Rook takes Rook

              RAPSCALLIONSby Van ©2013

 Chapter 10



Gwen had set five places at the kitchen table and Clem was cooking the last of the pancakes.  The BFFs (and girlfriends) carried the food to the table, then sat in their accustomed places.

"Where the hell is everybody?" Clem muttered.  "I'm hungry."

Gwen smiled.  "They'll be along."

"I don't see why we should let the food get cold while they—"  Clem blinked in surprise.  "Oh."

Siri, Rory, and J-Lou were entering the kitchen.  Like Clem and Gwen, their fellow Rapscallions were wearing robes and slippers.  The Queen of the Damsels, however, was naked, her brown hair was a damp, tangled mess, and her arms were behind her back.

"Pancakes and bacon, again?" J-Lou chuckled as she padded to her usual place at the table.  She was teasing.  The residents of Rook House hadn't enjoyed pancakes and bacon for more than a week.  Her Majesty waited while Rory pulled out her chair, then gracefully settled her naked rump on the seat.  Rory's courtesy wasn't a matter of Royal Protocol.  J-Lou's wrists and elbows were tied behind her back and she couldn't easily seat herself without help.

"Huh?" Clem inquired.

Gwen giggled.  "You'll have to be more specific," she said, smiling at her BFF.

"Why is J-Lou tied up?" Clem elaborated.

Siri shrugged.  "Because she's there?"

"We all agreed we'd capture Her Majesty first chance we got after the end of round one," Rory explained.

Gwen smiled.  "Meaning round one of the Bondorama Extrava—"

"No we didn't," Clem interrupted.  She was speaking to Rory.

"Yes we did," Siri responded.  She speared a pair of pancakes with her fork and plopped them on her plate.  "Last Thursday.  Lunch at the Sac."

"I was there," Clem objected.  "We didn't."

"It was before you arrived," Rory said with a dimpled smile.  "We declared the formation of the Peoples Republic of Rapscallia and agreed the Hated Tyrant should be imprisoned in a deep, dark dungeon, naked and in chains, forever."

Clem speared a short stack of her own.  They all did, except for J-Lou, of course.  "I wasn't that late," Clem muttered, "and we don't have a dungeon.  Or chains, for that matter."

"I've got a cage in my studio," Siri said with a shrug, "two, in fact.  We can order a set of steel slave chains online and keep her tied up 'til they arrive."

Rory had buttered her pancakes and was in the process of cutting them into bite size pieces.  "She'll have to drop her classes, of course," the ginger noted.  "But if she's good, we'll give her a keyboard and let her do a little research."

"If she's good," Siri agreed.  She'd already cut up her pancakes and added syrup.  She forked a bite into her mouth and began to chew.

Rory anointed her pancakes with syrup, but instead of eating, she swapped her loaded plate for J-Lou's empty plate.

J-Lou had smiled and kept silent the entire time her fate was being discussed.  She continued smiling as Rory lifted a fork loaded with pancake to her mouth.  She accepted the syrupy morsel and chewed.  They were all chewing except for Rory, who was loading her new plate with pancakes.

"You could have waited 'til I got there," Clem huffed.

"You're just lucky you aren't naked and bound, like the Queen," Siri countered.  "After all, you're a dirty, rotten, aristocratic Princess, remember?"

"Don't worry," Gwen purred, "if the Committee of Revolutionary Justice decides to condemn you as a class traitor, I'll keep you out of the dungeon."  She took a sip of coffee and smiled at her girlfriend before continuing.  "I'll keep you as my personal slave."

"How very kind," Clem said dryly, then nodded in J-Lou's smiling, naked, and bound direction.  "Seriously, you know I'm always up for stripping and binding British tyrants.  Why didn't you guys include me in?"

"The way you included us out on the secret of Robokitty?" Rory countered.

Clem shrugged.  "Oh, that.  Well, I—"  She did a double-take, then focused on Rory.  "Wait!  You figured it out, that Robokitty is more than a phone charger?"

"And can untie knots," Gwen added.

"Allegedly," Siri muttered.

