by Van © 2020
experienced amateur rigger that she was, it didn't take Skye
very long to bind and gag her naked BFF in exactly the same
manner she'd bound and gagged Harper. Pallavi and Harper's
situations were identical, their backs and butts against
adjoining steel support columns, wrists crossed behind said
columns, white cotton clothesline binding them in place from
shoulders to ankles, and gagged with strips of white medical
tape with their own panties stuffed in their mouths.
They were works of art, in Skye's humble opinion, and at the
moment, Skye's opinion was the only one that mattered.
Smiling as she admired her squirming handiwork, Skye was the
very picture of gloating satisfaction.
Harper: naked, bound, gagged, the nipples of her pert,
milky-white breasts pointing, her mostly freckled skin smooth
and firm, and her neatly trimmed, dark-blond pubic bush and
flushed hoo-haw on open display... totally helpless.
Pallavi: also naked, bound, gagged, the nipples of her
tan and much fuller breasts pointing, her uniformly
tan skin smooth and firm, and her neatly trimmed, black
pubic bush and flushed hoo-haw also on open display...
Skye held all the power! Skye was in
charge! Skye was the boss! Yes, Skye was
And then she wasn't.
Identical is boring, Skye decided. Her two victims
(meaning playmates) weren't identical, so why should their
bondage be identical? It was an affront to Desimopo
("Bondage-babe"), the muse of bondage. Actually, there was
no recognized muse of bondage, but Skye figured there ought
to be, so she made one up using Google Translate in
English-to-Greek mode. Anyway... Harper was just fine the
way she was. As for Pallavi...
Skye's helpless victims watched (with understandably keen
interest) as Skye stooped, reached back into her gym-bag of
bondage goodies, rummaged around, and pulled out a neatly coiled
bundle of white "parachute cord." Still smiling, she
sauntered towards Pallavi and her column, swinging her hips in a
seductive manner. Skye couldn't help it, meaning both the
smile and her hip-swinging being seductive. Skye had
accepted a long time ago that she was naturally beautiful,
gorgeous, and alluring, and therefore seductive. Why fight
Pallavi's slightly worried, brown eyed gaze was locked on the
bundle of cord. She had a good idea exactly what
Skye had in mind. She continued watching as her captor
unraveled the coil and found its center, threaded the looped
center under the cotton ropes above and below her breasts, and
formed a lark's head or cow-hitch. Pallavi heaved a deep
sigh of tragic proportions as Skye pulled out all the
slack, the cord slithered through the hitch, and the bands of
clothesline came together to form an "X," squeezing her breasts
from the top and bottom.
This wasn't Pallavi's first rodeo. Far from it. Skye
liked tying up her boobs, and obviously she was doing it
In the course of her research, Skye had learned that separating
a doubled rope was frowned upon by bondage aficionados.
There were exceptions, of course, and prominent among them was
boob-binding. She tied a hitch to maintain the tension
(which required more cord-slithering as she pulled the
free ends through the second hitch), then set about the task at
hand. Deciding to start on the left, she took turn after
turn around the base Pallavi's left breast... something like twenty
turns. She make the resulting coils tight, but not
excessively tight. The boob in question didn't turn
purple. In fact, it only flushed a slightly darker shade
of tan (compared to the rest of Pallavi's totally tan body).
Binding Pallavi's left boob required a lot of lifting, shifting,
and general manipulation of the fleshy globe in question, but
Skye didn't mind (and Pallavi didn't have anything to say about
Pallavi's right breast received symmetrical treatment, then Skye
lifted and tied the free ends of the cord together behind
Pallavi's neck, lifting her bound breasts just a tad and turning
the arrangement into what might be called a cord
halter-top. The arrangement both squeezed and lifted
Pallavi's flushed, bulging boobs.
Skye thought her final enhancement of Pallavi's situation was
nigh on perfect, icing on the proverbial cake. Pallavi's
boob-balloons were very pretty. She grinned,
formed her fingers into feline claws, and lightly scratched the
boob-balloons in question. Her helpless victim (and BFF)
winced and shivered in her bonds.
