by Van ©2021
		Chapter 8

Bernadette smiled as Paige returned to the pergola and settled into a chair.  "Did they all fit?" the Corbyn matriarch inquired with a sweet smile.  She was referring to her daughters and their house guests, of course, all of whom Paige had just carried away, one by one, and incarcerated in the infamous "Dungeon" down in the basement.  Apparently, Bernadette was curious as to whether it had proved large enough to hold all six youngsters.  She was joking, of course.  The space might only be something like ten-feet-by-ten-feet (or maybe a little less), but that was more than enough room for six naked, bound, and gagged youngsters to roll around on the concrete floor, especially if they were all on friendly terms.

"Of course they all fit," Paige chuckled, then eyed Bernadette's diminutive, very fit, black-bikini-clad form... from her wiggling toes and cute feet, to her dimpled knees, to her belly button, pert breasts, mischievous smile, big brown eyes, and gleaming brown curls.  "There's even room for one more.  Certainly enough room for an undersized pipsqueak."

Still smiling, Bernadette returned Paige's gaze, scanning her friend's tall (relatively), fit, bikini-clad body... from her hideous (okay, pretty) black, pink, and aqua hiking shoes, to her sparkling brown eyes, to her ginger hair.  Both friends might be in their sixties, but they took excellent care of themselves (and were blessed with good genes).

"I'll take your word for it."  Bernadette said finally, then stood and stretched her petite body... arching her back and reaching for the Mandevilla vines overhead.  "How long do you plan on leaving them down there, by the way?"

Paige's smile became coy.  "You're asking me?"

Bernadette gave a cute little shrug.  "I'm the good cop and you're the bad cop, remember?  You make their lives' miserable for a while, then I waltz in, make things better, and get my way."  She put her hands on her hips and cocked her coyly smiling head to one side.  "So, what's your plan, Detective Bad Cop?  How long?"

Still smiling, Paige cocked her head to the side as well.  "Oh, that's right, I am bad."  She picked up an iPad resting on a nearby table, turned it on, and started negotiating her way through a series of menus.

Bernadette's smile faded.  "What are you doing?"

"Being a bad cop," Paige responded, gave the screen a final tap, then smiled and handed the iPad to Bernadette.  The grinning redhead then stood and strolled to the pile of incarcerated youngsters' hiking-shoes, socks, and anklets next to the pile of lavender-purple and jade-blue bikini parts and retrieved her canvas messenger bag.  It had been the source of the bondage supplies she'd used to bind the youngsters' legs, of course, and while it might be somewhat depleted, clearly, it wasn't empty.

Under the shade of the pergola, Bernadette was staring at the image on the iPad, her lips curled in... a horrified smirk?

Displayed on the screen were the first two pages The Escape Artiste, the Sweet Gwendoline comic by John Willie.  Bernadette was familiar with all of Willie's works, so why was Paige showing this to her now?  She sent an inquiring gaze in the approaching redhead's direction.

"Reference material," Paige explained.  "The plot doesn't really fit the good-cop/bad-cop scenario, but it's a decent starting point.  Don't you agree?"  Paige's smile was now unmistakably predatory (and gorgeous).

"No, I don't agree," Bernadette huffed as she returned the iPad to the table.  "It has absolutely nothing to do with the police."  She gave a cute little shrug.  "They are wearing swimsuits," she conceded, "but other than that..."

Bernadette was visibly nervous.  After all, Paige was wearing hiking-shoes, whereas Bernadette's feet were bare!  Her big brown eyes widened as Paige reached into the bag and produced a small coil of white paracord.  Bernadette swallowed... gave a tentative glace towards the posts framing the informal trail head that led to the wild acres of the island... then glanced towards the kitchen door, the closest access to the interior of the mansion...  then heaved a pathetic little sigh, blinked her big brown eyes, and coyly bit her lower lip.  "Paige!" she whined.

"I just love your pitiful damsel act," Page chuckled, spun Bernadette around, and began tying her crossed wrists behind her back, mimicking the way U-89 tied Gwendoline's wrists in The Escape Artist.

Bernadette continued pouting and sighing, but didn't actually resist.

