by Van © 2020

Chapter 3

Dramatis Personæ


As it turned out, Jodi did not spend several hours somewhere in Mistress' lair or its outbuildings, naked, bound, gagged, and crammed into a tiny cubbyhole behind a secret panel, hidden hatch, or cleverly camouflaged door.  Instead, she spent several hours naked, bound, gagged, and locked in a spacious secret room hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the back of the walk-in closet of Mistress' bedroom.  Of course, spacious is a relative term.  The room behind the mirror was approximately six-feet by six-feet with a ten-foot ceiling.

Also, Jodi wasn't free to make use of all that space.  She was naked (as previously stated) with her wrists and ankles buckled and padlocked in broad, padded cuffs of black leather.  In addition, her ankles were together and padlocked to a steel ring embedded in the carpeted floor.  Her arms were raised over her head with her wrists together and padlocked to a steel ring attached to the end of a steel chain wound onto the drum of a motorized winch mounted in the rafters overhead.  Her body was in full stretch, but her bare feet were flat on the plush carpet.  Apparently, Mistress was in a forgiving mood.  Jodi knew that if she was truly being punished, her heels would be off the floor and she'd be up on her toes with her full weight on the balls of her feet.

An obedient slave like "Freckle Face" would never protest, complain, or raise a ruckus (not in Mistress' presence, anyway); however, at the moment the prospect of Jodi making significant noises of any variety wasn't an issue for four reasons:
(1) The non-glass walls of the room-behind-the-mirror were clad with thick pads of medium density foam covered by unbleached canvas.  It was effective soundproofing.

(2) The window-wall of Jodi's prison was a giant one-way mirror on the closet side, clear, thick safety glass on Jodi's side, and with a near-vacuum in between.  More soundproofing.

(3) Kanoa's panties were stuffed in Jodi's mouth.  That meant Kanoa had had to drive home "commando" (sans panties), with Jodi's saliva-dampened panties stuffed in her purse.  Poor baby.

(4) What Mistress called a "ShamWow-gag" was clenched between Jodi's teeth and tightly buckled at the nape of her neck under her tousled red hair.  It was a strip of periwinkle-blue, synthetic cloth tightly wrapped around a one-inch-wide strap of black leather to form a two-inch-wide, six-inch long, highly absorptive cylinder.  It was more-or-less half bit-gag and half cleave-gag.  (Mistress had been inspired by watching Alicia Witt drool into something similar in the movie 88 Minutes.)
Jodi's behind-the-mirror waiting room was as well ventilated as the rest of the house, but apparently it had its own dedicated thermostat, which Mistress had set on "Tropical Jungle" after abandoning Jodi to her fate, then wandering off to provide "lifestyle consulting services" for the unknown client who was the reason their discussion of Skye's future was on hold.  Jodi wasn't actually sweating—not yet, anyway—but her smooth, freckled, stretched body was definitely glowing.

The overhead light-fixtures in the waiting room were turned off, but the lights in the closet beyond the glass were on.  That meant Jodi could pass the time by admiring Lacey's excellent and extensive wardrobe, what she could see of it.  Two thirds of the articles in question were conventional, meaning dresses, jeans, blouses, tops, etc., and among them Jodi recognized several purchases from Plumaria.  The remaining third were grouped together in a dedicated section and were made predominately of black leather.  They were Mistress' dominatrix uniforms, of course.  There were also a few whips, floggers, paddles, and riding crops hanging from hooks, but Jodi knew the majority of Mistress' tools-of-the-trade were... elsewhere.

Jodi also kept her mind busy preparing for the discussion to come, mentally cataloging the many compelling arguments why Mistress should accept Skye as her apprentice.  She was also doing her best to anticipate Mistress' possible objections.  But mostly... Jodi languished.

Hours passed... Jodi continued glowing... and her muscles began griping about their enforced inactivity.  Physically, she could accomplish only so much in the way of comfort movements by shifting her bound feet, twisting her stretched body, and tugging on her wrist-cuffs.  Also, while the ShamWow-gag was proving highly effective at sucking up saliva, a little drool had managed to evade absorption and was dribbling down her chin and splashing onto her chest.  Jodi heaved a gagged sigh.

The things a mother did for her daughter.

