The rest of
the day at Project Orgasmatron passed without incident.
Frankie was allowed to take her nap, Annika delivered the
promised breakfast tray, and Frankie took another nap.
Then, Annika reappeared and tied Frankie's wrists behind her
back. The naked brunette didn't resist. She'd
decided to only challenge her handler if and when she had a
clear chance of success.
Next came the promised run. Frankie pouted and muttered
complaints under her breath, but truth be told, she'd much
rather run naked on the sandy beach, even with her wrists bound
behind her back, than languish in her cell. At one point,
Frankie did a double-take. She looked to the side and thought
she saw a woman in a loincloth and bandeau leaning on a spear at
the edge of the jungle, but when she looked back there was
nothing there, nothing but green leaves and dappled shadows.
Dinner that night was some sort of seafood stew―fish, shrimp,
scallops, lobster, and vegetables and stewed tomatoes, all in a
spicy, thick, delicious broth. Conversation was
minimal. Frankie could tell the science-dweebs were a
little jumpy, maybe, but it was never revealed why they were
nervous. Annika was very much not nervous.
She was confident and in charge, as always.
The others had dressed for dinner. Annika, Andi, and Effie
were in skimpy tops―bathing suit tops, really―and sarongs or
lava-lavas or whatever you call the lightweight, colorful cloths
wrapped around their hips like long skirts. All four
present had their hair loose, and Andi and Effie each had an
orchid tucked behind an ear. Annika was flower-free and
her blond locks were too short to reach her shoulders, but she
had added a headband of cowrie shells to her ensemble.
Frankie, as usual, was rockin' her birthday suit, with her
wrists tied behind her back and the shock-collar around her
neck. She very much felt like the Plain Jane of the party.
Anyway, the meal was consumed and Annika led Frankie back to her
cell. She had no idea what was on the scientist's schedule
for tomorrow and had been too proud to ask. Annika untied
her wrists, wished her a goodnight―a sentiment that was not
returned―and made her exit, locking the steel door behind
her. Frankie heaved a sigh, dragged herself to the
bathroom alcove, splashed water on her face and emptied her
bladder, then returned to the main cell, flopped onto the
mattress, and closed her eyes.
I am so screwed, she thought as she drifted off to
sleep. Given what had happened that morning on the Sybian,
that was literally true, but at the moment Frankie was too tired
to appreciate the irony.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
Frankie was safely tucked away in her cell, Annika led Andi and
Effie to her bedroom. Both scientists were now overtly
nervous, which Annika found at once amusing and arousing.
Annika's quarters were spartan, as this was a temporary
assignment. There was an attached bathroom with a shower,
and one wall was nothing but glass, a sliding door and picture
window looking out on the jungle and the beach beyond. The
decor was Modern and luxurious, with wood paneling, furniture
with clean, elegant lines, a sofa and coffee table for
conversation, an overstuffed chair with a nearby standing lamp
for reading, and a king-sized platform bed. The lights
were on and the drapes closed.
Andi and Effie stood side-by-side and hand-in-hand, doing their
best not to look like a pair of meerkats invited to tea by a
Annika picked up a straight-back chair near the entrance to the
bathroom, carried it towards her "guests," and planted it
directly behind Andi. "Sit, please," Annika purred, then
took Effie's free hand and led the brunette towards the
bed. "And now for our security demonstration," she
Andi had followed Annika's order and perched her butt on the
chair. Effie was reluctant to release her colleague's hand
and held on as long as she could, but soon found herself sitting
on the foot of the bed and watching Annika ready a coil of
rope. She opened her mouth to voice the many well-reasoned
and logical arguments against the necessity of any kind of
practical security demonstration, but was preempted and
"This demonstration will be in three stages," Annika lectured,
then seized Effie's left wrist, forced her face-down on the bed,
and tied her wrists together behind her back with her hands
"Annika," Effie whined, "please, this is unnecessary!" All
her pleas were ignored as Annika tied her ankles together, then
tied her knees together, followed by her elbows. "That's
too tight!" Effie complained. "Mrrrrf!" Annika had
stuffed a wad of cloth in her mouth and was tying a folded scarf
as a cleave-gag. "Nrrrrf!" That last comment was
"As you can see," Annika said as she strolled towards the
bedroom's chest of drawers, "phase one demonstrates how easy it
is to control a struggling damsel, if one has the proper
training." She opened a drawer and pulled out a large
bundle of several neat coils of rope. "Phase two will
reinforce that lesson."
Andi watched with growing alarm as Annika carried the rope in
her direction. "Uh, Annika, I think we get it. The
lesson, I mean." Annika had released the bundle and
dropped the coils to the floor behind the chair. "Ya
really don't have to―Hey!"
Now it was Effie's turn to watch. Bound, gagged, and
helpless on the bed, she had an excellent view as Annika first
stripped Andi naked, then began lashing her to the chair.
The divestment part had been easy. The skirt/wrap came
away immediately, and the bottom and top preserving Andi's pale,
freckled modesty was a string bikini. All too soon, the
redhead was helpless, her wrists tied together behind her back
and the chair, her ankles tied together, and then her
knees. And as soon as Andi was sufficiently helpless,
Annika gave her a stuff- and cleave-gag, like Effie's.