Clem blinked in surprise.  "I thought you guys didn't know."  She ate a bite of pancakes, then sipped her coffee.  "Good thing about that side bet, eh?"

Siri paused with a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth.  "Ohhh no!  You cheated.  You don't get to tie us up."

"I do get to tie you up."  Clem waved her fork at Siri.  "It was a fair bet.  And once I have you tied up, you won't be able to unjustly lock me in chains."

Rory shrugged.  "Her logic is unimpeachable."

"It is too impeachable," Siri countered.  "In fact, it's eminently impeachable."

"Emphatically it's eminently impeachable," Gwen agreed, "but she still gets to tie us up."  She met Siri's stare with a dimpled smile.  "Rapscallions don't welch on bets."

Siri shrugged, then sipped her coffee.  "Well, if you're gonna be that way.  But we get to deal with Her Majesty first."

"Agreed," Gwen and Rory said in unison.

"Deal with her how?" Clem asked.

"If you're going to be late for secret revolutionary meetings," Rory said with a grin, "you live in ignorance."  She nodded at J-Lou.  "The way Her Majesty lives in dread."

"Just eat your breakfast," Gwen said, pointing at Clem's plate with her fork, "and consider yourself lucky you aren't naked and tied up."

"I always consider myself lucky when I'm not naked and tied up," Clem sighed.

"Don't we all," Rory agreed.

J-Lou continued smiling.  Now Rory and Gwen were taking turns feeding her pancakes and bacon and holding her tea cup to her lips.  The peasants might be revolting, but they were very considerate.

Chapter 10

It was approximately a half hour after the Rapscallions and their Captured Queen had finished breakfast.  While the girls cleaned the kitchen and their prisoner watched, there was a general discussion and three things were established:

(1)  J-Lou had no immediate plans for the rest of Saturday, other than doing her laundry and a little professional and recreational reading.  Otherwise, her schedule was free.  This was confirmed by Sally, the keeper of all their academic and personal electronic calendars.

(2)  J-Lou did have plans to spend most of Sunday going over her recent research at the home of her major professor, Dr. Webbel.  This was a semi-regular occurrence, and in this particular case a formal appointment was inscribed in both the student's and teacher's calendars.  It would be difficult to blow off.

(3)  The Royal Prisoner vehemently denied having engaged in any form of cheating during round one of the B.E.Q.D.T.  She also denied that Robokitty had either the capability or inclination to untie knotted ropes and thereby free her bound and gagged creator.

The Rapscallions agreed that:

(1)  J-Lou would be doing neither her laundry nor any reading today.  Her Saturday dance card was now full.

(2)  The Deposed Queen would remain a naked prisoner forever and ever—never to feel the sun on her skin, never to walk in the open air, and never to taste freedom of any kind ever again.  However, she would be released Sunday morning in plenty of time to make her way to Cynthia Webbel's bungalow at the appointed hour and things would go back to what passed for normal at Rook House.

(3)  Regarding cheating, the Rapscallions had ways of making Her Majesty tell the truth.  And towards that end...

The five residents of Rook House trooped down the stairs to the basement.  The Rapscallions had taken the time to dress in their usual weekend uniforms: bras and panties, sneakers or sandals, jeans or stretch pants, and tank-tops, t-shirts, or blouses; however, Her Majesty was still naked with her wrists crossed and tied behind her back and her elbows lashed a couple of inches apart.  She'd been left to cool her heels in the kitchen while the girls changed, gagged with a kitchen towel and with two more towels binding her ankles to the front legs of her chair.  The towel gag was still in place, cleaving J-Lou's mouth and knotted under her now brushed and combed hair.  Rory had returned to the kitchen first with the required haircare tools and had been J-Lou's coiffeuse.

Siri led the way across the front basement towards the folding partition walling off her private studio domain.  "I know just what to do," she told the others, "just how to prepare the Evil Tyrant for interrogation.  I've been going over it in my mind all week."

"Budding sociopath much?" Gwen giggled.

"She's not a sociopath," Rory defended her girlfriend, "just... dedicated."

