by Van ©2022
		Chapter 9

Eliza woke to find the sun had almost set.  The garden beyond Coco's bedroom windows was in deepening shadow and the clouds above the tree tops had taken on a decidedly orange tint.  Also, she could use a trip to the bathroom, but with her ankles and wrists locked in rubber-padded hinged cuffs, that meant she'd have to hop.  Her fingers and hands were still curled up in tight "fist-mummies" of black latex tape, but that wasn't germane to the issue at hand.  Also, the obedience collar was still locked around her neck prevented her from summoning help.  That was germane.  Not that there was any help for her to summon, of course, other than the Vespini sisters.  There was always a chance Tippi might be within earshot, but more likely than not their hosts had her bound, gagged, and stashed away someplace secure where she was hoping for Eliza's help.

So, that left hopping... or crawling... and there was absolutely no way Eliza Callahan was going to slither on the floor voluntarily.  It would be degrading, undignified, and could lead to carpet-burn.

Hopping it is, Eliza decided, rolled across the rumpled bedspread to the edge of the king-size mattress, planted her cuffed feet on the carpet, carefully (and awkwardly) stood... heaved a frustrated but carefully silent sigh, so as not to awaken her obedience-collar, and commenced her bouncing journey.  Despite their somewhat modest size, her boobs enthusiastically flopped and oscillated with every hop in a most mortifying manner.  Her ankles complained, but the cuff's rubber-tubing liners adequately protected her skin.  Eventually, she made it to the bathroom, continued hopping to the commode, sat, and conducted her business.  And even though her hands were balled into fists, encased in tape, and cuffed behind her back, she managed to flush the bowl and trigger the bidet function.

And that was where Coco found her, seated on the throne, her knees splayed as far apart as the ankle-cuffs would comfortably allow, wrists cuffed behind her back, obedience-collar locked around her neck, and glaring at her hostess' in a sullen, naked, and decidedly helpless manner.

"Oh darling," Coco chuckled, smiling her usual dimpled, infuriating smile.  "Did my cute little Aussie Tomboy hop in here like a kangaroo?  And I missed it?  I'm devastated!"  As expected, she was still dressed in her uniform of black designer jeans and tank-top (with pokies).

That does it! Eliza glowered, tugging on her handcuffs.  No more Ms Nice Damsel!  Get me out of these cuffs and I'll show you devastation, you bloody BOGAN!  Eliza's Down Under roots always came to the fore when she was angry, and the angrier she became, the more she became an "Ozzie Gull".

Coco seemed to sense she might have gone too far.  (Eliza's simultaneously furious and wounded expression was her principal clue.)  "I'm sorry, darling.  I couldn't resist.  Let's get you dressed for dinner."  She knelt before the throne and its irate occupant, unlocked Eliza's ankle-cuffs, and helped her to her feet.  Eliza let it happen.  Losing the cuffs more than compensated for the humiliation of cooperation.  She continued cooperating as Coco led her from the bathroom, across the bedroom, and into the walk-in closet.  Eliza realized she'd calmed down a little and was no longer enraged... not really.  She was merely... fit to be tied.  Luckily, she already was tied.. or cuffed, to be more precise.

Once inside the closet, Coco did, indeed, dress Eliza for dinner, as promised.

The final pair of cuffs were removed, leaving Eliza naked, her hands still mummified, still silenced by the obedience-collar, but otherwise free.  And for reasons that never fully coalesced in her still somewhat peeved consciousness, Eliza continued cooperating as she was dressed and further restrained.  Her desire not to spoil her chances for the promised interviews?  Yes.  Kinky curiosity about what lay ahead?  Certainly not!  By which she meant... maybe.  Both?  She wasn't at all sure.  It was... puzzling.  Anyway...

The gown.  It was a full-length, sleeveless evening gown in a shimmering, black, synthetic fabric.  It had a collar, wide enough to cover and conceal her obedience-collar, and the front continued down to cover her breasts... after a fashion.  The gown didn't have a traditional cleavage, but Eliza was showing a significant amount of side boob on both sides!  Her nipples were concealed, but just barely.  A pair of horizontal spaghetti straps stretched across her otherwise bare back and attached to the gown just below her inadequately covered breasts, doing their best to prevent a "wardrobe malfunction."  And speaking of backs, except for the thin straps, the gown didn't have one.  From Eliza's bare shoulders all the way to the first inch of her butt-crack... nothing!  Her bare feet were just hidden by the gown's hem, but only when she stood still.  One step and her feet, toes, and leg appeared, thanks to the generous slit up the gown's front.  It was a truly stunning (and revealing) fashion statement.

