by Van ©2017
		Chapter 2

The next few days passed in something of a blur... in what Amanda later realized was a drugged blur.

Amanda experienced dreams, but while her normal, pre-kidnapping dreams were "conventional," little stories with something of a beginning, middle, end, and often with something resembling a plot, her current dreams were more like extended hallucinations.  And further complicating the situation, there were periods of clarity or near clarity, so Amanda wasn't always sure when she was dreaming and when she wasn't.

She remembered being hand fed what she could only characterize as "pablum."  At the time she'd been so hungry its semi-bland taste had been actually welcome.  It was some sort of custard or pudding and not especially sweet or dessert-like... but it was food... and at the time Amanda had been famished.  Whatever it was, it was spooned into her mouth by Blythe, the catsuited brunette, and while Amanda remembered trying to ask questions, she was told to be quiet or she'd be punished.  Amanda wanted food, not punishment, so she complied.

Another time she was walking... walking on a treadmill.  She was in some sort of gymnasium, with various exercise machines present, and she was walking.  She was still naked, her wrists were cuffed behind her back, her nostrils were clamped shut, and something with attached breathing tubes was strapped to her lower face and holding some sort of bit in her mouth, forcing her jaws about an inch apart.  It was... a mask? ... a muzzle?  She surmised it was there to measure her level of carbon-dioxide output as she exercised.  In any case, it wasn't causing her pierced tongue any distress, and that was a good thing... a very good thing.

So, Amanda walked... and sweated... and walked... and air whistled through the tubes as she breathed... and her bare feet trod the rolling treadmill as step followed step... and she walked.

Cassie was present, wearing her black catsuit uniform with an evil smile curling her lips and a long wand with a forked tip bearing two blunt copper studs was in her right hand.  No words were spoken, none that Amanda could remember, anyway, and she walked.

Yet another time she was standing under a shower of hot water, naked, of course, with her mouth taped shut and her wrists cuffed behind her back and her ankles hobbled about a foot apart.  Blythe was there, and this time her kidnapper/supervisor was also naked.  The smiling brunette was running her soapy hands over Amanda's body, including her buttocks and between her legs, and Amanda's breasts were receiving special attention.  The large circular band-aids were gone, and her pierced nipples and their horizontal posts and "U"-shaped stirrups were exposed to the pelting water and Blythe's gentle, soapy fingers.  There was no pain, but there was... sensitivity.

Amanda also remembered periods of total darkness, lying on a soft, comfortable, twin-size bed... as well as intervals in a brightly lit, plain white cell, also lying on a soft, comfortable, twin-sized bed.  The cell was small, about eight-feet by twelve-feet, and its only amenities were the bed platform and a stainless steel commode with a steel washbasin/drinking fountain.  The door—Amanda somehow knew it was the door—was a thick glass panel providing an uninteresting view of a stretch of stark white hallway.  Across the panel at waist height a frosted horizontal band bore her name: "DR. A. HARNOIS."  The letters were reversed from Amanda's perspective inside the cell, of course.  They were meant to be read from the outside.

As for the fabulous collection of the fabulous library of which she was now one of four involuntary staff librarians, there was no sign—and that went for Ginger, Phoebe, and Katy, as well.  There was no sign of her fellow captives.  It was just Amanda, her handlers, and her periods of "clarity" interspersed with unstructured dreams.

Things got better, if you can call being kidnapped and pressed into involuntary servitude "better."  Perhaps it was best to say that things got clearer, drug-free.

Amanda knew she was nearing the end of her first week in Alexandra Votel's employ because Blythe told her so.  Also, her tongue had long since stopped throbbing and the posts-and-rod unit didn't cause more than a slight twinge of discomfort when it moved.  The metal intrusion still felt strange, of course, and Amanda wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

As for her breasts, for the most part her nipples and their new accessories remained covered, but now and then Blythe or Cassie would change the band-aids.  Like the tongue-post, the nipple-stirrups felt strange, when Amanda was aware of them at all.

In any case, as the drugs left her system Amanda's awareness of linear time improved.  Periods of lucidity began outnumbering intervals of oblivion, and eventually, the world became "normal."  Unfortunately, normal now meant naked incarceration and near-total lack of control of all aspects of her life.  "Day" had become what felt like sixteen hours of light and "night" was eight hours of darkness.

