by Van ©2019
		Chapter 5

By way of review...

Logan was naked and kneeling on the carpet in the center of one of The Mansion's luxuriously furnished sitting rooms (the one with the magnificent fireplace), with her wrists crossed behind her back, her head lowered, and her face covered by the curtain of her tousled red hair.

I was sitting on a comfortable sofa uncomfortably close to one of our hostesses and was dressed in an indigo-purple, strapless formal gown.  My hands were encased in two-tone brown leather bondage-mittens (with bronze hardware), my arms folded behind my back, and I was box-tie-bound by a matching two-tone brown leather (with bronze hardware) super-cuff and upper-arm-strap-thingie.  Also, a two-tone brown leather (with bronze hardware) collar was buckled and tab-locked around my neck.  I was no longer gagged by the forest-green cloth-cleave-bit-gag with two-tone brown leather strap (with bronze hardware) that matched the rest of my bondage ensemble, as at the moment it was cleaving Logan's mouth.  Oh, that's right.  I failed to mention earlier that Logan was gagged.  She was otherwise unbound, but she was gagged.  Sorry.

The hostess in question, the one snuggling against my formally-gowned and box-tie-bound self, was the beautiful (and loaded) Gabrielle "Gabby" Parker.  She was neither formally gowned nor box-tie-bound, but was dressed in an obviously expensive sandals, jeans, and blouse ensemble.  Also, the end of the leash clipped to my collar was resting in her hand.  We'd only just met, but I'd already formed the opinion that she was not only beautiful but was almost certainly a very nice person.  Very friendly... and not at all shy about snuggling with formally gowned and box-tie-bound people she'd only just met.

Our other hostess was Kelly Travers, Gabby's sister.  She's also beautiful (and loaded), and was off somewhere in The Mansion rummaging for wine... but not for long.

Kelly—dressed in high-heeled pumps, a pencil-skirt, a really pretty blouse, and a string of pearls—returned to the sitting room with a tray laden with four stemmed glasses and a carafe of pink wine.  My best guess was it was rosé.  I like wine, but don't really know wine.  I'm not a wine-snob.  I think it was rosé.  Kelly set the tray on an end table, within easy reach of her sister.

We watched as Kelly poured wine into two of the four glasses, and by "we" I mean Gabby and myself.  Logan was still staring at the carpet.  I suppose two glasses made sense.  I was in no position to drink from a glass without help, and as for Logan... who cares?  I noted that my naked and submissively kneeling bungalow-mate may have stolen a peek through her hair as Kelly poured the wine, but I'm not at all sure.  Most of my attention was on the wine.  I was thirsty.  And like I said, who cares about Logan?  I licked my lips while Kelly handed one of the glasses to Gabby, then lifted the second.

"To new friends," Kelly said with a warm smile as she raised her glass.

"To new friends," Gabby agreed, then held her glass to my lips.

I took a sip.  It was rosé (I'm pretty sure) and really hit the spot.  Cold, wet, and sweet, but not too sweet.  Refreshing!

"Uh... yeah," I muttered after swallowing.  "New friends."  It was a toast.  It was the polite thing to do.

Gabby took a sip of her own, then held the glass for me, again.

While I took my second sip, I noted that Kelly had taken a single sip from her own glass, set it down, and strolled over to an antique trunk across the room.  She lifted the lid and started pulling out neat coils of what I immediately recognized as the same kind of conditioned hemp rope I use for hobby purposes.  My eyes widened (even though they were probably already wide), and...  Huh?  At that point I realized Gabby was holding the glass before my lips and patiently waiting for me to take a drink.  My eyes never leaving Kelly and the growing pile of rope, I did so...  meaning took my third sip of rosé.

"W-what's she gonna do with all that rope?" I whispered to Gabby.  Okay, obviously (probably), she was gonna tie somebody up, but would it be Logan... or myself?  I was already restrained, of course, but the pile of rope was still growing, and there was already more than enough to bind both of us, especially since I had a two-tone brown leather (with bronze hardware) head start.

"A little diversion before dinner," Gabby purred.

"Oh," I whispered.  It had taken me a second to realize that was her answer.  What was Kelly gonna do?  A diversion.  Of course.

Meanwhile, Kelly had closed the trunk, gathered the rope in a double armload, and was strolling towards Logan.  (Phew!  Apparently, I was off the hook.)  She dropped the bundles next to my naked, kneeling bungalow-mate, where they landed with a thump loud enough to make me flinch.  I was nervous.  Logan gave no reaction that I could see.  Then, Kelly kicked off her heels, knelt behind Logan, selected a coil of rope, and set to work.

