| Chapter 9
Okay, even I
have to admit Logan and I were adorable. Naked,
ball-gagged, hugging... adorable. It was disgusting.
There we were, naked, locked in The Sisters sinister dungeon,
and forced to cuddle together in terror! By which I mean
we were in Kelly's gigantic Arts & Crafts bedroom, which was
in no way a dungeon, and I had no idea whether or not the
bedroom door was even locked. And no one was
forcing us to cuddle. We were cuddling 'cause we wanted
to cuddle. But we were naked... and we were
To further refresh your memory, our spherical, 1¾",
silicon-rubber gobstoppers were identical, except for
color. Mine was baby-blue and Logan's was
pastel-green. And both of the black leather ball-gag
straps were secured by cute little heart-shaped padlocks.
And Logan was further silenced by the presence of the
stainless steel obedience collar locked around her neck,
supposedly ready to shock her throat if she even tried to
speak. Also, Logan's ginger locks were restrained in a
loose ponytail by the periwinkle-blue hair-ribbon (with big,
bouncy bow) that had been part of my former Sweet Gwendoline
costume. On the other hand, my luscious blond locks were
unrestrained, as was my ability to force inarticulate noises
past my rubber mouth-plug.
We hugged for a while. On my part, I was feeling very
pleased with myself for being kind and wonderful and
forgiving Logan for being such a foxy trickster. As for
Logan, I have no doubt she was feeling deeply ashamed and
eternally grateful that I had forgiven her for being such a foxy
And then... finally... we released the hug and stood facing each
other, naked, ball-gagged, thirsty, and needing to empty our
bladders. At least I was and did, meaning was
thirsty and needed to go. Apparently, Logan agreed, 'cause
she nodded towards a closed wooden door that was not the
door to the hallway, took my hand, and led me in that direction.
As expected, the door opened to reveal Kelly's gigantic and
luxurious bathroom suite: two washbasins, a commode, one of
those Japanese-style soaking-tubs (with a nice view of a
side-garden through a bay window), and a large, open shower
alcove with the biggest shower-head I've ever seen set in the
alcove ceiling and over the drain. Seriously. That
thing was the size of a garbage can lid. The suite was
fully tiled, of course, and the decor was—wait for it—Arts &
Crafts, but executed with a light color palette. Like I
said, gigantic and luxurious.
I let Logan use the commode first. As far as I knew, she'd
been tied in that chair in the main bedroom since before The
Sisters "helped" me get ready for bed in the guest bathroom so
they could have their wicked ways(s) with my naked body... at
least three times.
Once it was my turn and my bladder and I were availing ourselves
of the commode, Logan padded to one of the washbasins, turned on
the "Cold" tap and started the water running, then opened the
mirror-cabinet and pulled out a plastic drinking bottle with a
curved plastic straw protruding from its screw-cap. She
unscrewed the cap, filled the bottle, restored the cap, then
deftly inserted the tapered end of the straw in the right corner
of her ball-gagged mouth and squeezed what was no doubt a cool,
generous, and refreshing squirt of water into her ball-gagged
Wow. Go figure. Kelly's bathroom came equipped with
exactly what was needed to quench the thirst of a ball-gagged
damsel! Also, Logan already knew about it.
Obviously, this wasn't her first rodeo, not that I was
entertaining even an inkling of a notion that this was
her first rodeo.
Thirst slaked, Logan refilled the bottle and set it on the
counter next to the washbasin. She then turned to face me,
bowed, and indicated the bottle with a graceful but silent
two-handed gesture. (Ta-dah!)
I rolled my eyes, flushed the john, then stood, padded to the
washbasin, and quenched my thirst.
Meanwhile, Logan had removed her periwinkle-blue hair ribbon and
draped it over a towel rack, padded to the shower alcove, and
began programming what appeared to be its touch-screen digital
control panel. That's right, Kelly's shower had (and
apparently needed) a touch-screen digital control panel!
Talk about fancy! And the fact that Logan didn't have to
puzzle out the display's menu was more evidence of
rodeo experience. With a final tap of the screen, the
shower head began emitting a modest monsoon. Logan padded
to my side and took my hand, then dragged me into the alcove and
under the water.
