by Van © 2020

Chapter 8

Dramatis Personæ


The next morning (Saturday)...

Skye slept soundly... not counting her many disturbing (and highly intriguing) dreams... or were they nightmares?

It didn't really matter, because when she woke up, she found she couldn't remember any of them... except for one, the one dream that she could remember.  In it, a beautiful goddess gently rolled her naked body onto her stomach (and boobs)... then gently unbuckled and removed Skye's fist-cuffs, box-tie-binder, body-harness, and the ball-gag dangling around her neck.  So... she was naked and free!  What a dream!

Anyway, the second day of Lacey's Dominatrix Demonstration dawned with Skye totally nude and sprawled in the rumpled sheets of her hostess' bed, and not bound and/or gagged in any way!  Obviously, the liberating-goddess-dream hadn't been a dream at all, but one of those peculiar half-experienced, semi-conscious, near-waking experiences, and the goddess in question had been Lacey.

Anyway, given all that Skye had been through in the course of the previous day, she figured she should have been too nervous and/or scared to sleep... but she had slept... and her slumber had been... refreshing?  Go figure.

Skye rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, causing the covers to fall away from her freckled body.  She then stretched and yawned (in a very cliché manner, but didn't care), and looked around, surveying Lacey's bedroom by the light of the new day.  Her hostess (captor) was nowhere to be seen; however, sporadic wet noises were coming from behind the closed door of the attached bathroom.  Obviously, Lacey was inside, getting herself ready for a new day of binding and gagging poor, innocent Skye Gilroy.

And speaking of light, early morning, low angle sunlight was streaming through the bay window across the bedroom.  Skye slid from between the sheets, padded over to look outside, and was rewarded with the very pretty vista of most of Lacey's backyard, including a large, naturalistic water feature with bog and floating plants, heaps of mossy, skull-sized rocks, a few strategically spaced mini-boulders, and a small waterfall.  Skye thought she caught a flash of orange and white under the water, so it might be an actual koi pond!  "Cool," she muttered, then turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

It was Lacey, of course, and she was gloriously nude and spectacularly gorgeous, just like she'd been last night when they went to bed.  "Good morning, Skye," Lacey beamed as she padded to the bed and pulled on her black silk robe still draped across the foot of the bed.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah," Skye responded.  "Thanks... and... good morning."  Skye realized her left hand was covering her ginger pubic thatch (and pussy) and she was pressing her right forearm against her boobs, creating a modicum of maidenly modesty.  Skye blushed, quickly placed her arms at her sides, and clenched her hands into "casual" fists.  It was a little late to be concerned about modesty.

"Delightful," Lacey chuckled quietly, then strode to the bedroom door, tightening the robe's sash as she went.  "When you're ready, meet me in the kitchen for breakfast."  And then... she was gone... leaving a Lacey-sized gorgeousness-void in the bedroom.

Skye heaved a sigh... then headed for the bathroom.  Great, she thought, I'm 'delightful.'  Can't wait to tell the gang.  They'll be sooo thrilled.  She decided she didn't need a shower, but did need to empty her bladder, wash her face, and brush her hair, so she did all three.

Returning to the bedroom, Skye contemplated the technical question of whether or not she was "ready for breakfast."  She was certainly ready to eat.  The issue was clothing.  She'd arrived at Lacey's Lair wearing a very pretty summer dress, stylish sandals, and underwear, all of which had been stripped from her body by Mistress to expedite the ongoing demonstration.  And Lacey had carried them into her walk-in closet... and the closet in question was right over there.  She supposed she could rummage around until she found them... but... was it the right thing to do?  A dominatrix had stripped her naked, so wouldn't it be rude to un-naked herself without permission?  Etiquette-wise, it was definitely a gray area.