Her immediate bondage task accomplished, Paige the bad cop leaned close to her good cop partner from behind and whispered in her right ear.  "Are you going to call me a horrid pig?"  'Horrid pig' was the way Gwendoline had characterized U-89 for failing to share any of her vast repertoire of escape tips after tying her wrists.

Her lips pursed in a stunningly cute little moue, Bernadette blinked her big brown eyes and weakly tugged on her wrist-bonds.  "Why should I do that?" she purred.

"No matter," Paige chuckled, "I'm going to gag you anyway."  And she did.

Paige pulled a long, narrow length of tubular white fabric from her bag.  It was the kind of bandage stretched over limbs while making casts or over other dressings to keep them in place.  Bernadette noted that a wad of the same material had been crammed down the tube to the middle and a knot tied to keep it there.  The resulting lump was about three inches in diameter, but obviously it had more in common with a soft sponge than a tennis ball.

Bernadette dialed up the pathetic to eleven.  "Paige!  Nooooo!"  It was an impressive display, but it didn't help.  "Mrrpf!"  Paige crammed the wad into her diminutive prisoner's mouth, then repeatedly wrapped the dangling free ends of bandage around Bernadette's head, first cleaving, then covering her lower face from nose to chin.  The stretched, tight layers of fabric also trapped Bernadette's brown hair in a loose ponytail, the same way Gwendoline's gag trapped her blond tresses in the comic.

Next, Paige led Poor Bernadette out to the middle of the lawn, "forced" her to settle down onto the grass, then used more cord to bind Bernie's waist and arms, cinching the cords tight and pinning her arms to her torso.  Again, it was the same way U-89 had tied Gwen.  Next, she tied Bernie's ankles; however, this time she diverged from her reference material by also binding Bernie's feet and big toes.  This would make it difficult (meaning punishing) for Bernadette to hop around once the inevitable happened and Paige abandoned the bound, pitiful pipsqueak to her escaping efforts.

Bernadette's sad brown eyes blinked pathetically as she squirmed and tested her bonds.  The sun was hot on her tan skin, too hot for recreational languishing... but here she was.

Paige smiled down at her petite, bikini-clad, bound, and gagged victim.  Bernie was already beginning to sweat... just a little.  It was heartbreaking (as well as arousing... just a little).  And both Bernadette and Paige were well aware that in such situations a tingling pussy overrides a sympathetic heart.

"In answer to your question about how long I'm going to leave the kids to languish in the dark," Page said, "actually... I haven't decided.  I'll think about it while I take a nice, long, refreshing swim.  It's been a hectic day, what with all the binding and carrying and uninvited munchkins wandering in out of the blue.  I need a break."  And with that pronouncement, she turned and strolled to the pool.

Bernadette watched as her villainous bad cop partner removed her pretty hiking shoes and anklets, followed by her red lanyard and whistle, then dove into said pool.  It was an outrage!  Poor Bernie was stuck out on the lawn under the broiling sun, and her bad cop partner was taking a dip in the pool!  Oh, the injustice of it all!

Minutes passed.  Bernadette could see and hear splashing in the pool.  It would seem her despicable captor was swimming laps, rather than floating in the cool, refreshing water.  Bernie resumed testing her bonds... but made absolutely no progress whatsoever in regaining her freedom.  Paige was an expert rigger, as well as a gorgeous ginger and a dedicated swimmer.  Bernadette continued sweating... and sweating.

It occurred to Bernie that while she might not be able to escape, she could definitely do something about her overheated condition.  Heaving herself to her bound feet (and tied toes) and hopping to the pool was out of the question, but what was preventing her from writhing, rolling, squirming, and wiggle-worming her way to the refreshing, churning waters?  It wasn't that far.  It was an excellent plan, and it worked perfectly... eventually.

Poor bound and gagged Bernie did, indeed, writhe, roll, squirm, and wiggle... and eventually... laboriously... made her prone, contorted way across the lawn to the shallow end of the pool.  Paige either didn't notice or didn't care as the sweaty captive eased her bound feet over the lip of the pool, squirmed closer until she could submerge her legs in the lapping water, then sat up on the edge.  Next, she eased her butt and bound hands over the concrete lip, slipped into the water, and sat on the pool's first step.  She then twisted and turned and let herself float free.