The sensitive state of Pallavi's bound breasts confirmed, Skye
took a step back, spun on her heels, blew each of her naked,
bound, and gagged victims an air-kiss, then scampered across the
basement, up the stairs, turned off the basement lights, and
closed the kitchen door.
Harper and Pallavi's dungeon was now in near total
darkness. The only illumination came from the feeble
glimmer of the window-wells and the orange glow of the
space-heater. The helpless, naked, bound, and gagged
damsels heaved tragic, simultaneous sighs... and settled in to
wait for their nefarious kidnapper to decide she was their
The next Monday...
Mothers are not
stupid. In point of fact, mothers know everything.
Mothers know all. Mothers are omniscient.
Skye might think her biological mom was clueless about
to her serial bondage shenanigans, but she was mistaken.
Also, Jodi Gilroy, the bio-mom in question, was resourceful.
Citing the excuse of Home Security (including the discount on
her home insurance premium that would ensue) Jodi purchased and
had installed a set of compact (2" x 2") and unobtrusive video
cameras. They were connected to her home computer via
Wi-Fi, were motion-activated, and automatically switched to
low-light mode in the dark. Camera #1 was a specialized
door-bell camera looking out onto the porch from the front door;
camera #2 was positioned to cover both the living room and
entryway from the inside; and camera #3 was tucked under the
eaves in a back corner of the house, positioned to monitor the
outside of the kitchen door, most of the backyard, and the
bulkhead door leading to the basement.
Skye knew all about the system and enthusiastically
approved. The doorbell camera was especially helpful with
expediting pizza deliveries.
What Skye didn't know about, however, was camera #4.
Using her do-it-yourself skills, Jodi had installed the camera
herself while Skye, Pallavi, and Harper were out of town on a
weekend camping trip to Olympic National Park. Camera #4
was in the basement, discretely tucked in a corner and up near
the ceiling, deep in the shadows. It was positioned to
cover most of the room, and while it wasn't actually hidden, per
se, Jodi knew that Skye would have to really look for
it to see it, and why would she go looking for it if she
didn't know it existed, right?
Jodi absolutely refused to spy on her daughter, but home
security was home security. Granted, she strongly
suspected the basement was one of her darling daughter's
favorite bondage prank venues, but it was also a "public space,"
right? It wasn't like she was monitoring Skye's bedroom.
That would definitely cross the line.
Jodi was taking a break in the private "Boss Office" (as the
shop-girls called it) in the back of Plumeria, enjoying
a cup of tea and using her iPad to review the events that had
transpired in her basement the previous Friday. A grim
smile curled her lips as she gazed at the video images on the
screen. On the one hand, she was proud of her
daughter's acquired rigging skills. On the other, she was
worried that her Skye was on a dangerous path, one that could
eventually lead to disaster.
Granted, Pallavi (Jodi's gorgeous non-biological
daughter) and Harper (adorable, hardworking, cute-as-a-button
Harper) were willing participants in Skye's games,
but it was only a matter of time 'til something unforeseen
happened and Skye's life blew up in her face.
Skye's hobby needed... structure, boundaries, a more defined
Camera #4 had captured excellent images of Harper's post-tie
captivity from the front. Pallavi's bondage was depicted
from the side and at the edge of the screen, but was also
clearly visible. Jodi had positioned the camera to capture
as much of the basement as possible, but some degree of
compromise had been required. Anyway, it was clear exactly
how Skye had tied up her friends and that she'd done a
very good job.
Just then, the office door opened and Kanoa entered, a happy,
dimpled smile on her beautiful face and the day's
freshly-delivered mail in her right hand. She noted Jodi's
pout, carefully closed the office door behind her, then started
sorting envelopes into the appropriate in-boxes. "Worse
than you thought?" she inquired with a grin.
Jodi sighed. "Her rigging skills are first rate," she
"And have been since she was twelve years old," Kanoa chuckled
as she flopped into the office chair on her side of the
double-desk the partners shared.
"Skye's rigging skills were adequate when she was
twelve," Jodi muttered. "Now... first rate."