Three things were happening:

1. I was imbibing more wine than I usually imbibe before, during, or after dinner.  Actually, Gabby was allowing me to imbibe more wine than I usually drink before, during, or after dinner, holding the glass to my lips, taking an occasional sip of her own, then replenishing it from the carafe as required.
2. Kelly was tying up Logan, and she was good, meaning Kelly was good.  By the way, Kelly's pencil-skirt was restrictive and inevitably had hitched itself up, exposing quite a lot of her firm, tan thighs.  Also, the dimpled smile curling her lips as she worked was... interesting (and gorgeous).
   
3. Logan was compliant... naked, gagged, and compliant, allowing herself to be laid out and rolled around as required for Kelly to do her work.
   

For the next several very long minutes, many, many yards of rope slithered, slid, and tightened around Logan's naked body.  There was a great deal of cinching and hitching.  Finally, Kelly tied her final knot, returned the unused coils to the trunk, then settled down on the sofa, sandwiching me between herself and her sister, and picked up her glass of rosé.  She wasn't exactly snuggling with me (like her sister), nor was she feeding me rosé (like her sister), but Kelly was close enough for her to rest a friendly hand on my closest thigh, and she did.  I hardly noticed, meaning Kelly's hand.  My wide, amazed brown eyes were on Logan.

Logan was bound in conditioned hemp from her big toes all the way up to her shoulders and neck, and almost everywhere else in between!  Her hands were behind her back, palm-to-palm, and the specific body parts/regions bound by the neat, cinched bands of Kelly's rope were:

1. Big toes;
2. Feet;
3. Ankles;
4. Lower legs, around her calves and shins;
5. Lower legs, just below her knees;
6. Upper legs, just above her knees;
7. Mid thighs;
8. Upper thighs;
9. Wrists;
10. Thumbs;
11. Hands;
12. Waist and forearms, with a doubled strand cleaving her butt-cheeks and labia and linked to her wrist-thumb-hand-bonds;
13. Elbows, pulling them close until they nearly touched!  Also;
    
14. Upper arms and torso, below her breasts;
15. Upper arms and torso, above her breasts;
16. Upper arms and torso, crisscrossing between her breasts;
17. Her shoulders and neck, with doubled hemp strands yoking said shoulders and loosely looped around said neck and tied with a non-compacting knot.

Logan was naked and tied up! 

And those elbows!  Thank goodness for yoga!

Also, all the elements of her bondage were interconnected, intertwined, cinched, hitched, and... all that other complicated rigging stuff.

And it was all continuous!  Every time Kelly had come to the end of a doubled length of rope, she'd extended it by tying on another doubled length.  I recognized this as a Kinbaku practice (Japanese rope bondage), and as far as I could tell from my perch on the sofa, the joining knots were simple two-half-hitches, with only an inch or so of dangling free ends.  Theoretically, the knots were weak points in Kelly's composition, in that they could be untied, but as for Logan being the one doing the untying?  Not a chance.  As my bungalow-mate wiggled and squirmed and rolled on the carpet, it was obvious that her hands were utterly useless.  With her thumbs lashed together and multiple strands of hemp binding her hands, pressing her palms together, and pinning them against her butt-cheeks, she could barely flutter her fingers, much less untie any knots.  Also, the nearest knots (rope-extensions or otherwise) were all several inches from said useless hands and semi-fluttering fingers.

Logan was naked and tied up!

I blinked in amazed appreciation.  Kelly was good!  "Wow," I said in a whisper.

Kelly squeezed my thigh, then leaned close and kissed my red, rosé-flavored lips.  "Thank you, Annie," she purred.

"You're welcome," I answered absently.  90% of my attention remained on Logan... naked, tied up, squirming and struggling Logan.  Her hair was a tangle across her gagged face as she fought her bonds.  She wasn't going to get free.  I don't know why she was even trying.  That's not quite true.  A thrill rippled between my legs.  I knew exactly why she was trying.  Trying was fun.  Being naked, bound, and gagged was fun.  I almost opened my mouth to share this sage observation with Gabby and Kelly, but managed to restrain myself (so to speak).  Like I said, I usually don't drink that much wine, but damn that rosé was good!  (Pardon my French.)