Maybe Lacey has a second silk robe, Skye considered, staring at the walk-in closet door.  The problem, of course, was that even if another robe was available, it would fit her 5' 2" body like a silk tarpaulin.  I'd look ridiculous.  Better naked than ridiculous, Skye decided, padded out the bedroom door, and made her way through the house to the kitchen without difficulty.  By this time she had at least a working knowledge of the basic floor plan of Lacey's Lair.

Lacey smiled when Skye entered the kitchen (or possibly she'd never stopped smiling).  The sleeves of her robe were rolled up and her hair pulled back and held in a loose ponytail by a plastic clip, one of those things used to reseal open bags of potato chips.  A few strands of Lacey's raven-black hair had either failed to be captured or had escaped the clip and were dangling loosely in what Skye considered to be a rather charming dishabille.  Mistress looked very... domestic... and hot.
Pretty Mug
"Coffee?" Lacey offered, indicating the single-cup coffeemaker resting on the counter.  "Reusable pods are in the cabinet above, and coffee is in the canister."
"Thanks."  Lacey hadn't asked why she was still naked, so apparently Skye had dodged the clothing bullet and hadn't made a serious fashion faux pas.  She used the little plastic scoop in the coffee canister to charge one of the pods, then placed it in the coffeemaker, positioned the very pretty stoneware mug Lacey had thoughtfully placed on the counter next to the coffeemaker, and hit the glowing "brew" button.

While steaming, ultra-fresh, very fragrant coffee filled the mug, Skye watched Lacey chop various vegetables and transfer them to a bowl.  She recognized a carrot and some green onions.  Everything else was... leafy and green.  The chopping board was far enough away that she couldn't make out the botanical details, but close enough that she could detect the aroma of fresh herbs.

As usual, Skye's first sip of morning coffee was absolutely yummy, even though she was naked and worrying about what was on Lacey's post-breakfast dominatrix demonstration agenda.  Meanwhile, Lacey was cracking eggs into the bowl and adding splashes of at least two different dark elixirs from small glass bottles.  Skye strongly suspected one of the liquids was soy sauce, but the other... wasn't.

"This is what I call my Americanized tamagoyaki omelette," Lacey explained.

"Uh... okay."  Skye watched as her hostess turned on the burner under a wok-like frying pan... waited for it to heat up... then added a little cooking oil, followed by a dash of a second, slightly darker oil.

"Sesame oil," Lacey explained, noting Skye's interest.  "I studied in Japan for five years."

Skye nodded, then her eyes widened.  Dare I ask? she wondered, then decided she did dare.  "Kinbaku?"

"Kinbaku-bi," Lacey confirmed.  "I love Japan.  It's absolutely beautiful.  Green mountains, ancient forests, Kyoto, Kurashiki, Otaru, Hakone... all beautiful.  And once I learned enough Japanese, I had a ton of fun.  I may retire there someday."

Skye was impressed.  "You speak Japanese?  Cool."  Also... Kinbaku studies!  Super-cool!

"I'm rusty from disuse," Lacey purred, "but...  Hai, sou shi masu."

"Cool," Skye reiterated.  She assumed Lacey's answer has been to the affirmative.

The tamago-whatever omelette was delicious, but Skye was aware that every yummy bite brought her closer to whatever was going to happen after breakfast.  She knew she ought to be terrified and/or paralyzed with fear, and on one level she was; but mostly, she was excited.  It was like when she was squirming in her chair waiting for a really scary horror movie to start, or waiting in line to ride a world-class roller coaster.  Go figure!

There was also the issue of work.  Skye was supposed to be getting ready to report to Plumeria for a full day of providing world-class customer service to the fashion-starved masses.  Of course, Lacey had said she'd already called her mom and secured permission for her to play hooky, and she believed her... but she probably ought to call her mom herself to confirm that everything was copacetic.  But that would imply she doubted Lacey's word, and she could imagine how her side of the hypothetical phone conversation might go.