This was the first time I'd taken a shower with someone else...
simultaneously... mutually. And the girl's showers in high
school, college, and health clubs don't count. There might
be more than one naked female present on such occasions, but all
present were busy running soapy hands and/or washcloths over their
own naked, wet bodies, not others, and certainly not
mine. Logan and I were soaping and scrubbing each
other! It was shockingly intimate, but at that point, I
didn't give a rodent's heinie. We were both dirty and
needed to get clean... myself especially... after my night of
being wickedly had by The Sisters (at least three times).
Eventually, with the help of dabs of bodywash and shampoo and
the enthusiastic creation, distribution, and redistribution
of floral-scented suds, we were clean. This was followed
by a leisurely rinse requiring manual diligence to ensure no
soap suds were lingering in our various anatomical nooks and
crannies. Next, we dried ourselves off with a pair of
thirsty, gigantic towels, and that included our hair. We
finished the process by sharing Kelly's handheld blow-dryer,
then shared her brush and comb set to complete primping our
ginger and blond tresses.
Finally, we were ready to face the day... if you can call being
naked and ball-gagged "ready."
It occurred to me we could do something about the naked
part. I padded back into the bedroom with Logan close
behind. There was yet another closed door that
wasn't the door to the hallway, and I correctly surmised it was
the door to Kelly's walk-in closet. And of course Kelly
would have a walk-in closet. All rich people have
walk-in closets. It's a baseline requirement of being
Anyway, I opened the door, noted the racks of shoes and
clothing, then padded to a built-in chest of drawers, opened the
top drawer, and sure as shootin', found rows of neatly folded
panties in a kaleidoscope of mostly pastel colors. I
reached for a salmon-pink pair—and the drawer very nearly
slammed shut on my fingers!
The drawer-slamming culprit was Logan, of course. I turned
and glowered at my bungalow-mate. "Mr-rrr!"
Logan shook her head, took my right hand, and led me from the
closet, across the bedroom, towards the bedroom door, opened
the bedroom door, and led me down the hallway.
Obviously, experienced rodeo clown that she was, Logan already
knew the Sunday dress code at The Mansion. With respect to
herself and myself, clothing wasn't optional, it was forbidden.
It was only then that I remembered that last night Kelly had
promised that tomorrow I'd be witnessing "mean" stuff, meaning mean
mean stuff; and last night's tomorrow was today's today!
My eyes widened and I skidded to a halt! "Mrrrk!"
Logan smiled (mostly with her eyes), did a half turn while
maintaining her grip on my right hand, then used her free hand
to deliver what she probably thought would be a reassuring
squeeze to my shoulder. We locked eyes, I blinked a few
times, Logan continued her ball-gagged smile... then she turned
and once again led me down the hallway.
I suppose I could have at least tried to resist, but...
Anyway, I didn't
resist. I let myself be led.
- That boat had sailed, the horses had left the barn, the
chickens had come home to roost, and... whatever.
- Neither one of us were in a position to demand, propose,
or discuss options, Logan especially.
Our destination was—big surprise—the kitchen. It was
time for breakfast. I just hoped the key or keys to
our cute little heart-shaped padlocks were on the menu.
The Sisters were present. (Another big
Kelly was wearing sandals, jeans, a tank-top, and no
bra. (Pokies!) Except for the absence of a pretty
and hideously expensive blouse over the tank-top, it was the
senior sister's usual weekend-at-home costume (as far as I
Gabby, however, was wearing nothing but a very pretty
cotton robe. It was predominately sky-blue, but with
navy-blue, heather-gray, milk-white, and dark-red stripes,
chevrons, and tiny diamond-shaped blocks. It was another
blanket pattern and may have been Mexican, but in any
case, it was very pretty and complemented Gabby's
baby-blue eyes. And while I admit I had no objective
evidence either way, if forced to guess I would have said
Gabby that wasn't wearing panties underneath. It seemed
"The girls are here," Kelly announced, smiling broadly.
She then stepped forward and pulled me into a warm embrace.
Kissing and squeezing was involved, mostly on Kelly's
part. I did hug her back, but mostly I blushed,
stood there, and ignored the delicate thrill of, uh, "acute
embarrassment" quivering between my legs.
Gabby had been whisking eggs in a bowl, but she quickly set it
down, stepped forward, and hugged and kissed Logan.
"My brave little Annie," Kelly whispered in my ear, then The
Sisters swapped. That is, Gabby directed Logan into her
big sister's arms, Kelly directed myself into her little
sister's arms, and it was round two of good morning hugs and
kisses. It was also round two of mortified blushing and
tingling sensations between my legs.
