|by 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
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
"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
"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
"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
"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
"I always consider myself lucky when I'm not naked and tied up,"
"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
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...
Clem and Gwen exchanged an amused smirk while Siri opened the
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
Clem frowned. "Your worktable has steel rails bolted to
Siri shrugged as she tightened a strap and secured its
buckle. "Don't they all? How else do you attach
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
"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
"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
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
"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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
"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
"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
"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
"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,
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
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.
"What's that?" Sally's voice inquired. "Did somebody say
"Why, I think there's somebody in the basement. Who could
"Okay, don't have a cow," Sally chuckled. "Is this what
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?
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
"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
"You're welcome," Sally said with a chuckle.
Bitch! Tori thought. Cyber-bitch!
|The ROOK HOUSE