Clem and Gwen exchanged an amused smirk while Siri opened the partition.

As usual, Siri's studio was scrupulously clean and uncluttered.  Cabinets and shelves with bolts of cloth and binders of cloth samples lined the walls.  In the center of the space, under a grid of track lighting, was a large worktable and Siri's computer assisted combination design station and sewing machine.  "Siri's Big Cage," the alcove with its hefty, expanded metal grid door, was empty.  So was "Siri's Little Cage," the steel puppy cage back against the wall and shrouded by a dust cloth.

Siri pointed to the worktable as she strolled towards a large cabinet.  "Put her up there," she ordered.

"Who put you in charge?" Gwen complained as, with Rory's help, she shepherded J-Lou to the table and lifted her onto the smooth, hard surface.  Clem would have helped, but it was unnecessary.  Her Majesty was offering no resistance.

Siri ignored Gwen's question and carried an armload of butternut leather straps and cuffs to the table.

J-Lou was now sitting on her rump on the rectangular surface with her legs straight and feet about eighteen inches apart.  She watched as Siri buckled stiff, wide cuffs around the Royal Ankles and deployed straps to either side of the table.

Clem frowned.  "Your worktable has steel rails bolted to the underside?"

Siri shrugged as she tightened a strap and secured its buckle.  "Don't they all?  How else do you attach straps?"

Rory, Gwen, and J-Lou exchanged a smile (a gagged smile in J-Lou's case) while Clem rolled her eyes.

Siri continued strapping J-Lou to the table.  When the process reached her upper body, Clem untied J-Lou's elbows and wrists, Gwen and Rory "helped" Her Majesty recline, and more cuffs and straps were deployed and buckled tight.  The final result was J-Lou on her back with her arms at her sides and her legs spread.  When Siri was finished, there were leather cuffs around J-Lou's ankles; her thighs, just above her knees; her wrists; and her upper arms, just above her elbows.  Finally, a corset-belt with three small buckles was buckled around her waist.

"What do you call this position?" Gwen inquired, "the gingerbread man?"

"The what?" Siri asked.

"The gingerbread man," Gwen reiterated.  "I think from now on it should be called the gingerbread man."

Clem and Rory smiled and this time Siri executed the obligatory eye roll.

"Just think," Rory said with a chuckle.  "We were there when the gingerbread man position was invented."

"I'll make a note for my memoirs," Clem muttered.

Rory went to one of the racks and returned with a bundle of cloth remnants.  She folded them into a rectangular pad, gently lifted J-Lou's head, and placed the pad under the prisoner's head as a pillow.

"Softie," Siri huffed, favoring her girlfriend with a disapproving frown.

Rory smiled in return.  "Just because you're going to tickle-torture someone for hours and hours until they've been driven hopelessly insane, there's no need to be mean."

"That's the plan?" Clem asked, gazing gown at the naked, helpless, and gagged J-Lou.

"Like we told you," Gwen said, "if you miss the secret revolutionary meetings, you live in ignorance."

"Seriously?" Clem continued.  "Tickle-torture?  Hours and hours?"

"Hours and hours," Siri nodded, then turned and walked to another cabinet.  "Come help me pick out a gag."

"She has a gag," Rory noted.

"A real gag," Siri responded, "to go with the rest of her ensemble."  Rory joined her at the cabinet and the blond and ginger gazed into an open drawer.

Clem and Gwen remained at the table, smiling down at J-Lou.  The Captive Queen smiled back through her gag, turning her gaze from face to face.

"You'd think she'd be scared," Clem said.

"Even terrified," Gwen agreed.

J-Lou continued looking from face to face.

"Maybe she knows we're kidding," Clem suggested.

"Maybe she thinks we're kidding," Gwen corrected.

Clem shifted her gaze to her BFF.  "We're not?"  Now both Clem and J-Lou were focused on Gwen.

Gwen smiled, enjoying the attention.  "Let's go help select Her Majesty's formal gag, shall we?"