 Chapter 3

The door of the walk-in closet opened and Mistress finally reappeared.  Jodi was very glad to see her, despite the uncertainty of what might be coming next.

Mistress was wearing the same uniform Jodi had watched her change into immediately after placing her in her current predicament and incarcerating her in the behind-the-mirror secret cell.  Mistress had closed and locked the mirror/glass-wall, then removed her sandals, followed by her dress, bra, and panties, leaving her gloriously nude.  Jodi always enjoyed leering at Mistress' incredible, fair-skinned body.  It didn't happen very often, unless Jodi was spending the night, like now.

Anyway, Mistress had sat in a chair, pulled on a pair of fishnet pantyhose (but no panties)... followed by a one-piece, sleeveless, black leather combination play-suit/corset... followed by a pair of black opera gloves... followed a pair of lace-up-the-front knee-boots with stiletto heels... followed by a broad leather collar studded with chrome steel spikes.   Fashion-wise, it was something of a retro look (in Jodi's professional opinion).  Perhaps this afternoon's client is 'old school,' Jodi speculated.  In any case, Mistress carried off the look with trivial ease.  Finally, Mistress selected a riding crop, turned, and made her exit, closing the closet door behind her without so much as a gloating glance in the direction of the poor, suffering, naked captive behind the mirror.

Waiting ensued... followed by languishing... followed by more waiting... followed by more languishing.  (Sigh.)

But now, Mistress had returned!  She removed her uniform in reverse order... and once again was gloriously nude.  She then sauntered to the mirror... and this time, clearly, Mistress was gloating, as well as smiling.  She triggered the mirror-wall's hidden latch and swung it open.

"There you are, Freckle Face," Mistress purred as she embraced Jodi from the side and gave her stretched, gleaming body a firm but gentle hug.  "Did you miss me?"

A shivering thrill coursed down Jodi's spine, between her legs, and through her pussy, but she managed to limit her response to a gagged sigh.  Not for the first time, Jodi wondered how the hell Lacey/Mistress managed to remain totally in charge of everyone and everything, while at the same time being such a treasured friend.  Their relationship was... complicated.

Mistress made short work of Jodi's bonds, unlocking and unbuckling her ankle and wrist cuffs, then unbuckling and removing the ShamWow-gag and plucking Kanoa's panties from her mouth.  And then, Mistress embraced Freckle Face and they kissed.

Jodi didn't return her Mistress' embrace.  Protocol called for her to fold her arms behind her back and clutch her elbows, which she did.  She did participate in the kiss; however, and with great enthusiasm.  The thrill was back in spades, and she shivered and squirmed in Mistress' grasp.  Their lips sucked and smacked and their tongues dueled.  Mistress' hands explored Jodi's body, including her slave's dimpled buttocks.  Jodi's hands remained clutching her elbows.  Did she want to match her beloved Mistress caress for caress?  Of course, but it wouldn't be proper.  The shivering became a muffled gasp as Mistress' right hand slid between Jodi's legs from behind and began slowly, gently stroking her pussy.

Finally... Mistress ended the kiss, released her embrace, took a step back, and smiled at Freckle Face.

It took all of Jodi's strength to maintain the proper position: feet apart, arms folded behind her back, and eyes lowered.  What she very much wanted to do was lunge forward, wrap her arms around Mistress, and resume their passionate kiss.

"Time for that talk, Freckle Face," Mistress purred, her lips curled in an amused, wicked smile that did nothing to bolster Jodi's self control.  Lacey then spun on her heels and padded away.  "Tell me about Skye's early years."

Jodi marshaled her thoughts and scampered in Mistress' wake, keeping the proper full stride behind (and carefully suppressing her irritation at the fact that Mistress had left her poor pussy in the lurch).

"Well," Jodi said, "she was a handful... but everyone agreed she was cutest little tyke they ever did see."

 Chapter 3

As Mistress had predicted and decreed, the Dominatrix/Parent conference was long and involved.

It started in the closet and continued in the shower of the master (mistress) bathroom of the master (mistress) bedroom.  Freckle Face soaped and scrubbed Mistress' perfect body using liquid soap, a loofah-mitt, and her hands, especially her hands.  Once Mistress was clean, rinsed, and had left the shower, Jodi soaped, scrubbed, and rinsed her own body while Mistress toweled herself dry and used an electric hand-dryer, comb, and brush to deal with her glorious black hair.