The Sisters released us and returned to whisking eggs and
And speaking of coffee... Logan and I padded to the
coffeemaker, stared at the half-full glass pot of steaming
hot, brown, morning ambrosia—then at The Sisters—then
at the pot—then at The Sisters. Lather-rinse-repeat.
"Precious," Gabby chuckled. "Like a couple of house cats
eyeing an empty food-dish."
"Don't be mean," Kelly chuckled as she set down her mug and
headed in our direction. "That's my job this
morning." She reached down the front of her tank-top and
produced a cute little heart-shaped key that had been dangling
on a gold chain between her breasts. She then stepped
behind me and unlocked the cute little heart-shaped padlock
securing my baby-blue ball-gag. And then...
Three guesses as to whether Kelly re-secured the strap's buckle
on the first hole. Of course she re-secured the
buckle on the strap's first hole. Kelly then plucked the
baby-blue silicon-rubber gobstopper from my mouth, turned to
Logan, and unlocked her pastel-green ball-gag and re-secured its
buckle on the strap's first hole.
And then—"Oh!"—Kelly turned back, pulled me into another hug,
and kissed my now ball-gag-free mouth. I'd been busy
performing the usual post-gag exercise of working my jaw and
licking my lips, but now Kelly was doing it for me. That
meant that once Logan plucked the pastel-greed ball from
her own mouth, she had to work her own jaw
and lick her own lips.
Serves her right.
The downside of Kelly's kiss was it gave Logan first crack at
the coffee pot. I watched from the corner of my eye (still
busy tongue-wrestling with Kelly) as Logan opened a cabinet,
selected a pair of glazed, handmade mugs from a shelf (one
rust-brown and olive-green and the other cobalt-blue and
granite-gray), and poured coffee into the cobalt-blue and
Needless to say, I was torn between two issues:
Like I said... torn.
- Continuing to hug
and kiss a curvaceous, fit, tan, very beautiful,
40-something woman who was half of the team of curvaceous,
fit, tan, very beautiful, 40-something women who
had ravished my helpless body last night (at least three
- Pouring and
enjoying my own first cup of morning coffee.
Kelly made the call for me by completing her detailed oral
examination of my teeth, tongue, and tonsils, releasing the hug,
gently grasping my upper arms, turning me to face my
bungalow-mate, and giving me a gentle push.
I padded the two short steps to Logan, ready to shove her aside
and pour myself a mug of coffee... when Logan redeemed
herself and was reinstated as my Best Friend Forever by
handing me the cobalt-blue and granite-gray steaming mug of
Yum! It was delicious! It really hit the
spot! It was coffee!
Meanwhile, Gabby had completed her egg-whisking and was moving
on to other tasks. Obviously, she was in charge of cooking
Sunday breakfast and it turned out scrambled eggs were not on
the menu. Eventually, we were treated to:
That's why Gabby had
been whisking eggs, she'd been making hollandaise sauce from
- Diced, oven
roasted potatoes (with a little diced onion, Sea Salt, and a
hint of garlic).
- Eggs Benedict
(English muffins, Canadian bacon, poached eggs, and
Breakfast was delicious, and Logan was an especially huge fan of
Gabby's culinary efforts. I couldn't help but smile as
Logan shoveled a full helping into her mouth, then graciously
accepted seconds. Either she was a much bigger fan of
Eggs Benedict than I'd never suspected, or she was really hungry.
Remembering that Logan had been tied to a chair in Kelly's
bedroom and had therefore missed last night's chicken dinner, I
decided to put my money on hungry. Poor Logan.
Don't look at me that way. I know she's a foxy trickster
responsible for all my... uh... woes, but I'd already forgiven
her. She was my best friend and bungalow-mate, and most
importantly of all... Logan was a Bringer of Coffee!
So... we ate Eggs Benedict and made small talk. More
precisely, we ate Eggs Benedict, drank coffee, and Kelly, Gabby,
and I made small talk. Thanks to the obedience-collar,
Logan was mute. The topics of discussion were:
It turns out The
Sisters frequent restaurants I've always wanted to try but can't
really afford, as well as some really nice places that I can
afford. No surprise there.
restaurants in town that we enjoyed;
As for "gardening," with respect to The Sisters, that meant
landscape design, with others doing the actual work and
maintenance. And with respect to the
natatorium/greenhouse, it meant more or less the same
thing. They had the fun of planning things out and the
enjoyment of the results, but without the toil of making it all
real. I have zero interest in any kind of
horticulture. Who has the time? Also, my thumbs are
Being ungagged but still obedience-collared, all Logan could do
was shovel food into her mouth, chew, swallow, and listen.
