by Van © 2020
			Chapter 13

Candy-Striper Gilroy had her orders.

The moisturizing of the Viking Queen was a truly epic undertaking, but Skye was thorough and meticulous, her latex-gloved, well-lubricated hands slowly gliding over every available square inch of the blond, blue-eyed, 40-something, Nordic beauty strapped to the examination/surgical table of Mistress's subterranean Bondage Clinic venue.

The Viking Queen's boobs, inner thighs, and bare feet received extra special attention, but her ball- and tape-gagged face enjoyed only a cursory massage, mostly her forehead and temples.  Skye didn't want to get lotion/moisturizer into those gorgeous, glowering blue eyes.  There was nothing on the pump-bottle's label to suggest that the clear, oily product in question was "No More Tears" (like baby shampoo).  Skye took no chances.

Also, one-by-one, she unbuckled each of the cuff and strap restraints that weren't padlocked, moisturized the area that had been under the leather, then buckled them tight, once again.  That was why Mistress hadn't padlocked them in the first place, right?  So Skye could be a diligent masseuse?  Mistress thought of everything.  However, Skye didn't touch the semi-posture-collar.  She didn't want the Viking Queen thrashing her head around and straining her neck.

Skye was sure Her Nordic Majesty's angry stare and agitated squirming signaled only token resentment and not genuine revulsion at what was happening to her smooth, firm, tan skin.  Pretend Revulsion was Skye's go-to move when Mistress messed with her body, so the Viking Queen was probably doing the same thing.  It only made sense.

Finally... Skye moved on to the Main Event of Round One.  She replenished the lotion on her hands, smiled sweetly at her patient (victim), then began stroking The Royal Labia.  She did what Mistress did to her when Mistress diddled her hoo-haw, but didn't try anything fancy... for now.  And it wasn't that Skye was a total erotic novice or anything.  She knew what felt good when she did it to herself, but playing with somebody else's lady-bits was a different kettle of fish, right?

It was like tickling.  You can't tickle yourself.  You can diddle yourself, but when someone else is doing the diddling and everything happening is beyond your control... it's different.  It was best to imitate Mistress' skilled hands.  Skye would strive to develop a personal orgasm extraction style of her own... later.

Skye was gratified to see her subject reacting to her efforts.  The Viking Queen's gorgeous blue eyes were still hostile (maybe), but she was tugging on her wrist cuffs with her hands clenched in tight fists, wiggling her toes, straining her glistening, spectacular body against the straps, and squirming in general.  Her efforts were strenuous enough to make her boobs quiver like a pair of pudding cakes on an unsteady table... sort of.  And her pointing nipples were pointing all over the place.  Also, the Royal Labia were flushed and moist in... Regal Outrage?  Anyway, Skye was obviously on the right track.

Finally... after a few minutes of diligent diddling, all of which was met with struggling and glowering... the Viking Queen whined through her ball-and-tape-gag, squeezed her gorgeous blue eyes tightly closed, and came like the proverbial bunny.  And if she was faking it, she was a world class actress.  Either that or Skye was grading on a low curve.

And then Round One was over.  The Viking Queen panted through flaring nostrils, her breasts heaved, and she continued struggling against the brown leather straps pinning her to the table.  Also, she shifted from glowering to staring daggers at her smiling young therapist.  It was a subtle difference, but Skye picked it out.  Her Majesty may have also started sweating, but the glistening moisturizer covering her tan body made it difficult for Skye to be sure.

Skye let her magnificent captive rest for a few minutes.  Okay, two minutes.  Then went back to work.  Mistress would expect nothing less.

Round Two was just as much a rousing success as Round One.  Round Three was also an Erotic Triumph.

By this time, Her Majesty was definitely sweating, and her panting and squirming were less enthusiastic that at the beginning.  The poor thing was tiring.

Skye's wrist was tiring as well.  She was nowhere near ready to call it quits, but she didn't want to develop Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (also known as "Diddler's Wrist").  Her options were to give the Viking Queen a real rest, which would also mean giving her wrist a real rest.  Or...