J-Lou watched Gwen and Clem stroll to join their fellow Rapscallions.  They're kidding, of course, she thought.  Hours and hours.  As if.  She tugged on her bonds and tried to squirm, but found she could barely move.  Naked, strapped to the table, gagged and soon to get a more stringent gag, if the girls were going to torture her, there was certainly nothing she could do to stop them.  Hours and hours.  No way.

Chapter 10

Meanwhile, at Tori Ballantine's townhouse...

Tori had risen early and gone for a brisk run of four miles—followed by an hour of pushups, situps, and sparring with her martial arts dummy—followed by a breakfast of toast and coffee.  The rest of her Saturday was free, other than doing her chores.  Tori had plans for Sunday, but Saturday was free.

So... what to do?

Tori's workout clothes were a sweaty mess.  Her skintight, black running shorts and matching sports bra didn't look too bad—they were Lycra—but the heather-gray, cotton tank-top, clinging to her breasts and torso and knotted in front to bare her tummy, was damp and stained.  Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and didn't feel too bad, but she knew she was badly in need of a shower and shampoo—but not yet.  Getting herself clean could wait.

Tori made her bed, dusted and straightened the bedroom, the living room, workout room, kitchen, and entryway, then ran her vacuum over the carpets and floors.  Self discipline aside, Tori knew she was indulging in delayed gratification, but so what?  Her townhouse needed its weekly cleaning and it was important to keep on top of such things.

And speaking of keeping on top, tomorrow, if her plans came to fruition, Tori would do just that.  But not today.  Today, Tori would be topping herself, and she was out of excuses.

It was Tori's little secret, one she had thus far shared only with Sally.  Lillian Steele knew Tori as an honorable and worthy rival.  After a fashion, Tori and Lillian were BFFs, but officially the two "security experts" were rivals for the title Top-of-Tops.  The Pervy Profs—Tori's circle of faculty friends who shared her interest in recreational restraint—knew that Tori liked to "test herself," but undeniably, Tori was a Top.

Yes, only Sally knew the truth: Tori Ballantine was secretly into self bondage!

It had started in her early teenage years.  None of her friends even suspected, but young, blond, popular, athletic tomboy Tori Ballantine routinely fantasized about finding herself in the role of a movie or TV heroine captured by the bad guys—and at night, in the privacy of her bedroom, she did something about it.  Her finger fiddling sessions were augmented by a little bondage, but mostly it was all in her mind... and between her legs.

In later years, the actual physical bondage escalated, as did the sophistication of Tori's timing devices.  She'd discovered on the internet ways to make herself helpless for a specified period of time.  Once a smart house avatar was available—that is, once Sally discovered her secret—for the first time Tori had an actual "safety," someone to watch over her in case something went wrong.  However, Tori never relied on Sally sending a message to one of her friends (like Little Mouse or Doc Pappas) to come rescue her if things went wrong.  Tori made damn sure things never went wrong.

The centerpiece of Tori's current restraint system was a harness and cuff set of leather and neoprene rubber with lockable steel buckles.  The neoprene was stitched to the interior of the harness straps to cushion and protect her skin, but the harness was otherwise conventional in design.  When in place, lateral straps yoked her shoulders and horizontal straps hugged her torso above and below her breasts and encircled her waist.  Lastly, a vertical strap passed between her legs from behind, cleaved her butt cheeks and labia, and buckled to the front of the waist strap.  The leather wrist and ankle cuffs were wide, stiff, and lined with neoprene, like the harness.  The ankle cuffs had the added feature of long, narrow, attached straps that buckling across her thighs and locked her folded legs in the frog-tie position.  Also, a long, wide strap was attached to the back of the harness and positioned to pin her upper arms against her sides and compress her breasts.

Three additional elements completed the ensemble: a posture collar, a gag, and a vibrator.

The collar wasn't the widest or most restrictive of such products on the market, but Tori liked the way it felt when buckled around her throat.  Like the harness and cuffs, it was lined with neoprene.