Also, what had happened in Kelly's gigantic bed last night was
most assuredly not discussed. Maybe we'd talk
about it later. Maybe not. Anyway, I wasn't
about to bring it up. (Bwack, bwack, bwack, bwack.)
Something else I wasn't about to bring up was exactly how "mean"
things were going to get once breakfast was over.
And then breakfast was over.
We carried our plates to the sink, then—"Oh!—Gabby planted a
kiss on my startled lips, took Logan by the hand, and led her
away. "See ya soon!" the junior Sister called back over
her shoulder as the kitchen door swung closed.
"C'mon, Annie," Kelly said with a smile. "Let's get this
I blinked, then swallowed. "Uh... okay."
And we did, by which I mean we cleaned the kitchen. Soon
the plates, mugs, flatware, and everything else that was
dishwasher safe was in dishwasher, we'd scrubbed the rest at the
sink and it was all drying in the dish rack, and then wiped down
the counters, stove-top, and table. Mission accomplished!
So, I assumed, it was now the Moment of Truth, and I was right.
I watched (nervously) as Kelly retrieved a blue nylon gym bag
from where it had been lurking in the corner in a sinister and
suspicious manner. She placed it on the kitchen counter,
unzipped a side pocket, reached in, and pulled out—[cue ominous
music]—a pair of latex gloves.
They were milky-white, the kind worn by medical types and police
people while they save lives and examine crime scenes,
"Sit, Annie," Kelly offered (ordered) as she pulled out a chair,
then sat in the neighboring chair.
Being a big, fat, curious chicken, I had no choice but
to comply. I planted my naked butt in the seat and watched
as Kelly helped me don the gloves. Of course, donning the
gloves would have been difficult if I hadn't been more than
compliant. Active cooperation was required, and truth be
told I did most of the work. Soon, the deed was done and I
was wearing a pair of skintight, milky-white, latex
Next, Kelly reached back into the side pocket and produced a
roll of gray duct-tape. I think it was
duct-tape. In any case, it wasn't your usual Home
Depot/Lowe's Hardware duct-tape. It was fabric-based, and
had a strong adhesive, which I could tell by the effort required
for Kelly to pull a long length from the roll, but was a little
more stretchy than normal. I watched with rapt attention
as she took hold of my right hand, encouraged me to make a fist,
then tightly, neatly, mummified the hand. It disappeared
under multiple overlapping layers of tape... and then she did
the same thing to my left hand... and I let her.
My heart was hammering and my throat dry. Why did I let
her render my fingers and thumbs utterly useless? Uh... I
don't know. Because.
Now that it was far too late, completely moot, and in no way
open to debate, I complained. "Kel-ly!" I whined,
pouting and biting my lower lip for added effect.
"It's so you can experience being completely helpless,
darling," Kelly explained (sort of).
"Completely?" I whined.
"Completely," Kelly confirmed, then unzipped the gym-bag's main
compartment, reached inside, and pulled out a coil of ¼" nylon
rope! Its color was... cadet-blue? I think that
color is called "cadet-blue." Anyway, the rope was a muted
blue-gray and a little more more blue than gray.
"Are you going to be a good girl?" Kelly inquired as she
released and unraveled the coil, found the center, doubled it,
and prepared it for use.
"Huh?" I muttered, staring at the rope. "Uh, yeah,
sure." My heart was still hammering, but my throat was no
longer dry. I figured I might as well be good. As
the saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Kelly set to work and the task at hand—making me "completely
helpless"—took something like fifteen minutes. The end
result was another box-tie. Multiple cadet-blue bands
yoked my shoulders, pinned my upper-arms to my torso, and passed
above and below my breasts. And this particular example of
the form was elaborate, with interwoven paired strands and more
lateral elements than "usual." However, in my now
completely helpless opinion, this box-tie was also a little more
"mean" than usual. Kelly had raised my mummified hands
past the horizontal, crossed my wrists, and lashed them against
the back of the harness just below my shoulder blades! It
didn't hurt (for now), but it most definitely was... stringent.
And Kelly wasn't finished! She encircled my waist with
multiple strands, dove between my legs to give me a labia and
butt-cheek cleaving crotch-rope (with pussy-knots), then linked
the result to the rest of the box-tie so it acted as a lower
anchor for the harness, just as the shoulder-yoke acted as an upper
anchor. One other detail: a diamond-shaped rope-frame
pressed against my tummy with my belly-button in the
center. It was cute... I suppose.
