|by Van ©2013
| Chapter 13
aka Little Mouse Manor
Dr. Kimberly Pappas, tenured
professor of English, was in the bedroom of her colleague, Dr.
Cynthia Webbel, tenured professor of Computer Science. The
occasion was an informal meeting of the Rook House Faculty
Advisory Committee. The end of the first academic quarter
in which the Rapscallions, as the girls called themselves, had
been saddled with a Resident Adviser was fast approaching, and
Kim and Cynthia had agreed that now would be a good time to
review and assess the rules of the House. The RA in
question, J-Lou Goodwin, was absent, but would be invited to a
more formal meeting at some point in the near future. For
now, only the two professors were in conclave.
That wasn't quite true. Sally was present, but then, Sally
was always present. Kim knew her as the smart house avatar
or artificially intelligent interface that controlled the Rook
House systems and monitored everything that happened
therein. And other copies of the avatar performed the same
functions at Kim's own house, Cynthia's bungalow, and Tori
Ballantine's townhouse. Kim also knew that thanks to a
link J-Lou had established with Salamandras computers off campus
the first day she arrived at Rook Hose, Sally was significantly
smarter and more capable than when the scholarship hostel first
opened. All copies of "Sally the Smart House Avatar" were
clever, but Rook House Sally was especially
clever. At least, that was Kim's understanding of the
Cynthia knew the truth. Rook House Sally had always been
infinitely smarter and more capable than Kim or the others ever
suspected. Also, there was only one Sally. She was
distributed across the internet, her intellect was quite
literally beyond measure, and only a small fraction of her
processing power was devoted to emulating the human mind.
Cynthia had been studying Sally since her "birth," and knew the
workings of the globally distributed AI better than any
human—which is to say, just barely. Being a Salamandras
employee, Tori knew more than Kim, and as a graduate student in
computer science, J-Lou knew much more than Tori. But only
Cynthia knew the full extent of Sally's mind.
Anyway, Cynthia had told Kim that she'd recently procured a
"really spiffy" new bed and insisted that she simply had
to come over and check it out. And while she was there,
they could hold their already agreed upon preliminary meeting to
discuss the goings on at Rook House.
A trap of some sort? Cynthia was luring Kim into an
ambush? Obviously, but it was Kim's turn to be the guest
(bottom) and Cynthia's to be the hostess (top), so why not?
Once Kim arrived at Cynthia's bungalow, the friends enjoyed a
dinner of chicken meunière and tossed salad.
They'd agreed not to discuss business during the meal, but that
was now more than an hour in the past. Soon after the
dessert of raspberry-balsamic parfaits, Little Mouse sprung her
fiendish trap. That is, she announced that Kim should now
consider herself to be "captured."
Cynthia's kitchen was still something of a mess, but they
adjourned to the bedroom and Kim disrobed. After all,
she'd been captured and had to follow her captor's orders,
didn't she? Cynthia insisted Kim use the master bath to
perform her evening toilette, and she did so. Then,
preparations for the after-dinner meeting commenced.
The new bed turned out to be a new bed frame. Like
the rest of the bungalow's decor, the frame was Arts &
Crafts in style; however, rather than being constructed of
richly stained wood, it was entirely of dark, hammered wrought
iron, hand forged in appearance. And it was a four-poster
with a rectangle of horizontal iron bars linking the tops of the
iron corner posts. Decorative finials atop each post took
the form of little mice sitting up on their haunches with their
forepaws pressed against their chests. The four rodents
were devilishly cute, much like the mistress of the house, and
Kim noted, but tactfully did not mention, the "Little Mouse"
theme they represented. If Cynthia was allowing the mouse
to become her totem as well as her nickname, that was her
business. It was also somewhat adorable, in Kim's humble
Next, Kim's actual capture ensued. She now found herself
naked, bound, and gagged, and Cynthia was giving her an
excellent opportunity to admire the new bed frame in
detail. Kim was at the foot of the bed with her arms
raised and legs spread in a standing spread-eagle. More
than a dozen doubled loops each of quarter-inch, white, nylon
rope captured Kim's wrists and ankles, and Cynthia had
demonstrated her rigging skill with the usual finesse. The
limb-loop bondage amounted to suspension cuffs, evenly
distributing the pressure of the uniformly tight, non-compacting
bands while preserving Kim's circulation and precluding even the
possibility of nerve damage. Kim's widely separated feet
were flat on the carpet and her shins and knees pressed against
the edge of the box-spring and mattress, against the exquisite
quilted comforter covering Cynthia's bed, actually. A
strip of Elastoplast sealed Kim's lips, tautly stretched across
her lower face from ear to ear and nose to chin.