Sustenance continued to be monotonous servings of pablum, but she was now allowed to feed herself with a plastic spoon from a plastic bowl.  These "meals" were delivered three times a day, usually by Blythe but sometimes by Cassie.  Amanda was forbidden to speak, on pain of unspecified punishment, and required to stand at the back of her cell with her hands atop her head when the food was delivered and again when the empty bowl and used spoon were retrieved.

Amanda obeyed all the orders given by her supervisors.  When it was time to be led to the gym for exercise, she allowed her wrists to be cuffed, her ankles hobbled, and a gag-panel/muzzle to be strapped across mouth, cupping her chin and covering her lower face.  On these occasions, and with her mind now increasingly clear, Amanda noted the fact that there were three additional cells lining the hallway.  As she was led to the elevator for her ride up to the gym, she passed glass panels bearing the labels "DR. K. KELLOG," "DR. P. PRATT," and "DR. G. ROCKWELL."  Sometimes one or more of her colleagues were present and sometimes not.  When present, they were always naked, like Amanda.

Amanda was the very picture of subservience.  She hated it, but decided it was her best course of "action," reasoning that obedience might lull her handlers into making a mistake.  Also, and it was no small thing, while she walked and ran on the treadmill or used one of the other exercise machines in the gym, Amanda had watched her kidnappers pummel and swing-kick a rubber practice dummy.  She was sure that both Blythe and Cassie were trained martial artists.  Amanda was physically fit, but she was no fighter.

In any case, if an opportunity for escape presented itself, Amanda resolved to be ready.  For now she'd play the cowed captive, but she'd be ready.

Another day dawned, meaning the lights in her cell turned themselves on and Amanda was served her morning pablum.  Later, she was taken for an extended ride on a stationary bike.  This time Katy Kellog was also present and for the first time Amanda had company as she exercised.  Cassie was their handler/coach, wearing her usual catsuit and armed with a sinister shock-wand.  Amanda's wrist cuffs were attached to the bike's handles and Katy's cuffs were locked together behind her back.  Both librarians were also wearing leather panel-gags and their glasses.

Aside from having company in the gym (not counting Cassie), there was one other change.  Amanda's nipples had received their daily inspection and cleaning before she was led to the gym, but after being swabbed clean and the stirrups given a gentle tug—which, by the way, was unsettling but not painful—no new band-aids were applied.  That is, her nipples and their steel accessories were now as exposed as the rest of her.

Amanda noted her stirrups jiggled a little as she pedaled the bike, but as Katy ran on her treadmill, the blonde's breasts bounced and her stirrups jiggled a lot.  Amanda knew from experience that running without a bra could get very old very fast, but there was nothing she could do about it.  She couldn't even complain.  Amanda might be able to make her negative opinion known by mewling through her gag, but it was unlikely that would motivate Cassie to provide Katy with a sports-bra.  More likely, it would earn Amanda a zap from Cassie's wand.

Katy's exercise period ended first and Cassie led the sweating blonde away, no doubt to receive a much needed shower.  Amanda remained behind, still pedaling her bike.  Eventually, Cassie returned and took Amanda for her shower... followed by the weary trudge back to her cell... followed by lunch.

That afternoon, alone in her cell, Amanda gently tugged on her nipple-stirrups.  They still felt strange, but there was no pain.  Her perforated nipples seemed to have healed.  She also rolled the tongue-post in her mouth.  She could feel the spherical caps of the dumbbell-shaped post.  There was a slight twinge as she manipulated the piercing, but not what she would call actual pain.  She decided her nipples had healed but her tongue was almost healed.

Amanda took a nap... then woke, stretched, took a drink of water from the fountain atop the steel commode, then sat back down on the bed to await delivery of her evening pablum.

Time passed... and no pablum appeared.  Much to Amanda's surprise, her stomach actually growled.

Suddenly, the glass door of her cell slid open and Blythe appeared.

Amanda's eyes popped wide and she sat up in alarm.  Blythe wasn't wearing her catsuit.  In fact, she didn't seem to be wearing anything at all other than a short silk robe.  Her feet were bare, the happi-style robe was indigo with vermilion trim, her gleaming brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and a dimpled smile curled her lips.