The restraint.  First came a pair of opera gloves, or more correctly, opera mitts.  The were of a black, stretchy, spandex-velvet material, fully compatible with the fabric of the gown, and stretched all the way up to just below her armpits, hugging her arms, wrists, and latex-tape fist-mummies.  And just to be clear, the opera-mitts had neither fingers nor thumbs.  Getting them on had taken a little stretching and tugging on Coco's part, but when she was finished, Eliza arms were reduced to inky-black, fabric-covered clubs.  But before Eliza could use those clubs to give her smiling hostess the pounding she so richly deserved, Coco removed the option with a truly stunning pair of diamond-studded cuff-bracelets.  The silvery, wide-walled cuffs were covered in what was either a fortune in stones or credible fakes, and constituted a pair of very bling joined shackles.  They held Eliza's crossed wrists just below her shoulder-blades in a not very stringent version of what she believed was called a reverse-prayer, but knew she might not have that right.  Is it still a reverse-prayer if my wrists are crossed?  No matter.  She was bound, and the obedience-collar was covered in pretty black fabric but still at its post, locked around her neck.  Finally, bound as she was, she could do nothing to adjust the front of her gown or do anything about the exposed upper origin of her butt-crack.

Eliza stood in front of the closet's triptych of full-length mirrors and glowered at her reflection.  There was no denying the gown was stunning... also daring.  Speaking of which, the diamond-covered shackles included a clever little bracket that clamped shut and captured (so to speak) the bow joining the gown's spaghetti-straps.  If she tugged her bling-bound wrists in one direction, the opposite side of the gown's front would pull to the side, threatening to reveal one of her nipples!  And if she got tired of keeping her bound wrists raised behind her back and tried lowering her arms from the maybe-reverse-prayer, the gown's front fabric stretched, hugged her breasts, and revealed a prominent pair of pokies.  All she could do was stand there and look simultaneously stunning and ridiculous... and scowl at her reflection.

Coco came up behind Eliza, rested her chin on her right shoulder, and smiled.  Eliza glowered into infinity and tolerated her presence.  "You look fabulous, Tomboy," Coco gushed, then took her by the arm and led her from the closet and across the bedroom to her dressing table.  She made sure Eliza was comfortable (albeit irate) on the padded bench in front of the table/cabinet and its oval mirror, then began brushing her hair.  "Oh, Tomboy," she sighed.  "I'm afraid there's only so much I can do.  Are you absolutely sure you don't want a nice trim?"

Coco locked eyes with her hostess/captor in the mirror and, her blue eyes flashing, angrily shook her head.  There was absolutely no way she was going to agree to let Coco strap her into the Barber Chair of Doom in the Chamber of Four Columns so Dances With Scissors could give her a trim!  No way!

"Well, give it some thought," Coco purred, then proceeded to apply makeup to Eliza's frowning/pouting visage.

Eliza had to admit Coco did a good job.  It was just enough to accentuate the prominence of her cheekbones, highlight her blue eyes, and lend a charming blush to her cheeks (or possibly an angry flush).

The final touch was a pair of diamond pendant earrings that went perfectly with the diamond shackles behind her back.

And then, it was Eliza's turn to wait while Coco padded back to the closet and changed.  She certainly couldn't do anything to assist... other than turn around on the bench and watch the show through the closet's open door.

First, Coco stripped to the skin, which didn't take very long.  Her jeans, tank-top, and panties went into a hamper, then she donned an elegant cocktail dress with narrow shoulder straps that showed a lot of cleavage.  It hugged her figure all the way to her mid-thighs, and to Eliza's infinite amazement, it was royal-blue, not black!  Go figure.  And she noted Coco was going commando, sans panties, like Eliza herself.  The difference was Coco had decided not to select and don a pair from her extensive, expensive collection of bikini-briefs or thongs, and Eliza hadn't been given any choice in the matter.