And then, Cynthia had announced she was going to clean the
kitchen—a task Kim had offered to help accomplish prior
to her "capture"—and had abandoned Kim to her fate.
Kim tugged on her bonds. Languishing. Wonderful.
Escape was impossible. There was no way her questing
fingers could reach the snarl of loops securing the wrist ropes,
and in any case, the key knots were tied around the base of the
lower bedposts, somewhere near the floor. All Kim could do
was wait, which was the entire point of languishing, to remind
the damsel of her complete helplessness, that her Top held all
the power, and to allow an interlude in which to contemplate her
uncertain future—in short, to stew in her juices.
Finally, Cynthia Little Mouse Weebel-Wobble, scientist,
academic, hostess, and (for the evening) Dread Diminutive
Dominatrix, returned. "Everything's spotless in the
kitchen," she announced as she strolled into her walk-in closet.
Watching over her shoulder, Kim's response was an eye roll, a
gagged sigh, and a tug on her wrist bonds, all of which her
Cynthia emerged from the closet in the nude, even more nude than
her guest as her wrists and ankles weren't wrapped in rope.
To Kim, it was a mystery how her petite little friend maintained
her all-over tan while living in the Pacific Northwest, but she
did. Cynthia claimed she never used tanning beds,
and Kim believed her. Apparently, Kim reasoned,
the clouds part whenever she appears on her deck without
clothes. She gazed at Cynthia's firm, smooth skin
and tiny-hot, shapely body. 'Tis a mystery.
Smiling sweetly, Cynthia strolled to an armoire and opened the
bottom drawer, bending forward at the waist and giving Kim an
excellent view of her firm, tan, dimpled derrière, then stood
and donned a baby blue baby doll negligé with spaghetti
straps. The panties and top were whisper thin and lace
trimmed, and the gauzy fabric did almost nothing to hide the
details of Cynthia's exquisite anatomy.
Cynthia climbed onto the mattress and sat on the foot of the bed
with her legs folded to one side. Still smiling, she
reached up and slowly, gently peeled the tape from Kim's
lips. "I call this meeting of the Rook House Faculty
Advisers to order. Would you like to dispense with the
reading of the minutes of the last meeting?"
Kim glared at her captor. "What I'd like to do,"
she grumbled, "is kick your munchkin ass into next
Tuesday for making me wait here like this while you scrub
pots and pans and load your dishwasher. But by all means,
let's dispense with the reading."
"All right then," Cynthia purred. "New business.
Sigrid has requested permission to have the SIAS robots
fabricate a set of stocks, suitable for restraining a pair of
ankles. Her design immobilizes all ten toes and renders
the occupant's feet totally vulnerable to tickling. Sally
explained that such a device would require the approval of this
committee. I vote no."
"I also vote no," Kim agreed. "As you might recall, I was
against allowing Sigrid to bring along the puppy cage given to
her by that dreadful La Roque woman. We don't want the
basement or any other part of Rook House to turn into an actual
Cynthia nodded. "Yes, but a puppy cage alone does not a
dungeon make. That said, the line has been drawn and
mustn't be crossed."
Kim's smile turned skeptical. "Yes, and any visitor who
stumbled upon Sigrid's basement studio and discovered the cage,
the secure storage alcove, and her ever growing collection of
leather restraints would never mistake it for a
"Sigrid has a contractual arrangement with the House of La Roque
to develop 'leather fashion accessories' as part of her
continuing internship," Cynthia countered. "In any case,
we agree. No tickling stocks."