"Wh-what do you want?" Amanda demanded.

"Assume the position," Blythe ordered, still smiling.

"Why?" Amanda whined.  The change in routine—and especially Blythe's change of costume—had her spooked.

"Don't make me punish you," Blythe purred, reached into her robe pocket, and pulled out a coil of braided hemp cord.  "Assume the position, doctor."

"What are you going to do?" Amanda whined as she stood, turned her back, and placed her hands behind her back.

"Quiet," Blythe chuckled, then stepped close, crossed Amanda's wrists, and with practiced competence tied them together.

Amanda bit her lower lip, ignoring the still unfamiliar sensation of the piercing sliding in her mouth, and waited as cord tightened around her wrists, was cinched between her wrists, and a knot tied between her arms on the side away from her fingers.

"Turn," Blythe ordered, and Amanda did so.

Amanda tugged on her bound wrists and watched with growing alarm as Blythe pulled something new from her robe pocket.  It was a leash.  Amanda could tell by the leather loop at one end, but instead of a single light chain of nested links with a single clip at the end to attach to a pet's collar, this chain was in the shape of a "Y" and had two clips.

"No," Amanda whined as Blythe snapped one of the clips through her right nipple-stirrup.  She tried taking a step back, but the leash snapped taut as Blythe gave it a firm tug.  "Ah!"  Amanda's nipple was stretched, but the sensation stopped short of actual pain.

"Now, now," Blythe chuckled as she snapped the second clip through Amanda's left nipple-stirrup, "let's be a good little librarian, shall we?"  She took in the slack, again, and now both of Amanda's nipples were stretched.

"Please don't hurt me," Amanda whined.  She hated herself for being such a wimp, but knew she couldn't take Blythe in a fight, even if her wrists weren't tied behind her back. 

"I don't want to hurt you, doctor," Blythe purred, pulling Amanda close until they were face to face.  Then, she planted a kiss on Amanda's startled lips.  "But that will really be up to you.  Do as you're told and I won't have to punish your cute librarian titties.  Do we understand each other?"

Amanda wanted to respond with a knee to her grinning tormentor's crotch, but reason prevailed.  She nodded, ever so slightly.  "I-I'll do as you say," she whispered, her eyes downcast.

"Good damsel," Blythe purred, turned, and strode from the cell.  The leash snapped taut, Amanda gasped, and she hurried to follow.

Amanda couldn't see if her colleagues were in for the night as Blythe led her in the direction away from the other cells.  Amanda padded along behind her handler, doing her best to keep plenty of slack in the leash.  The chains were light but they had some weight, so there was a rhythmic tugging on the stirrups as step followed step and the gleaming links swayed.  It wasn't painful, but it was... disturbing.

Eventually they came to an elevator.  Amanda watched (with interest she hoped was well-hidden from her kidnapper) as Blythe placed her right palm on a glass panel, gazed into a binocular reader, and spoke her name: "Blythe Bennett."  This reminded Amanda that Blythe's last name was "Bennett."  Also, she realized the security system protecting the elevator was formidable and almost certainly impenetrable.

The elevator door opened, Blythe led her naked captive inside, and they rode up several stories.  It was a long trip... more than half a minute.  A chime sounded as they passed floor after floor and red LED numbers and letters on a small panel above the door changed from "L13" to "L12" to "L11," etc.  The countdown continued as the car rose.  "L01" came and went, but they continued rising.  The panel remained blank for several seconds... then, finally, the chime sounded, "S01" appeared, and the door slid open.

The hallway beyond was very different from the stark, utilitarian, white-painted concrete below.  The floor was clad in brick-red Mexican tiles, the walls plastered in a natural adobe color, and Navajo rugs, some on the floor and some as wall hangings, pulled the decor together into a Southwestern desert ambiance.