The gag was a work of art.  It had a large, neoprene mouthpiece to trap and cushion both her upper and lower teeth, a neoprene-lined, mouth-covering leather panel, a wide strap that buckled at the nape of her neck, and a narrow strap that crisscrossed under her chin and also buckled in the back.  In place, the gag filled Tori's mouth, compressed her lips, and forced her to bite down on the mouthpiece.  It was a highly effective silencer, and worked well with the posture collar.

Finally, there was the vibrator.  Technically, it wasn't part of her bondage, but in Tori's opinion, helplessness without ravishment was rather pointless.  Anyway, the self-contained device was a rabbit.  It had separate, independently controlled motors, one for the clitoral stimulator and one for the main shaft; however, it looked nothing like the color-coordinated rabbits with which J-Lou had gifted the Rapscallions.  Tori's rabbit, nicknamed "Vorpal Bunny," was stainless steel, and the business end was sheathed in translucent rubber gel.  Once it was inside her pussy, the harness' crotch strap slid through a slot in the base, the strap was buckled tight, and Vorpal Bunny was in to stay.  Its rechargeable battery allowed up to twenty hours of full power operation, and like the Rapscallion's rabbits, the motors were independently controlled by Sally via Wi-Fi.  Vorpal Bunny could vibrate on a wide range of intensity and frequency settings.  Add simple and complex patterns of cycling between the two motors, and the stimulatory possibilities were virtually infinite.

As for Tori's timer, the old "key, string, and ice cube trick" might be a self bondage cliché, but it was simple, reliable, and virtually foolproof.  Also, Tori had refined the technique.

The principle remained the same: a handcuff or padlock key tied to a long string with an ice cube secured to a hook or eye-bolt in the ceiling and holding the key out of reach of the self bondagette until the ice melted.  However, Tori used braided, 130 lb. test, synthetic fishing line in place of string, a dozen hollow stainless steel tubes roughly the length and diameter of drinking straws, and a pair of one-inch steel rings.  The "straws" added weight and made it impossible for the fishing line to tangle.  One end of the fishing line was tied to a steel ring—and Tori knew the correct fisherman's knots—the line was threaded through the steel straws, and the second ring tied to the end.

And as for the ice cube, Tori filled a plastic, 12 oz. drinking cup with crushed ice, folded the steel straws, accordion wise, and thrust the bundle into the ice with the two rings pointing up.  She then filled the cup with ice water and placed it in the freezer.  Overnight, the crushed ice and water fused into a solid block with the bundle of tubes in the middle.  The ice block was removed from the cup, one ring was clipped to an eye-bolt overhead, the keys to her restraints clipped to the other ring—and then it was all up to air temperature, time, and gravity.  The ice would melt, the straws would fall apart, and the keys would eventually drop within reach—emphasis on eventually.

Tori stripped to the skin—her funky, sweaty skin—dropped her exercise togs in the hamper, pulled the packing case containing her bondage "costume" from under her bed, and dressed for her session.

Soon, the now empty case was back under the bed, the harness was in place, its straps buckled tight enough to dimple the flesh of her torso, the collar was around her throat, Vorpal Bunny was lodged in her pussy, and the cuffs were buckled tight around her wrists and ankles.  The broad, upper arm strap and the narrow, frog-tie straps remained loose, dangling from the back of the harness and the ankle cuffs, respectively.  The gag was waiting on the neatly made bed, next to a pile of open padlocks.

Most of the padlocks were the size of luggage locks, but they were the real thing, neither cheap nor flimsy, impossible to pick or spring without the use of tools.  However, two of the locks were much larger, but they were equally solid and well made.  Using the small padlocks, Tori locked the buckles of the harness and cuffs.  Finally, seven padlocks remained, the two large padlocks and five of the smaller.  She tucked the open hasps of the locks in her harness straps, grabbed her gag and a keyring with the padlock keys, left the bedroom, and made her way to the kitchen.

The harness straps were tight, and as she walked the vibrator was mildly distracting, even though the device wasn't yet turned on.  The loose straps dangling from her ankles were the only impediment, if one could call them that.  Truth be told, they were more of a distraction than Vorpal Bunny as they rattled and slid across the floor with every step.  Once in the kitchen, Tori opened the freezer compartment of her refrigerator and pulled out the timer.  She rinsed the outside of the cup in warm water, then headed for the basement.