"Kitchen," Mistress ordered, then padded from the bathroom.

Jodi dried herself and dealt with her long red hair... then scampered from the bathroom, across the bedroom, and through the house to the kitchen.  Her arms were once again folded behind her back, even though Mistress wasn't present to witness her submission.  It was the way a fully trained slave of Mistress Monjeau was expected to behave.

That pesky thrill rippled between Jodi's legs when she arrived at the kitchen.  Mistress was well into meal preparations, but what had peaked Jodi's "interest" was Mistress' dress, or rather her lack thereof.  Mistress had donned a hunter-green cook's apron, but otherwise remained naked.  Her back was to the door and the spaghetti-thin strings of the apron trailed from the bow at the small of her back and dangled between her firm, pale, dimpled butt-cheeks.  As far as Jodi was concerned, it was the very height of fashion, and her pussy quivered in total agreement.

Jodi was about to ask how she could help when Mistress preempted her offer with more orders: "Sit.  Wine.  Continue."

Jodi padded to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat, poured herself a glass of Chianti from the bottle already open on the table, and took a sip.  It was excellent.  Mistress had already poured herself a glass.

"I believe we left off with Skye about to enter high school," Mistress purred, and the discussion continued—and continued through the evening meal (orecchiette pasta, tossed salad, and the excellent Chianti)—through the cleanup afterwards (with Freckle Face doing all the work, of course)—on into the Mistress Bathroom (with Freckle Face scrubbing Mistress' face, loading her toothbrush for her, then waiting submissively until Mistress was finished before completing her own evening toilette)—and finally, into Mistress' bed.

Both Mistress and slave remained totally naked (Mistress usually slept in the nude), but Freckle Face had been "accessorized."  Jodi's wrists were crossed behind her back and bound with a long, thin, silky ribbon in a deep shade of sea-green.  Mistress had a drawer full of such ribbons in a variety of colors.  She chose the green because it went well with Jodi's peachy-pink, freckled skin, and red hair.  And speaking of Jodi's hair, Mistress had combed it back into a tight ponytail and used a second green ribbon to keep it that way.  A third green ribbon bound Jodi's ankles, feet, and big toes together, rendering Freckle Face ready for bed.

Before the discussion resumed, Mistress required Freckle Face to squirm between her splayed legs and lick, suck, and tongue her pussy until she experienced a crashing and relaxing orgasm.

That over, the conference continued.

After an hour, there was a pause while Mistress embraced Jodi from the side, clamped her right hand over her slave's mouth to keep the extraneous noise to a minimum, and used her right hand to stroke and caress Jodi's pussy.  Lacey was a kind mistress (on this particular evening).  It was only polite of her to return the favor and help Freckle Face relax... and she did... meaning Jodi fought her bonds, mewled through Mistress' hand-gag, and (eventually) enjoyed a crashing/relaxing orgasm of her very own.

Afterwards, the discussion of Skye's future continued... and sometime after midnight, Skye's mother and potential Mistress reached consensus and developed a plan.

 Chapter 3

Two days later (the next Friday), around 10 AM...

It was weird.

Skye's mother had presented her with a 20" x 20" box of white cardboard tied with a yellow-gold ribbon, a standard Plumeria garment-box.  Supposedly, she explained, it held a very pretty sundress.  Kanoa then plopped a much smaller shoe-box wrapped in white paper and tied with another yellow-gold ribbon atop the first box.  Supposedly, it contained a pair of high-heel pumps special ordered to go with the dress.  And then, Skye was ordered to deliver the boxes to the home of one of their regular customers: Lacey Monjeau.  And she was to make sure Lacey was completely satisfied before returning, no matter how long it took.


"Since when do we do home deliveries?" Skye demanded.

"Since I say we do," Jodi purred, smiling at her pouting daughter.

Skye directed her pout to her non-biological mother, but received no sympathy.  Kanoa was also smiling.  "That'll leave you with only two clerks on the sales floor," Skye observed.

"Two clerks and two bosses," Kanoa corrected.

