| Chapter 6
I had no great difficulty falling asleep. I was keyed up,
nervous, and/or generally amazed, but I fell
asleep. And I slept. Maybe it was the rosé.
That really was a good rosé. I made a mental note to ask
The Sisters where they got it. Maybe it's available in
And speaking of overindulging in rosé... I have to
apologize. Logan isn't really a rat. That
was the rosé talking. She may not even be a rodent.
If anything, she's a fox, and by fox I don't just mean a
foxy-cute fox, which she is, but a crafty and sly fox,
like the legendary Reynard the fox. She's a trickster and
a scamp and is totally untrustworthy! Okay, she is
trustworthy, but recently, she's shown an irritating propensity
for tying me up and dragging me to parties. That is based
on a sample size of one, but still.
Now that I think about it, Logan might be some sort of
fox/weasel hybrid, even if she isn't a rat. It's
just lucky for her she's my best friend. Otherwise, I
wouldn't even talk to her.
Anyway... I slept.
And then... I woke up.
I assume I was disturbed by the sounds of the key turning in the
hefty lock of the hefty door of my Arts & Crafts prison cell
and the hefty door in question opening. Truth be
told, I don't know what woke me up, and I didn't exactly spring
to full awareness like a startled cat. I was more like a
hibernating bear who'd decided she had no choice but to finally
admit that Spring had arrived. Anyway, the door was open,
the overhead light was shining, and...
"Logan?" I mumbled.
That's right, it was Logan smiling down at me as I
blinked and tried to come fully awake, not Gabby or Kelly (aka
The Sisters, aka The Denizens of The Mansion, aka our hostesses
for the weekend). Even more disorienting, my bungalow-mate
was neither naked nor floppy-fish-bound (as when I'd seen her
last). She was smiling and standing there with her hands
on her hips and dressed like... some sort of pirate? A
secret agent in some cheesy 1960's German/Italian spy
Logan was wearing black leather knee boots—skintight, black
leather pants—and some sort of black leather... vest? No,
I suppose it was a bustier/bra. Yes, I decided, it was definitely
a bustier/bra. Her midriff was bare, exposing her flat
tummy and bellybutton, her upper boobs bulged above the top
(which barely covered her nipples), and the thing had
spaghetti-thin shoulder straps. Also, the pants had a
narrow belt, and hanging from a clip over her left hip were:
Also, strapped around
her right thigh was a black leather holster-thingie with a
closed flap. I had no idea what was inside. Her red
hair hung in kinky curls, framing her disgustingly cute and
- A ball-gag with a
baby-blue mouth-plugging rubber sphere and a narrow, black
leather strap (with chrome hardware), and;
- A neatly coiled
length of black nylon cord.
One final detail: maybe it was a trick of the light, but I was
beginning to think Logan's kinky black outfit might actually be
a very dark shade of brown, possibly more than one very dark
shade of brown. Also, everything was covered with
elaborate, subtle, Irish or Scandinavian knot patterns tooled
into the leather. She was a... Celtic Dominatrix?
"Mornin', Sunshine," Logan gushed. "Time for breakfast."
I sat up in bed—the covers fell away, exposing my naked
breasts—and I hurriedly clutched and lifted them to my chin
(meaning the covers). "W-what?" I muttered. I was
referring to the situation in general, of course, meaning why
Logan wasn't naked, bound, gagged, and net-bound to her bed back
in her Arts & Crafts cell, and why it wasn't one of
The Sisters inviting me to breakfast. That was a lot to
cram into a single "W-what," but like I said, I was only
Logan chuckled, strolled to the bed, jerked the covers from my
hands—"Lo-gan!"—and lifted me to my bare feet. The
rest of me was also bare. She then dragged me to the
cell's tiny bathroom.
"Take a leak and splash your face," Logan suggested (ordered),
and released my hand. "No time for a shower."