Kanoa continued smiling. "It's time," she stated.
Jodi heaved another sigh. "Maybe."
Kanoa reached across the desk, took hold of Jodi's right hand,
and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Skye is as smart as they
come, anything but lazy, and her instinct for customer service
is first rate... just like her bondage skills. And we
could trust her with all the bookkeeping if we wanted
to. She'd make an excellent floor manager... but her heart
isn't in Plumeria or fashion in general, and you know
it. You've said so yourself."
Jodi nodded. "I have." She focused on her good
friend and business partner. "Pallavi is already a
de facto floor manager. All the other girls love
and respect her. Everybody loves Skye as well, but my
little hellion has no ambition to be more than the simple
shop-girl she was in high school. She helps out in the
office because we ask her to. Her passion is...
"Make the call and beg for a meeting," Kanoa urged as she rose
from her chair. "I'll go along for moral support."
Jodi sighed yet again, and managed a smile as Kanoa headed for
the door. "We should promote Pallavi, immediately."
Kanoa paused with her hand on the doorknob. "I agree, but
it can wait 'til after we handle the Skye situation. For
now, Pallavi will be just fine as an unofficial manager."
And with that, she was gone, back out on the show floor to
supervise the shop-girls.
Jodi stared at the iPhone lying on her side of the desk for
several long seconds... then picked it up, opened her contacts
list, and placed a call. "Hello, Mistress," she said when
the call connected. "Kanoa and I would like to make an
appointment... to talk."
Two days later, with Pallavi acting as Floor
Manager back at Plumaria...
Lacey Monjeau lived in a
very pretty Victorian-style house on the edge of town. It
was surrounded by three acres of cedar woodlands, set well back
off the highway, and afforded plenty of room for her "Lifestyle
Consulting" business, as well as the required privacy.
There were the usual sitting rooms, parlors, and bedrooms, a
modern kitchen, and a finished attic, but a surprisingly small
basement. The basement in question was host to all the
usual utilities and had storage shelves and the usual clutter,
but the space was quite obviously much smaller than the
footprint of the house. There was a very good reason for
that, but that's a topic best left for another time.
Precisely on time, Jodi and Kanoa arrived at the gravel
parking area between the main house, a charming garden shed, and
the detached garage. They were not early for
their appointment, however. The scheduled time of their
appointment was also the expected time of their arrival.
It wouldn't do for one of Lacey's arriving customers to
encounter one of her departing customers, and the consequences
of arriving late were simply too horrible to contemplate.
I might as well confirm what you probably already suspect: Lacey
Monjeau was a professional dominatrix.
Anyway, with Kanoa at the wheel of her BMW (Jodi being too
nervous to drive), they arrived, crunched across the gravel to
the front gate, past Lacey's tasteful business sign, down the
front garden path, and up the porch steps to the front
door. Both were dressed in stylish, light, airy summer
dresses and very pretty sandals. As always, they were
walking advertisements for Plumeria.
They waited patiently at the front door... stealing glances at
their watches to confirm that the seconds were, indeed, counting
down to the specified start of their appointment. (They
didn't even think about ringing the doorbell.
That would imply they were summoning Mistress.
One learned quickly that one did not summon mistress.)
Seconds passed as Jodi and Kanoa waited patiently... and the
time of their appointment came... and went. Despite the
evidence of their watches, Mistress was not late.
Jodi and Kanoa might be slaves to the tyranny of the clock (and
Mistress), but Mistress was slave to nothing.
Finally... the door opened and Mistress (Lacey Monjeau) was
there! She was dressed much like her visitors, which was
only a little surprising. After all, Jodi and Kanoa were
only there to talk and Mistress was one of their regular
customers at Plumeria, so there was no logical reason
Lacey (Mistress) should be "in uniform," meaning poured into one
of her skintight, super-sexy, super-scary, mostly
leather outfits (which most definitely had not been
purchased at Plumeria).