"However will we survive?" Jodi chuckled, then leaned close, planted a kiss on her daughters frowning lips, then tacked a Post-it Note with the Plumeria logo atop the shoe-box.  "Lacey's address," she explained, unnecessarily.

"I figured that out," Skye groused as she gazed at the scribbled address in question.  "Hey!" she complained.  Kanoa had also leaned close and planted a kiss on her lips.  Both her mothers were sending her off with blatant public displays of maternal affection.  It was embarrassing (a little), but also a little confusing.  It was only a delivery, right?

"Off you go," Jodi ordered, then turned and strolled back towards the office.

"Go," Kanoa added, then made a shooing motion.

Skye rolled her eyes, spun on her heels, and stomped for the door.

She deposited the boxes in the back of her 2014, Seaglass-green, Toyota Prius-C, climbed behind the wheel, entered Lacey Mojeau's address into her iPhone's contacts list, and drove away.

Truth be told, Skye wasn't really upset about being used as a lowly delivery drone.  In fact, it was an unexpected break in her daily routine, and at the very least she could use it as a legitimate excuse to stop off on the way back at someplace nice for lunch.  Still, as far back as she could remember, this was the first time Plumeria had ever delivered anything to anybody.  So...  Weird.

 Chapter 3

Lacey's place wasn't difficult to find, not with the expert advice of the map app on Skye's iPhone.  Nice place, Skye thought as she pulled onto the graveled area in front of the cluster of buildings and parked.  She wasn't a huge fan of Victorian architecture, but Lacey's house, garage, and what was probably a garden shed were painted in very pleasant shades of moss-green, warm-gold, and buttercup-yellow, with sage-green trim, redwood-brown accents, and roofs of slate-gray asphalt shingles.  The buildings appeared to be in tip-top repair and the surrounding flowerbeds were lush, colorful, and well cared for.  Skye approved.

Pretty white boxes in hand, Skye crunched across the gravel to the front gate, past the tasteful sign on the front lawn (all the while wondering what, exactly, "Lifestyle Consulting Services" entailed), then climbed the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.

A melodious, three-tone chime sounded from within.  Ding-dong-DING!  There was a brief pause... then Lacey opened the door.

"Skye!" Lacey exclaimed with a warm smile, "I was hoping your mother would send you.  Come in."

"Uh, hi!" Skye responded.  Lacey was exactly as she remembered, the same gorgeous black hair framing her gorgeous face; however, she was dressed in a peculiarly casual manner.  Specifically, she was wearing a long, close-fitting, black silk robe and what appeared to be a pair of black boots with high heels!  Not the sort of thing Skye usually wore when she lounged around the house.  Skye managed to smile back, but was still surprised.  At Plumeria, Lacey had always appeared impeccably dressed in a season-appropriate dress, well-chosen footwear, and a stylish coat (if required).  Her current look was... unusual.

"Coffee or tea?" Lacey inquired as Skye crossed the threshold.

"Huh?  Oh, I mean... either.  Thanks."

"Follow me to the kitchen," Lacey suggested (ordered), spun on her booted heels, and strode away, the hem of her long, black silk robe fluttering slightly in her wake.  "That's a pretty dress," she added, smiling at Skye's summer dress, a form-fitting, short-sleeve shift in a multi-colored floral pattern on a peach background.  "I also like the sandals," Lacey added.  "You look adorable."

"Uh, thanks," Skye muttered.  It was a nice dress, but as a fashion statement had been trumped by Lacey's bold choice of black boots and silk robe.

Still burdened by the negligible weight of the decorative boxes, Skye strode beside her hostess.  They arrived at what Skye cleverly realized was Lacey's spacious kitchen.  It had all modern appliances, but with Victorian design details.  They engaged in small talk, mostly about how things were going at Plumeria, while Lacey brewed a pot of tea and arranged on a tray a pair of cups and saucers, the required sugar-bowl, a tiny pitcher of milk, two folded cloth napkins, and two teaspoons.  Yes, Skye's mother was fine.  Yes, Kanoa was fine.  Yes, Pallavi was fine.  And yes, the cute little blond with freckles (Harper) was fine.  Business was good.  The Fall fashions looked promising.  Yadda-yadda-yadda.