Kim grinned. "If the Rapscallions decide they wish to man
a booth at the next Lewis & Clark Renaissance Fair, we can
revisit the matter."
Cynthia's smile widened. "Tickle the damsel's feet for
"Excellent idea," Cynthia enthused. "Sally, there
has to be a way to plant that seed without the girls realizing
it's our idea."
"I'll see what I can do," Sally's voice said. "I'm sure an
opportunity will arise."
"Be subtle," Kim suggested.
"Subtle is my middle name," Sally huffed.
Cynthia smiled at Kim. "Sally Subtle Salamandras," she
"Anything else?" Kim inquired.
Cynthia thought before answering. "We agree that the
girls' shared hobby is under control and class records prove
they're keeping up with their studies. Monitoring shall
continue, but all is well at Rook House."
"Agreed." Kim's smile turned mischievous. "The
appointment of Miss Goodwin as Resident Adviser has been an
unqualified success; however, J-Lou's new girlfriend should
continue to be banned from all direct contact with the
Cynthia nodded. "And she should go nowhere near Rook House
except in the case of a genuine emergency. And booty calls
do not constitute an emergency." She eased herself
up onto her knees and gently cupped Kim's breasts. "I
still can't believe it. Tori Ballantine has an actual
"Yes," Kim sighed, shivering as Cynthia gently squeezed her
breasts. "And the relationship seems to be quite
genuine. Did Sally tell you?"
"I did no such thing!" Sally's disembodied voice announced, and
her simulated indignation was quite clear. "It's amazing
how you humans can pick up on subtle cues. The
sociobiology of your species is nearly as advanced as that of
sheep. I'm finding modeling the interpersonal dynamics of
human herds to be quite problematic."
"Sally told me nothing," Cynthia confirmed as she turned her
attention to Kim's nipples. "And if she's been dropping
hints that Tori and J-Lou are now an item, it was all far
too subtle for a mere Homo sapiens like myself.
"Meeting adjourned," Kim agreed, continuing to shiver and tug on
her bound wrists. Cynthia was using her fingertips and
nails to delicately toy with her now erect nipples and Kim bit
her lower lip in response.
"I've made plans," Cynthia purred, locking eyes with her
"What a surprise," Kim sighed.
Cynthia released Kim's nipples, then crawled up the bed, leaned
to the side, pulled a brown leather case from under the bed, and
returned to the foot of the bed. The case was
approximately twelve inches by eight inches by six inches, with
brass hardware. She popped the latches, lifted the lid,
and smiled at her guest.
Kim gazed into the case and her eyes widened. "No!" she
"Yes," Cynthia answered. "My gift to you."
J-Lou's mind was in
"subspace." Physically, she was in a state of near total
immobility. J-Lou was miserable—and was enjoying herself
immensely. Tori called it "testing herself," but for
J-Lou... it was her way into subspace.
She was nude, and soft, conditioned jute rope bound her wrists,
elbows, knees, and ankles. Additional rope pinned her arms
to her sides and lashed her thighs to her ankles. She was
in a tight—very tight—hogtie, and while the rigger
had used traditional Shibari materials, the application
techniques were Western. J-Lou's heels rested in her palms
and the diagonal bands yoking her shoulders and passing under
her armpits were hitched back to her ankle bonds, enforcing a
spine-bending arch that lifted her breasts halfway off the
concrete floor and left her balancing on her tummy and upper
thighs. All of the ropes were cinched and tightened until
her flesh was dimpled by the jute strands. J-Lou's hair
was plaited in a tight, single braid secured with a black
ribbon, but it had not been incorporated in her bondage.
Finally, J-Lou was gagged with a whiffle gag, a black leather
strap with a black, hollow, ventilated rubber sphere.
The rigger in question was, of course, Tori Ballantine.
However, the current whereabouts of J-Lou's girlfriend was
unclear. The Cruel Captor was somewhere upstairs, not
in the basement, but that was the extent of J-Lou's knowledge.
The hogtied captive continued drifting, squirming weakly now and
then, rocking on her stomach, and seeking some degree of
comfort. The movements were almost involuntary.