Lacey was beautiful, as always. Her long, gleaming,
raven-black curls were loose about her shoulders, framing her
symmetrical, smiling, stunning face, Her
fair-complected skin was smooth, firm, and flawless, and her
figure athletic and unmistakably feminine. Her pale blue
eyes and full lips smiled in welcome. Without a doubt,
Lacey was gorgeous. And while she was welcoming,
there was no question who was in charge. In charge of
what, you might ask? In charge of everything!
Polite greetings and kisses were exchanged. To a
hypothetical outside observer, Jodi and Kanoa were two well
dressed friends greeting a third, but there was no
outside observer, real or hypothetical.
"We'll do this in the greenhouse," Mistress decreed as she
turned and strolled away. "Island Girl, tea," she
ordered. "Freckle Face, with me." ('Island Girl' was
Kanoa's slave name and 'Freckle Face" was Jodi's.) Both
visitors were very familiar with the layout of Mistress'
lair. Kanoa hurried towards the kitchen while Jodi
followed Mistress, one full step behind as was proper and
The greenhouse was spacious and architecturally true to the
Victorian style of the house. It was one of Mistress'
favorite venues in the entire dwelling (above ground,
anyway). There were hanging baskets, large pots on iron
stands, and very large freestanding pots, all holding
arrangements of annual and perennial flowers, ferns, miniature
fruit trees, bromeliads, or orchids. The atmosphere in the
greenhouse was warm and humid, fragrant with the aroma of
healthy soil and the perfume of countless blossoms. This
time of day, direct sunlight filtered through a retractable
interior awning of loosely woven green fabric.
Lacey settled into her accustomed chair, the largest, most
comfortable, and undeniably throne-like of four wrought-iron
chairs clustered around a wrought-iron table with a glass
top. Jodi pulled back the chair on Mistress right,
obviously preparing to sit, and Lacey's lips pursed into an
amused but disapproving moue. "Freckle Face," she purred,
"what are you thinking?"
Jodi blushed and blinked in alarm. "Sorry, Mistress," she
gasped, then scurried to a low cabinet off to one side and began
to undress. Jodi had violated protocol! She'd
assumed that since she was only here to talk, the visit would be
on a more, uh, casual level. Obviously, she was
wrong, or from a fashion point of view, entirely correct.
One can't dress more casually than total nudity.
Soon, Jodi's dress was neatly folded and resting on a shelf
inside the cabinet, next to her sandals and neatly folded
panties and bra. Naked as the proverbial jaybird (or
submissive slave) she padded back to the table and stood behind
the half pulled out chair, her feet eighteen inches apart, her
arms folded behind her back, forearms together with her hands
clutching their opposite elbows, and her gaze on the tiled
Mistress let Jodi contemplate her appalling faux pas for
few seconds... then indicated the chair with a graceful
gesture. "Sit," she ordered.
Jody completed pulling back the chair and settled into its
forest green padding, as ordered. Her knees were a very
unladylike twelve-inches apart, her arms on the chair's padded
rests, and her hands palms-down with her fingers gracefully
curled. This was how a slave sat, allowing Mistress' gaze
to fall where it may—on Jodi's thighs, pussy, curly red bush,
flat tummy, breasts, nipples—wherever Mistress cared to
look. A slave enjoyed only as much modesty as Mistress
decided to allow.
Just then, Kanoa returned, carrying a tray laden with a very
pretty English tea set (a Royal Albert pattern, if Jodi wasn't
mistaken). Oh-by-the-way, unlike Jodi, Kanoa had followed
proper protocol and changed into her birthday suit back in the
kitchen. That is to say, she was completely naked.
She set the tray on the table, then took a step back and assumed
the position—feet apart, arms folded behind her back, and head
lowered. She'd stolen a glance at her best friend and
fellow naked slave during the process, and a ghost of a smile
curled her lips and dimpled her cheeks.
Jodi managed not to glare at her business partner and best
friend, but it was a near thing. Does she know I
violated protocol? she wondered, then did glare
at her best friend. You should have reminded me to
follow the rules when we were back in the car, Jodi
fumed. She knew I was nervous. Jodi was
mostly angry at herself for breaking protocol, but Kanoa was a
ready target... a naked, curvaceous, richly tanned, gorgeous
"I'll be mother," Mistress announced as she poured herself a cup
of tea, added milk, then took a sip and sighed in
contentment. "Well done, Island Girl."