All the while, Skye's eyes were on Lacey's silk-clad form and high-heeled boots, especially the boots.  And Skye was more and more sure that they were boots, and possibly knee-boots!  She could only see the gleaming black leather and tight laces down the front up to just above Lacey's ankles, the rest of the boots being hidden under the fluttering black robe, but she was sure they were boots of some sort.  Weird.  Also—and it was no surprise as Skye had previously seen Lacey wearing reasonably close-fitting dresses—the black silk robe made it crystal clear that her tea pushing hostess/customer was built like the proverbial brick outhouse.  (Skye made a mental note to fire up the Google machine at her next opportunity and research the origins and history of the "brick outhouse" meme.)

Teapot steeping and the tray fully loaded and ready, Lacey led the way from the kitchen.  "We'll do this in my bedroom," she announced as she led the way through the house.

"Uh, okay," Lacey agreed.  Why not?  Lacey's entire abode was really nice, by the way.  Victorian decor?  Yes, but the place wasn't the moldering museum of an old lady.  It was light, airy, and welcoming, not stuffy and gloomy with lace curtains shrouding every window, oppressive wallpaper, and too much dark furniture with lace doilies crammed into every room.  Skye remained impressed.

They arrived at the bedroom and Skye found it as spacious and well-decorated as the rest of the house.  The bed was ginormous, with a fringed canopy supported by four hefty wooden corner-posts with style-appropriate turning and carving.  Off to one side and facing a bay window was a conversation area with a pair of comfortable-looking wing-back chairs, a low table, and a spectacular view of a lush side-garden with spectacular flowerbeds.

"Now," Lacey said as she strode to the bay window and set the tray down on the table, "open those boxes and let's see what you've brought me."  She then turned and strolled towards the bed.

"Okay," Skye answered (and blushed).  "I mean... yeah, sure."  Idiot! she chided herself as she followed her hostess.  Stop it!  Why are you being such a dweeb?  She placed the boxes on the bed's very pretty, neatly stretched, and richly embroidered counterpane, moved the shoe box to the side, and released the bow on the dress-box's ribbon.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Lacey had released the sash of her robe, shrugged it off her shoulders, removed it completely, draped it on the bed, then began removing what she was wearing underneath, which was:
● A pair of tight fitting and tightly laced thigh-boots!

● A pair of black leather thong-panties!

● A tight-fitting black leather corset!
Lacey's full, firm, and arguably perfect breasts had been and remained completely bare, on open display, and perfect!

Skye reacted as might be expected, with all the symptoms of a minor coronary event.  Blushing, her heart hammering, her breath coming in pants, and her green eyes wide as the proverbial saucers, Skye froze in place and watched the disrobing process.

Her lips curled in a serene smile, Lacy continued undressing, apparently not noticing her young guest's distress and/or leering gaze.  The corset released by means of a vertical row of seven tiny buckles and straps down the front, so she didn't need assistance with the laces in the back... which was a good thing as Skye was in no condition to render anybody assistance with anything.  Finally, completely nude, Lacey stood, reached for the ceiling, and executed a full-length, back-arching stretch.

Skye's minor cardiac event continued, but she managed to confine her overt reaction to the close proximity of Lacey's pale, arguably perfect body to a gulp and a quiet gasp.

Still smiling (and still ignoring Skye's distress), Lacey glanced at the still closed dress-box, then redirected her smile to Skye.  "Well?" she purred.

"Huh?" Skye gasped, rapidly followed by, "Oh!  Yeah!  Sure!  Sorry!"  She quickly removed the top half of the box and folded back the white tissue paper, revealing...

"Oh, pretty," Lacey cooed as she padded two steps closer until her naked hip was not quite brushing against Skye's dress-clad hip (which didn't add to Skye's distress at all).  Lacey leaned down, reached inside, and lifted a light, airy, wrap-dress from the box.  It was, indeed, "pretty," a print with large, cream-ivory flowers and pale green vine-like foliage over an indigo background.  The tags had already been removed (and tucked in a tiny Plumeria envelope in the bottom of the box), so Lacey was able to try it on immediately (apparently untroubled by her total lack of underwear).

The dress was a perfect fit and Lacey looked stunning.  She padded across the bedroom to a full-length mirror, then turned and preened, smiling at her reflected image.  She then turned back to Skye, still smiling, glanced at the shoe-box resting on the bed next to the now empty dress-box, then redirected her smile to Skye, once again.