I stood there blinking and blushing (and naked) for a couple of
seconds, then glowered at my sexy-dominatrix
bungalow-mate, turned, stomped (padded) into the bathroom, and
slid the pocket door closed in her smug face. I did,
indeed, take a leak and splash my face... then stared at my
pitiful reflection in the mirror... and sighed. This was not
helping Logan's cause with respect to The Great Rat
Debate. I slid the pocket door open and stepped back into
my bedroom/cell. Logan was still there, hands on hips,
smiling, and looking ridiculous (and sexy) in her Celtic
"Okay," I huffed, "get me some clothes and a hair brush
and—Hey!—Hey! Lo-gan!" The very
nerve! She'd grabbed me, spun me around, pulled my hands
behind my back, and was tying my crossed wrists with the thin
black cord formerly neatly coiled and dangling from her
belt! (By the way, I believe that particular style of cord
is referred to as "parachute cord" or "paracord.")
Okay, I guess we better address the 800lb gorilla laughing and
rolling its eyes in the corner. I didn't resist? I
practically cooperated? I let Logan tie me up... again?
I guess the 800lb
gorilla was really an 800lb chicken.
- I wasn't really
anxious and terrified. I was nervous and scared;
- When was I gonna
get a chance to play games like this again (other than next
"Don't you dare!" I sputtered. "I'm not going to breakfast
naked and tied up! Lo-gan—Mrrrpfh!"
That's right! After tying the final knot of my
wrist-bonds, she stuffed the ball of the ball-gag into my
sputtering mouth! And now she was buckling its buckle at
the nape of my neck, under my badly-in-need-of-brushing blond
"Mrrrpfh!" I complained again as she spun me back around, smiled
into my glowering, ball-gagged face, and used the fingers of her
left hand to comb my tousled hair from my ball-gagged and
outraged face. Her right hand had a firm but gentle grip
on my left upper-arm.
"Don't have kittens, Kitten," Logan purred as she continued
combing my hair. "We're going to breakfast and Gabby is
going to explain how things work around here."
"Mrrrrr?" I whined, by which, of course, I meant: "Okay, that's
reasonable, but why do I have to be naked, bound, and gagged?"
"Just because," Logan chuckled, "but don't worry, you're not
quite ready." Obviously, she'd understood the gist of what
I'd been trying to ask, but was unwilling to provide a truly
informative answer. Then, still holding my left arm, she
led me through the cell door and out into the hallway.
I padded and Logan strode (grinning, foxy, and dominatrix-like)
down the hallway. Like it or not, I was on my way to
We passed several more doors... then Logan paused the parade,
opened a door, and led me across the threshold into a
bedroom—and it wasn't another Arts & Crafts cell. It
was three or four times the size of the room where I'd spent the
night, and was fully furnished. There was even
art hanging on the walls. There was even a window, with
drapes. It was an actual guest bedroom. The decor
was Arts & Crafts, of course, but it definitely wasn't
Also, neatly arrayed across the foot of the queen-size bed was a
full set of clothing. Specifically:
Logan unbuckled my
ball-gag, re-bucked it on its first hole, then started untying
- A pair of
periwinkle-blue high-heel pumps;
- A pair of white
- A pair of frilly
white garters with periwinkle-blue silk rosettes;
- A pair of what I think
were white panties, very skimpy white
panties. Or it may have been a thong. Whatever
the proper designation, it had a pair of tie-strings rather
than an elastic waistband;
- A bustier or
bodice that laced up the front and was the same
periwinkle-blue as the shoes and garter-rosettes;
- A short, white,
linen pinafore dress.
"You didn't really think I'd drag you to breakfast
completely naked," Logan chuckled, "did you, Kitten?"
I worked the ball-gag ball from my mouth until it dropped down
and bounced against my upper chest, just below my chin. I
worked my jaw and licked my lips before answering. "I
wouldn't put it past you," I muttered.
"Oh, Annie," Logan chuckled as coiled my former wrist-bonds and
returned the black cord to the clip on her left hip. "You
"Don't tempt me," I huffed, rubbing my wrists (even thought they
didn't need rubbing).
"Get dressed," Logan suggested (ordered).
I continued rubbing my wrists and gazed down at my supposed
ensemble with a dubious pout. "You didn't tell me it was a
costume party," I muttered.
"My bad," Logan chuckled, then picked up the panties/thong and
placed it in my hand. "Need help?" she offered.
