'll be able to revel in all the details of your technique at my leisure.  Now, about our new Sister, Penny Parr.   You've read my reports: plays well with others but has been known to run with scissors.  Do you have any additional guidance?"

"Our program for Sister Parr has been flexible thus far, and should remain so.  Keep an eye on her, as will Sisters Gwyn and Mandy, as will Sally―"

"Hey!  Sister Sally," Sally interrupted.  "A little respect, if you please."

"Thank you, Cyber-Sister Sally," Jane laughed.  "Now, go away, as you were told."

"Going, going, gone!" Sally responded.

"Where was I?" Jane frowned.

"We're all keeping an eye on Penny," Bethany prompted.

"Exactly," Jane nodded.  "We'll deal with anything untoward she might attempt, and I trust Sisters Gwyn and Mandy not to let her lead them into mischief... meaning unsanctioned mischief."

It was Bethany's turn to nod.  "Agreed."  Then, her dimpled smile turned decidedly coy (possibly saucy).  "I know why you didn't gag me," she said quietly.

Jane's smiled.  "Do tell."

"You expect me to squirm up there and lick your pussy," Bethany intoned.

Jane chuckled.  "I expect more than that.  I expect your tongue, lips, and teeth to do a great deal of thrusting, sucking, and nibbling."

Bethany's pale blue eyes widened, as did her smile.  "Nibbling?"

"Gumming," Jane amended.

Bethany's saucy smile returned.  "I also know why I don't have a crotch-rope to deal with."

"Actually," Jane purred, "It would have been a crotch-harness that both cleaved your pussy and pinched your labia together."

Bethany sighed.  "With knots, of course."

"For the cleaving ropes, of course," Jane agreed, "but pray continue."

"A crotch-rope... excuse me...  a crotch-harness would get in the way of your lips, tongue, and teeth."

Jane raised an eyebrow (and smiled).  "Are you topping from the bottom, Snowflake?"

Bethany pouted.  "I hate that nick-name," she muttered.

Jane's smile was unchanged.  "But it fits you so well, with your fair, pale, some would say sepulchral complexion.  You're a little sunburned, by the way."

"Which was why you rubbed lotion all over my body midway through crafting your rigging masterpiece," Bethany purred.

"Sister Penny is also a little sunburned," Jane stated.  "I hope someone is seeing to that."  She stretched her arms before continuing.  "Actually, I noticed she seems to have developed a few freckles to go with her pink glow.  I think the little darling is one of those blondes."

Bethany's eyes widened with interest.  "Freckles?  I like freckles.  How did I miss that?  Are you sure?"

"Attention to detail, Damsel Snowflake," Jane scolded with mock severity.  "They're very subtle, but I think Penny might very well be a freckle-blonde."

Bethany chewed her lower lip and focused on infinity (either that or Jane's prominently displayed crotch).  "Perhaps with more exposure...  Being careful not to let her burn, of course..."

"Of course," Jane agreed, then indicated her pussy with a graceful, languid flip of her right wrist.

Bethany heaved a tragic sigh.  "It's going to be exquisitely painful to wiggle, squirm, and inchworm my way all the way up to that thing."

"In an overly dramatic mood are we, Snowflake?" Jane purred.

Bethany glared at her guest.  "Well... if not painful... unpleasant."

"You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs," Jane noted.

Bethany rolled her eyes.  "Also, apparently, you can't lick a pussy without dragging your tits and the rest of your hogtied body halfway up the bed."

"That too," Jane agreed.

Bethany did so―meaning dragged her tits and the rest of her hogtied self halfway up the bed―Ow!―Jane's rope-work inflicting a pinching, squeezing "massage" the entire way―Ow!―and the evening's festivities escalated to a new level.