It was glorious!  The water was wet—(No, ya think?)—cool, and just what her sweaty, hot body (in both the overheated and sensuous sense) needed.  Bernadette drifted with her face to the sun and her eyes closed.  Glorious!  If it wasn't for the minor issue of being bound and gagged, she'd be totally content.

Suddenly—a gigantic pink sea monster with ginger hair and wearing a white bikini emerged from the watery depths, grabbed Bernadette's helpless body, and dragged her under!  "Glub!"

A decidedly uneven, unfair, and some might argue unscrupulous submarine battle ensued.  Actually, it was more of a submerged groping and mauling, with Paige running her hands over Bernie's helpless body.  Unfortunately, Bernadette's bikini was a casualty of the "conflict."  Paige's nimble fingers made quick work of the bows on Bernadette's hips, behind her back, and at the nape of her neck, and the top and bottom drifted free.

At that point, air became an issue.  They broke the churning surface, then Paige settled onto the pool's first step with her beloved Bernie on her lap between her legs and her arms holding her close.  The prisoner struggled and Paige wrapped her freckled legs around Bernadette's weakly kicking tan legs, as well as hugging her close.

"Settle down," Paige chuckled.

"Mrrrmmm!" Bernie complained.

"I said, settle down," Paige purred.

"Mrrrrr!" Bernie whined.

Paige's left arm was across Bernie's left arm and torso and her left hand had a firm grip on the captive's right breast.  The hand in question gently squeezed.

"Mrrrrr!"  This time, it was a whimper, rather than a whine.  Bernadette shuddered and shivered, from her shoulders to her bound toes.

Paige shifted her hands and arms... and the hug was now a mirror image of its former self.  Her right hand squeezed Bernadette's left breast.  "You're a little wiggle-worm, aren't you?" she teased, then shifted tactics, using her strong hands and nimble fingers to explore Bernie's smooth, tan, mostly submerged body from thighs to shoulders, not just her breasts.

"You're a naughty munchkin," Paige whispered in Bernie's left ear, then gave it a kiss.  "Waltzing in here without warning and ruining my games?  The very idea."

"Mrrrf?"  Bernie's eyes popped wide, and her shivering shifted into high gear.  Paige's right hand was gliding between her legs and caressing her crotch... including her pussy!  It was an outrage!  "Mrrrrrrr!"  (It was a delight!)  Bernadette wiggled, squirmed, and began panting through her gag.  Her eyes were closed and the back of her gagged head pressed against her torturer's (lover's) chest.  The water churned as her struggles became more frantic.

"I've missed you, Bernie," Paige whispered.  "You should delegate your work, jet out here, and ruin my plans more often."

"Mrrrm."

"Better yet," Paige continued, "you should retire.  Then we can play like this all the time."  She gave Bernadette's right breast another firm squeeze with her left hand... then began toying with her tiny captive's right nipple.  "I don't think Alice and Chelsea will mind."  Between Bernie's legs, her right hand shifted into high gear.  "I'll even let you share the master bedroom."

Bernadette may or may not have heard and/or processed Paige's offer.  She appeared to be preoccupied with what was happening down below.  She squirmed and twisted her bound body and fought against Paige's full-body embrace.  In point of fact, Bernie was cumming like the proverbial bunny!

"MRRRRRF!"

"Settle down," Paige chuckled as her precious prisoner writhed in orgasm.  "You're a slippery little trout," she chuckled, "aren't you?  Stop wiggling.  I landed you fair and square."

Eventually, Bernadette did settle down, and eventually, Paige carried her from the water, dried the little brunette's now naked body with a fluffy towel, dried her own white bikini-clad body... then lifted Bernie's bound and gagged body into her arms, once again, and padded towards the mansion.

Sweet Sophie was in something of a dither.