And speaking of desert, picture windows lined one wall and for the first time in however many days that had passed since her kidnapping Amanda beheld the outside world—and found she was definitely not in Cambridge.  Beyond the thick glass was a desolate vista of sand, rock, cactus, and sagebrush.  Sunset was approaching, and the turquoise sky and golden and crimson clouds were darkening to shades of indigo and purple.  They were at some height, as if on an upper story of a tall building, but Amanda could clearly make out the distinctive shapes of dozens of giant saguaro cacti, the signature species of the Sonoran Desert.  Amanda's knowledge of the area was academic, never having ventured beyond the eastern seaboard since coming to America, but the tall, straight, prickly columns strongly suggested she was somewhere in southwestern Arizona or northwestern Sonora.

Blythe led her down another hallway, they passed the entrance to a large sitting room, the start of another hallway, and finally came to a closed door of polished oak.  There was another bio-metric reader, like the ones guarding the elevators.  Amanda's leash firmly in her left hand, Blythe used her right palm, both eyes, and voice—"Blythe Bennett"—and the door whisked open.

Beyond was a large, luxurious apartment.  Like the hallways and sitting room, the decor was decidedly Southwestern.  The nipple-leash snapped taut and Amanda followed Blythe into the space, which Amanda assumed to be her handler's sleeping quarters.  There was a very large bed with an Indian blanket-style bedspread, a kitchenette, the usual cabinets and chest of drawers, open doors that led into a bathroom and what was probably a walk-in closet, and as they stepped deeper into the apartment a large alcove came into view.  It held a conversation grouping, a sofa and two easy chairs, more picture windows with a panoramic view of the rapidly darkening desert, and—

"No!"  Amanda lunged towards the alcove until stopped by the nipple-leash still in Blythe's hand.  "Ow!"

In addition to the furniture, there was a heavy steel stand with a vertical pole supporting a two-foot, horizontal, triangular steel bar with one edge facing up—and standing astride the bar with the post between her legs was Ginger Rockwell!

The freckled, red-haired, and bespectacled librarian was up on her tiptoes, visibly straining to keep her crotch off the triangular bar and prevent the unforgiving steel ridge from further squashing her genitalia, perineum, and/or rectal area.  Her arms were folded behind her back with her crossed wrists raised and lashed together just below her shoulder blades to an elaborate, tight web of hemp rope that crisscrossed her arms and torso and yoked her shoulders.  She was silenced by one of the panel-gags and a thick, wide steel collar was around her neck.  Vertical ropes stretched up to a ring in the ceiling from her upper-body bonds, but they appeared to be keeping her in place but not helping her toes and the balls of her feet support her weight.

Ginger stared at Amanda through her stylish, black-framed glasses, her green eyes wide and desperate.  Her leg muscles were corded and straining to keep her crotch off the bar.  Her fair, freckled skin glistened with sweat.

Amanda turned to Blythe.  "W-why are you doing this to her?" she demanded.  "Why?"

Smiling a truly evil dimpled smile, Blythe stepped close and took a firm grip on Amanda's brown, tousled hair before answering.  The nipple-stirrup-leash was still in her left hand and she was holding it taut.  "You've been a good little librarian, Dr. Harnois," Blythe purred.  "As for Dr. Rockwell... not so much.  Sadly, it would seem the cliche about redheads having fiery tempers is true."

"No!" Amanda objected.  "Let her g—mrrrpfh!"  Blythe had released Amanda's hair, hugged her close from the side, and her right hand covered Amanda's mouth in a tight hand-gag.  Amanda squirmed, tugged on her bound wrists, and stamped her bare feet, but Blythe controlled her with depressing ease.

"Hush, doctor," Blythe continued.  "As I was trying to explain, Doctor Rockwell has not only been uncooperative, but has something of a sharp tongue.  At the moment that's not an issue as her mouth is not only stuffed and her lips sealed, but that pretty choker around her neck is a shock-collar, the kind used to train dogs not to bark."  She leaned close and planted a kiss on the side of Amanda's neck.  "The circuit is also linked to the vertical steel dildo embedded in her pussy, so she's already learned she needs to remain very quiet, no matter what foul or highly creative names she'd like to call me or how much she'd like to scream."

"Mrrrpfh!"  It was more of a whimper than a statement, but it was clear that Amanda was still wanted to intervene on Ginger's behalf.

Blythe placed the side of her face against Amanda's and they both stared at Ginger, cheek to cheek.  "Cassie and I agreed that it would be instructive for you to see what happens to naughty librarians, but if you don't behave yourself, I have a long list of really uncomfortable kinbaku position I've been wanting to try for some time."  She released the hand gag and her embrace and led Amanda towards the bed.