'Hi Mom. Just confirming that it's okay for me to take the day off so Lacey can tie me up and maybe do kinky stuff to me down in her dungeon.  See ya tomorrow... or maybe Monday.'  Yeah, that'll work.  Best to just let things play out and ask for forgiveness later... if I need it.

Finally, the food consumed and cleanup of the kitchen accomplished... it was time, meaning time for the resumption of the dreaded dominatrix demonstration.

 Chapter 8

After completing her morning toilette, Pallavi had spent the start of her day off from work accomplishing four things:

     (1)  Dressing herself in bikini-thong panties, black sports-bra, dark-gray, calf-length running-pants, olive-drab V-neck T-shirt, anklet socks, and a pair of broken in and very comfortable trail-runners.

     (2)  Quickly vacuuming the first floor of the house she shared with her mother.  (She'd vacuum the second floor on her next day off.  It was one of her assigned chores.)

     (3)  Eating breakfast (Coffee and a lightly buttered toasted English muffin with sweet cherry preserves).

     (4)  Growing increasingly impatient for Harper to call and give her the address that had swallowed up Skye, meaning the place her BFF had gone to make her delivery... and had never returned!  (Not to be overly dramatic or anything).

Finally, she emptied the dust-canister, plugged the vacuum cleaner in to recharge, buckled on her cute little black waist-pack with all her essentials (in lieu of a purse), and was ready to go.  Unfortunately, she still didn't know where to go.

Suddenly...  Strum-strum-strum...  Her iPhone began playing the "Harp" ringtone she'd cleverly assigned to Harper.  She pulled the phone out of the pack and answered.

     Pallavi:  "It's about time."

     Harper:  "Hello to you too."

     Pallavi:  "Seriously, what ya been doin' that's more important that rescuin' Skye?  Assuming she needs rescuin', of course."

     Harper:  "Chill.  I'll text you the address, but meanwhile, does the name Lacey Monjeau ring any bells?"

     Pallavi:  "Hmm...  Tall?  Killer bod?  Forty-something with a fair complexion?  Quirky smile?  Black hair?  Ice-blue eyes?  Favors dark 3or neutral earth-tones and has excellent taste?  No."

     Harper:  "I've never waited on her either, but she's a regular.  Anywhere, that's where Red went."

     Pallavi:  "Thanks!"

     Harper:  "Wait.  Don't do anything stupid."

     Pallavi:  "Stupid?  Me?  Get real."

     Harper:  "Goodbye, Pallavi.  And if you get arrested for trespassing and being a peeping pervert and need bail money, don't call."

     Pallavi:  "Thanks.  I'd call Mom, anyway.  Bye."

     Harper:  "Bye."

Pallavi pocketed her iPhone and finished her excellent breakfast.  Harper's text message with the Monjeau address arrived, and it was finally time to hit the road and do some serious snooping!

 Chapter 8

Skye had to admit it was a very nice greenhouse or conservatory or fern-parlor or whatever the hell they call such places.  It was full of all kinds of green plants, shrubs, and dwarf trees, and fit perfectly into the understated Victorian decor/architecture of Lacey's Lair.  All things considered, it was very pleasant, the perfect place to kick back and relax.  Unfortunately, relaxation was not an option for poor, innocent Skye Gilroy.  Why?  At the moment, she was... preoccupied.

Skye was situated in the approximate center of the greenhouse, surrounded on all sides by greenery.  She was still naked (no surprise) and was standing up on her toes and the balls of her feet with the  feet in question about 30" apart.  Her arms were raised with her arms folded behind her head, her wrists crossed, more-or-less at the nape of her neck, and she would remain that way until further notice.  Lacey's conditioned hemp ropes lashed her ankles, lower thighs, waist, upper-torso (above and below her boobs), and lashed her upper-arms to her bound wrists.