Tori's townhouse basement was one large, open space.  The washer, dryer, deep sink, electrical panel, water heater, and plumbing tie-ins were against one wall and near the stairs.  Four steel support columns were evenly spaced around the otherwise empty room.  The walls were cinder block and the floor poured concrete.  Both had been painted with a clear sealant.  Light came from a few overhead fixtures.  The area over the laundry was reasonably bright, but most of the basement was somewhat dark and dim.

The wooden stairs were the only means of egress, so the municipal building code didn't allow the space to be finished as a rec room, spare bedroom, or used for any purpose other than utility and storage.  However, in a shocking legal oversight, the code didn't directly address the question of dungeons.  Was a dungeon storage?  Anyway, sometime ago Tori had gone shopping and returned with eight feet of stout steel chain and a bicycle lock that took the form of a large, deep, capital "D."  One end of the chain was threaded through the bicycle lock's shackle and the lock closed around the support column farthest from the stairs.  Add a helpless damsel and a padlock, and voilà, instant dungeon.

The ice had melted to the point that Tori could extract the cylindrical block from the cup.  She clipped the keyring to one ring, tossed the plastic cup in the deep sink, then carried the fist-sized ice block and her gag to roughly the center of the basement.  A steel snap-hook dangled from a short, light chain attached to an eye-bolt screwed into an overhead beam.  It was just within Tori's reach when she went up on her toes.  She did so and snapped the second ring through the snap-hook.

The timer was now in place.  Inevitably, the ice would melt, the steel straws would separate, and the keys would drop.  This usually happened abruptly, with the event signaled by a rather musical clatter.  By a not so remarkable coincidence—in fact, due to Tori's careful measurement—the attachment chain, clips, rings, and steel-sheathed fishing line were the exact length required for the keys to not quite reach the floor.  The keyring would hover just above the concrete, within easy reach of any helpless damsel who happened to be writhing on the hard and now slightly wet floor.

"Sally, I'm about ready," Tori announced to the empty air.

"Ready?" Sally's disembodied voice responded.  "Ready for what?"  Even the basement of Tori's townhouse was "smart," wired with discretely placed pinhole cameras, sensors, mini-speakers, and microphones.

Tori smiled as she readied her gag.  "We're not going to discuss this again," she muttered.

"Discuss what?" Sally asked innocently.  "Discuss the fact that self bondage is dangerous, even with a smart house avatar watching and ready to dial 911 in the event of a mishap?"

"I do not want a human safety," Tori huffed.  "I don't want anybody to know I do this."

"Any one of your friends, your human friends, would be more than happy to—"

"Wait 'til I'm helpless," Tori interrupted, "then have their way with me?"

"Oh yeah, that's never happened," Sally purred.  "Nobody ever 'has their way' with poor, helpless, naked, bound and gagged Tori."

"Testing myself is one thing," Tori said.  "This is different."

"Oh yes.  Wouldn't want your Bottom friends to know you're not actually Top of all toppy-top-tops."

Tori smiled.  "Enough.  We've had this discussion and—AH!"  Suddenly, abruptly, Vorpal Bunny was buzzing on full power!

"Testing," Sally announced, "one, two, three—"

"Enough!" Tori yelped, and Vorpal Bunny went still.  "It works.  Now... no more chitchat."

"Very well," Sally huffed, "but we will talk about this again."

"In nagging, tedious detail," Tori sighed, then knelt close to the support column with the chain.  She lifted the chain and used one of the two large padlocks to lock the terminal link to the ring in the front of her collar.  She then buckled the ankle straps around her upper thighs, enforcing the planned frog-tie, and used two small padlocks to secure the buckles.  "Going off line," Tori announced, then opened her mouth and inserted the gag's mouthpiece.

"Whatever will I do for sterling conversation?" Sally drawled.