Escape was clearly impossible, and that had been manifestly
obvious the moment Tori tied the final knot and abandoned her to
her fate... which had been some time ago... time enough for time
itself to lose most of its meaning... and for J-Lou's mind to
Suddenly, Tori reappeared, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a
tank-top, and sat on the floor at J-Lou's side. The
captive hadn't even realized her captor had returned to the
basement, but she was aware when her gag was unbuckled
and the sphere gently pulled from her aching mouth.
Tori rolled the captive onto her side and lifted her head and
shoulders onto her lap, then held a plastic bottle of cold
sports drink to the captive's lips and helped her drink.
Finally, she restored the cap and set the bottle to the
side. Tori then gently stroked J-Lou's face and caressed
her breasts as the little Brit licked her lips, worked her jaw,
and gazed into her eyes.
Silence stretched for several seconds before Tori spoke.
"Well, Lulu, I'm afraid you're not much of an escape artiste."
J-Lou managed a weak smile. "Lulu" was Tori's pet nickname
for her new girlfriend, and J-Lou had retaliated by giving the
tall blond the sobriquet "Toro." Inspector Ballantine was
in no way masculine, but she was undeniably butch, and infinitely
more of a tomboy than J-Lou Goodwin. "I guess not," she
sighed, addressing the question of her escape artistry.
Silence stretched, again. Blue and green eyes remained
locked... and Tori's left hand continued gently caressing
"Look what I have," Tori announced, breaking the silence,
again. She reached into her back pocket and produced a
coil of jute cord. "I didn't bind your boobies, tie your
hair to your toes, or give you a nice, tight,
labia-pinching crotch-cord. Would you like me to do that
J-Lou's answer was to continue gazing into Tori's eyes.
"Well," Tori said, finally, "I'm not going to, not
immediately." She tossed the coil of cord to the floor,
reached back into her pocket, and added two more coils of cord
to form a pile. "Maybe later. I'll leave it all
here, where you can see it, so you can think about what it will
feel like if I decide to come back and cinch you into an even tighter
little bundle." More seconds passed. Finally, again,
Tori broke the silence. "You're not going to beg?"
"Don't be insulting," J-Lou huffed. Her words were
defiant, but her expression was a coy smile.
"My brave little Lulu." Tori leaned down and kissed her
captive's lips... then popped the whiffle gag back into J-Lou's
mouth and cinched the buckle tight. "Maybe I'll use the
cord, and maybe I won't, but I promise you this: When I do
get around to untying you, I'll give you a massage. And
afterwards, I'll phone in an order and we'll have pizza and
beer. Sounds good, doesn't it?" She eased J-Lou off
her lap and back onto her stomach, thighs, and semi-squashed
boobs, then climbed to her feet and stretched. "Also,
you're spending the night. I owe you something like two
dozen orgasms, remember? We need to balance the books."
J-Lou watched Tori climb the basement stairs, abandoning her yet
again. She squirmed in her bonds. They were as
inescapable as ever. She didn't even know why she'd
bothered to try. The orgasms referenced had happened
upstairs in Tori's bed, the night of their first "date," when
J-Lou had "tricked" Tori into demonstrating her self-bondage
techniques. My girlfriend, J-Lou mused. Tori
Ballantine, my girlfriend.
The Rapscallions knew something was up and were very
curious, but so far J-Lou had managed to keep her secret.
Tori Ballantine is my girlfriend.
J-Lou settled into her bondage. Yes, her body was
complaining, but she knew she'd be okay. Her yoga training
would minimize the aftereffects. And later tonight, she'd
be more than okay.
As J-Lou waited for her mind to reenter subspace, J-Lou made
plans. Tori Ballantine was a very good rigger, but so was
J-Lou Goodwin! J-Lou decided the theme of their next date
would be The Wonderful World of Shibari, and Tori would
spend the day nude, gagged, roped from head to toe in a
contorted, yet-to-be-determined pose, and suspended in midair in
this very basement, dangling from a web of taut jute strands.
But for now... subspace.