Gabby refilled her glass, took a sip, then held it to my lips.  "Wine, Annie?" she offered.

"No, thank you," I said politely, then leaned forward and enjoyed another sip.  Like I said, I was distracted by the floor show.

Also, I decided I didn't have a problem with The Sisters calling me "Annie."  To this day I don't know why.

Gabby and Kelly exchanged smiles, took sips from their respective glasses, and we all watched the show.

Apparently, Logan wasn't yet convinced that she wasn't going to escape.

Don't look at me that way.  I might have been tipsy, but I wasn't drunk.

I noted that Logan's rope-predicament was somewhat similar to the ladder-tied-legs and torso-harness bondage I'd implemented on myself (and Logan had enhanced) way back on Discovery Friday, the night when all of this nonsense started, only Logan's bondage was more elaborate and... artistic.  It was an aesthetically pleasing tableau, with all of its elements symmetrical and bearing the same cinched and interconnected motif with balance and proportion and the appropriate number of strands and cinches between Logan's limbs and body parts that complemented Logan's anatomical, uh, anatomy.

There!  I couldn't have noticed all that if I was drunk, now could I?

Anyway, I really appreciated Kelly's craftsmanship.  Logan probably did too... but not in the same way.

"You study Kinbaku?" I asked.  The question was for Kelly, but my eyes remained on Logan.

Kelly and Gabby exchanged another smile.  I saw them do it out of the corner of one eye.

"Informally," Kelly answered.  "I've never taken an actual course.  Nor have I studied under a master."

I nodded in understanding, still gazing at Logan.  "Very pretty," I sighed.

"She is, isn't she?" Gabby agreed, then held the glass for me to take another sip.

"I mean the ropes," I said after swallowing, "but Logan's pretty also... I mean also pretty."

By all appearances, Logan was unaware of our conversation.  She too busy rolling on the floor, squirming, twisting, writhing, and not escaping.

"What do you call it?" I inquired.

"Kinbaku-bi," Kelly answered.  "The beauty of tight binding."

I shook my head.  "No, I mean the position.  Is it a position?  You know.  Hogtie, frog-tie, shrimp-tie, ball-tie...  What do you call that?"

"I don't believe it has a name," Kelly purred.

"I don't believe so either," Gabby agreed, "but perhaps it should.  Hmm...  Worm-tie?  Just about all she can do is wiggle."

Kelly considered her sister's suggestion.  I did too.  "No, too vague," Kelly decided.

"Snake-tie?" Gabby suggested.  "She can also slither."

"The snake is too important a mythical cultural icon to use for something so simple," I intoned sagely, "even if it is elegant.  And something like 'snake-tie' is insufficiently descriptive.  It evokes the animal but not the bondage."  All of that was pretentious, even sophomoric bullshit, of course.  (Pardon my French.)  Like I said, I was tipsy.

Gabby and Kelly exchanged another smile.

"Perhaps we should think it over," Gabby suggested.

"I was about to suggest 'fish-out-of-water-tie,'" Kelly objected.

"Oh, I like that," I gushed, then shook my head.  "No, it's too cumberslum...  I mean cumbersome."

Meanwhile, Logan continued struggling, rolling, and flopping on the carpet... like a fish out of water.

We watched... meaning continued watching.

The rosé didn't make any more reappearances before my lips.  Apparently, Gabby had decided to cut me off (which was probably a good idea).

Logan did her flopping fish imitation for a good long while.  We filled the time by staring at her with wide-eyed amazement and making polite conversation.

I discussed how much I liked the bungalow, my job, and life in general.  I babbled.  I suppose it was better than lapsing into a mortified coma.  Gabby and Kelly didn't seem to mind.  In fact, at one point one sister commented to the other that she thought I was "absolutely adorable."  I blushed.  Now I remember.  It was Kelly.  Kelly thought I was "absolutely adorable," although Gabby did agree with her (and kissed my forehead), so I guess it doesn't matter.  They both thought I was absolutely adorable.  Out of politeness I didn't object.

The sisters also talked, but they didn't babble.  I learned that they're in the money business, meaning the business of managing and investing their money, of which they have quite a lot (although they didn't brag about it).  They both have degrees in business and conduct their affairs out of a large, comfortable office on the top floor of The Mansion.  Gabby promised to give me a tour of the place (meaning the entire mansion, not just the office), but later.  Mostly, we watched Logan not escape.  It was entertaining.