My heart was pounding (still) and I had to admit that from the
crotch up I was, indeed, "completely helpless," as well as a Shibari/macramé
work of art! Kelly's Shibari/macramé work
"Kel-ly," I whined, blinking, blushing, and weakly
squirming in my bonds.
"Hush," Kelly chuckled, then indicated the chair, again.
I sat (ignoring the intimate nudge of the knotted crotch-rope)
and focused on my smiling (hot) hostess/handler/rigger.
"I want to make sure you to understand something very important
about our games in general," Kelly purred, "especially today."
I nodded (and managed not to start blinking again).
"We're all fans of tight, inescapable bondage, as you're well
aware," Kelly continued.
No duh, I thought (but somehow managed to keep my
snarkiness to my box-tied self).
"The idea is to render the bottom in the scenario completely
helpless," Kelly lectured.
I nodded, gravely—then frowned. "Wait. Bottom?"
Kelly chuckled. "Let's leave a discussion of psycho-sexual
dynamics for another time," she suggested.
"You brought it up," I pouted.
"So I did," Kelly purred, then stood, stepped behind my chair,
"Kel-ly! No! Mrrrmpfh!"
—popped my baby-blue ball-gag in my mouth, buckled the strap at
the nape of my neck, under my hair, then locked the buckle with
the cute little heart-shaped padlock!
I tossed my head in a vain attempt to restore order to my
beautiful blond tresses, then glared at my
hostess/handler/rigger as she sat back down.
"Now I can complete my lecture without interruption," Kelly
purred. "I want you to understand that while we all
believe in tight bondage and complete helplessness, even when
it's our turn to be the one on the bottom, there are definite
rules, and rule number one is: Do no harm. No
unsightly rope-burns or bruises, no sprained joints, and above
all, no bloodletting. Understand?"
I nodded my ball-gagged head. I've always been a big fan
of not doing harm, especially with respect to myself and the
people I love.
"Good," Kelly smiled. "This morning you're going to
witness some 'mean' things, like I promised, but always remember
that no matter what you see, there will be no lasting harm to
the bottom. Do you believe me, Annie?"
I nodded again. I did believe her.
Really. I was still debating whether or not I should be
terrified, but I believed her.
Still smiling, Kelly and nodded, then unzipped another
side-pocket of the gym bag and reached inside.
My eyes popped wide. Kelly had pulled out a second
stainless steel obedience-collar! It was identical to the
one that had rendered Logan involuntarily mute! "Mrrrf?"
"Don't have kittens, Kitten," Kelly chuckled, then her smile
turned coy. "And don't think we didn't notice Red calling
you 'Kitten.' We did, and Gabby and I agree: Logan is
'Red,' our adorable new friend Annie is 'Kitten,' and that's all
there is to it."
I made a mental note to get furious and rant about being labeled
with the nickname"Kitten" at my first opportunity, but at the
moment I had more serious concerns, like the open collar with
blunt copper contacts on the inside on either side of the throat
region that was approaching my neck! "Nrrr!" I complained,
knowing it might be my last chance to vocally complain about anything
for the immediate future.
Kelly closed the collar around my neck—Click!—and it was
a perfect fit, a tight fit. It really was a
choker. Luckily, it was neither all that heavy nor overly
Meanwhile, Kelly sat back down in her chair, reached back into
the same side-pocket of the gym bag, and pulled out a now
familiar wand-style remote control.
I watched (wide-eyed) as Kelly tapped the remote's keys and
entered a numerical code.
"You'll find that initially the collar's 'encouragement' to
refrain from making unnecessary noise is more irritating than
painful," Kelly purred. "It more or less tickles, and only
if you persist in trying to speak does it increase in
intensity and becomes an actual shock. I'm afraid
that is painful, but only a little."
I was blinking, of course, and panting. I realized my
rope-framed boobs were bobbing, so I guess I was panting.
"Go ahead," Kelly suggested, "give it a try."
I continued blinking, then shook my head.
Kelly's smile turned disturbingly evil (or evil-ish).
She gently gripped my right nipple between her thumb and
forefinger. "Would you like me to provide a little
I blinked and shook my head, again, then swallowed behind my
baby-blue ball-gag... readied myself as best I could... and
conducted the suggested (ordered) test.