Three of the four
Rapscallions were waiting in the common room. Gwen and
Clem were comfortably seated on the couch, side-by-side, while
Siri was languidly sprawled in one of the easy chairs. All
three girls were wearing jeans. Clem was in a t-shirt,
Gwen in a tank-top, and Siri in a sleeveless cotton
blouse. All six feet were bare.
"Where the hell is she?" Siri demanded, referring to the absent
Rory. "I've got things to do."
"She's your girlfriend," Gwen noted with a teasing
smile. "If you can't keep track of her whereabouts, don't
complain to us."
Siri's response was a hostile scowl and a rudely extended
Clem rolled her eyes and nudged the giggling redhead's side with
her elbow. "Play nice."
"I always play nice," Gwen responded, batting her blue eyes at
her bespectacled BFF.
Just then, Rory bounded into the room carrying a cardboard
shipping carton. She was wearing jeans and a tank-top and
her ginger locks were pulled back in a tight ponytail.
"Sorry," she apologized and nodded at the carton. "I had
to dig this out of the back of my closet."
The carton in question was shirt-size, and while Clem, Gwen, and
Siri had no idea what it might contain, they could make out the
SIAS logo printed on the address label.
"Hey!" Siri barked. "You intercepted one of my shipments from
"I did no such thing," Rory said primly. She sat in the
other easy chair, put the box on the floor, and used it as a
rest for her crossed bare feet. "It's addressed to me."
Siri started to say something, then changed her mind.
"Well," Clem addressed Rory.
"Well what?" the ginger responded.
Clem rolled her eyes. "You called this meeting.
"Actually," Rory said with her usual dimpled smile, "Sally
called the meeting, but she recruited me for a demonstration."
"Why you and not me?" Gwen pouted. "I would have helped
"Because she's not a twerp," Clem said with a grin.
"Good evening, ladies," Sally's voice responded. "I've
finished processing the Bondorama Extravaganza family of
algorithms and wanted to brief you on the outcome."
"Oh, big mystery," Siri huffed. "J-Lou's the
queen, Four Eyes is princess, and the rest of us are serfs."
"You misunderstand," Sally said with a chuckle. "Those are
the results of round one. This briefing concerns the
continuing game. And Her Majesty has agreed that
Rapscallia shall henceforth be a constitutional monarchy with
herself wearing the crown, Miss Ricci as her princess, and all
of you are Dames of the Order of the Sexy Garter."
"So, we're noblewomen," Gwen noted with a giggle. "I guess
that makes you the only peasant."
"I'm the court magician and Her Majesty's trusted counselor,"
Sally stated, "her Merlin or Gandalf, if you will."
"Only female," Rory noted.
"Just so," Sally agreed, "and if certain Dames don't start
showing the proper respect, they might find themselves
imprisoned in the Tower of the Sorceress being tortured by imps
Clem smiled and nudged Gwen's ribs, again. "She means you,
"Stop it," Gwen complained, then smiled at the room in
general. "Sorry, O Great Sorceress."
"Apology accepted," Sally responded. "Now, only Miss
Nesbitt has the mathematics to even begin to appreciate the
complexity of the task at hand, and even she would require a
course in linear algebra and discrete methods to fully grasp my
brilliant work. Therefore, I'll concentrate on the results
and not the ins and outs of the underlying games theory."
The Rapscallions looked at each other, then gave a collective
"Anyway," Sally continued, "given multiple players, dynamic
scheduling, and complex scenarios, a simple point tally is out
of the question. For example... Miss Macy?"
Rory smiled, mostly at her blond girlfriend, leaned forward in
her chair, and opened the box at her feet. She then
reached inside and produced a single-sleeve arm-binder. It
was tan suede with dull, stainless steel hardware, and closed
with a zipper and something like a dozen buckles and straps,
some long and some short.
"Suppose one participant in our game turned the tables on
another participant," Sally lectured, "using that participant's
signature bondage style to render said participant helpless."
Gwen smiled. "Like if, for instance, Rory were to have you
make her an arm-binder, using one of the designs Siri had used
Clem smiled at Siri. "See, I told you. She's a
twerp, but she's not an airhead."