In addition, horizontal strands stretched to either side and linked her ankle and thigh-ropes to a pair of support columns.  Perpendicular to the ankle and thigh strands, more horizontal strands linked her wrist and elbow-bonds to a third support column.  Lacey had carefully adjusted the ropes to bend Skye's spine just enough to keep her neck vertical and her folded arms pitched back a few degrees, thus preventing any long term neck discomfort.

Skye was "appreciative."  It was very thoughtful of her hostess/captor to torture her with an insidious bondage predicament but make sure she didn't develop a crick in her neck.

Finally, vertical strands linked her to a steel ring dangling from a wrought iron rafter directly overhead, further stabilizing her situation.

And oh-by-the-way, in addition, there was an egregious enhancement to her predicament.  With careful precision, Lacey had positioned a wrought iron plant stand between Skye's legs, placed a small potted plant on the stand, then added several terracotta clay saucers to adjust its height.  And the plant was a succulent or cactus, maybe an agave or sword-plant.  Skye didn't know the thing's name, as she was neither a botanist nor a gardener, but that was immaterial.  What was material, however, was that the thing had spiky leaves, all of which terminated in long, needle-sharp, wicked thorns!  All things considered, the herbaceous pincushion was perfectly poised to prick her pussy and inner thighs if she came down off her toes!

However, Lacey had carefully arranged the ropes to prevent Skye from relaxing her stance, so one might say Skye's bondage was protecting her from the thorns.  The prickly plant was an empty threat.  But as the saying goes, it's the thought that counts.  Mistress Monjeau had not only demonstrating her rigging expertise, but had been a teasing bitch by pretending to expose Skye's crotch to prickly plant peril.  It had added an element of theatrical evil to the tableau.  Skye was impressed... and more than a little ticked off.  This was mean.

Skye would have given her hostess a piece of her mind, but Lacey had announced that "important" housekeeping chores required her attention, then had padded from the greenhouse.  How rude!  Also, as the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake, before leaving she'd announced she was going to demonstrate a "traditional Japanese gag" for Skye's benefit, then had done so.  This required three identical strips of soft, white linen cloth, each about six-inches wide and three-feet in length.

The first strip was folded lengthwise, a large knot tied in the center, the knot thrust in Skye's pouting mouth, and the ends tied tightly together at the nape of her neck, under her long, ginger hair.  The result was a knotted cleave-gag, and arguably a pretty decent gag all on its own.  Were Skye's bound wrists in the way?  Yes, but as a rigger, Lacey was that good!

The second cloth strip was folded once, then tied as a very tight over-the-mouth (OTM) gag, covering the knotted-cleave-gag and Skye's mouth.  Obviously, Skye was sufficiently gagged, right?  Wrong!

The third strip wasn't folded at all and was positioned over the first two gags, covering Skye's lower face from just above her adorably cute button nose to just under her perfect chin.  There was no convenient mirror, so Skye had no idea whether the the different layers of her compound gag were visible, but one thing was for sure: individually and collectively, the entire shebang was damn tight!  Maybe Lacey could make out the outline of the underlying layers as she'd paused to gloat before abandoning Skye to her languishing fate, or maybe not.  It really didn't matter.

Skye had always thought the "detective" or "bandit mask" gags she'd laughed at while watching old movies looked really lame, but then, almost all cinematic gags were way too loose and quite obviously ineffective.  Skye's Traditional Japanese Gag, however, was anything but ineffective.  Skye had to admit, Mistress was skilled, experienced, and inventive.  Elaborate and inescapable bondage, effective gag, and Perilously Poised Potted Plant for added psychological effect!  Very impressive.  Also, Lacey was hot for an older woman.  And as for why Skye kept thinking about that, she had no idea.