Amanda stumbled in her handler's wake, her head turned and her welling eyes still focused on Ginger and her plight.  "Please don't hurt her."

"I assume you mean don't hurt her any more," Blythe chuckled, then pointed to the taut bedspread.  "Down."

"Please," Amanda reiterated, but complied.  She sat on the bed, then lifted her feet and rolled onto her side.  Her attention was divided between Ginger and Blythe.  The evil brunette was binding Amanda's crossed ankles together with another length of cord.  She then opened a lower drawer of her bedside table, pulled out a wide roll of medical tape and a pair of bandage scissors, then sniped a six or seven-inch strip from the roll.  "No!" Amanda whined.

"Lips together, doctor," Blythe purred, and again, Amanda complied.  "Good Librarian," Blythe added as she stretched the strip of tape between her two hands and pressed it home, sealing Amanda's lips and covering most of her lower face.

Naked, bound hand and foot, tape-gagged, the leash still attached to her nipple-stirrups but loose on the bed, Amanda lay on the comfortable mattress and watched Blythe stroll to the coffee table in Ginger's alcove.

"I'm going to finish cooking us a nice dinner," Blythe announced as she leaned down and picked up a small remote control of some kind.  "You're to remain on the bed and continue being a good librarian, Dr. Harnois," she purred, then turned to Ginger.  "And as for you, naughty Dr. Rockwell..."

Ginger stared in horror at the remote in Blythe's hand.

"Why don't you entertain your fellow employee by having yourself a nice orgasm?" Blythe added, then pressed a button and returned the remote to the coffee table.

Ginger shivered in her bonds and danced on her no doubt suffering toes.

"You see," Blythe said, addressing Amanda, "the dildo isn't only a punishment device, it's also a vibrator—an oscillating, computer controlled vibrator."  She indicated Ginger's squirming, grimacing, sweating form with a graceful flip of the wrist.  "Try as she might, Dr. Rockwell will be unable to resist its charms... not for very long, anyway."

Ginger continued shivering and blinking in distress.

Amanda watched in impotent horror as her colleague suffered.

Blythe, smiling the same dimpled, evil smile, turned and padded towards the kitchenette.  "I have a lasagna just about ready to come out of the oven.  How does a salad and some red wine sound, Dr. Harnois?"

Amanda tugged on her bound wrists, kicked her bound feet, and stared at Ginger.  Then, her gaze shifted to the remote.  If I somehow manage to hop over there I can grab the remote and—

"Don't even think about it, doctor," Blythe chuckled, apparently reading Amanda's mind.  She opened the refrigerator.  "I only have one 'Willie Stand,' but I know many interesting and excruciating ways to make disobedient librarians regret pointless acts of defiance."

Amanda's empty stomach grumbled.  Now that Blythe mentioned food, she could detect a delicious aroma wafting from the kitchenette, but her main focus remained on poor, suffering Ginger.

The redhead was panting through her flaring nostrils, and her peach-pink, freckled skin glistened, just short of dripping with sweat.  Her shining, nipple-pierced breasts heaved as she continued her futile struggle to escape her inescapable bonds and somehow extract herself from what Blythe had called her "Willie Stand."  Amanda didn't understand the reference, but she did recognize the monstrosity impaling and punishing Ginger as a modern, minimalist variant of "the horse," one of the dread tortures of the Holy Inquisition.

Even if all of Ginger's ropes were to suddenly vanish, Amanda mused, she'd still be stuck, unable to lift herself off the dildo.

Amanda couldn't see any part of the dildo in question, but she had no doubt whatsoever that it was there.  The distance was too great for Amanda to detect any buzzing sounds, but Ginger's continuing reactions strongly suggested that something was inside her, and it was doing... something... and all Amanda could do was watch.

It was only a few minutes before Blythe had thrown together a salad and toasted some garlic bread.  A single large plate, napkin, a set of tableware, and a stemmed glass were arranged atop the coffee table in Ginger's alcove.  Blythe carried over the food and a bottle of red wine and the meal was ready.