The collar did tickle! And it was unpleasant!
And I didn't want it to happen again! And I certainly
didn't want to test the supposed tickle-becomes-a-shock feature
by conducting a prolonged test. A shiver of
distress quivered through my completely helpless body.
"Almost ready," Kelly said, then unzipped yet another of the
gym-bag's side-pockets and produced a wide roll of off-white
Elastoplast tape and a pair of stainless steel bandage scissors.
That's right! She gave me the same
ball-gag/Elastoplast/obedience-collar super-gag-combo Logan had
worn last night in the bedroom! I don't know if my
lips and the protruding part of my ball-gag stood out
in three-dimensional cuteness, the way Logan's lips and gag had
stood out, but it was a safe bet. If I hadn't been
double-gagged and obedience-collared, I would have
asked Kelly to take me to a mirror so I could check.
"Now," Kelly said as she returned the scissors and roll to the
side-pocket and zipped it closed, "I haven't tied your legs
because we have a little walking to do." She stood, slung
the gym-bag over her shoulder by its carrying strap (with
shoulder pad), and started for the kitchen door. She then
turned and paused. "Are you coming, Kitten?"
I blinked and tugged on my bound wrists.
Kelly was smiling her evilish smile again. "I have a
telescoping cattle-prod in this thing," she said, shrugging her
shoulder to indicate the gym-bag. "You aren't going to
make me fish it out and use it, are you?"
No. I wasn't. I definitely wasn't. I stood and
padded in her direction. She opened the kitchen door so I
could pass, and our journey began to... wherever we were going.
Wherever turned out to be the elevator... the S-3
level... and yet another unlabeled, gray-painted, steel door,
all of which was sinister but not particularly surprising.
What was surprising, however, was that this particular
unlabeled, gray-painted, steel door was unlocked and standing
slightly ajar. No barrel-type key required!
Kelly completed the opening of the door and motioned for me to
enter the space beyond. I swallowed behind my tape and
ball-gag (which also gave me an unnecessary reminder that the
steel obedience-choker was around my neck), and padded across
More stunning non-surprise: Beyond was a gray concrete cell,
about 15' by 15' with a 12' ceiling and blue-white LED overhead
lighting. Same-old-same-old, except...
"It's about time," Gabby chuckled as I padded forward, ducking a
couple of dangling chains. She smiled, visually examining
my box-tied and super-gagged body while I stared back, examining
her naked body with... uh... polite curiosity.
- There were several locker-size steel doors set in the
walls, and I could tell they were lockers because some of
them were standing open. The doors were thick,
featureless steel slabs with heavy-duty hinges mounted on
their insides. Those that were closed revealed
themselves only by hair-thin rectangular outlines and
- A complex array of steel chains ran through pulleys set in
the ceiling and walls, high and low. They dangled from
the ceiling or pooled on the floor, and there were a lot of
them, all pulled back to leave an open space in the center
of the cell. All terminated in snap-clips and most
incorporated heavy-duty springs somewhere in their lengths.
- A wooden stool sat on the floor in the open space.
- Sitting on the stool was Gabby, and she had misplaced her
robe. She'd also misplaced her panties, if she'd been
wearing any in the first place, and her hair was braided in
a single braid that trailed down her bare back.
Meanwhile, Kelly had entered the cell and closed the steel door
with a clang. This caused me to flinch, but I
continued gazing at Gabby's body and smiling face.
Kelly smiled at me. "Why don't you get comfortable," she
said, pointing to a corner of the cell. "This is going to
take a while."
I blinked a few times, then padded to the corner indicated and
gracefully (I hoped) settled my bare butt onto the floor, rested
my tape-mummified fists and box-tied body against the concrete
wall, and demurely folded my bare legs to one side.
"Good job tying up our Kitten," Gabby purred as her big sister
strolled to one of the heavy-duty, flush-faced "lockers," and
opened its slightly ajar door. This was stating the
obvious, of course, but also provided proof that The Sisters had
agreed to bestow the unwanted moniker of "Kitten" on my
"Thank you," Kelly answered as she finished opening the locker
door. Inside was... something. Some sort of...
garment? It was black leather (with chrome hardware), and
a great many dangling straps and buckles.
As it turns out, the garment was a garment,
specifically, a body-sheath of black leather (with chrome
hardware). Wait, is a body-sheath a garment? Anyway,
it was a body-sheath.