My only answer was a withering stare. It took a little
fumbling to put them on, but it turned out the panties were
panties. A gauze-thin, barely adequate triangle covered my
pubic triangle, a second gauze-thin triangle inadequately
half-covered my butt, and the strings tied over my hips and held
everything in place. The result was undeniably sexy, super
kinky, and possibly too risqué for the Victoria's Secret
catalog. I had no choice but to blush.
I sat on the end of the bed and pulled on the stockings and
garters. Now I was even more sexy and kinky.
Next, I donned the dress. It was off the shoulders with
puff sleeves, and the lower hem barely came to my mid
thighs and in no way hid the garters.
I fit the bustier/bodice around my waist and laced it tight, and
I had to lace it tight. It would have looked
stupid if it was loose.
Taken as a whole, the outfit was what I believe the Germans,
Austrians, and Swiss call a "dirndl"—or maybe a "mini-dirndl"—or
maybe grounds for arrest for indecent exposure. Think
Heidi or Maria von Trapp, or maybe the serving wench on the
label of St. Pauli Girl lager. Make that a Heidi, Maria
von Trapp, or St. Pauli Girl hooker! The only
thing missing was the traditional apron... that and conformance
to any recognized standard of decent public dress.
My shoulders were bare. My boobs pressed against the thin
linen of the dress and were pushed up and semi-supported by the
bustier. I had pokies! The skirt was too darn
short! (Pardon my French.) And...
"I look ridiculous!" I whined.
"You look gorgeous!" Logan countered, then led me to a
full-length mirror so I could "admire" myself. And while I
glowered at my reflection she lifted a brush from a nearby chest
of drawers and began brushing my hair, something that was long
"Lo-gan," I whined.
Logan didn't answer, but continued smiling as she gently brushed
my hair. Then, she produced a periwinkle-blue ribbon,
gathered my hair behind my head, and used the ribbon to tie it
together in a loose ponytail. And then—
"Hey! No!" I complained. She'd pulled my
hands behind my back, and once again was using her black cord to
bind my crossed wrists! "Nooooo!"
"Stop squirming," Logan chuckled, "and whining."
She tied her final knot, then peered over my bare shoulder at
our reflections in the mirror.
The truth finally dawned. I wasn't "Sexy-Heidi," I was Sweet
Gwendoline! I was John Willie's Sweet
"Oh no you don't!" I growled, stomping my right foot
(which caused my boobs to bounce). "I am not going
to breakfast dressed like—Mrrrf!" That's right, Logan had
reached over my bare shoulders from either side and popped the
ball-gag back into my mouth! "Mrrrrrrfh!" And now
she was buckling the strap tight against the nape of my neck and
under my Sweet Gwendoline hair!
"Don't be a spoilsport," Logan purred, once I was gagged.
Our eyes locked in the mirror. "Gabby will get a real kick
out of this."
'Real kick?' I thought. I'll give you a 'real
kick!' But before I could do so (or stomp on her
booted toes with my right heel), she took hold of my left arm
and led (dragged) me out the bedroom door.
Rodent status was back on the table for my grinning, gloating,
infuriating, Celtic Dominatrix-clad bungalow-mate, but I had no
choice but to allow myself to be led.
Breakfast, here we come.
destination was the kitchen, and as we approached the door I
found myself wondering what costumes Gabby and Kelly would be
wearing. Game of Thrones? I could see Gabby
in a Queen Cersei gown, only without the short hair (unless she
had the appropriate wig). Nah. Gabby isn't a
bat-shit crazy psychopath like Cersei. And as for
Kelly? Another medieval/fantasy gown? Nah. I
decided to wait for the surprise (as if I had a choice).
We entered the kitchen, and... Gabby was dressed in sneakers,
jeans, and a different blouse from last night. (How
disappointing.) Kelly was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, Annie!" Gabby gushed, smiling broadly and clasping her
hands together in delight. "You look absolutely—"
"Mrrrf!" I interrupted, stamping my right foot (and causing my
boobs to bounce).
"She doesn't like being called 'adorable' all the time," Logan
explained, smiling and deploying air-quotes for clarity.