Anyway, there was no denying that Coco looked absolutely gorgeous.  The blue color went well with her firm, smooth, fair, flawless skin, and once she finished her makeup, brushed her longish, gleaming brown hair, and added a little red lip-gloss, she was a vision.  Eliza glowered in admiration.

"And now, it's off to dinner, Tomboy," Coco purred, and led Eliza from the bedroom.

Dinner was in the smallest of the mansion's formal dining rooms.  The large table was arranged for four in the very middle with one of the pairs of chairs on one side set unusually close together.  Silver candelabras and subdued overhead lighting set the mood.  The tableware was exquisite (and no doubt hideously expensive and possibly of historical/cultural value).  Eliza was impressed... begrudgingly.

Pepper was present, wearing an exquisite cocktail dress in red, similar to her older sister's royal-blue number.  Maybe they got a two-for-one deal at Overpriced-R-Us, Eliza silently sniped as she stared at Pepper's pretty skin, bulging cleavage, and welcoming, dimpled, and truly infuriating smile.  The Lady in Red was sipping what was probably a martini from a conventional cocktail glass.  Eliza wasn't into mixed drinks, but this one had the required green-olive-impaled-on-a-fancy-toothpick garnish, so she assumed it was a martini.

Also present (and sipping a similar martini) was Tippi, and what she was wearing caused Eliza to temporarily drop her Angry Tomboy persona and stare in open amazement (and/or appreciation).

Tippi was stunning!  Her gown or dress or sheath or whatever the fashionistas call such things was white, or pearl, or maybe even platinum-silver, and had a ton of sequins.  It also had narrow shoulder straps, hugged Tippi's torso, came to her mid-thighs, and the skirt was covered with swaying fringe of the same sparkly stuff as the sequins.  Pencil-skirt?  Maybe, but it was way too fancy... and Art Deco... like something out of the 1920's, the notorious Jazz Age.  And with her new Lulu-bob and the addition of a very long string of pearls... Tippi looked stunning.

Eliza's bestie was also decidedly not bound and/or gagged in any way!  No ropes, duct-tape, steel cuffs, etc., etc.  Tippi was totally free!  What's up with that?  Eliza was mystified.

Tippi squealed in greeting, rapidly padded over to Eliza, gave her a tight hug (carefully, so as not to spill her martini), then took a step back.  "Eliza!  You look gorgeous!" she gushed.  "Here."  She held the glass to Eliza's lips.

Eliza took a sip.  She confirmed the drink was indeed a martini of some sort, and was delicious...  Slurp!  ...also potent.

"I'll get you one!" Tippi added, then spun on her bare heels and padded to the bar set up on the dining room's side tables.

Eliza realized they were all barefoot.  They should be wearing ridiculously overpriced but stunningly beautiful high heeled shoes carefully chosen to match or complement the rest of their respective overpriced but stunningly beautiful outfits, but they were all barefoot, which was just as well as far as Eliza was concerned.  She wasn't a big fan of blisters, corns, sore toes, or falling off broken heels and crippling herself for life.

A bright smile on her bright red lips, the fringe on her dress swaying (as was her string of pearls), Tippi returned with a loaded martini glass in each hand—but before she could give Eliza another sip of booze, Coco snatched the glass from her hand.

"Thank you, darling," Coco purred, then took the sip herself.  "Go help Pepper serve the food."  She then held the glass to Eliza's lips so she could drink.

"Twenty-three skidoo!" Tippi giggled.  Then, looking every inch the Jazz Age flapper, playfully danced her way to the kitchen, pausing to sip her martini when she was halfway there.

"You look amazing, Tomboy!" Pepper called to Eliza as she followed close on Tippi's heels.

The door to the kitchen swung closed, and Eliza and Coco were alone.

"I may have to cut her off," Coco chuckled as she shared the martini with Eliza, "meaning Tippi.  What do you think?"

Eliza's glower had returned, and it was her only answer.

"If you promise to be polite and not spoil the evening," Coco purred, "I'll deactivate your collar."

Eliza stared daggers for few more seconds, then heaved a sigh and nodded.