I watched what followed with my full double-gagged, box-tied,
completely helpless attention. When the proverbial dust
settled (and with Gabby's total cooperation), Gabby slid
her naked body into the sheath and Kelly zipped, buckled and
sealed her inside! The thing closed by means of a
vertical, heavy-duty zipper, as well as countless, mostly
horizontal dangling straps and buckles, and it was
complicated. There were a lot of technical aspects, not
all of which were obvious. Luckily for me, Kelly was more
than willing to keep me up to speed with a running commentary as
she worked on encasing her little sister.
Once again, I'll spare you the banter and cut to the end result.
The Lycra sheath I'd worn the previous weekend had been thin,
skintight, and stretchy (albeit inescapable), but Gabby's
leather sheath was thick, skintight, and anything but stretchy.
It achieved its body-hug by means of gussets that folded
closed and were pulled tight and held by rows of short, narrow
straps with shiny buckles. When Kelly was finished zipping
and buckling her little sister inside her sheath, the
black leather encasement (with chrome hardware) hugged Gabby's
naked body like the proverbial glove, just as tightly as my
Lycra sheath had hugged me.
Both sheaths closed with vertical zippers, and both had interior
sleeves for the arms, but Gabby's sleeves/pockets incorporated
wide straps that went around the sleeves, through the sheath,
and buckled on the outside so they cuffed her wrists, lower
arms, and upper arms. The sleeves alone would have done
the job, so the cuff-straps were completely superfluous (and wicked,
Additional horizontal, heavy-duty straps encircled Gabby's
sheath and her body, around her ankles, below her knees, above
her knees, her waist and lower arms, and her chest and upper
arms, above and below her breasts.
Also, there were inserts! That is, Kelly had lubricated
and, uh, installed a pair of blunt, rounded,
cylindrical objects into Gabby's pussy and anus! And Gabby
didn't even squirm! Okay, she squirmed, but she didn't
complain or put up a fight. She let it happen! She
even smiled and giggled!
And then there were the hemispherical breast-cups! Their
insides were lined with copper strips, like the petals of a
flower, and clamps and what Kelly explained were little
cylindrical suckers clamped to and surrounded Gabby's
nipples! Like I said, Kelly explained all this. She
had beckoned me to come closer, and I did so, then
suggested (ordered) that I watch closely as she made the
intimate adjustments required to properly outfit her little
sister's boobs. I couldn't see everything, but did verify
the presence of both the copper petals and the nipple
Next came a leather hood! It encased Kelly's entire head,
hair included, but had an oval cutout that left her smiling face
exposed. (Yes! Smiling!) It laced up
tight in the back and was followed by the installation of a
full-blown posture collar! It was one of those neck corset
things and was quite obviously very restrictive with
regards to future head movement.
This was followed by a combination gas-mask, gag, and
headphones! The gag was another
double-bite-protector-mouth-plug, the headphones cupped Gabby's
ears, and the gas-mask had a breathing mask, clear glass
face-plate with a gasket seal, and numerous straps to keep it
all in place!
Vertical, lateral, and horizontal chains (with steel springs)
suspended Gabby in place, supported her weight, and allowed only
minuscule squirming in any direction but up. Gravity is
A pair of flexible rubber hoses stretched from either side of
the gas-mask, up across the ceiling, then down to screw-fittings
inside of one of the open lockers. The same went for
numerous bundled and dangling electrical cords that emerged from
the sheath at various locations, crossed the ceiling, then
plugged into sockets inside the same locker. Finally, a
couple of lengths of thin plastic tubing stretched from the
sheath's nipple-region to the locker.
I suppose I should have mentioned the open locker before.
Sorry. It appeared to be some sort of control panel, with
sockets, plugs, screw-fittings, buttons, switches, dials, a
built-in keyboard, and a small monitor-screen. It was
Wow! What else can you say? Or think, as I
was wearing Kelly's tape, ball-gag, and obedience collar
combo. But still... Wow!
So... there Gabby was, in the middle of the cell, cocooned in a
skintight sheath of thick, black leather (with chrome hardware),
bound by a plethora—Yes, a plethora, I tell you!—of
thick, broad, and narrow leather straps, and suspended,
head up and feet down, in a veritable web of taut, spring-loaded
chains! Poor Gabby!
And then, as required by the Code of Villainy, Kelly commenced
her Big Gloating Scene. (That's the mandatory description
of the freakish features and diabolical details of the Insidious
Device at hand. You know, the Bond Villain Rant? The
Lex Luthor Lecture? The Dr. Evil Exposition?)