She was naked, bound, and gagged, and had been for hours.  Earlier, she'd suffered the indignity of being ground into the dust following her defeat in The Great Bikini Battle.  Okay, she hadn't actually been ground into the dust, but Alice, Betty, and Ivy had gloated over her as she lay in the dirt.  Granted, in their place, Sophie would have leered and smiled through her gag at them, but that hadn't made her dirty predicament any more pleasant.  And later, Sophie had suffered the related indignity of receiving a stinging hose-bath to get rid of the residual dirt and grime.  Paige, the grinning villainess with the hose, had gloated as well, but Sophie couldn't fault the elderly redhead for her attitude either.  Anyway...

Tight cords bound Sophie's naked body from toes to shoulders.  Her piteous whimpers were stifled by the foam Nerf-ball crammed in her mouth, the strip of Microfoam tape sealing her lips, and the twin layers of Vet-wrap and white duct tape mummifying her lower face, all of which she'd applied herself before being bound by Paige.  Also, her fingers and hands had been rendered useless under tight layers of clear stretch-wrap and white duct-tape.  Finally, she was blinded by the complete absence of light in the cramped dungeon.

Oh-by-the-way, this was Sophie's first actual exposure (so to speak) to the Corbyn family's dungeon.  Chelsea had bragged about the place, but before today Sophie had been spared the experience.

Sophie was surrounded by her teammates, Chelsea and Ripley-the-Goth, as well as Alice and her pair of hooligans, Betty and Ivy.  There was room to wiggle around... a little... but she'd been repeatedly kicked, jabbed, and prodded by her fellow prisoners.  And truth be told, she'd done her share of violating her fellow prisoners personal spaces as she struggled for comfort.  A little light would have helped them avoid each other... but there was no light.

Yes, Sweet Sophie was in a dither... a naked, bound, gagged, and imprisoned-in-a-dungeon dither.

Oh, the drama!

Finally, after hours and hours of struggling in the Stygian darkness—(Okay, maybe one hour)—the captives heard the triple-thunk of the dungeon door's three throw-bolts being drawn... "Thunk!  Thunk!  Thunk!"  And the door opened, admitting a silent explosion of blinding light!

"Mrrrmpfh!" the prisoners complained, clenching and/or frantically blinking their no doubt now permanently blinded eyes.  They also squirmed and fought their bonds.  None of them had succeeded in untying any knots in their paracord bonds, which wasn't particularly surprising as Paige had taken the precaution of flipperizing/mummifying all of their hands with tight, neat layers of stretch-wrap and white duct-tape, not just Sophie.

Luckily, Sophie's tragic blindness proved not to be permanent after all, and she watched as Paige smiled, selected her naked, bound, and gagged form from the loose pig-pile of her fellow captives, picked her up—"Mrrrf!"—and heaved her onto her shoulder.  The redhead with the grabby hands was still wearing her white bikini, but her feet were now bare (like Sophie's); however, Paige's big toes weren't tied together (like Sophie's).  Paige carried her across the threshold, closed the outrageously heavy door and secured its bolts—"Thunk!  Thunk!  Thunk!"—and carried her away.

Obviously, Sophie was being rescued first, which was only right.  (At least, Sophie desperately hoped she was being rescued.)  Anyway, she was the first out of the dungeon, just as she's been the first into the dungeon.  And everybody knows the first-in-first-out rule applies to damsels-in-distress, just like it does to everything else in the known universe.

Their immediate destination was the bathroom the house guests always shared when they visited St. Ignatius Island.  Paige untied Sophie's long-suffering toes, feet, ankles, etc., all the way up to her waist, but left her box-tie and tape-flippers intact.  She then used a pair of bandage scissors to carefully snip through both layers of Sophie's self-inflicted gag, carefully stripped the bands of tape away... peeled the Microfoam tape from her lips... then plucked the saliva-soaked red Nerf ball from her mouth.

Sophie worked her jaw and licked her lips, then eagerly drank from the clear glass of cool water Paige held to her lips.

"Thank you," Sophie gasped, then blushed when Paige sat her on the toilet.  A proper damsel always strives for courtesy, even going so far as to be polite with their despicable kidnapper.  And as for the blushing, a proper damsel conducts her personal business in privacy... which obviously Poor Sophie wasn't going to get.  She emptied her bladder, anyway, then continued blushing as Paige scrubbed her nether region clean with a damp washcloth.