"Good Tomboy," Coco chuckled, then reached down her cleavage, pulled out what Eliza recognized as the compact, rubberized remote control for her obedience-collar, pressed a button, then returned it back down her cleavage to the no doubt warm and cozy safety of her bosom.

Eliza continued scowling.  If this was a prank and the collar wasn't really deactivated, she'd be well and truly furious, as opposed to just charmingly grumpy.  "Thank you," she said in a near whisper, and her neck wasn't zapped.  Coco was true to her word.

"You're welcome, Tomboy," responded, took another sip of martini, then held the glass for Eliza to do the same.  "My question about tipsy Tippi was genuine."

"She's not a booze hound, if that's what you're wondering," Eliza said.  "She's not much of a drinker at all.  Neither of us are.  I enjoy the occasional beer, of course."

Coco smiled.  "Fosters, the superlative, signature lager of Oz?"

Very funny, Eliza silently fumed.  "She does seem a little, uh, happy... Tippi, I mean."

"My sister mixes a potent vodka martini," Coco purred.  "Well, dinner will be roasted red snapper and linguine in red clam sauce, plus the usual soup, salad, and dessert, all delivered by a very talented catering friend of mine... who has already gone home, in case you're wondering."

Eliza's stomach rumbled.  She'd been busy being bound, gagged and/or obedience-collared, witnessing restrained hair-styling, and/or languishing for most of the day and had missed lunch.  "I could eat," she admitted.

Coco's dimpled smile widened.  "Excellent."

Dinner was excellent.  Every course, from soup (consommé) to dessert (crème brûlée!), was delicious.  But then, every meal since the girls had arrived at the mansion had been delicious.  Why should a catered "special occasion" be any different?  As Eliza's fingers and hands were currently occupied with the task of being fist-mummies, Coco sat close to Eliza's side and helped her clear her plate, or rather plates, as all the various courses, each on or in their very own plates or bowls, were carried to the table by Pepper and Tippi.  Anyway... delicious.

Eliza maintained her sullen persona, but it was a challenge, mainly because of Tippi.  Eliza's partner and fellow prisoner (though not at the moment) was downright bubbly, more or less having the time of her life.  She was quite obviously proud of her new hairdo, smiling, laughing (mostly giggling), turning her head, and actually posing, always showing her Lulu-bob to its best advantage—at least that's what Eliza thought Tippi thought she was doing.  It was making keeping a straight face, much less a sullen face, somewhat difficult.  Tippi was also flirting with Pepper.  Nothing overt, of course, but the way she smiled at the junior Vespini and batted her eyes and paid rapt attention to every word out of Pepper's mouth...  Okay, maybe it was overt.  And she also kept smiling and winking in Eliza's direction.  Whatever she was up to, it was disgusting (and hilarious), and was throwing Eliza off her game.

There was casual dinner conversation, but not about anything that mattered, like what the heck Tippi actually did last night to deserve the punishment-coif that she was treating like her reward-coif?  Obviously, it had been something significant, so why wasn't Tippi whimpering and blinking her eyes, as opposed to posing and batting her eyes... and flirting.  Eliza couldn't make sense of her bestie's behavior.  She realized she was missing vital intelligence.  And what was going to happen now... meaning tonight?  And when was Coco going to stop all this nonsense, give her consent, and let them move on to the interviews?

Eliza continued glowering and staring daggers, but her heart wasn't in it.  She was... discombobulated... one of her least favorite conditions.

Finally, the food was over, Pepper and Tippi had cleared the table, and were in the kitchen, probably loading the dishwasher.  For the moment, Eliza and Coco had the dining room to themselves.  Eliza decided to confront her problem head on, which is difficult to do when she had no real idea what her problem might actually be (other than lack of intel).  Her best tactic was to start with a quiet, stealthy, probing patrol, then work her way up to reconnaissance in force.

Eliza cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  About what Tippi did last night... I'm sorry."

Coco was smiling (as usual), and savoring an after dinner liqueur of some sort.  She took a sip, then held the tiny glass to Eliza's lips so she could as well.

"That's good," Eliza conceded.  "What is it?"

"Vermouth amaro," Coco answered, "and I accept your apology, even though Tippi was the transgressor and you don't even know what she did.  Unless Tippi told you.  Did she?"