She then strolled to the coffeemaker and poured herself a mug of
steaming hot morning elixir.
Smiling from ear to ear, Gabby stepped forward, put her hands on
my bare shoulders, and kissed my forehead. "Oh, Annie,"
she chuckled. "I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to
live with being called 'adorable,' because you are."
"Hah!" Logan laughed, then took a sip of coffee.
"You too, Red," Gabby purred.
Logan shrugged. "Well, yeah... but I don't mind."
Gabby rolled her eyes, led me to a breakfast nook with a
built-in table, padded benches, and a bay window with a pleasant
view of The Mansion's expansive backyard. Somewhere beyond
was the start of the city park, but the lawn was screened by
native bushes and a thick grove of mature cedars and seemed to
have complete privacy. Oh-by-the-way, I noted that by the
height of the sun and angle of the shadows, unless I was grossly
mistaken, it was going on mid-morning. Apparently, I'd
been allowed to sleep in.
Anyway, Gabby "encouraged" me to plop my linen-clad butt on the
bench and slide over so she could sit next to me. She then
gave Logan a significant look.
"What?" Logan responded. She was still smiling and sipping
"Breakfast," Gabby stated.
Logan's smile broadened. "No thanks. I ate when you
guys ate, remember?"
Gabby was not amused.
"Okay, okay," Logan chuckled, then set about preparing a
breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast... apparently for me.
Meanwhile, Gabby reached behind my head, unbuckled my ball-gag,
re-buckled the strap on its first hole, then gently plucked it
from my mouth and let the ball drop to my chest in ugly necklace
mode. This was the second time my gag had been removed but
held in readiness for rapid restoration, and the day was
young. It was ominous.
"Thank you," I said quietly after working my jaw and licking my
"You're welcome, Annie," Gabby purred. She picked up a
cloth napkin and used it to wipe the gag-induced saliva from my
chin and dab the shining drops that had splashed on my
chest. "Coffee?" she offered.
"Yes, please," I responded (and blushed). What? She
was dabbing my chest, just above my bulging boobs (with
pokies). Of course I blushed.
"Coffee!" Gabby said in a louder voice.
Logan heaved a much put upon sigh. "Okay, Okay," she
muttered, then left the stove-top, poured two mugs of coffee and
carried them to the nook, then carefully placed them on the
table. "If the bacon burns, it's your fault," she said
with a smile, then returned to her culinary duties.
Gabby ignored the red-haired, leather-clad cook and held one of
the mugs to my lips.
There's nothing like that first sip of coffee in the morning...
even when you're dressed like Sweet Gwendoline and your hands
are tied behind your back.
"While you eat I'll tell you more about how things work around
here," Gabby said as she took a second sip.
"Huh?" I said (profoundly).
"I'm sure you're curious about the details of Logan's
employment," Gabby purred.
I glanced at my bungalow-mate's back. She was busy beating
a pair of eggs in a small bowl. (She knows I prefer my
eggs scrambled.) "You mean Red," I whispered. I've
never given Logan a nickname. "Red" was what Gabby had
called her, of course. I considered it weak, but had
decided to give it a test drive while I came up with something
Oh-by-the-way, the spaghetti straps of Logan's leather
dominatrix-bustier/bra were actually the top ends of a set of
crisscross laces that held the thing tight against her upper
torso (and lower boobs) but exposed her spine and most of her
back. I just thought I'd mention it.
Anyway, if "Red" heard my use of her new moniker she chose to
"Yes, I mean Red," Gabby responded. "You'll find it
illuminating and it'll give you an idea of what to expect today,
tonight, and tomorrow."
I nodded gravely and accepted another sip of coffee. This
was... intriguing. (And not at all sinister and
I'll spare you
the blow-by-blow, meaning an actual transcript of what Gabby
told me while she fed me my breakfast.
Logan-the-Red just sat there, smiling and drinking coffee.
("Logan-the-Red?" Not bad, but I'll keep trying.)
Anyway, while our hostess talked I said "Huh?" and "What?" a
lot. Gabby was very patient. I'll break things down
into interesting factoids.