Mission accomplished, Paige led Sophie from the bathroom.  "The Main Lounge," she said, pointing to their right, then padded away to the left.  Sophie suspected her captor/rescuer was retracing her steps and returning to the basement for the next damsel in need of semi-rescue.

"Okay," Sophie said quietly, then blew an errant strand of her tousled blond hair from her pouting face—"Phew!"—and followed the elderly ginger tyrant's order.  Why not?

The Main Lounge was a big open space with lots of windows providing pleasant vistas of the lawn, pool, pergola, etc., the sort of room used for "parties," large crowds of overdressed rich people sipping cocktails, making small talk, flirting, and/or negotiating business deals.

Waiting for Sophie was Mrs. Corbyn, meaning Alice and Chelsea's mom, meaning Bernadette.  She was seated in a comfortable looking wing-chair next to a small table and was still wearing her black bikini, although as Sophie padded closer she realized it was a different black bikini.  The former bikini had been plain and simple, whereas this one was fancy, embroidered with bronze and gold thread in a floral design.  Mrs. C was also wearing a long, open, smoke-black robe of diaphanous lace-mesh with matching embroidery on a larger scale.

"Sophie, darling," Bernadette gushed.  "Come.  Sit here."  She was pointing at the carpet immediately in front of her chair.

"Uh, hi, Mrs. Corbyn," Sophie said (and blushed), then padded forward and gracefully (sort of) settled to the floor.

"Back to me and snuggle close," Bernadette ordered, and Sophie complied.  And then...

"Oh!" Sophie gasped.  Mrs, C had picked up a brush from the side-table and was using it to gently restore order to Sophie's blond curls.  The bristles was stiff, but Bernadette's hand was gentle.  It felt good.  "Thank you," Sophie purred.

"You're welcome, darling," Bernadette replied.

Sophie sighed in contentment and closed her eyes.  Naked and bound prisoners take their contentment where they can find it.  Stroke followed firm but gentle stroke.

"Uh... we didn't know you'd be joining us," Sophie said quietly.

"I know you're curious, but be a dear and wait 'til the others are here," Bernadette suggested (ordered).  "That way I won't have repeat myself."

"Okay," Sophie sighed.

Bernadette continued brushing Sophie's hair...  and soon her blond tresses were restored to their usual stunningly attractive cascade of shining flaxen waves.

"There," Bernadette said, putting down the brush.  "Now, scoot over to the right and let's talk about your coffee shop.  How's business?  I understand there's something of a global bean shortage."

For the next few minutes the petite, bikini-clad brunette and naked and bound blonde did just that: discuss Sophie's business and the ins and outs of purchasing bulk coffee.

And then, Sophie and Bernie noticed Ripley standing in the Main Lounge's main doorway, naked, box-tied, flipperized, and sulking.

"Come in, darling!" Bernadette beamed.

"Yeah, come in, darling," Sophie chuckled.  "Mrs. C will brush your hair, and God knows you need it."

"Shut up," Ripley huffed, glowering at her smiling blond friend as she padded forward.  She then managed a shy smile, directed at their hostess, of course.  "Uh, hi.  Thanks.  How are you?"

"I'm fine, dear," Bernadette chuckled, pointed at the carpet between her petite, tan, elegant, bare feet, Ripley settled to the floor with her back to Bernadette (and continued glowering at Sophie, who smiled her dimpled smile in return), and Mrs. C brushed her hair.  Restoring it to its usual long, straight glistening state might take a while.

"I greatly enjoyed your last book," Bernadette said, addressing Ripley the writer.  "I assume you're working on another."

"I am," Ripley confirmed, "and thanks."

"You're most welcome," Bernadette purred, continuing to brush Ripley's hair and making definite progress.  "Tell us about it."

"Okay," Ripley said quietly.  She usually didn't discuss her works-in-progress, but being bound and naked, she decided to make an exception.

Over the next hour similar dramas played out as naked, bound, and tousled damsels arrived in the Main Lounge, one by one, and were groomed by Bernadette.  Chelsea arrived next to the last, Alice last, and now all six members of the two teams were present in the Main Lounge.