Eliza shook her head and her scowl became a pouting frown.  "No, she didn't... and it's driving me crazy."

"I see," Coco purred.  Obviously, she was enjoying the situation.  "Well... actually... Pepper and I have discussed this very issue—meaning your ignorance of your charming friend's transgressive behavior—and have decided the best remedy would be with a little demonstration."

That isn't at all ominous... much.  "D-demonstration?" Eliza stammered.

"We may as well get started."  She downed the remaining amaro in one gulp, then took Eliza by the arm and led her from the dining room.  "Pepper will be along to help," she added, "when she's finished with the cleanup and has put Tippi to bed."

Eliza couldn't think of anything to say, so she didn't respond.  She did resume nervously blinking, however.

Their destination was Coco's luxurious bedroom, specifically, her generous walk-in closet.  Once inside, Coco commenced the task of stripping her young house guest to the skin.  Removing the scandalous, sexy, and hideously expensive gown was the first step.  That was easy.  Next she unlocked or unlatched or did something to remove the diamond-bling-cuffs from Eliza's wrists.  The black "opera-mitts" were next.  She rolled them down Eliza's arms, exposing her fist-mummies of black latex tape as they came free.  Coco then produced a pair of bandage-scissors from someplace and carefully snipped her way through the fist-mummies, starting on the left.

Eliza watched as her hostess sliced open the left mummy... peeled the ruined sheath from her clenched hand... then started on the right mummy.  It was her first time getting a good look at the encasements, as until now they'd been mostly behind her back, and just as she'd suspected, Coco had done a stellar job of wrapping her fists.  The overlapping layers were uniform and smooth, or rather they had been.  Her hands were now free, also tingly and moist with sweat.

Eliza's bondage was now reduced to the inert obedience-collar still locked around her neck (and her desire not to ruin her chance of talking Coco into the planned interviews).  The scissors were gone, and in their place Coco held a modest coil of white, 4mm diameter paracord.  Eliza watched (frowned) as Coco released the coil and prepared it for use.  Enough was enough!

"No," Eliza huffed.

"Trust me, Tomboy," Coco chuckled.  "I have my way of doing things, and besides..."  She reached down the front of her gown and pulled out the remote-control for Eliza's collar.  "I'm still in control of the situation, by which I mean I'm in control of you, and you know how much I enjoy being in control."

Eliza stared at Coco's thumb, poised over the rubber-clad remote's red button, the button that, unless she was mistaken, would give her a disciplinary/motivational zap if pressed.  She heaved an appropriately profound and resentful sigh.  "In front or behind?"

"Behind, of course," Coco purred.  Her dimpled smile had never been more infuriating.

Eliza spun on her bare heels and crossed her wrists behind her back and atop her butt.  She stared at infinity in solemn disapproval as Coco's doubled cord tightened around and between her wrists in every way possible, was cinched tight, and a knot tied on the side of the bindings away from her newly mobile fingers.  She knew she might was well still be sporting fist-mummies for all the good her fingers and hands would do her.  There was no way she'd be able to reach the knot, no matter how hard she tried.

"A neat job," Coco said, "if I do say so myself.  Down."

Still glowering at the theoretical horizon, Eliza sank to her knees.

"All the way, Tomboy," Coco ordered.  "Tits and tummy on the carpet."

Eliza flopped down on her stomach (and boobs) as ordered.  Bitch!

Meanwhile, Coco had found a generous coil of white, ¼" diameter, braided nylon rope and was preparing it for use.  She knelt at Eliza's side and set to work.

A surprisingly short time later, Eliza found herself in a simple but stringent hogtie.  Her shoulders were yoked, her upper arms pinned to her torso, her ankles crossed and bound, her knees splayed and bent, and her ankle-bonds linked to the back of the body-harness, between her shoulder blades.  Her crossed ankles were directly over her crossed wrists and a single doubled loop of rope was cinched around both, binding them together.  Another doubled loop was around her elbows, but not too tightly.  It was part of the shoulders-to-ankles hogtie-rope-system, and was totally unnecessary (in Eliza's fuming opinion).  Anyway, her shoulders were pulled back, her ankles pulled forward, and she was balanced on her tummy with her nipples just brushing the carpet.

"There," Coco sighed.  "One final touch."