And then, Lacey returned to the scene of her crime (meaning her demonstration).  By Skye's reckoning, she'd been gone less then an hour.  In fact, Lacey had only been gone something like... forty minutes?  Anyway, she was back, and had changed out of her black silk robe and into a pair of stylish, skintight, slightly-worn, black jeans and a black tank-top.  Her feet were bare and her gleaming black hair loose about her shoulders.  The issue of underwear was unresolved because while the jeans were tight, no panty lines were visible.  In Skye's expert fashion opinion, add a pair of Doc Martin boots and Lacey would look very... Middle-aged-Goth.  Not that that was an actual thing, of course.  Anyway, Lacey gracefully settled into a wrought iron chair with comfy-looking, hunter-green cushions, crossed her denim-clad legs, and smiled at her naked, bound, and gagged guest.

Skye wiggled and squirmed in her bonds (carefully, even though her bonds ensured she was unable to offend the plant between her splayed legs) and stared daggers at her hostess.  She'd already executed the expected/obligatory Courtesy Struggle immediately after Lacey had crafted her current predicament and prior to being abandoned to her Prickly Plant Peril, so her current bout of squirming was a naked demonstration of her resentment and profound disappointment at being subjected to Lacey's unnecessary cruelty.  To be fair, Lacey's ropes were doing a stellar job of maintaining the minuscule air gap between her inner thighs and pussy and the threatening thorns, but Skye found she was in an increasingly unfair mood.

"It's a pity you can't fully appreciate the finer details of my rigging efforts," Lacey purred, still smiling, "especially when the important action is taking place behind your back."

Skye continued her petulant glare... but had to admit her hostess/captor had raised a valid point.

"There's also the issue of evaluating whether or not you're effectively absorbing my lessons," Lacey continued.

Lessons? So now she's teaching me?  Ha!  Skye's "angry" glare faded and she heaved a well-muffled sigh.  Of course she's teaching you, doofus.  And then... Skye had a wicked thought.  Eyes wide, she wiggled in her bonds and focused on her teacher.  "Mrrrpfh!"

Lacey cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.  "Yes?"

"Mrrrpfh! Skye reiterated.

Still smiling, Lacey rose (gracefully) from her chair and padded behind Skye's back.

Skye felt Lacey part her hair, then the three knots of her three cloth gags melted away... first the bandit-gag... then the OTM-gag... and finally, the knotted-cleave-gag.  She swallowed and licked her lips as Lacey reappeared, padded back to her chair, placed the three white cloth strips on a nearby table, and then (gracefully) resumed her seat.

"Well?" Lacey purred, her gorgeous smile never wavering.

Skye swallowed, suddenly a little less sure of herself.  Best to take the direct approach, she decided, stuck her courage to the sticking, as Lady Macbeth had so famously suggested, and blurted out her spectacularly brilliant solution to their problem.  "I can tie you up!"

Lacey's pale-blue eyes popped wide, then her head tilted back and she laughed, loud and long enough to make Skye blush and resume glaring.  "Oh, darling," Lacey chuckled when she was finally able to speak.  "How absolutely priceless!  Tie me up. Wonderful!"

Skye continued blushing and glaring.  "Ya gotta admit it would work," she huffed.

"Well, of course," Lacey purred, "but it's not gonna happen."

Skye heaved a sigh (this time gag-free), then had another brainstorm and her lips curled in an evil smile.  "I got it!  It's Pallavi's day off!  I can call and invite her over, then use her to show you my stuff... so to speak."  (As Skye was naked and had been for about twenty hours, Lacey was quite familiar with her 'stuff.')  "I mean my rigging skills and how well I've been absorbing your, uh, demonstration."  She squirmed in her bonds for emphasis.

Lacey smiled at her young guest for several seconds before speaking.  "And you think you could talk her into it?"

"I know I could," Skye nodded, smiling her most adorable and sincere smile and blinking her sparkling green eyes.

Considerable time passed.

At least fifteen seconds.

Finally, Lacey rose from her chair (gracefully).  "Well, I suppose it's worth a try.  Care for some coffee?"

"Yes please!" Skye answered.  Her post-gag mouth was dry.  And on general principles, Skye was always up for more caffeine.