I considered pumping them for more information about our mutual hobby interests—by which, at the time, I meant bondage-in-general.  I had no idea, at the time, if they were into Sbf/Solo-F, so I didn't bring it up.  Anyway, I was curious (and hoping for a few advanced tips), but didn't want to come off as nosy.  The topic would come up if and when it came up.  I'd already learned that Kelly was into Kinbaku—Logan hadn't tied up herself—and at the very least Gabby was comfortable with everything that was happening... and I was too... sitting there accessorized in two-tone brown leather (with bronze hardware) and Logan being floppy-fish-bound from neck to toes.  Anyway, I was their guest (and technically their prisoner) so it would be polite if I let them take the lead.  It was their mansion and their party, after all.

Finally, Gabby suggested it was time to eat.  I assented, not wanting to be a rude.  Also, my tummy was grumbling and I needed something to slosh around down there with all that rosé.  Gabby helped me stand (not that I was a stumbling drunk or anything) and we started for the doorway.

"Uh, what about Logan?" I asked, looking back over my bare shoulder at my bungalow-mate.  Logan had shaken her tousled red hair out of her gagged-face and was looking up at us.  It was tragic.  Poor Logan... the rat.

"Logan will be fine," Kelly said as she put her arm around my waist and led me away.  "I'll bring her a snack, later."

"Okay," I agreed in a near whisper.  I suppose it served her right, meaning Logan.  After all, Hoot-and-a-Half had tricked me into elegantly gowned bondage, dragged me to The Mansion, and dumped me in the middle of the current situation.

"Mrrrk!" Hoot-and-a-Half complained (meaning whimpered), but was ignored by The Sisters.  My parting shot was to continue looking back over my bare shoulder at her and deliver a gloating, rudely extended tongue in her naked, bound, and gagged direction.  And then, we were out the door.

Oh-by-the-way, by this time my initial mortified terror and non-stop near-coronary had given way to general nervousness and mild apprehension.  (I was also tipsy.)  The Sisters of The Mansion were pleasant hostesses, Kelly was a gifted Kinbaku-person, Gabby was gorgeous, and I'd calmed down considerably.

The main thing I remember about dinner that night was its casual nature.  We ate in the kitchen—except for Logan, of course, who was still enjoying her saliva-dampened gag appetizer back in the sitting room—and the food was party food.  That said, it was all delicious and, taken as a whole, nutritionally balanced.  It was savory, sweet, crunchy, and not crunchy.  Excellent party food.  And I saw no open containers or other evidence of catering.  I think they (The Sisters) cooked it themselves.

I have a valid excuse for not concentrating on the details of the cuisine, and that excuse is... EVERYTHING!

I was a prisoner, Logan was a prisoner, and Kelly & Gabby were beautiful and pleasant but still largely unknown entities.  What if they only seemed nice?  What if they were really The Evil Sisters?  After all, we'd only just met, meaning I'd only just been dragged to their party, introduced, and transferred to their custody.  Obviously, Logan knew them.  They were her boss... or bosses... or one of them was her boss.  The point is, I didn't know them.  Not really.  Yet.

Anyway, we ate, meaning they ate and I was fed.  Like I said: finger food.  We also drank more rosé, meaning a little more rosé, no more than a half-glass each for The Sisters and a few sips for myself.  While all this was happening, I did get to know them a little better, not in terms of fleshing out the full details of their lives, but in terms of them continuing to be beautiful and pleasant and reassuring me that they weren't The Evil Sisters (probably).  That was nice.

What was not so nice, however, was the way Kelly and Gabby teased me incessantly (but not overtly) by ignoring my obvious embarrassment and helplessness, even if I did have myself under control.  They were perfect hostesses.  The very nerve!  I suppose I could have whimpered and whined and begged to be released and they probably would have done so, but I was too proud.  Or maybe I was confused.  Anyway, the very nerve!  I decided two could play at this being embarrassed, bound, and pampered game.  I'd show them!  First I'd have to figure out about exactly what game we were playing, of course, but when I did, I'd show them!

So, I enjoyed the food and the company and didn't prematurely expire from acute embarrassment.  And for the moment I managed to completely forget about the naked, pink-skinned, hemp-bound, red-haired fish flopping around on the floor of the sitting room with the magnificent fireplace.  Sorry Logan... you rat.

"Had enough?" Gabby asked.  (She was the one doing the most to pamper and feed me.)

I nodded, assuming she meant the food.  Was I full?  I was, but I wasn't stuffed.