Kanoa smiled (slightly, carefully) at the complement.
"Thank you, Mistress."
Mistress focused on Jodi. "Freckle Face," she said with a
cheerful smile, "be a dear and strap Island Girl to a chair for
Mistress, will you?"
Jodi and Kanoa exchanged a brief, knowing glance. Turn of
phrase not withstanding, Mistress did not make
requests. Mistress delivered orders. Jodi scrambled
from her chair and padded to a second cabinet near the one
holding her clothes. She gathered what was needed, then
returned to the table. In her absence, Kanoa had pulled
back a chair and sat in the required and expected position with
her legs spread wide and her forearms resting on the
armrests. Jodi knelt and set to work.
Soon, Kanoa was, indeed, strapped to her chair. Tight,
broad, straps of ballistic nylon bound her ankles to the front
chair legs; with similar straps binding her widely splayed lower
thighs, just above her knees. Her wrists and forearms were
strapped to the armrests and her waist, upper-arms, and chest
(just above her breasts) to the chair's back. All the
straps were secured by generous strips of Velcro and locking
friction buckles. Jodi made sure all the Velcro was firmly
seated, then pressed the locking tabs flush with their buckles,
one by one... Click, click, click, click, click,
(etc.) ...and the deed was done.
"Gag her," Mistress ordered. "Use... oh, let me
see... a panel-gag, as well as your panties, of course."
"Yes, Mistress," Jodi said quietly, then scampered back to the
Kanoa squirmed in her bonds, smiled (slightly), and gazed at her
Mistress. "So... no tea?"
"Don't be cheeky, Island Girl," Mistress purred, but fortunately
for Kanoa, she was smiling. Island Girl hadn't gone too
Jodi returned to the table, stuffed her own crumpled panties
into Kanoa's mouth, seated the 1½" silicon rubber plug of a
black leather panel-gag over the silky wad, then buckled the
gag's strap at the nape of Kanoa's neck, under her long,
straight, glorious, sun-streaked hair. The gag in
question was not the most stringent in Mistress' inventory, but
the addition of Jodi's unmentionables greatly enhanced its
efficacy. Kanoa was now naked, chair-bound, gagged, and
Jodi, on the other hand, was merely naked (and
submissive). At a nod from Mistress she settled back into
her chair and watched as Mistress poured her a cup of tea.
She took a careful sip, then lowered her gaze to the
table. Jodi very much wanted to focus on Kanoa's captive
nudity, but that was out of the question. (She made a
mental note to gloat about this unexpected turn of events when
the visit was over and they were back in the safety of Kanoa's
"So, Freckle Face," Mistress said finally, "you have the
temerity to suggest that I might require an apprentice,
and that your darling daughter would be perfect for the
position." She heaved a rather theatrical sigh.
"It's almost as if you want me to punish you... severely."
Jodi blushed and took another sip of tea. "Mistress.
Please. I would never..." She knew Mistress
was kidding, of course, but the conversation was not off
to a good start. She stole a glance at her naked, bound,
and gagged companion over the lip of her teacup. Kanoa's
eyes were smiling above her bulging cheeks and the broad, tight
strip of gleaming black leather pressed against her lower
face. So much for moral support, Jodi silently
Mistress picked up an iPad resting on the table, turned it on,
and began scrolling through a series of photographs of the
prospective apprentice in question. Jodi had e-mailed them
to her immediately after the phone call setting up the
Of course, Lacey already knew Jodi's diminutive, adorable
daughter. Skye had waited on her on several occasions
while she shopped at Plumeria.
The little ginger was a scamp and trickster, cute as the
proverbial bug, and sharp as the proverbial tack. That
much was obvious. Also, the adorable little dynamo let
nothing get in the way of providing customer service. On
more than one occasion, Skye had talked Lacey out of
purchasing a more expensive dress, blouse, or accessory in favor
of a less expensive, equally stylish, but more
versatile alternative. Skye understood what was truly in Plumeria's
best interest: customer satisfaction and the promise of repeat
Also, Skye Gilroy couldn't be any cuter... or more
Mistress shifted her gaze from the iPad to Freckle Face.