And speaking of
- It turns out what
I've been calling "The Mansion" has been in Gabby and
Kelly's family for four generations, was originally built as
a private sanitarium/asylum, and the upper structure was
leveled and totally rebuilt in the early twentieth century
in the Arts & Crafts style.
- Kelly was the
older sister (by two years) and had grown up in The Mansion
with only her pipsqueak little sister Gabby for company.
- Both sisters
married early, Kelly was a widow and had kept her late
husband's name (Travers), and Gabby was divorced and had
reverted to the family name (Parker).
the Sisters' interest in fun-with-rope emerged at a very
early age. They used to take turns tying each
other up, and supposedly The Mansion is uniquely suited for
this form of recreation. At the time I had no idea
what she meant and I could tell she was being purposefully
vague. Logan was no help.
Back to The Sisters...
- Logan is not The
Sister's maid. She'll make coffee and clean up the
occasional mess, but housekeeping is not high on her job
- Logan is The
Sisters' office manager/administrative assistant. She
arranges meetings (usually teleconferences) and helps with
the paperwork required to document interactions with their
gaggle of business associates and lawyers. She's sort
of their "Girl Friday," and obviously The Sisters hold her
in high regard.
Logan is also their in-house rigger and playmate!
Gabby and Kelly have this ongoing, uh, "thing" in which they
pretend there's only one sister living in The Mansion.
That is, the inner core of their business associates work with
both of them, but their peripheral business and social contacts
only interact with Gabby or Kelly and don't necessarily
know the other sister even exists. At that point Logan
added that one of the most challenging parts of her job was
keeping straight which contacts were on Team Gabby which were on
Team Kelly. Just to be clear...
Gabby's list of friends and exclusive business contacts: "Team
Kelly's list of friends and exclusive business contacts: "Team
Most of their friends and business contacts are on both teams
and a few are in on the "joke."
Silly? Yes. But it was their mansion, their
business, and their joke. And who was I to judge?
(...other that Sweet Gwendoline with her hands tied behind her
The added significance of this Team nonsense would only become
obvious later, once Gabby revealed their other joke,
meaning ongoing game, which she did next.
Every Monday morning, as soon as Logan-the-Red reports for work,
there's a meeting to work out the "Special Details" of the
week's schedule. A hand-written rule book and a set of
Advanced Dungeons & Dragons dice are involved. Gabby
was vague about the details, but when the rolling and
rule-consulting is over, when one sister's Team calls, they're
allowed direct contact; but when the other sister's
Team calls, they're informed that she (Gabby or Kelly) is
"unavailable" or "tied up at the moment." Of course, Logan
would relay any urgent business and get back to them as quickly
And if you haven't figured it out, the "tied up at the moment"
part was quite literally true! Whichever sister won (or
lost) the toss would be sequestered in some part of The Mansion
and would, indeed, be physically "unavailable." And they
did it all the time! Not every day of the week, of course,
meaning if, for instance, Gabby was the designated
damsel, one of the series of rolls of the dice would have
specified precisely which day or days of the week she
would be "unavailable."
Logan and Gabby were taking turns feeding me my breakfast,
giving me time to chew, swallow, and digest both the food and
what Gabby was telling me.
"Uh..." I said at one point, "doesn't if cause serious problems
when one of you is 'unavailable' on a regular basis?
Doesn't it cause your lawyers and business associates to spin
their wheels a lot?"
"Very perceptive," Gabby purred, then leaned forward and kissed
my bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee-flavored lips.
"Remember, unless there's a very improbable roll of the dice,
it's only one, or at most two days of the week, and very seldom
two days in a row." She shifted her smile to Logan.
"The greatest disruptions come when this one looses the
I blinked and gazed at my bungalow-mate. "You too?"
Logan grinned and shrugged her spaghetti-strapped shoulders (sly
fox that she was). "Yeah, I'm a player."
I continued blinking and staring. Logan getting tied up in
her work now and then? Wow! "And you told me
nothing about any of this. Nothing. Why?"
Logan shrugged. "In the first place, I signed a
nondisclosure agreement. In the second place, if I'd told
you, you would have run to your room, slammed and barricaded the
door, and hidden under your bed."