"Well then," Kelly purred, "I guess we might as well put Logan to bed."  Kelly and Gabby helped me stand and we left the kitchen.

"Uh... bed?" I inquired as we made our way back to the sitting room with the magnificent fireplace and the naked, bound, and gagged redhead within.  "What about dinner?  For her, I mean.  For Logan.  You said you'd feed her later."

"It isn't later yet," Kelly purred.

She had a point.  I heaved a sad sigh (Poor Logan) and "allowed" myself to be led.  (As if I could resist with that humiliating leash still clipped to my collar.)

On the way we paused for Kelly to open a closet door and wheel out an antique wheelchair.  Yes.  A wheelchair.  It had a bentwood frame, a rattan seat and back, and a little footrest in the front for the would-be occupant's feet.  There were four bicycle-type wheels with rubber tires, two great big ones on either side and two little ones in front, under the footrest.  Kelly grabbed the wheelchair's handles and our putting-Logan-to-bed mission continued.

We arrived in the sitting room to find Logan still naked, bound from toes to neck, and gagged; however, she was no longer squirming, twisting, kicking, rolling, or doing her flopping-fish imitation.  She lay on her side on the carpet, sweating (just a tad), panting through her gag, and blinking her green eyes in tragic distress.  It was truly moving... or would have been if she wasn't such a rat.

Gabby, Logan, and myself watched as Kelly wheeled the wheelchair next to Logan, set the brakes, then lifted Logan to her bound feet, eased her rope-cleaved rump onto the seat, then planted her ankle-bound and toe-tied feet on the footrest.

"Mrrrmpfh!" Logan complained, shaking her hair from her face, once again.  She didn't look too comfortable, being floppy-fish-tied and all.

Boo.  Hoo.  My heart bleeds.

Kelly released the brakes and our journey continued.  I said nothing (not really having anything much to say), and, apparently, neither did The Sisters.  As for Logan, she was gagged.  Our immediate destination was an elevator.  Yes, The Mansion has an elevator.  It probably has at least two elevators.  It's big.  Anyway, the elevator easily held all of us, including the chair, and we rode up to the next floor, which by my count was the second floor.

The elevator's bell chimed—Chime!—the door opened, and Kelly wheeled Logan down a wide, tastefully decorated hallway.  Gabby and I followed.  We made two turns... (The Mansion is even bigger than I'd thought!) ...and arrived at a closed wooden door, more or less identical to the several other closed wooden doors we'd already passed.

Gabby stepped forward, pulled a key-ring from her jeans pocket, unlocked and opened the door in question, then clicked a switch on the outside wall next to the door frame and an overhead light blinked on in the space beyond.  Kelly wheeled Logan across the threshold while Gabby pocketed the key-ring, draped an arm back across my bare shoulders, and led me into the room in Kelly's wake.

It was a bedroom, a small bedroom, with wainscoting and wall-to-wall carpeting.  The furnishings were Arts & Craft (like the rest of The Mansion), solidly built, and included:

1. A full-size bed with a hefty wooden frame;
2. A wooden straight-chair with an unpadded seat;
3. Uh... that was it.  There wasn't even a bedside table or lamp.

I did notice a closed wooden pocket-door set in the left wall and a built-in chest of drawers on the right.  Do built-in chest of drawers count as furniture?  Who cares?  Both the pocket-door and all the drawers had brass lock-plates, and they looked functional, rather than decorative, like little deadbolt locks.  There was no window and no art hanging on the walls.  On the other hand, the blanket on the bed was very pretty, a Native American design that went well with the Arts & Craft "decor."

Gabby's arm remained draped across my shoulder.  That meant I could neither rush to Logan's aid nor flee back down the hallway.  All I could do was watch as Kelly lifted Logan from the wheelchair and unceremoniously dumped her on the bed.

It was only then that I realized the bedroom was actually a prison cell, or might as well have been.  The ambiance was better than any penitentiary I'd ever seen on movies or TV, but it was a cell.  I stole a glance back over my shoulder at the open door to the hallway and noted it was thick, apparently solid, and the locking mechanism was substantial and anything but flimsy.  I swallowed nervously—Gulp!—but said nothing.  I couldn't think of anything to say.