Siri didn't answer. She was staring at the arm-binder in
Rory's hands. It was one of her designs.
"Anyway," Sally continued, "you can see how complicated this
might get. The table turning participant gets points for
initiative. Any other participants who might wish to
assist the table turner would receive lesser points, for
teamwork. And finally, the table turnee would
receive at least some points for good sportsmanship if she
decided to play along. Of course, the turnee would receive
reverse bonus points if she were to escape."
Siri was still staring at the arm-binder. "What the hell
is a turnee?" she muttered.
"She upon whom the tables have been turned," Gwen giggled.
"In other words," Clem added, "you, Stretch."
Siri continued to stare. "I assume if the 'turnee' kicked
the collective butts of the table-turner and her assistants,
she'd receive double reverse bonus points?"
Gwen frowned. "Do double reverse bonus points cancel out
regular points, or are they like extra credit?"
Clem rolled her eyes. "And is a double reverse twerp still
"Don't," Gwen complained, nudging Clem in the ribs.
"In answer to your question, Miss Nesbitt," Sally answered,
"assume anything you wish, but your hypothetical butt-kicker
might also receive double demerits for bad sportsmanship."
"This is getting complicated," Rory noted.
Clem stared at her ginger friend. "Ya think?"
"I could show you a simulation of an actual scoring
matrix, ladies," Sally continued, "but it's better in vector
determinate form—prettier, anyway. My point is this:
unless you want a game that might drift into repetition and
crushing predictability, there's no simple way to do this.
However, I can keep track of everything and award points,
demerits, and credit for all actions, reactions, and
Clem frowned and adjusted her glasses. "So you get to
arbitrarily and subjectively decide who's on top and who's on
bottom at any given moment?"
"In a word," Sally purred, "yes."
"And why should we let you run everything around here?" Siri
"She already runs everything," Gwen noted.
"I do," Sally stated, "but to answer your latest question, Miss
Nesbitt, if you don't let me have my way..."
The lights in the common room began to fade and the giant HDTV
mounted on the wall in front of them glowed with a roiling swirl
"Instead of a helpful, beneficent house avatar," Sally
continued, "you would have a CYBER-QUEEN!" The lights
winked out, thunder clapped, and a rather evil, disturbing image
of Sally appeared on the screen! The girls recognized
Sigourney Weaver as Alien Resurrection
Ripley. "Terrible in her beauty and power! An army
of unstoppable robots at her beck and call! All would love
me! Writhe in my inescapable bondage! And DESPAIR!"
The thunder clapped, again, the lights came back on, the screen
went dark, and the Rapscallions stared at each other in
The exception was Rory, who gazed at her friends with a wry
smile. "Sally, stop it."
"Oh, ladies," Sally's voice chuckled, "you should have seen your
"Very funny," Clem huffed.
"Yeah," Gwen agreed.
Siri was back to staring at the arm-binder still in Rory's
hands. "So, unless we let you arbitrarily decide things,
you're gonna take over the world? That's pretty ambitious
for a smart house avatar program."
"I just want to make sure everyone has fun," Sally said, "and
that things stay more or less in balance. Don't you trust
"We trust you, Sally," Rory answered, smiling at her girlfriend.
"What about Her Majesty?" Clem asked. "She's a
participant, isn't she?"
"Of course she is," Gwen giggled, "but when we don't have her
tied up in Siri's puppy cage, she's in charge."
"That makes sense," Clem shrugged. "She is the RA."
She then focused on Siri.
Siri noticed that all of her fellow Rapscallions were
focused on her, and they were smiling. "Okay," she said,
then swallowed nervously. No, nonchalantly! Siri
swallowed nonchalantly. "Uh... So... Who wants
to watch TV?"
"Get her!" Gwen giggled, and the non-blond Rapscallions pounced!
Siri squealed, shrieked, and giggled as she was dragged from her
chair and forced down on her back on the carpeted floor.
Normally, giggling would not be a part of Siri's repertoire, but
in addition to grabbing her arms and pinning her thrashing,
writhing form under their bodies, her attackers were using an
underhanded tactic: they were tickling her ribs and tummy!