Jodi blushed. "Twenty-two," she answered. "Almost
Mistress raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'll need a copy of
her birth certificate. Notarized."
"Yes, Mistress," Jodi responded, carefully suppressing a
smile. "So," she ventured, "you're willing to give it a
Mistress chuckled and shook her head. "You and I need to
have a very long and involved discussion
before I even consider accepting Skye Gilroy as my
apprentice." She paused to take a sip of tea. "And
there remains the question of your punishment, of course."
Her smile became unmistakably wicked. "Really, Freckle
Face. Such foolhardy impudence. Delivering
ultimatums to your mistress? Parading in front of Mistress
Jodi's heart was hammering, but she wasn't really scared.
She sipped her tea before changing the subject from her supposed
unacceptable behavior. "Skye is happy. I'd even say
she's very happy. But retail fashion isn't her passion.
She works at Plumeria to please me." She glanced
at Kanoa. "To please us. And because she has to work
somewhere." She sipped her tea again before
continuing. "But I can tell that being a shop-girl isn't
what she wants to do with her life. The problem
is she hasn't decided on anything else, and Plumeria is
safe. I want to show her an alternative she hasn't
considered. An alternative more in line with her... recreational
"A career as a dominatrix," Lacey purred.
Jodi nodded. She stole a glance at Kanoa and found her
friend's eyes were still smiling above her gag (and she was
still naked, tan, gorgeous, and helpless.) I'll
deal with you and your attitude later, Jodi silently
promised, then sipped her tea, again.
"Well," Mistress said quietly, "I have an actual appointment
in about an hour and a half. So... we'll finish our tea,
then you'll release Island Girl so she can scamper home."
She took a sip of tea and gazed at Jodi over the rim of her
teacup. "You will be spending the night," she
decreed. "I'll tuck you away someplace, nice and
comfortable, until after close of business. Then, we'll
have a nice supper and plenty of time to discuss your
daughter's past, present, and future in the required detail."
Jodi blinked (nervously) and sipped (gulped) her tea.
Being tucked away someplace "nice and comfortable" was code for
being stringently bound in rope and/or leather, gagged so she
couldn't scream, and entombed in one of the many
soundproof secret cubbyholes hidden around Mistress' lair.
So far, Jodi was familiar with a coffin-size chamber built into
the floor of the garden shed, an upright gym-locker-sized alcove
hidden in an attic wall, and an exceedingly cramped
cubical space built into the back of a second floor
closet. She wasn't looking forward to spending the next
few hours naked, bound, gagged, and sequestered in a tiny,
restrictive, lightless prison.
Kanoa shifted her openly amused gagged gaze from Jodi to
Lacey. Mistress was still smiling, and Kanoa was very
familiar with that smile. Mistress enjoyed watching
naked, beautiful women (like Jodi Gilroy) squirm in
dreadful anticipation. Kanoa was also well aware that Lacy
was their good friend as well as their Dominatrix.
Mistress was sympathetic and supportive of Jodi's desire to
ensure her daughter's future happiness and would give the
proposal at hand careful consideration.
And then, Kanoa noticed that Mistress' pale blue eyes were
focused on her. Oops!
"Don't think I don't see you sitting there all smug and amused,
Island Girl," Mistress purred. "I'll deal with your impertinence
at a future date." Her smiling gaze lowered to Kanoa's
breasts. "You know how much I enjoy playing with that
delicious pair of yours. I have a bra on order that will
be just perfect for you... meaning them. You'll love
it. It's more-or-less a pair of hemispherical wire cages
lined with a hundred or more needle-sharp points... each.
I'll let you know when it arrives."
Now it was Jodi's turn to smile at her nervous friend;
however, as she wasn't gagged, she found it much more of a
struggle to mask her amusement. (Not that Mistress was in
any way fooled, of course).
| Chapter 2