Meanwhile, Kelly had unlocked and opened one of the lower cabinet drawers, pulled out a rolled bundle of... something, and carried it to the bed.  The "something" was a mass of thin rope and dangling metal clips.  She deposited it on the foot of the bed, knelt, and began clipping clips to rings set in the underside of the bed-frame.  She then unrolled progressively more and more of the bundle, lifting it over Logan's helpless body and clipping more and more of the clips to the bed-frame, working her way up both sides towards the head.  It was now abundantly clear the bundle was conditioned hemp rope knotted together to form a net! 

It happened rather quickly, and now Logan was no longer a floppy-fish but a netted floppy-fish trapped on the bed under a mesh of 2" diamond hitches.  Kelly went back around the bed, stooping to tug on short lengths of rope attached to each of the net clips.  Each time there was a ripping sound and the net tightened a little.  I surmised there were friction-clamps of some sort between the clips and the net.  Rip followed rip followed rip... something like twelve in total, but I didn't actually keep count.  Finally, Kelly took a step back, smiled, and admired her handiwork.

Gabby led me closer so we could add our appreciation, making it a full-blown Group Gloat-a-thon.

The net was... tautish?  I know that's not a word, but Logan still had a smidgen of wiggle-room, so I can't say it was "taut."  We watched as Logan writhed and squirmed.  It was my considered opinion that my bungalow-mate wouldn't be leaving the bed until she was released.  Logan the floppy-fish wouldn't be flopping anywhere.

I only had one thing to say: "Wow."

The Sisters chuckled, Gabby kissed my forehead, then she led me back across the threshold.  Kelly followed.

Logan's parting shot was cut short by the closing door.  "Mrr—"  Thud.

I swallowed nervously as Gabby handed over her key-ring.  Kelly locked the door—click—then flipped the wall-switch—click—no doubt plunging Logan's cell into total darkness.

I blinked and looked from sister to sister.  "Y-you promised you'd feed her," I objected (whined).  Logan might be a rat, but it was unfair that she should remain a hungry rat.

"I will," Kelly chuckled as she handed the key-ring back to Gabby.  "I'll bring her a midnight snack."

Gabby pocketed the key.  She was smiling and once again her arm was draped across my bare shoulders.  "First we have to put you to bed," she announced.

And with that bombshell, I was led back down the hallway the way we had come.  Kelly was pushing the empty wheelchair and I seriously considered asking for a ride.

I decided not to ask for a ride, and our ultimate destination (my ultimate destination) was another closed and locked door.  It was one turn and several yards away from Logan's Cell.  I watched (nervously) as Gabby handed her key-ring to her sister.  Kelly clicked a wall-switch, unlocked and opened the door—and it was déjà-vu all over again.

The room beyond was a mirror image of Logan's cell.  That is, there was the same wainscotting, wall-to-wall carpet, Arts & Crafts bed and straight-chair, built-in chest-of-drawers, and sliding wooden pocket-door, only the drawers and pocket-door were on the opposite walls from Logan's drawers and pocket-door.  There was also another Native American blanket on the bed, but it was a different pattern and mix of colors.  The only other clear difference I could see was that the bed in my cell had a pillow (with a burgundy pillowcase that went with the blanket).

There, I said it.  My cell.

My heart was thumping (again) as Gabby led me to the bed and encouraged me to sit.  I did so, then watched as she reached down the front of her blouse and pulled out the tiny bronze key on the thin bronze chain that unlocked the tabs securing the buckles of my two-tone brown leather bonds (with bronze hardware).

Kelly stood (between the bed, her sister, myself, and the open door) and watched as Gabby unlocked and removed my collar... then eased me all the way down onto the mattress, flipped me over onto my stomach, and began unlocking and removing the rest of my bonds... which supposedly were Logan's bonds, meaning they'd supposedly been purchased to "accessorize" her.

"Well," Gabby purred as she worked on removing the elbow-strap-thingie, "I hope you're enjoying the start of your weekend."

I blinked in surprise.  "Huh?"

"The first few hours of your visit," Gabby clarified (sort of).

"W-w-weekend?" I stammered.

"Logan did tell you you'd be spending the entire weekend as our guests, didn't she?" Kelly said with a dimpled smile.

I continued blinking.  "Uh... no," I whimpered.  Yes, I whimpered.  I'm not proud of it, but I whimpered.

"What did she tell you?" Gabby asked.  She'd removed the "super-cuff" formerly binding my forearms together, flipped me over, pulled me back up into a sitting position, and was removing my left mitten.

"A party," I said in a near-whisper.  "She said we were going to a party."

"Before or after she talked you into modeling her leather accessories?" Kelly inquired.