Skye's smile widened (meaning turned noticeably diabolical), and she spun on her Sketcher-clad heels and strolled to the cabinet with the moisturizer and other stuff.  The top drawer held the solution to her problem.  She slid the drawer open and pulled one of the wand-style vibrators from its recharging stand, pressed its "L" button and turned it on (so to speak), and the wand's knob-like, silicon-rubber-clad head began humming.  Skye shifted her gaze to the two identical vibrators still in their charger-stands in the drawer, and her smile faded.  She turned her head and glanced at the Viking Queen—who was still glistening and/or sweating, tugging on her bonds, and glaring—then back at the drawer and its silver, fully charged contents.

Even if Mistress is gone a full two hours, how much diddling does she expect me to accomplish? Skye wondered.  These things can't drain all their power that quickly.  She turned off the vibrator, closed the drawer on the other two, reasserted her therapeutic smile, then strolled back to the table and its gorgeous prisoner.  Oh well.

As it turned out, the silver wand was a very good orgasm extraction tool.  It had three speeds, L, M, and H (low, medium, and high), which allowed Skye to experiment with varying the intensity.  As Mistress had advised (ordered), she continued keeping things simple by slowly escalating the buzzing in a linear fashion until she achieved the desired result... which was a squirming, mewling, sweating, and cumming Viking Queen.

Anyway... all "good" things come to an end.  Skye heard the door unlock—Click!—and it opened.  Mistress had returned.  She was still in her "Doctor" costume of stylish, summer-weight, heather-gray dress and white lab coat.  She strolled to the table and smiled down at the shining, panting, glowering. and obviously well-diddled Viking Queen for something like half a minute, then ordered Candy-Striper Gilroy to wipe her latex-gloved and still semi-lubricated hands clean, wipe the head of the vibrator with alcohol, and return it to the drawer.  She also ordered Skye to keep her hands gloved (for some reason), then led her from the chamber.

The Viking Queen remained behind.

Mistress led her student to the master bedroom, pointed to the bed, and ordered her to disrobe.

Skye had been eager to debrief her Mistress—bursting with the news that The Diddling of the Viking Queen had been a spectacular success—that Candy-Striper Gilroy had extracted crashing orgasms on a regular basis with deft competence—that the climaxes had just kept coming like a series of express trains rolling down the tracks, one after the other!  However, Mistress had made it clear she didn't want to talk.  She ignored Skye's eagerness and had even intoned her most dreaded of chatterbox-dampening orders: "Hush."

And now...  Skye found herself staring at an orderly row of hemp rope coils on the neatly made bed.  And next to the coils was a black leather muzzle-ball-gag.  It had a 1½" mouth-plug of silicon-rubber and a chamois-thin panel.  Skye was getting very good at making snap-evaluations of Mistress' ever-growing inventory of top-of-the-line restraints.  Next to the gag was a roll of black, 2"-wide vinyl tape.  Panel-ball-gag and tape?  Talk about overkill.

Anyway, Skye had been ordered to "disrobe," and everything required to bind and gag her undeserving-of-punishment body was right there on the bed.  This was her reward for a job well done?

Obedience be damned!  Actually, Skye would be obedient, but Mistress deserved to hear her opinion.  She folded her arms across her candy-striper uniformed breasts and frowned at the smiling Mistress in question.

"The Viking Queen has been well and truly diddled, as ordered," Skye announced (pouted).

"The who?" Mistress chuckled.

"The blond old lady downstairs," Skye clarified.

"That much was obvious," Mistress purred.  "Get on with it."

Skye continued glaring as she began unbuttoning her red-and-white pinstriped dress.  "You're setting a new standard for mean," she huffed.  "I hope you realize that."

Mistress smile never wavered, but she pointed an imperious finger at the bed.  "I've changed my mind," she announced.  "Gag yourself, then disrobe."