"Okay," Lacey responded, then turned and padded away towards the interior of the house.

"You could untie me first!" Skye suggested in a not-at-all-desperate attempt to be heard before it was too late.

"And what would be the fun in that?" Lacey chuckled, weaving her way among the plants without pause.

"None, I suppose," Skye was forced to admit.  And then... her mistress/teacher was gone.

 Chapter 8

Despite not being a particularly sneaky, nosy, or furtive person, Pallavi was proud of the progress of her reconnaissance mission to check out Lacey Monjeau's abode and possibly rescue her best friend.

After entering the address in the map function of her iPhone, she'd carefully studied the cartographic terrain.  She then formulated a cunning, foolproof, four-phase plan:

     PHASE 1.  Drive past the abode in question and "case the joint."

     PHASE 2.  Find a place to park her car where it wouldn't be ticketed and/or towed away.

     PHASE 3.  Scout the residence on foot, in a stealthy, ninja-like manner.  This was why she'd dressed in subdued earth-tones.  Wearing actual camouflage, either military or commercial, might have been more effective, but was out of the question, both for fashion reasons and because she didn't own any.

     PHASE 4.  There was no PHASE 4.  Pallavi would have to see how PHASE 3 panned out, then play it by ear.

PHASE 1 was accomplished without her being noticed by dog walkers, joggers, Lacey's neighbors, or the police (as far as she could tell).  Also, she located a small public park/picnic area conveniently located about a block and a half from her target and parked in its sparsely occupied lot, thereby satisfying PHASE 2.

It was time to commence PHASE 3!  Pallavi carefully locked her car, then began a series of stretching exercises, as if she was using the park as the starting point for a perfectly innocent jog.  And then... she jogged, not in the park but down the tree-shaded streets of Lacey's neighborhood.  Jogging was a good cover.  She'd just left the parking lot and stepped onto the sidewalk when her phone starting producing the mildly irritating "Constellation" ringtone she'd assigned to Skye.  She's probably calling to complain about not being rescued yet, Pallavi sighed, then extracted the phone from her waist-pack and answered.

     Pallavi:  "Hey."

     Skye:  "Hey.  It's your day off, right?"

     Pallavi:  "Uh, yeah.  Why?"

     Skye:  "You need to come over here.  It'll be really cool."

     Pallavi:  "Okay, but where's 'here,' and what will be cool?"

     Skye:  "Lacey Monjeau's house.  I'll text you the address as soon as I hang up, and it's a surprise.  See ya soon, and dress for exercise."

     Pallavi:  "Lacey who?"  (It was best to play it cool.)

     Skye:  "Lacey Monjeau?  The customer?  You know her.  Anyway, don't ring the front doorbell.  Come around to the backyard.  We'll be doin' yoga."

     Pallavi:  "Yoga?"

     Skye:  "Yoga.  Bye!"

     Pallavi:  "Okay, but you have to tell me more than 'it's a surprise' and 'we'll be doin' yoga.'  ...  Skye?  ...  Red?  ...  Red!"  Skye had hung up.

Pallavi glared at the uncaring iPhone, then heaved a sigh and began the short walk back to her car.  "I didn't say 'yes,' you dweeb," she huffed.  How inconsiderate!  I should leave her there to rot and not rescue her freckled ass, she fumed silently.  It would serve her right, and what a waste of a flawlessly initiated reconnaissance and rescue mission.  As she was opening her car door, the phone still in her hand gleeped with the I've-got-a-message signal and Pallavi found herself staring at the promised address.  By amazing coincidence, it was the exact same address Harper had already provided.

Pallavi decided it wouldn't do to arrive immediately, so she carefully backed out of her space, eased onto the main road, and went in search of a convenience store or fast-food joint where she could get something to drink.  Maybe a milkshake... a small one... strawberry... or maybe blueberry if they've got it.  Passion fruit is too much to hope for.

 Chapter 8


Chapter 7

Chapter 9