"Mrrrpfh!"  A ball-gag had miraculously appeared and was now plugging Eliza's indignant mouth!  Truly furious, the naked, hogtied captive fought her bonds with all her strength.  It was an exercise in anger and futility.  Coco had done her usual competent job of rendering her totally helpless—"Mrrrf!"—and mute.

Meanwhile, Coco had stood and relocated herself to the open closet door.  "Aren't you a picture," she purred, smiling at the still furiously squirming Eliza.  "But enough with the unladylike noise."  Still smiling, she produced the collar remote, pointed it in Eliza's glaring direction, and pressed a button.

"Mrrr-urk!"  Eliza's eyes popped wide, she froze in her bonds, and most emphatically stopped testing the ball-gag.  Her larynx had received a serious shock.  Okay, it wasn't that painful, no more than before, but obviously the insidious device was back on duty.  Mewling insulting commentary was now out of the question.  Bitch!

"Such a picture," Coco purred, then returned the remote to her cleavage.  "Now, wait here while Pepper and I complete our preparations for the demonstration."  She turned off the closet lights, plunging Eliza and the closet into darkness.  Silhouetted in the threshold of the closet door, one hand on the doorknob, Coco continued smiling at her naked, hogtied, ball-gagged, and collar-silenced young prisoner.  "I do hope Pepper and I don't get distracted by something and I forget you're in here," she said, then pulled the door closed.

Eliza squirmed in her bonds, blinked at the close darkness, but most emphatically did not try forcing futile complaints past the ball-gag tightly strapped in her drooling mouth.  Bitch, she silently fumed, once again, but this time her heart wasn't really in it.  She was worried.  Worried, naked, and helpless.  I hope the Vespinis won't be doing something horrible to poor Tippi, she thought.

"This is horrible!" Tippi exclaimed, then executed a delicate shudder and heaved a truly tragic sigh, neither of which served to in any way ameliorate her current condition.  They did, however, cause her new Lulu-bob to sway in an attractive and evocative fashion.

"I'm just making sure you don't get into any mischief while I'm away," Pepper explained.  She was still dressed in the red cocktail dress she'd worn to dinner and was smiling the dimpled (sinister) smile she wore more-or-less all the time.

Tippi was no longer wearing the silver-white "flapper dress" she'd worn to dinner.  In point of fact, the disgruntled, no longer happy and carefree little brunette was wearing nothing, other than the innumerable, intricate strands of white, ¼" diameter, braided nylon rope binding her body.

They were in Pepper's luxurious bedroom, Tippi was seated in a straight-back wooden chair facing Pepper's luxurious king-size bed, and Pepper was standing at her side and gloating like the wicked villainess she had long since revealed herself to be.

And it was true!  Who but a truly wicked villainess would order her beautiful and charming young house guest to strip naked?  Then would help her strip naked when she seemed reluctant to do so?  And then would produce an alarming quantity of the aforementioned white, ¼" diameter, braided nylon rope, all in neatly hitched coils?  Next, adding perfidy to turpitude, Pepper used a single coil of said rope to bind Tippi's wrists behind her back, palm-to-palm, then led her to the attached bath and ruthlessly forced her to conduct her evening toilette, providing assistance when necessary.

And then, they returned to the main bedroom and Pepper, using more rope, bound Tippi's naked limbs and body from shoulders to ankles!  Tight, multiple strands pressed her elbows together, pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her tits forward!  More strands pinned her upper arms to her sides, encircled her waist and forearms, pinned her already bound wrists against her butt, hips, and lower tummy, and tied her legs together at her mid thighs, above and below her knees, her mid lower legs, ankles!  And then (using white, 3 mm diameter nylon cord) Pepper tied Eliza's big toes together—which was just plain mean, in the naked martyr's opinion.  And then, Pepper used a second length of the same cord to bind Eliza's thumbs together, which was way mean.  And she wasn't through!

Switching back to ¼" rope, Pepper added a tight, restrictive diamond-hitch overlay of diagonal, interlaced strands from Tippi's shoulders all the way down to her feet.  She explained it was a Kikkou karada (not that Tippi was in the mood for Japanese language lessons), and whatever it was called, the tight lattice really intensified Tippi's helplessness!  Okay, truth be told, the added diamond web was pretty, but totally superfluous.  At some point, helpless is helpless, and Eliza had crossed that threshold well before getting her toes and thumbs tied or the what-ever-it-was-called harness was added.