During this time, Amanda watched Ginger strain against her bonds, shiver, squirm, and sweat.  Whether or not Ginger had experienced an orgasm, Amanda couldn't be sure.  At several points her colleague's rope-restrained contortions might have signaled some sort of peak, either agony or ecstasy, but it wasn't clear which.  Amanda found herself crying.  She couldn't help it.  She wasn't wracked with sobs, but tears flowed down her cheeks, and, as always, were enough to fog her glasses.  Like Ginger's plight, there was nothing Amanda could do about it.

Blythe padded to the bed, untied Amanda's ankles, pulled her to her feet, and peeled the tape from her lips.

"Please," Amanda begged, "don't do that to her—ow!"  Blythe had taken hold of the leash and was leading her to the coffee table.  "Please!"

"Why don't you keep to your area of expertise, doctor," Blythe purred, "and I'll keep to mine."

"Please, don't hurt her," Amanda sobbed.  "Oh!"  In one fluid motion Blythe had swept Amanda's feet out from under her and forced her to the carpet in front of the coffee table.  She hadn't landed with any great force, but it had been a clear demonstration of Blythe's "expertise" in the handling of bound, naked librarians.

"Dr. Rockwell has to learn her lesson," Blythe said as she knelt beside Amanda.  They were both directly in front of the place setting and waiting array of food, and both had a perfect view of Ginger as she continued struggling and sweating.

"But... she's suffering," Amanda whined.  "Please."

"Would you like to take her place?" Blythe inquired with an evil smile.

"No, I..."  Amanda turned her head and glared at Blythe.  "Please stop."

"Just for an hour?" Blythe continued.  "Poor Doctor Rockwell would be able to rest and you'd be experiencing exactly what she's experiencing.  Don't you find that to be at least a little intriguing, doctor?"

Amanda turned her head from Blythe, to Ginger, then back.  "Please," was all she could say.

"Hmm..."  Still smiling, Blythe considered Ginger's helpless, naked, writhing form.  "It is a lot of work getting a damsel on and off the stand, especially a reluctant damsel."  She turned to Amanda.  "How 'bout we compromise.  I'll ease Dr. Rockwell's situation, and in return, you'll do something for me."

Amanda blinked her wet eyes and stared at her kidnapper through her slightly fogged glasses.  "What?" she inquired in a near whisper.

"Something," was Blythe's only reply.

Amanda stared at Blythe, then turned to Ginger.  The suffering redhead stared back.  Ginger's eyes were obscured behind her glasses—both their glasses, including Amanda's badly-in-need-of-cleaning glasses—but Amanda didn't think her suffering colleague's eyes were begging.  She turned back to Blythe.

"Very well," Amanda sighed, "I'll do anything you ask.  Please, stop torturing her."

Blythe's smile was the epitome of evil.  "Very well indeed," she chuckled, reached to the remote still resting on the coffee table, and touched a button.

Ginger stopped squirming and fighting her bonds immediately, but continued panting and her nipple-pierced breasts heaving.  Blythe pressed another button on the remote, there was an audible hum, and the vertical post slowly lowered into the stand.  Ginger eased off of her toes and was finally able to plant her feet flat on the floor.  Blythe lifted her finger from the button and the post locked in place.

Now, Amanda could just make out a glint of steel above the ridge of the triangular bar, between Ginger's legs and her labia.  This seemed to confirm that Ginger was, indeed, impaled on a vertical steel dildo.  She still wouldn't be going anywhere—but at least the thing was no longer vibrating and she was off her toes.

Blythe filled the wineglass, took a sip, then held it for Amanda to drink.  She did so.  "W-what are you going to do?" she asked.  She realized her heart was hammering.

"Well..."  Before continuing Blythe forked some salad, popped it into mouth, chewed, and swallowed.  "First of all, we're going to enjoy our supper."  She reloaded the fork with more salad, but this time held it to Amanda's pouting lips.

Amanda accepted the offering and chewed.  After days and days of bland pablum, the leafy greens and sliced vegetables (with vinaigrette) tasted heavenly.  "What about Ginger?" she inquired after swallowing.

Blythe directed her dimpled smile to the helpless, sweaty, gagged, and shock-collared Ginger.  "Naughty librarians who call their superiors rude names get sent to bed without any supper," she purred, then scooped a generous, steaming helping of lasagna from the casserole dish and onto the plate.