Skye continued glaring at her Mistress for several long, defiant seconds.  Nearly three!  Finally, she picked up the gag, stared at the ball in Righteous Resentment, then gobbled it up, tightened the strap until the panel pressed against her lips and mouth like one of Mistress' always effective hand-gags, then threaded the buckle and secured it at the nape of her neck.  Her ginger locks were still coiled in a bun so they hadn't been in the way.  She then resumed glowering at Mistress and unbuttoning the dress.

"Leave the gloves," Mistress purred as she watched Skye follow her "mean" orders.  Her strong, pale hands were in her lab coat pockets and her lips curled in one of her trademark gorgeous but quirky smiles.  It was infuriating.

Soon, Skye's dress, blouse, garter belt, and white stockings were folded into a neat stack and resting on the bed, next to her white Sketchers and the ominously waiting coils of hemp rope.

Still smiling (and irritating), Mistress strolled forward, and picked up the roll of vinyl tape.  "Make a pair of fists for Mistress," she ordered.

Skye begrudgingly obeyed, and Mistress proceeded to mummify her left and right hands.  She took her time, winding layer after uniformly overlapping layer of stretched tape until Skye's fists disappeared completely under the gleaming vinyl.

Pouting through her gag, Skye examined her now useless hands.  Simple manual tasks (like untying knots or turning doorknobs) were now impossible.  Wow!  She had to admit Mistress had done an outstanding job.  Very pretty, she conceded, and pointlessly mean.  Mistress never ceases to amaze.

The Amazing Mistress placed the half-expended tape roll on the bedside table, then placed her hands on Skye's shoulders, led her to the dressing table, and "encouraged" her to sit on the bench.

Skye gazed at her reflection in the mirror and noticed two things:

(1.)  She'd forgotten to remove her white nurses' cap with its ridiculous oversized red cross on the front, and;

(2.)  The panel of her muzzle-ball-gag was like Elastoplast or Microfoam tape, in that it was thin enough and tight enough to reveal the shape of her lips and the end of the ball crammed in her mouth in three-dimensional bas-relief.  Wow.

Mistress proceeded to remove the cap for her.  That was a good thing, seeing as Skye's hands were encased in gleaming black vinyl and there was no way she could remove the damn thing herself.  Mistress quickly and efficiently removed the hairpins, then carried the cap to the bed.  She returned, released Skye's bun, then combed and brushed her ginger tresses.

"Very pretty," Mistress sighed, locking eyes with her student in the mirror... then led Skye back to the bed.

Skye watched with worried green eyes, gagged mouth, and mummified fists as Mistress prepared a coil of hemp for use... then set to work.

Doubled strands of rope tightened, the long trailing ends slithered, tension-maintaining hitches were taken, then the next doubled-strand loop was tightened.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  The end result was another of Mistress' box-tie masterpieces, and this particular example was anchored above by the traditional shoulder-yoke, and below by waist-encircling ropes with strands passing between Skye's legs but not cleaving her pussy.  Her butt-cheeks were cleaved, but her labia were... framed.  How was she supposed to work with that?  Obviously, she would soon to be languishing somewhere (like the bed) while Mistress trekked back downstairs and did whatever she was planning on doing with the Viking Queen, so how was Skye going to work with a crotch rope that didn't slide through her hoo-haw in a helpful manner?

Mistress really was being mean today.

"There you go," Mistress sighed, then "helped" Skye flop down on her stomach on the bed.  She then crossed Skye's ankles and lashed them together, frog-tied her bent legs, then linked the nexus of the box-tie with her crossed ankle-bonds, pulled out all available slack—"Mrrrf!"—and made the whole shebang into a back-arching box-frog-hogtie.

Skye squirmed and struggled and watched (resentfully) as mistress carried her entire candy-striper costume into the walk-in closet... there was a brief pause while Skye assumed she hung up the dress and did whatever she decided to do with the rest... then she returned.

"Wait here," Mistress ordered, then made her exit—Click!—locking the bedroom door behind her.