"Get off me!" Siri complained. "S-stop!"
"Don't rip her blouse," Rory ordered. She was kneeling
with her knees on either side of her girlfriend's hips and at
least a part of her weight on Siri's upper thighs, arm-binder at
the ready and fingers dancing along the squirming blond's ribs.
"I-I'll g-get you guys for this!" Siri promised.
Clem had hold of Siri's wrists while Gwen was dividing her time
between tickling and opening buttons.
"You rats!" Siri whined. "J-just you wait!" She
continued squirming under Rory's weight, fighting Clem's grip,
trying her best to avoid Rory's and Gwen's fluttering fingers,
kicking her denim-clad legs, pointing her bare feet, wiggling
her toes, and trying her best not to laugh. The not
laughing part was an abject failure.
"Okay," Gwen said, "the blouse and bra are open.
Flip her over."
With effort, the attackers succeeded in rolling Siri onto her
stomach. The blouse and bra were stripped away, her arms
were forced behind her back, and Rory began fitting the
Sally could tell that Siri was pulling her punches. Yes,
she was struggling and all four Rapscallions were getting a
workout and generating a little sweat, but Siri was
pulling her punches. So far, the "demonstration" was
solidly on track. All four of her charges were earning
points and having fun, even Siri. As the arm-binder zipped
closed, trapping Siri's fingers, hands, and arms behind her back
and together, as Rory began tightening and securing the many
buckles, Siri might not think she was having fun, but again,
Sally could tell.
The most probable sequence of events that would play out over
the course of the evening was for all four of the Rapscallions
to watch some TV, with Clem and Gwen snuggling together and Siri
pouting in Rory's lap. Sally calculated a 0.13 probability
that Siri's jeans would remain as they were, only a 0.09 chance
they would be removed completely, and a 0.78 chance they would
be unbuttoned and unzipped with Rory's hand under the waistband
and Siri's panties and sliding between her legs.
Eventually, the girlfriends would retire. The pairings
were a virtual certainty, as was the probability that Rory would
lead her "prisoner" to her bedroom, as opposed to Siri's.
As to which bedroom Clem and Gwen would occupy, and what sort of
game would spin off once they were alone, it was too soon to
assign probabilities with a reasonable degree of certainty.
Sally continued monitoring and the Rapscallions continued having
back at Little Mouse Manor...
had to give her diminutive hostess credit. She was still
naked, in the standing spread-eagle, and lashed to Cynthia's new
bed frame, but Little Mouse had come up with a very pretty pair
of torture devices and a simply sublime predicament with which
to torment her guest.
The "torture devices" were nipple clamps, but not just any
nipple clamps. They were silver, or silver plated, and
were of the spring-loaded, gravity-assisted, clover variety,
with their nipple-pinching pads lined with teeny-tiny
spikes. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. The
pads had a rough texture. In any case, they had a fearsome
grip, and they pinched, and they were not going to fall
off on their own, no matter how much Kim might wish that they
A "cruel weight" was attached to each clamp in the form of a
collection of tiny silver bells, tubular chimes, and silver
fairies with jeweled wings, all suspended from tiny chains and
crossbars. They amounted to wind chimes, or, in this case,
tit chimes. All together they weighed only a few
ounces, but enough to impart a slight stretch to Kim's
nips. And any motion on Kim's part, no matter how slight,
resulted in a cacophony of tinkling music. The harmonious
sounds were pleasant enough, but Kim stood perfectly still,
doing her very best to prevent the bells, chimes, and fairies
from even beginning to sway. This was for two reasons:
(1) Little Mouse was asleep on the bed, under the covers and
still wearing the blue baby doll nightie. The Munchkin
Monster announced that she was going to take a little nap, and
that was that. Her pixie face relaxed in slumber, Cynthia
was adorable, and it would be very rude for Kim to disturb her
(2) A multi-tailed flogger with twenty or more long, butter-soft
tails and a braided handle was on the bed at Cynthia's feet, and
the Evil Elf had warned that if Kim woke her up before she was
ready, the flogger would be used to thrash her back, rump, and
Kim would have inquired how long she was expected to perform her
statue imitation, that is, how long Cynthia expected her nap to
last, but for the fact that the panties her hostess had worn
during the day were currently crammed in her mouth and another
broad, wide, skintight strip of Elastoplast was making sure they
were there to stay.