Amanda looked from the plate to Ginger, then directed her pout to Blythe.  "Please.  I'm sure she's sorry.  Please."

Blythe sampled the lasagna, then took another sip of wine.  "Oh, Dr. Harnois," she chuckled.  "You don't know what, exactly, you've already bargained away, and you want to up the ante?"  She loaded the fork with lasagna, blew on it, then held it to Amanda's lips.  "Careful, it's still hot."

Amanda carefully accepted the lasagna.  It was hot, but not enough to burn her mouth.

"No," Blythe continued, shaking her head.  "Dr. Rockwell has earned her punishment."

"But—"

Blythe pressed the flat of the empty fork against Amanda's lips.  "No more, doctor," she purred, "or you'll also go to bed hungry."

The fork left her lips and returned to the salad, and Amanda lifted her head and locked eyes with Ginger.  I'm sorry, she thought, wishing she could dare speak.  I tried.

Amanda's stomach was enthusiastic throughout the meal.  Her mind and spirit, not so much.  Ginger might be off her toes and no longer being vibrated, but she was still standing right in front of them, impaled on the stand, bound, gagged, shock-collared... and hungry.  She'd had sufficient time to stop panting and the sweat on her fair, freckled skin was drying, but her green eyes followed every detail of the meal with interest, especially the slow disappearance of the food, bite by bite, into Blythe's and Amanda's mouths.

Amanda felt terrible, but there was nothing more she could think of to help her colleague.  Blythe had made it plain that additional whining and begging on Ginger's behalf would result in punishment, and Amanda believed her.

And then there was the looming prospect of the unknown bargain she'd struck with their tormentor.  What was Blythe going to do to her?  Between Ginger's continuing ordeal and her own unknown fate, Amanda's enjoyment of the excellent food was decidedly diminished.

And finally... it was over.  The plate was clear, including the salad plate, the wine bottle was empty, and Amanda felt a little... tipsy.  She wasn't a teetotaler, but she wasn't much of a drinker, either, and half a bottle of Chianti was more than she usually allowed herself, especially on an empty stomach.

Her head light and her tummy comfortably full (but not stuffed) Amanda watched Blythe carry the remnants of the meal to the kitchenette.  At one point she directed her gaze to the remote control still on the tabletop, then lifted her gaze to Ginger.  The redhead shook her head.  Amanda took that to mean "Don't mess with it!"  She had to agree.  Amanda might be able to succeed in lowering the Willie Stand's post enough for Ginger to lift herself free of the dildo, but other than that, what good would it do them?  They were both still bound prisoners, and Blythe's retaliation was sure to be unpleasant.

Blythe returned to the coffee table and lifted Amanda to her feet, then took hold of the nipple-leash and led her to the bathroom.  Amanda looked back at Ginger over her shoulder as she padded in Blythe's wake.  Sorry! she mouthed silently.  At least Ginger didn't seem to be angry with her.  That was something.

In the bathroom, Amanda "enjoyed" the experience of having her teeth brushed and her face washed by another person, and with her wrists crossed and bound behind her back.  She also experienced the humiliation of being planted on the commode and ordered to empty her bladder.  The use of a damp washcloth to thoroughly scrub her nether region clean afterwards was the worst part.  Amanda realized the bathroom was the height of luxury, by the way, with both a shower and a deep, Jacuzzi-style soaking tub.

Next, Amanda was led back into the bedroom and onto the bed.  Blythe crossed her ankles and tied them together, then flipped Amanda onto her stomach, lifted her feet until her heels rested in her palms, then lashed her bonds together, crafting a decidedly stringent hogtie.  The cord was thin, but there was a lot of it and it didn't bite into her skin.  As for reaching and untying the key knot, a preliminary exploration of her bondage proved fruitless.  Her groping, fluttering fingers couldn't even locate the knot's free ends.

Meanwhile, Blythe had returned to the alcove and used the remote to do what Amanda had dared not.  She thumbed a button and lowered the stand's vertical post until the rounded tip of the glistening steel dildo left Ginger's vagina.  Blythe then grabbed a generous handhold of red hair and led (meaning dragged) Ginger from the alcove to the center of the bedroom and forced her down onto the carpeted floor.

