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
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
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
"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
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
Bernadette continued pouting and sighing, but didn't actually
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
"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!
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
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
"I've missed you, Bernie," Paige whispered. "You should
delegate your work, jet out here, and ruin my plans more often."
"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!
"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
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.
| Chapter 8
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
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
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
Yes, Sweet Sophie was in a dither... a naked, bound, gagged, and
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
"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
"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
"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
"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
"Okay," Ripley said quietly. She usually didn't discuss
her works-in-progress, but being bound and naked, she decided to
make an exception.
| Chapter 8
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, 1˝" 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
"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.
| Chapter 8