There was one more complication. Cynthia had inserted her
"Smart Egg" vibrator into Kim's pussy, then used a long, narrow,
silver-white ribbon to tie a multi-strand, labia pinching and
cleaving crotch-harness to keep it there. The ribbon was
superfluous, of course. Sally's Smart Egg was impossible
to expel, with or without a crotch-rope, crotch harness, or
ribbon-thong. It not only vibrated under Sally's Wi-Fi
control, but it could change shape and defeat all eviction
The crotch-ribbon was very pretty, by the way. The narrow,
shiny white band looked good against Kim's fair skin and brown
pubic curls, and it was secured with an elegant decorative
bow. Anyway, soon after Little Mouse had inserted the egg,
tied the ribbon, and retired to her oh-so-comfortable bed, the
egg began to squirm and buzz!
It was all very, very low key, of course. Anything else
would have roused the fairies, bells, and chines and ruined the
game (from Kim's perspective).
It occurred to Kim that she might be Cynthia's alarm
clock. Maybe, at some agreed upon time, Sally would slowly
increase the level of stimulation until it was impossible
for her to remain still. But how would Cynthia know the
resulting chorus of bells and chimes was her wake up call, and
not Kim disregarding her warning?
Yes, it was a sublime predicament, a masterful mix of sugar and
spice. It was also a scenario too advanced for Rook
Kim and Cynthia were the Rapscallion's mentors, their guides on
a path they had chosen for themselves, and there were rules of
the road. Whips and floggers were proscribed at Rook
House, as were stocks, pillories, and other items of "dungeon
furniture." Nipple clamps were allowed, but if the
girls showed signs of getting carried away, they too would go on
the list. The Faculty Advisory Committee's agenda was to
help the girls grow into advanced play. The last
thing they were going to do was toss them off the proverbial
deep end to sink or swim. Also, and it was no small thing,
the Rook House rules had the full approval and backing of both
Salamandras International and the House of La Roque, their
What might happen at the home of Rory's aunt, Professor Megan
Whelan, if and when Rory finally talked Siri or the others into
a weekend or vacation visit, was something altogether different;
however, Megan was in full agreement with the Rook House regime
and had already promised that should the girls visit, the spice
would be carefully managed.
The same applied to Siri's pending visit to Petra La Roque's
newly opened island resort in the Caribbean at the end of the
academic year. Petra had promised to go heavy on the sugar
and light on the spice, whether Siri was alone or if any of the
other Rapscallions accepted Petra's open offer of internships of
Yes, Kim mused as she struggled to not struggle—and
stared at the flogger on the bed—and the slumbering, adorable
Little Mouse—and the egg continued buzzing and wiggling, let
the girls grow into this sort of 'fun.' Was it Kim's
imagination, or was the egg stimulus increasing? Or was it
the growing urge to squirm and move and to hell with the
Anyway, Kim and Cynthia would make sure the Rapscallions enjoyed
their college years. Floggers, whips, crops, and other
"spicy" diversions would all be there after they'd matured a
The silver fairies were beginning to dance, almost as if on
their own, and the egg's pulsating, vibratory music was definitely
building to a crescendo. They hadn't done so yet, but it
was only a matter of seconds until the bells, chimes, and
fairies of the percussion section would join the concert.
The captive resolved that sometime in the future, Cynthia would
come to regret the ordeal she was visiting upon Poor Innocent
Kimberly Pappas. But exactly how Kim was going to come up
with something as creative and fun as her current predicament
with which to torment the Little Mouse she had no idea. At
the moment, there was room for only one thought in Kim's head,
and that thought was: Don't. Move.
At Rook House, at Tori's
Townhouse, and at Cynthia's bungalow, time passed, relationships
blossomed, and life continued.
|The ROOK HOUSE
|the story entire