| Chapter 5
By way of
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.
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
"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
"Uh... yeah," I muttered after swallowing. "New
friends." It was a toast. It was the polite thing to
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:
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.
- 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.
- 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).
- Logan was
compliant... naked, gagged, and compliant, allowing herself
to be laid out and rolled around as required for Kelly to do
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:
Logan was naked and tied
- Big toes;
- Lower legs, around
her calves and shins;
- Lower legs, just
below her knees;
- Upper legs, just
above her knees;
- Mid thighs;
- Upper thighs;
- Waist and
forearms, with a doubled strand cleaving her butt-cheeks and
labia and linked to her wrist-thumb-hand-bonds;
- Elbows, pulling
them close until they nearly touched! Also;
- Upper arms and
torso, below her breasts;
- Upper arms and
torso, above her breasts;
- Upper arms and
torso, crisscrossing between her breasts;
- Her shoulders and
neck, with doubled hemp strands yoking said shoulders and
loosely looped around said neck and tied with a
And those elbows! Thank goodness for yoga!
Also, all the elements of her bondage were interconnected,
intertwined, cinched, hitched, and... all that other complicated
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
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
Don't look at
me that way. I might have been tipsy, but I wasn't
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
"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
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
"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
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
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
"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
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
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."
- A full-size bed
with a hefty wooden frame;
- A wooden
straight-chair with an unpadded seat;
- Uh... that was
it. There wasn't even a bedside table or lamp.
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.
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
"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
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
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
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
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
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
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