Skye reprized her "Huh!  Oh!  Yeah!  Sure!  Sorry!" comedy routine, quickly unwrapped and opened the shoe-box, then carried the pumps within to Lacey, knelt at her feet, and slipped the pumps onto the pale and arguably perfect feet in question—first the left—and then the right.  Why she hadn't simply handed the shoes to Lacey, she was at a loss to explain.  Kneeling at Lacey's feet had seemed like the thing to do.  The pumps in question were in a very pretty shade of ivory-tan that perfectly complemented the dress, by the way, and they fit perfectly.  The ensemble was another Plumeria triumph.

"Wonderful," Lacey purred, turning and admiring herself in the mirror, once again.  She then strolled to the conversation area in front of the windows and sat.  "Tea," she announced, smiling at Skye.

"Oh!  Yeah!  Tea!" Skye gasped, then scampered to the other wing-chair, sat, and blinked at her hostess/customer.  Get it together! she chided herself.

Lacey took her tea with a splash of milk.

Skye took hers with two lumps and no milk.

The now empty kinky thigh-boots, leather thong, and corset were still draped across the bed, next to the empty boxes.  Skye found herself repeatedly stealing furtive glances at the outfit (meaning the outfit on the bed, not the outfit hugging Lacey's exquisite body and gracing her pale, perfect feet).  As it turned out, however, Skye's glances weren't furtive enough.

"I had an appointment with a client earlier," Lacey purred as she sipped her tea.  "Hence..." she nodded towards the bed, "the uniform."

Skye sipped (gulped) her tea.  "Y-you wear that for... lifestyle consulting?"

"Euphemistically speaking," Lacey chuckled.  "I have many different uniforms, of course, all similar but most at least a little less revealing."

"Of course," Skye nodded, then blinked, gulped her remaining tea, focused on Lacey, and stated the obvious.  "You're a... d-dominatrix!"

"I am," Lacey confirmed, as cool as the proverbial cucumber.

Normally, Skye would have found her hostess' nonchalance to be at least mildly irritating, but at the moment she was too busy freaking out (in a subtle, carefully controlled sort of way).

"Your mother tells me you made a habit of tying up your playmates when you were a child," Lacey stated (out of left field).

Thanks Mom, Skye silently fumed.  Thanks a bunch.  "Uh... she did?"

Lacey nodded.  "I was the same way."  She lifted the teapot from the tray and replenished both their cups before continuing.  "Did you ever allow yourself to be tied up?"

Skye's heart was hammering.  "No!" she exclaimed, more forcefully than she'd intended.  "I mean... no."

Lacey's smile broadened.  "I see.  My childhood experiences were more... balanced."

Skye sipped her tea and gazed at her hostess over the rim of her cup, trying to imagine Lacey Monjeau as a little girl... a tied up little girl... tied up the way Skye, herself, used to tie up Pallavi and her other playmates.  As a woman of her mother's advanced age, Lacey was gorgeous.  As a youngster, she must have been devilishly cute... maybe even as cute as Skye, herself... and eminently worthy of guest starring as damsel-in-distress in one of her innocent little melodramas.

"Anyway," Lacey continued, "I find rendering my clients totally helpless quite enjoyable."  She sipped her tea and gazed at Skye.  "Are you still interested in such activities, Skye?"

Skye blushed like crazy.  It felt like the freckles on her cheeks would start smoking at any second.  "Uh... I guess.  In an intellectual sort of way, of course."

"I see," Lacey smiled.  "Would you like a... demonstration?"

"D-demonstration?" Skye gasped.  "Of what?"

"A demonstration of how Lacey Monjeau Lifestyle Consulting Services provides customer service," Lacey purred.  "I doubt if you'll find any of my practices applicable to your duties at Plumeria, but I'm sure you'll find the experience interesting."

"Probably," Skye agreed, absently, "I mean... how ya gonna do it?  You'd have to tie somebody up, right?  And there's nobody here but... oh."

Lacey was still smiling, and it was abundantly clear she was trying very hard not to chortle into her teacup.