Amanda rolled onto her left side and watched as Blythe used a short length of cord to tie Ginger's big toes together.  The grinning brunette then reached under the bed, pulled out a long, gleaming steel chain, and padlocked its terminal link to a ring in the front of Ginger's shock-collar.  Next, she removed, folded, and pocketed Ginger's glasses, then buckled a blindfold over the captive's green eyes.  Finally, she inserted a pair of rubber plugs in Ginger's ears and covered her gagged and now blindfolded and ear-plugged head with a skintight hood of black spandex.

Amanda tugged on her bonds as Blythe stood and returned to the bed.  Ginger remained behind on the floor, of course, rolling, squirming, and exploring her new enhanced helplessness.  At least she's off the minimalist horse, Amanda reasoned.

"Now we'll have some privacy," Blythe explained.  Smiling her now trademark dimpled, wicked smile, she placed Ginger's glasses on the nightstand, reached for the sash of her happi coat robe, pulled it free with an audible swish, and tossed it on the bed next to Amanda.

"Privacy?" Amanda gasped.  "W-why do we need... Oh."  She blinked nervously as Blythe shrugged out of the robe and let it slither down her tan, well-muscled, but very feminine body and drop to the floor.  Her only remaining clothing was a pair of white panties, but not for long.  She tugged them off her hips and down her legs, stepped free, and tossed the silky undergarment next to the sash.

"I don't mind in the least if Dr. Rockwell watches while you pay your debt," Blythe purred as she reached for the ceiling in a slow, full-body stretch, "but I suspect you might feel differently."

"I..."  Amanda tugged on her bonds.  "I don't understand."

Blythe climbed onto the bed, rolled Amanda onto her back and embraced her from the side.

"No!  W-what are you going to do?" Amanda's eyes popped wide as Blythe's right hand slid down her flat stomach, through her neatly-trimmed pubic bush, and cupped her genitalia!  "No!—Mrrrmpfh!"

"Inside voice, doctor," Blythe chuckled, her left hand tightly clamped over Amanda's mouth.  "Inside voice."

Amanda squirmed and fought her inescapable bonds.  "Mrrrrf!"  Blythe's hand was stroking her labia!  "MRRRP!"  And now her index finger had penetrated the crinkled folds and was massaging her clitoris!  "Nrrrrrrrrrm!"

"Have you ever made love to a woman, Dr. Harnois?" Blythe inquired, then released her hand-gag.

"Let me go!  Stop doing that!" Amanda demanded.  "Mrrrpfh!"  The hand-gag was back in place.

"I'll take that as a no," Blythe purred, continuing her slow, gentle massage of Amanda's clitoris.  "I suppose I'll have to teach you.  Then, if you're a quick learner, you can return the favor.  But first..."

Maintaining the hand-gag, Blythe rolled atop Amanda's hogtied body, stuffed the smooth, silky, white panties into her prisoner's mouth, then used the sash from her robe to tie a tight, multi-layered cleave-gag.  Amanda squirmed, tugged on her bonds, and mewled through the panties in question and the layers of red silk keeping them in place.

"Mrrrf!"

Amanda continued struggling but could do nothing to prevent Blythe from rolling into her former position and embracing her once again, and this time her left hand was clutching and squeezing her right breast!  Blythe's right hand resumed the task of teasing Amanda's clitoris.  "Nrrrrr!"  Delicate shudders alternated with her fruitless struggles.  Her heart was hammering and her cheeks flushed above her gag.  Other parts of her anatomy were also flushed, and she could do nothing to prevent or control anything that was happening or her reactions!

"Mrrrrr!"

"I'll continue priming the pump for a while," Blythe said, then planted a delicate kiss on the side of Amanda's neck.  "Then we'll commence lesson one of Cunnilingus 101: Introduction to Oral Sex."

"Mrrrp!"

Amanda continued squirming as things happened between her legs—as Blythe caused things to happen between her legs!  She tried bringing her knees together so she could squeeze her thighs, but with her ankles crossed and bound her efforts did little, if anything, to impede Blythe's fingers.  All Amanda could do was take it.

"Mrrpfh!"