"I would not!" I responded in outrage. Actually, I very
well might have. Bwack-bwack-bwack-bwack.
(Big fat chicken, remember?) I would have come back out...
eventually. I sighed and willed myself to stop blinking
(and blushing). This was a lot to take in.
"I know this is a lot to take in," Gabby said with a warm smile.
See? I told you!
"So, with that in mind," Gabby continued, "we've prepared a bit
of a presentation to make things clearer."
"Presentation?" I demanded.
"Yep," Logan answered, then smiled at her boss. "Leave all
this and I'll clean it up later." She was referring to the
debris of my belated breakfast, of course.
"Don't be silly, Red," Gabby chuckled as she stacked the plates
and silverware, stood, and carried everything to the kitchen
sink. "I'll clean up while you get things started."
"Yes, O Mistress of mine," Logan chuckled, then took hold of my
arm and "encouraged" me to slide to the end of the bench and
"Lo-gan," I complained. "Hey! No!
Mrrrpfh!" That's right, Logan-the-Red had popped the
ball-gag back into my mouth, spun me around, and was buckling
the strap at the nape of my neck under my Sweet Gwendoline
hair! "Mrrrrr." That was a gagged whine. I
also stamped my right foot in protest, again (and my boobs
bounced, again). Why did I have to be bound and gagged for
a "presentation?" It was tragic.
Logan then took hold of my arm, again, and led (dragged) me from
elevator Gabby, Kelly, Logan (all floppy-fish-bound in that
wheelchair), and I rode up to the second floor? It was our
first destination. The button panel inside the car had
three stacked buttons labeled: "B," "1," and "2." I
assumed that meant basement, first and second floors.
Anyway, instead of pushing one of those buttons, Logan inserted
a barrel key in a small panel I'd assumed was there for service
access, opened the panel, and revealed three more stacked
buttons. They were labelled "S1," "S2," and "S3."
Subbasement levels? What else could they be?
Logan pressed "S2," the elevator doors closed, and the car
descended. The "B" button blinked and a ding sounded...
and we continued descending. Yep, subbasements! Darn
I have a firm grasp of the obvious. (Pardon my
French.) Ding! We'd passed "S1"... and
then... Ding! We'd arrived at "S2" and the
doors were opening.
No more Arts & Crafts. Beyond the elevator I could see
nothing but smooth, poured concrete. Ceiling, walls, and
floor. Concrete. One shade of gray. There was
a little mottling and a few very faint "fossils" left by the
forms used when the walls were poured, but everything was mostly
smooth, gray, sealed concrete. And I say "mostly" because
there were a handful of steel doors in sight, all set in steel
door-frames and all painted gray.
"S2" was a subterranean concrete complex!
Logan dragged me from the elevator. Okay, she didn't
"drag" me, per se. She still had a gentle grip on my left
arm and she led me across the threshold. The elevator
doors closed behind us. The interior of the car had been
wood-paneled and fully compatible with the Arts & Crafts
decor of The Mansion's upper stories, but the S2 exterior
elevator doors were not. They were painted... Can
you guess? ...gray, like all the other steel doors
in sight. Also, the push-button on the wall that had to be
pressed to summon the elevator wasn't a push-button. It
was a steel disc with a barrel-key-type keyhole in the
center. There would be no casual summoning of a ride back
to the surface.
By the way, the area directly in front of the elevator was lit
by an industrial-grade fixture set in the ceiling and covered my
a grid of heavy steel wire. Similar fixtures were up and
down the concrete corridors, but they were all dark. It
was... eerie... which was probably the point.
"C'mon," Logan purred. "Let's go find Kelly. I think
I remember where I put her."
"Mrrrf?" That was my ball-gag-garbled response, which, if
not for the ball-gag would have been: "Kelly?"
Logan didn't respond, other than to lead me down the left
As we left the immediate area of the elevator another overhead
lighting fixture winked on and the one behind us winked
off. I think the fixtures were LED. In any case,
they weren't fluorescent tubes that blink and hum when they turn
on. The fixtures shed a bright, blue-white light and did
nothing to warm the spartan, institutional ambiance of S2.