Languishing on the bed, Skye noted.  Nailed it!  She was proud of herself for having correctly predicted her immediate fate. 

So... naked, panel-ball-gagged, and box-frog-hogtied with her fists bundled in black tape... Skye settled in to wait... as ordered.

It was only a little more than an hour before Mistress returned.  That was fine with Skye.  She'd managed a short nap and was quite rested from her Viking Queen diddling marathon down in the Bondage Clinic.  Being a Junior Dominatrix could be hard work.  Who knew?  Anyway...

Skye blinked the sleep from her green eyes and stared at Mistress as she smiled and strolled to the bed.  She'd ditched the lab coat but was still in the same black high-heels, stockings or pantyhose, and heather-gray summer-weight dress.  Also, her raven-black, gleaming hair was still loose about her shoulders and framing her gorgeous face.

"Enough sloth," Mistress purred as she attacked the knots enforcing Skye's box-frog-hogtie.

Hilarious, Skye silently groused.

Skye's bondage was quickly reduced to a simple box-tie (if a box-tie incorporating waist and non-pussy-cleaving/pussy-framing crotch-ropes can be called "simple") and she was off the bed and on her way out the door.  She was still naked, of course, and her semi-tousled ginger hair fluttered about her panel-ball-gagged, freckled face as she stomped (padded) along.  Her fists remained mummified in black vinyl tape.  Also, Mistress had looped a rope around her neck, tied a non-compacting knot, and added a simple rope leash to her ensemble.  The coiled end of the tether was clutched in Mistress' right hand.

Mistress strolled and Skye padded down the hall, down the front stairs, through the first floor to the kitchen, out the door, and onto the back deck.

Skye's green eyes popped wide and she nearly tripped on her own bare feet.

Seated at one of the comfortably padded wrought iron chairs around a glass-topped, wrought iron café table was... The Viking Queen!  And she was no longer bound and gagged!  And she was no longer naked (except under her clothes)!  And the clothes in question were the same outfit Skye had noticed hanging from that rack down in the Bondage Clinic; specifically...

●  A tan, summer-weight suit.  Her Nordic Majesty was wearing the skirt, but the jacket was draped over the back of her chair.

●  A very pretty light-weight blouse in a mottled gray-and-salmon-pink-on-white print.

●  Nude pantyhose.

●  Skye assumed she was also wearing the underwear that had also been hanging on the rack, but couldn't visually verify their presence.  No, strike that, she could see the bra (valiantly containing the Royal Boobs) under the semi-sheer fabric of the blouse.  The panties were still an open question (so to speak).  Also...

●  A very pretty pair of light tan high-heeled pumps graced the Royal feet.  They'd probably been resting on the base of the rack down below, but Skye hadn't noticed.

Her longish blond hair shining in the sun, her blue eyes twinkling, and a gorgeous smile curling her lips, the Viking queen uncrossed her legs and gracefully stood as Mistress and the tethered, naked, box-tied, fist-mummified, and gagged Skye approached.

"Roxy," Mistress announced, "allow me to introduce Miss Skye Gilroy."

"We've already met," the Viking Queen purred, "but it is nice to be able to put a name to a gloating face, a pair of frisky hands, and ten lewd, licentious fingers."

Mistress and her blond guest laughed.  Skye blinked and tried to decide if she should be angry or embarrassed.

Mistress indicated Her Nordic Majesty with a graceful flip of the wrist.  "Skye, this is Roxanne Vos, my very old and dear friend."

"I'm not that old," Roxanne quipped as she stepped forward, stooped, and kissed Skye on her freckled forehead.  Stooping had been necessary as she was 5' 11" and in high-heels and Skye was 5' 2" and in her bare feet.  "I'll take that," she said, relieved Mistress of the coiled end of Skye's leash, then settled back in her chair.

Mistress sat as well, in another chair, of course.