And then, Pepper helped her sit in the aforementioned straight-back chair and used the remaining rope to make sure she stayed there.  When she finally finished, she took a step to the side, crossed her arms under her boobs, and smiled (gloated) at her victim.

"Where are you going?" Tippi demanded.

"Excuse me?"

Tippi squirmed in her bonds and heaved another sigh.  "You said you'd be 'away' just now.  So where are you going?"

"I have to help my sister with something," Pepper purred.  "You'll be alright like this 'til I get back."

Tippi continued squirming, but from shoulders to ankles, she was one with the chair.  Actually, she was using all her strength to escape Pepper's ropes (and cords), but her efforts only came across as a little futile squirming.

"This is horrible!" Tippi reiterated.  "No, I won't be 'alright.'  I won't be 'alright' at all.  This is mean!"

"Yes... it is, isn't it?" Pepper agreed, then spun on her heels and padded into the walk-in closet.

"Ohhh," Tippi complained, resuming her useless escape efforts.

Pepper returned from the closet with a long, narrow strip of white, satin-like cloth fluttering from her right hand.

Tippi watched with a sullen pout as Pepper tied an elaborate, rose-shaped knot in the center of the strip.  She knew what was coming.  It was obvious, unnecessary, and mean!

"You don't need to gag me," Tippi whined.

"I'm a meanie, remember?" Pepper purred, then thrust the knot into Tippi's mouth, cinched the cloth at the nape of her neck, then proceeded to wrap the long free ends around and across Tippi's mouth from either side.  The first left and right passes constituted a mouth-filling cleave-gag that more-or-less forced Tippi's jaws fully apart and compressed the rose-knot stuffing.  The next two passes reinforced the cleave-gag, but the final two were of the over-the-mouth variety, covering the underlying layers and Tippi's lower face from just under her nose to the tip of her chin.  Tippi was now well and truly gagged, and she didn't like it!

"Mrmpfh!"  Tippi squirmed and shook her head and did her best to stare Eliza-style daggers in Pepper's gloating direction.

"Poor Tippi," Pepper purred.  "I confess I am, indeed, in a very mean mood.  The way you posed and flaunted your pretty new hairdo for me all evening?  It made me horny, and you knew just what you were doing.  Didn't you, you little flirt?"

Tippi stopped squirming and her brown doe eyes popped wide above her gag.  Horny?

Pepper stepped behind Tippi and her chair, leaned close, reached around her naked captive's bound body with both hands, and squeezed Tippi's breasts.

"Mrrrrr," Tippi complained (but truth be told it was more of a moan than a complaint).  Her nipples swelled erect under Pepper's massaging fingers.  Little traitors!

Pepper's smiling mouth was less than an inch from Tippi's right ear.  "I may be a while... helping my sister, I mean."  Her hands and fingers continued massaging, squeezing, and caressing Tippi's breasts and nipples.  "I confess I'm rather tired.  It's been an eventful day, hasn't it, my cute little Schoolgirl?  Anyway, when I return, I may just crawl into bed and turn out the lights."

"Mrrrrr."  Tippi shivered in her bonds and squeezed her eyes closed.  Pepper's smooth, strong hands were being very mean (by which she meant arousing).

"However," Pepper continued, "if I have any energy left, I'll untie enough of your pretty ropes that you can hop to the bed and join me under the covers.  We'll see.  But don't expect much if we do share the bed.  I really am tired."

And with that, Pepper released Tippi's breasts and padded from the bedroom, turning out the lights as she left, as well as closing and locking the bedroom door.  Click!

Alone in the darkness, Tippi heaved a disappointed sigh, then settled in to wait—and by disappointed, she meant outraged and/or horrified, of course, not aroused and/or horny.

Meanie!  I hope whatever 'help' she's gonna give Coco isn't them being mean to Eliza.  She then closed her eyes, heaved a final sigh, gave her inescapable bonds one last halfhearted squirm, and settled in to try and take a nap.  Like Pepper-the-Meanie, Tippi had had an eventful and tiring day.