Step followed echoing step and we passed door after door, all
gray steel, all studded with bolt heads, all secured with hefty
steel bolts with deadbolt locks with barrel-key keyholes, and
all equipped with eye-level view-ports with hinged covers.
Overhead fixtures winked on and off as the journey
continued. We turned a corner... passed more doors... more
lights winked on and off... and I started getting
goosebumps. The air was cool, bordering on cold. And
it's not like I was nervous or anything. It was
the air temperature. That's why my bare skin was
S2 was a frakkin' maze. (Pardon my French.)
I think if Logan released my arm so I could make a run for it, I
might have been able to find my way back to the
elevator, but I didn't have the required barrel-key, so what was
Finally, we arrived at a door identical (as far as I could tell)
to all the other doors we'd passed. Logan opened the view
port, revealing a round peephole, then gazed through the
fish-eye-lens. Her lips curled into a truly sinister, even
evil smile, which did nothing to ameliorate my
"You're gonna love this," Logan purred, then produced a
key-ring, inserted a barrel-key in the door's deadbolt lock,
gave it a twist, threw the bolt, opened the door, then led me
across the threshold.
I took a look around—"MRRRRRF!"—and expressed a somewhat
surprised and/or alarmed reaction to what I found.
misplaced Kelly. Kelly was here.
"Here" was a concrete cell, about 10 or 15 feet on a side and
with a high ceiling. To the right was a big-screen
television mounted on a wheeled stand, plugged into the wall by
both a power cord and a coaxial cable. Mounted atop the TV
was a small video camera. And on the left side of the
Kelly was on the left side. She was naked and up
on her toes with her arms raised over her head! Several
tiny spotlights set in the ceiling were focused on her
Kelly was a naked prisoner teetering on her toes in a full
- Kelly's ankles
were buckled in wide, padded, black leather cuffs (with
chrome hardware) separated by a horizontal, gunmetal-gray
steel bar about a foot in length;
- Her wrists and
hands were buckled in black leather suspension-cuffs (with
chrome hardware) attached to a horizontal, gunmetal-gray
steel bar, also about a foot in length, and attached to a
vertical steel chain;
- She was gagged
with a black leather panel-gag (with chrome hardware) that
covered her lower face and cupped her chin;
- The vertical chain
attached to the 12" spreader-bar attached to Kelly's
suspension-cuffs ran up to a pulley set in the ceiling,
across the ceiling to a second pulley, then down the far
wall to a hand-cranked winch.
Her gleaming brown hair was pulled back in a tight
ponytail! Kelly's leg muscles were tense, her tummy taut,
and her breasts semi-flattened by her AOH pose! And I say
"semi-flattened" only because of the natural volume of
Kelly's boobs. Even with her arms over her head they had a
pleasing shape and her nipples were erect. Also, Kelly's
skin glistened with sweat. It might have been frigid out
in the corridors, but the air in Kelly's cell was anything but
frigid. Oh-by-the-way, Kelly had string-bikini-type
tan lines! Most of her skin had a healthy tan, but
triangular patches over her boobs and pubic area were
pale-pink. Her neatly trimmed triangular brown pubic bush
was curly and lush.
And speaking of Kelly's black leather suspension-cuffs (with
chrome hardware), the wide wrist-cuffs secured with two straps
and buckles each, leather panels ran up the backs of her hands,
and her fingers and thumbs gripped thick rubber cylinders with
leather straps that buckled across the backs of her hands.
That meant the force of gravity was distributed evenly across
her wrists and hands, or so I assumed. Also, the tongue of
each and every buckle was secured by a tiny steel padlock, three
for each suspension cuff and one for each ankle cuff. That
was a total of eight cute little padlocks!
Kelly was obviously in pain from her stretched joints and
cramping toes and was begging for mercy with her tearful blue
Actually, not so much.
"Mrrr." That was Kelly, not me. She was staring at
Logan with a gagged expression that was difficult to read but
was definitely not begging.