Again, I won't bore you with a faithful recreation of Kelly's
presentation. Here's what she revealed:
Gabby's Sheath (henceforth I'll refer to the encasement as
"Gabby's Sheath") had electrical pads at strategic but
unspecified locations that could and did deliver electrical
shocks to the wearer, meaning Gabby! The nipple hardware
was also electrified, and the tubes over her nipples and the
nipple-clips both literally and functionally sucked, meaning
they were pneumatic, diabolically pneumatic! The
copper "breast petals" were also electrified, and the vaginal
and anal inserts were both electrified and vibratory!
All of the above was computer controlled. A PC built into
the control panel ran a program that independently turned
everything on and off and varied the timing and
Finally, The Sisters had a digitized collection of old (very
old) buddy comedies (Abbot & Costello, The Three
Stooges, The Little Rascals, The Bowery Boys, etc.) and somehow
they'd added "special effects tracks" to trigger the various
elements of Gabby's Sheath at specific scenes, like musical
numbers, dance scenes, the "scary parts," etc. It was insidious!
(Depending on just how shocking the shocks and how sucky the
sucking might be.) Insidious, I tell you!
It was also... bizarre. I guess using old movies to
torture each other was a family thing. I'd never heard of
anything like it. Maybe they started as kids, watching
Saturday Morning Matinees on the idiot box with one sister bound
and gagged and the other tickling or spanking her helpless
sibling during the commercials.
Anyway, I watched as Kelly punched various buttons and typed
various things into the keyboard, turned and extracted a
barrel-key from the panel, then closed and locked the locker
door itself. That particular "locker door" was extra-special,
by the way, in that it had little folding hatches that allowed
the breathing hoses, nipple-sucking tubing, and bundles of
electrical cords attached to Gabby's Sheath to remain plugged in
when the main locker door was closed... and locked.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, a trio of red, blue, and green
lenses set into one of the lockers began to glow, and a large
image was projected on the opposite wall.
"Ever see any Olsen and Johnson movies, Kitten?" Kelly asked.
I blinked and stared at the image. It was an old movie
poster: Olsen & Johnson, Ghost Catchers. I
belatedly realized "Kitten" was me, turned to face Kelly, and
shook my head. Even in the reduced light I could clearly
see Kelly and her totally helpless, encased little sister.
"Ghost Chasers," Kelly said (confirming that she could also
read). "1944. Olsen and Johnson were never as big as
Abbot and Costello or the Stooges, but they had a following, and
this particular movie has Gloria Jean and Martha
O'Driscoll, as well as the vocal stylings of Ella Rae
Morse! Gloria and Martha both have pretty good
damsel-in-distress scenes, by the way. You've never seen
I shook my head, again. Gloria Jean? Martha
O'Driscoll? Ella Rae What's-her-name? And above all,
who the hell were Olsen and Johnson?
"Unfortunately," Kelly continued, "while the movie is remastered,
the system has no external speakers, so only my dear sister will
be able to enjoy the soundtrack, through her stereo headphones."
I'd turned my head to resume staring at the poster... then
belatedly realized Kelly was strolling towards the cell
door! I blinked in distress, managed to remember not to
mewl through my double-gag and earn myself a "throat tickle"
from the obedience-collar, awkwardly scrambled to my bare feet,
and tried to hurry after her.
"No you don't, Kitten," Kelly chuckled as she stood in the
threshold and kept me inside the cell by placing a hand on my
chest, just above and squarely between my rope-framed
boobs. "I have things to do. Why don't you stay and
keep Gabby company?"
Yeah, why not? I blinked in Profound Betrayal as Kelly
(still smiling) closed the cell door in my double-gagged face. Thud!
Then locked it! Click!
Meanwhile, the light from the projector had changed from steady
color to flickering black and white. The movie was
Also, either Gabby was a really enthusiastic Olsen and Johnson
fan, or the music accompanying the opening titles was triggering
the encasement's electrical pads and/or vibrators and/or nipple
I padded to the back wall, off to one side so my view wasn't
blocked by Gabby and her sheath, then settled to the floor and
rested my tape-mummified hands and box-tied arms against the
concrete wall and my naked butt and bare feet and legs on the
Gabby continued squirming, just a little, and the chains
continued shaking, just a little. I guess the opening
music wasn't quite over.