Excluding Bernadette, all present were in identical condition: naked, their upper bodies box-tied with an abundance of thin white paracord, their hands flipperized by layers of stretch-wrap followed by layers of white duct-tape, and their hair freshly brushed.

There was one minor exception.  Chelsea and Alice had arrived with "safety-ball-gags" plugging their scowling mouths!

The gags in question were familiar to both sisters.  Their balls were black, medical-grade silicon, 1½" in diameter, hollow, and perforated by about a dozen breathing holes.  The straps were black leather with stainless steel hardware.  The buckles were lockable; however, the hefty but tiny padlocks that usually made them impossible to remove without the appropriate key were missing.  They called them "safety-ball-gags" because of the breathing holes, of course, and while they were far from the most effective means of silencing the pitiful cries or angry complaints of a captured damsel, they were more than adequate for stifling the verbal nonsense that usually spewed from a captured sister... or in this case, daughter.

Anyway, first Chelsea and then Alice (when it was finally her turn to arrive) promised their mother that they wouldn't throw tantrums and make a scene by nodding their gagged and glowering heads when asked.  Bernadette then unbuckled their gag's straps, re-secured the buckles on the straps' first holes.  The pouting sisters were now wearing their silencers as spectacularly ugly necklaces.

Hair brushed and still sitting on her naked rump in front of her mother, Alice squirmed around and executed a less-than-graceful half-turn, then locked eyes with her mother.  She may have promised not to throw a tantrum, but as Senior Damsel, it fell upon her to speak on behalf of the others.  She gathered her thoughts, opened her mouth and—

"Who's hungry?" Paige inquired from the doorway.

All heads snapped around to find the elderly-but-gorgeous redhead wheeling a serving cart into the room, and it was laden with plates of... appetizers?  There were cubes of melon (cantaloupe, honeydew, and water), peach slices (or possibly nectarine), whole strawberries (each topped with a dollop of cream and dusted with powdered sugar), apple slices, stuffed dates, mini-sandwich rolls, tiny toast squares topped with a pâté of some sort, and cubes of cheese.  There were also broad-based glasses that looked like they'd be difficult to tip over, filled with ice cubes and some sort of drink, as well as a fruit garnish and a long, thin straw.

A general chorus of affirmative and grateful remarks greeted Paige as she placed a plate and a drink on the carpet in front of each of the naked and bound damsels.

Alice was last, and she glowered (meaning continued glowering) as Paige placed her plate on the floor, close to her knees.  She turned her sulking head to her mother.  "You're not eating?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, dear," Bernadette beamed as she accepted a drink in a conventional tumbler from Paige.  The drink appeared to be the same as the golden amber concoction in the hard-to-tip glasses, and had the same garnish and straw.  "Paige and I had luncheon earlier."  She smiled at the assembled damsels.  "Please, ladies..."  She indicated the waiting food with a graceful sweep of her right hand.  "Eat."

The naked, bound, and flipperized damsels followed their hostess/captor's advice, bent forward at the waist, and used their lips and tongues to start devouring the feasts on their plates... in a dainty manner, of course.  The drinks turned out to be rum-based, potent, and delicious, and the food was equally palatable.  It was no surprise to the Corbyn sisters that Paige could whip up an acceptable gourmet brunch, lunch, early tea, or high tea on short notice.

Chelsea chewed and swallowed a cube of cantaloupe, then focused on her smiling mother.  "When are you gonna tell us why you showed up here unannounced and decided to ruin our fun?" she demanded.

"Eat, darling girl," Bernadette purred.

"Unless you'd rather chew on silicon-rubber," Paige warned.  She'd rolled the now empty serving cart off to the side and was carrying a rum-drink of her own to a comfy chair.  She'd been referring to Chelsea's gag-necklace and its oversized, perforated, black rubber ball, of course.  Paige settled into her chair, sipped the straw of her drink—"Slurp!"—and smiled sweetly, which wasn't at all irritating.

Chelsea glanced at her sister (who shook her head before sipping on the straw of her drink), then sighed and resumed grazing her plate.  Mother loved her Grand Exposition Scenes, and there was nothing they could do about it but wait... other than eat.  The fresh fruit was very good.