Tori moved her lower jaw from side to side, making sure her teeth were properly situated in the grooves in the neoprene.  She then buckled the main strap at the nape of her neck and the smaller crisscross chinstrap.  The padded front panel pressed against her lips, the mouthpiece filled her oral cavity, and the chinstrap prevented her from opening her jaws.  The gag truly was a masterpiece.  Two of the three remaining small padlocks clicked closed through the buckles, and Tori was silent for the duration—not counting a little well-muffled mewling.

Next came the broad, upper-arm pinning and boob squashing harness strap.  It was a little awkward, but she managed to find the ends of the strap, thread the buckle and pull out the slack, and engage the buckle's tongue.  She groped for the remaining small padlock and clicked it home.  The strap dimpled the flesh of her upper arms and covered her nipples.  Her breasts bulged above and below the thick, black leather.

Tori knew she was already helpless.  With her ankles strapped to her thighs and her arms pinned to her sides, she could shuffle on her knees and drag her collar chain directly under the melting ice, but until the keyring dropped, she was stuck.  Tori was already past the point of no return.  She might as well finish the job.

Tori leaned down and retrieved the last padlock.  It was tricky, but she fumbled until the steel rings dangling from the ankle and wrist cuffs were in the shackle.  She accomplished this by feel.  The posture collar made it impossible for her to look over her shoulder.  After several seconds of effort, she confirmed that all four rings were together—paused (for the drama)—then clicked the padlock closed.

Kneeling on the hard concrete, strapped and padlocked into a reasonably stringent hogtie, all Tori could do was wait... wait for the ice to melt and the keys to her freedom to drop.  Only then would she be able to extricate herself from her bondage.  She carefully leaned to one side... there was a brief pause... and she flopped to the floor.  "Mrrrf."  It wasn't pleasant to fall like that, but the alternative was to remain kneeling on the hard concrete, and that got very old.  Better to be hogtied on the hard concrete where she could roll around a little.

A minute passed.  Tori tested her self-imposed bonds.  Yes, the laws of physics, engineering, and materials science remained triumphantly intact.  Tori was helpless.  Another minute passed... then five.

Tori knew what was happening.  Sally was playing with her, when she should be... playing with her.  Vorpal Bunny was an ever present but inert presence—emphasis on inert.  "Mrrrf?"

"What's that?" Sally's voice inquired.  "Did somebody say something?"


"Why, I think there's somebody in the basement.  Who could it be?"


"Okay, don't have a cow," Sally chuckled.  "Is this what you want?"

Tori flinched, then shuddered in her bonds.  Vorpal Bunny was finally buzzing.  For the moment it was rather low key, a simple rhythm strumming her strings, so to speak, with the vibrator's motors alternating power setting and timing.  The feeling was... remarkable.

"We didn't discuss the number of orgasms I was to extract from your pathetic, helpless, sweaty little body, did we?" Sally noted.  "I guess that makes it dealer's choice."

Tori continued shivering and struggling.  The leather creaked, the padlocks clicked, and the chain rattled as she squirmed on the hard floor.

"So..." Sally continued.  "How many orgasms.  Decisions, decisions.  Seven?  Eleven?  Forty-two?"

Vorpal Bunny was now mixing things up, alternating power setting without settling into a distinct pattern—not a pattern Tori's increasingly distracted brain could discern, anyway.

"I know," Sally announced.  "I've been meaning to test the calibration of my biometric monitoring routines.  We'll go for... zero orgasms.  I'll let Vorpal Bunny tickle and tease you 'til you're juuust on the edge... then stop... then give you time to settle down... then we'll do it again."


"I'm glad you agree," Sally purred.  "One more thing."  The overhead lights winked out, plunging the basement into total darkness.  "Let's see if you can find the keys in the dark, shall we?"

"Mrmpfh!"  Tori knew it wouldn't be that difficult for her to find the keys, once the ice melted and they dropped.  All she had to do was blindly squirm and roll around until she found the puddle from the melted ice, then grope for the dangling keyring—but it was the thought that counted.  "Mrrf!"

"You're welcome," Sally said with a chuckle.

Bitch!  Tori thought.  Cyber-bitch!

Chapter 10


Chapter 9
Chapter 11