Skye blinked uncertainly and looked from Mistress to Roxanne and back.  Two unoccupied chairs remained, but between her box-tie-bonds and tape-bundled fists, pulling one away from the table was an iffy proposition at best.

"Here, darling," Roxanne chuckled, then gave Skye's leash a tug.

Mistress smiled and nodded, so Skye padded to Roxanne's chair and allowed herself to be settled onto Roxanne's lap.  Roxanne draped an arm around her shoulders, and Skye was, uh, comfortable... meaning mortified and a little fidgety.  Her heart was pounding and she was starting to sweat.  The sun was hot... and so was Roxanne Vos!

There was a tea set on the table, and Mistress poured herself a cup and took a sip.

Skye noted that Roxanne had already poured herself a cup and a third empty cup and saucer was available... not that Skye was going to be able to pour herself a cup of refreshing tea any time soon.

Roxanne reached behind Skye's head, parted her ginger hair, and unbuckled the panel-ball-gag.  Tea-wise, things were looking up!  Roxanne secured the buckle on the strap's first hole, then helped Skye expel the ball from her mouth.  The gag was now in necklace-mode with the panel and glistening ball resting on her freckled chest, under her saliva-dripping chin and above her rope-framed boobs.

"Well," Roxanne purred, smiling at Mistress.  "Get on with it."

Mistress had already poured a third cup of tea and replenished Roxanne's cup, and unless it was a trick of the bright sunlight, she was blushing.  Mistress blushing? Skye wondered.  What's that about?

"All in good time," Mistress huffed as she handed the third cup to Roxanne, then took a sip from her own.

Roxanne held the cup to Skye's lips and she took a careful sip.  Yum!  Skye then gazed at her Mistress with obvious curiosity.

"Roxanne and I met in Japan," Mistress announced.

"We trained with the same Kinbaku Sensi," Roxanne added.

Skye quickly shifted her green eyes to Roxanne.  "Y-you're a d-dominatrix too?"

"Cute as a bug and sharp as a tack," Roxanne chuckled, then sipped her tea.  "Yes, darling, I'm a professional dominatrix, like your mistress."  She shifted her gorgeous smile to the Mistress in question.  "If you don't ask her right now, I'm taking her home with me."

"Very funny," Mistress muttered (and her blush deepened, maybe).

Skye was amazed.  "Ask me what?"

Mistress fortified herself with tea, then set her cup and saucer on the table.  "Would you like to continue your training, Skye?"

Now Skye was blushing.  "Uh... yeah, sure."

Roxanne laughed and rolled her eyes.  "You great big chicken.  Ask her!"

Skye blinked and looked from Roxanne... to Mistress... who was now unmistakably blushing.  One of the disadvantages of a fair complexion, Skye supposed.

Mistress' blue eyes locked with Skye's green eyes.  "Would you like to be my apprentice, Skye?  Would you like to continue your studies and become a real dominatrix?"

"Yes!" Skye gushed, then her smile faded.  "But... work.  Mom and Mom are counting on me."

"Mom and Mom?" Roxanne asked.

"Her biological and other mom," Mistress explained (sort of), "now, hush."

Roxanne smiled and did, indeed, hush.

"Plumeria needs me," Skye added.

"The family business," Mistress explained before Roxanne could break her vow of silence.  She then focused on Skye.  "Does it, really?  Is retail fashion your true vocation?"

Skye frowned.  "Well..."  She swallowed and forced a nervous smile.  "What will it be like?"

"She'll be your Jedi Master and you'll be her Padawan Learner," Roxanne chuckled, "only with neon electro-stimulation wands instead of light sabers."

Mistress favored her fellow Mistress with a pouting smile.  "I should have left you strapped to the table down below," she purred, then turned to Skye.  "That reminds me.  Thank Mistress Vos for helping you with your training."

Skye lifted her gaze to Roxanne.  "Thank you, Mistress Vos."

"You're welcome, darling," Roxanne purred, kissed Skye's lips, then smiled at Mistress Monjeau.  "Isn't she delightful?"