Skye took refuge behind her teacup, once again sipping her tea.  She'd forgotten to add sugar when her hostess (who was smiling and gorgeous and suggesting she should tie her up!) had refilled her cup, so she hurriedly dropped in a single lump, stirred the cup with her spoon, and took another sip.  Perfect.  Now... what were we talking about?  Oh yeah... tying me up.

Lacey was still smiling, and patiently waiting for Skye's reply.

Skye continued blushing, and added rapidly blinking her green eyes to her repertoire.  "Uh... if it's all the same to you—"

"No trouble whatsoever," Lacey interrupted, then set down her cup and saucer, stood, strolled to a chest of drawers, and opened the bottom drawer.

Her mouth open as she struggled to marshal a response, Skye watched as Lacey pulled a neatly bundled coil of hemp rope from the drawer, then smiled and strolled back in her direction, releasing the retaining hitch and doubling and preparing the rope for use as she walked.  Her actions were swift, deft, and obviously the result of a great deal of practice.

"I, uh...  What?  No!" Skye objected.  Lacey had lifted Skye from her chair, folded her arms across her torso in front, below her breasts, and was lashing her wrists together!  "Lacey!" she whined.

"Hush," Lacey chuckled as she continued looping, wrapping, and hitching the rope, pulling the long free ends of conditioned hemp through the knots and hitches as required.

Skye was finding the tightening rope and that delicious slithering sound she enjoyed so much when she was the one doing the binding to be somewhat distracting.  "I-I-I d-don't want...  Oh!"  Lacey had spun her around and was tying what was probably a square-knot at the small of her back, above her spine.  "Y-you separated the rope!" she bleated.  "You're not supposed to separate the rope!"

"We'll discuss technique when I've finished," Lacey purred as she passed the remaining free ends of the rope up and under Skye's armpits to the front, over her shoulders to the back, then tied another square-knot at the nape of Skye's neck, under her ginger curls.  Finally, she looped the remaining rope around Skye's neck, twice, and tied a final knot in the back.

Lacey returned to her chair, sat, picked up her teacup and saucer, and took a sip.

Skye remained standing, tugging on her bound wrists and twisting at the waist.  It was Skye's first "courtesy struggle," as well as the first time she'd been tied up, really tied up.  She'd practiced various ankle and leg binding techniques on herself, for training purposes, but that didn't count.  This counted.

The fingertips of her left hand were just able to touch her right elbow, and her right fingertips could just touch her left elbow.  Her forearms were pressed together with four neat strands of rope binding her wrists.  The belly-rope kept her arms pressed firmly against her torso, and the single-strand upper-body-harness made sure she couldn't shift the ropes around.  As for the rope-collar, it was totally unnecessary, but did add to her feeling of helplessness, significantly.  Lacey had used the "finger test" to make sure the four neatly stacked strands of the collar weren't tight enough to interfere with her breathing, but the hemp pressed against her throat every time she tested her bondage.  It was... impressive.

With one final twist of her upper body (which did nothing to advance the cause of regaining her freedom), Skye sighed, then strolled back to her seat and sat.  She stared at her cup, but, obviously, her tea-drinking was over, unless Lacey held the cup to her lips.  She raised her gaze from the cup to her hostess... and found Lacey smiling at her as she sipped her tea.

Skye's heart was still pounding and she was still panting, a little.  She licked her lips and swallowed.  "I-I-uh... this is... uh... different."

"How so?" Lacey inquired.

"The technique," Skye muttered.

Lacey shrugged (still smiling).  "It's a 'strait-jacket-tie,' Skye," she purred.

"Oh," Skye said quietly, twisting her body and tugging on her wrist-bonds for emphasis.  "Yeah... I guess it is."

"I thought you might be referring to the experience of being tied up," Lacey chuckled.  "I thought that might be what you were finding so 'different.'"

"Uh, that too," Skye admitted, then blew away an errant ginger strand of her slightly tousled hair that had settled across her flustered face.

"A dominatrix requires a well-developed sense of empathy that can only be grounded in personal experience, Skye."  Lacey set her teacup down on the tray, then settled back in her chair, rested her elbows on the comfortably padded arms, and steepled her pale, strong fingers.

"I have so much to teach you, darling," Lacey purred.

 Chapter 3


Chapter 2

Chapter 4