"Oh, poor Mistress," Logan chuckled, then closed the
cell door behind us, strolled forward until she was standing
close to Kelly on the opposite side from myself, then reached
out and placed her right hand on Kelly's left butt-cheek and her
left hand over Kelly's bellybutton. "Poor Mistress," she
"Mrrrf!" Kelly huffed. I think she was trying to say "I
got your 'poor Mistress' right here!" or
words to that effect.
Logan's hands had begun moving, giving Kelly a slow, gentle
massage. Kelly rolled her eyes (shivered) and glowered at
her smiling masseuse.
Logan nodded at Kelly's panel-gag. "That thing is custom
made," she announced. "The mouth-plug is a double
bite-protector of silicon rubber. It's very effective,
but you know what makes it even more effective?"
Obviously, she was asking me, but as I was ball-gagged the
question was rhetorical. I glanced back over my bare
shoulder at the closed door.
"Don't even think about it, Kitten," Logan purred. "We
went to a lot of trouble to stage this presentation, and if you
make me waste time by chasing you around the lower levels, I'll
get very cranky."
I twisted my bound wrists and tried to act casual.
Wouldn't want to make Logan cranky.
"Now, back to the topic at hand," my Celtic
Dominatrix/bungalow-mate said. "You know what would make
Kelly's gobstopper even more effective?"
I blinked and shook my head. I didn't know. More
Logan strolled to the big-screen TV's rolling frame. There
was a cabinet built into the base and she opened its door and
pulled out a... collar? It was thick and wide, like a
hefty choker, and appeared to be made of burnished stainless
steel. The edges were smooth and rounded, and from the way
she was carrying the thing, it didn't seem to be all that
heavy. I watched as Logan carried the oval band to Kelly,
opened it on a flush-mounted hinge, then closed it around
Kelly's neck. She then reached into the holster-thingie
strapped to her right thigh, pulled out a long, narrow remote
control, and pressed one of its buttons. I heard a quiet
click and Kelly winced.
"Lock engaged," Kelly announced, then waved the remote for my
benefit. "It takes a coded sequence to unlock the
collar." Then, she returned the remote to her
thigh-holster, strolled to my side, took hold of my arm, again,
and led me closer to Kelly's stretched, naked, bound, and gagged
form. "Pretty, isn't it?" she said, indicating Kelly's new
steel accessory. "There's a row of rechargeable batteries
built into the thing, a tiny microphone, and the throat-region
is lined with copper contacts. That's right," she said
with an evil grin. "It's an obedience collar."
I blinked in horrified understanding. "Mrrrk?"
"Yes," Logan purred. "An obedience collar. If Kelly
even tries to speak, she gets a shock. But don't
worry, it's more irritating than painful. The zap does
sting, but mainly it tickles your throat in a most
unpleasant manner. Inevitably, the wearer of such a collar
decides it's better to keep anything she might wish to share
with the class to herself. Used in concert with a nice
gag, the result easily passes for golden silence."
Kelly and I locked eyes. We couldn't say anything
(especially, apparently, Kelly), but we shared the kind of
silent, mutual commiseration that only a pair of helpless
damsels in a subterranean concrete dungeon being teased and
gloated over by a sexy, irritating Celtic Dominatrix can share.
Logan gave me a hug from the side. "Look, Kelly," she
gushed, indicating myself with a sweeping gesture. "Isn't
'Sweet Gwendoline' simply adorable?"
Kelly rolled her pretty blue eyes, I turned my head and glowered
at my bungalow-mate, and Logan smiled back with her most
despicable and impishly beautiful smile.
Suddenly, the television screen began to glow. Logan spun
the two of us around until we could all see the screen, and on
said screen we beheld... Gabby.
The Junior Sister was still dressed in the same blouse as
before, but as she was seated behind a desk I couldn't confirm
she was still wearing the same jeans.
"Good," Gabby said via the TV's stereo speakers, "you seem to be
Logan took this as her cue. "We are, Mistress."
Gabby smiled. "Then let's proceed with my part of the
I blinked and turned my head from Gabby to Kelly and back, then
listened attentively. Obviously they'd gone to a lot of
trouble setting all of this up, so it would be impolite of me to
spoil things by weeping, whimpering, pitching a tizzy-fit, or
otherwise freaking out.