Skye rolled her eyes.  "Not you too," she sighed.

Roxanne and Lacey shared what could only be called a belly laugh, causing Skye to glower and pout in what a hypothetical observer would have inevitably characterized as a delightful manner.
 
Mistress finally controlled herself and her expression became serious.  "Apprenticeship is not something to be entered into lightly," she intoned.

"Much like traveling the Jundland Wastes," Roxanne said solemnly, "what with the Tusken Raiders, Krayt Dragons, and—"

"One more Star Wars reference," Mistress interrupted, pointing at Skye's ugly necklace, "and you'll be wearing that gag."

Roxanne smiled sweetly and made a zipping motion across her pursed lips.

Mistress returned her attention to Skye.  "If you want some time to think about it—"

"Yes!" Skye interrupted.  Then blinked and swallowed.  "Yes, Mistress."

"It's a commitment of years," Mistress warned.

"And the start of a lifelong relationship," Roxanne added, and this time Mistress didn't admonish her for butting in.

"Yes, Mistress," Skye reiterated.  "I want to be your apprentice.  I want to learn how to be a professional dominatrix.  I want to learn everything... Mistress."  She climbed off Roxanne's lap (with mild difficulty), padded to Mistress, and flopped onto her lap.  "Mistress," she purred with a happy smile, and kissed Lacey's lips.

Roxanne couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, so she simply watched Mistress Monjeau and Apprentice Gilroy's long, wet kiss.

Finally, Mistress Monjeau ended the kiss, lifted her new apprentice off her lap, and stood.  "You're staying the night," she ordered, pointing at Mistress Vos, then shifted her imperious gaze to Skye.  "And as for you... take the afternoon off."  And with that, she turned and strolled towards the kitchen door.  "Steaks on the grill tonight!" she shouted over her shoulder, and was gone.

Mistress Vos was still in her chair.  Apprentice Gilroy was standing on the deck, naked, box-tied, fist-mummified, her gag around her neck, and the end of her leash still in Mistress Vos' hand.  Skye stared at Roxanne.  Roxanne smiled and stared back.

"Get over here so I can congratulate you on your new calling," Roxanne said finally, then tugged on Skye's leash.

Skye padded to Roxanne's chair, sat on her lap, once again, and smiled sweetly.  "That's very kind of y—Mrrrf!"  It was the gag, of course.  The ball was back in her mouth, the panel was pressing against her lips, and the buckle was being tightly secured at the nape of her neck, under her ginger hair.  Mistress Vos' actions had been swift, her fingers deft, and it was all but over before Skye realized what was happening.  She really is a professional! Skye mused.

"Now," Mistress Vos purred, locking eyes with her old friend's new apprentice, "I'm going to show you how you should have entertained me when you had me at your mercy down below in Lacey's dungeon.  Pay close attention, and if you try closing your legs and force me to go to all the trouble of stretching you across this table and lashing them apart, you'll be very sorry.  Do you understand?"

Skye blinked her wide, green eyes and nodded.  "Mrrrrrpfh!"  (Yes, Mistress.)

What followed could only be described as a master class in diddling.  In the journal Mistress Monjeau ordered Skye to start keeping, she recorded the event as... "The Revenge of the Viking Queen."

And thus it was that Skye Gilroy embarked on the path to a new career, that of a Professional Dominatrix.

The temporary shop girl Jodi and Kanoa had hired to take her place became a permanent hire, and she worked out beautifully.  Her name was Josie Howard, by the way, and she was 5' 2" (like Skye) with brown hair cropped short in an truly charming pixie.  Her features were round and symmetrical, her big doe eyes brown, and everyone agreed that she was both adorable and delightful.  (And Josie didn't appreciate the labels any more than Skye.)  She wasn't into bondage, and if Pallavi and Harper ever talked her into giving it a try, that would be a story for another day.

Sorting out Skye's relationships and settling into her new life took time, and even a cursory description of the process would be lengthy and involved, requiring an epilogue at the very least.