"Uh... after," I admitted, "and after I was gagged and couldn't say no."  (The rat.)

"I see," Kelly muttered.  "I think somebody's going to bed without any supper."

"First we'll hear her side of the story," Gabby said serenely.  I was now completely free of my (Logan's) "accessories" and she took me by my slightly sweaty hands and helped me stand.  She then spun me around and unzipped my indigo-purple, strapless, formal gown!

"Gab-by!" I whined as Gabby tugged the gown down and over my hips.

Both sisters chuckled.  Gabby continued pulling down the gown, it slithered to the floor, and she helped me step free.  Next, she unbuckled and removed my shoes.  Meanwhile, Kelly gathered my former two-tone brown leather (with bronze hardware) restraints and clipped and buckled everything together into a convenient bundle.

I was now naked, standing, and facing The Sisters with my left arm folded across my boobs and my right hand covering my crotch.  Was I blushing and embarrassed?  You bet I was blushing and embarrassed!  I bit my lower lip, pouted, blinked, and tried not to squirm as Gabby and Kelly smiled and quite obviously leered at my naked nakedness.

"Absolutely adorable," Kelly sighed.

"Absolutely adorable," Gabby agreed, then pointed to the closed pocket-door.  "You'll find fresh towels and everything else you need to get ready for bed in there," she explained, then leaned close and kissed my blushing left cheek (meaning the blushing left cheek on my face).

Kelly walked over to the door in question and slid it open.  It disappeared into the wall, revealing a small bathroom.  She then strolled to my side and kissed my blushing right face cheek.

And then, both sisters strolled through the cell door and out into the hallway, taking my gown, shoes, and former "accessories" with them.  "Good night, Annie," they said in unison, the door closed, a key turned in the lock—Click!—and apparently I was in for the night... locked inside an Arts & Craft prison cell with all the amenities!  I was naked, but at least I wasn't netted to the bed like Hoot-and-a-Half Logan back in her cell.  Poor Logan... naked, bound, gagged, and netted... the rat.

And then, the overhead light winked out, but to my great relief I found I wasn't in total darkness.  There were dim, blue-green nightlights glowing from the baseboard on either side of the bed.  Once my eyes adapted they'd provide plenty of feeble, dim light.

I padded to the closed and locked door to the hallway, pressed my left ear to the surface, and listened.  Nothing.  I could hear nothing.  I noted the lock-face on my side of the door (as opposed to the lock-face on the hallway side of the door) had neither a keyhole nor a handle to turn the lock's bolt.  There weren't even teeny-tiny little screws to remove the plate.  I twisted the doorknob and it turned silently and uselessly in response.  I pushed and pulled and the door didn't even rattle in its frame.

Next, I padded to the bathroom.  I flicked on a glowing switch mounted on the wall just inside the door—and there was light.  The space was fully tiled, long, and narrow.  Directly in front of the door was a compact sink and a small mirror, and resting on the sink were a small bar of guest soap, a travel-size tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush.  The commode was... a commode.  There was a roll of toilet paper in a holder set into the wall.  A washcloth, hand towel, and bath towel hung from a hefty metal towel rack.  The far end of the space was an open shower stall with neither a glass shower door nor a shower curtain.

I turned back to the sink.  I suppose I could find a way to sharpen the toothbrush handle into a sharp point and make myself a "shiv" I could use it to threaten the guards and escape from "Arts & Crafts Penitentiary," but there was no way I was gonna threaten Gabby or Kelly with a shiv.  No way.  But what if it actually turned out they were The Evil Sisters?  I supposed I could burn that bridge when I came to it, but in the meantime I put my shiv-making plans on hold.

I used the toothbrush and a dab of paste as they were intended, then washed my face, scrubbing off the makeup Hoot-and-a-Half had applied back at the bungalow.  Next, I patted myself dry, relieved myself in the commode, then turned off the light and crossed the dark bedroom to the bed.  It was a short trip.

I turned down the covers and slid between the sheets.  The top and bottom sheets were high thread-count cotton.  The pillowcase was the same.  It was too dark to be sure, but I suspected they were all the same burgundy color.  I stretched, yawned, rolled onto my side, and pulled the covers up to my shoulders.

So... I'd been involuntarily gowned, bound, gagged, and dragged to a party that might or might not last the entire weekend, and now I was naked and incarcerated in comfort.

"Lo-gan... you rat!" I sighed into my pillow, then closed my eyes.