"No! Annika! Mrrrrpfh!"
Annika then added additional ropes, and in a surprisingly short
time Andi was in a clearly inescapable sitting hogtie with her
ankles lashed to her wrists under the chair and neat, multiple
strands of rope yoking her shoulders, passing above and below
her breasts, encircling her waist and the chair, crossing her
lap, and binding her to the chair. In Effie's educated
opinion, Andi might be able to rock the chair back and forth
until it tipped over and she crashed to the floor, but she was
in the chair to stay.
Finally, and without any real need, Annika reinforced Andi's
gag, first with a roll of Vet-wrap, and then with several tight
turns of duct-tape! Andi's lower face was now tightly
mummified from nose to chin.
Annika gathered the remaining rope coils, returned to the bed,
and watched, together with Effie, as Andi squirmed and bucked
and wiggled, exploring her bonds and executing the required
Courtesy Struggle. The evilly grinning blonde indulged
herself for something like two minutes, then shifted her
sinister gaze to Effie. "Let's revisit phase one for a
moment, shall we?"
Effie squirmed and struggled, but couldn't prevent Annika from
removing her sarong and bikini. Annika then reinforced
Effie's bonds, adding neat, tightly cinched bindings below her
knees, pinning her arms to her sides above and below her
breasts, yoking her shoulders, and passing around her waist and
forearms. Finally, she added a crotch-rope that not only
cleaved Effie's labia and butt-cheeks, but pinned her hands
against her buttocks. When Annika tied the final knot and
stepped back, Effie was capable of a credible wiggle-worm
imitation, but not much else.
Annika then began removing her own clothing, what there was of
it. Soon her sarong and bikini were a heap on the floor
and she was piling the pillows against the headboard.
Andi watched from her chair and Effie from the foot of the bed
as Annika reached for the ceiling, arched her back, and executed
a sensual, boob-flattening, full-body stretch... then reclined
on her back against the pillows.
"Phase three will demonstrate the value of psychological
training in the control of helpless damsels," Annika purred,
then focused on Effie... and spread her strong, tan legs.
"Wiggle on up here, schönes Würmchen," she ordered.
Effie blinked in surprise.
"If you don't," Annika added. "I'll reinforce your gag,
like your colleague in the chair, turn your bondage into a stringent
hogtie, and you'll spend the night on the floor. Then,
I'll give Dr. O'Hara an opportunity to play."
Effie shivered in her bonds.
"Well?" Annika chuckled.
Effie rolled and squirmed until her head and shoulders were
facing Annika, shook the hair from her gagged face, and began
making her way up the bed, inchworm fashion.
Annika winked at Andi. "I think you both know I'm not really
a sadistic bitch," she chuckled, "but I've been hired to control
Petra La Roque's more reluctant playmates, and I take my duties
very seriously. Only I will handle Miss
Dekker. Only I will release and restore her restraints, no
matter how inconvenient it might be for your research.
Andi heaved a well-gagged sigh, and nodded.
Meanwhile, Effie had reached Annika's naked crotch and was
nudging the grinning amazon's labia and pubic bush with her
"There, you see," Annika chuckled. "She knows what's
expected of her."
Big surprise, Andi thought as she watched Annika lean
forward, untie Effie's gag and pluck the wad from her mouth,
then lie back against pillows. Neither scientist had been
accepted for research fellowships with La Roque International's
R&D Special Projects or postings to Damosel Island
without demonstrated proclivities for this sort of game.
Andi focused on what she could see of her colleague's naked and
stringently bound body, and tried to ignore the squishiness
between her legs. The wetness of Andi's pussy might be a
secret between her and the chair-bottom, but the scientist's
erect nipples were there for all to see, and she was sure Annika
hadn't missed that particular pair of datums.
Her gag removed, Effie could concentrate on licking and probing
Annika with her tongue, and she was doing so, with enthusiasm.
Annika shivered and continued smiling at Andi, her hands atop
Effie's bobbing head and her fingers curled and gently clutching
the little Brit's tousled hair.
Andi noticed that Annika's nipples were also erect. She
knows I love Effie, the helpless redhead thought. That's
why she's making me watch, to torture me. And it was
such sweet torture! Her love for the adorable
English rose was unrequited and, as far as she knew,
unsuspected... but how could you work with Dr. Effie Hyde-Goode
for more than a minute and not fall in love?
Effie continued munching Annika's carpet, as the saying goes,
Andi continued being bound and gagged and unable (and unwilling)
to turn away, and Annika continued being in charge (and
pretending to be the cruel, sadistic bitch she knew she wasn't).
|Welcome to Damosel Island
The next few
days settled into something of a routine. Frankie was
roused from her cell and fed breakfast, then either taken for a
run, a swim (if you can be call thrashing around in the ocean
while bound and gagged a swim), or put through a rigorous yoga
class. Her wrists were always crossed and bound behind her
back, unless whatever was being done to her dictated otherwise,
and Annika did all the binding and unbinding. Frankie
remained naked, except for the steel shock-collar, and Annika's
superb handling, binding, and lifeguard skills and the threat of
the collar kept her under control.
It was humiliating, especially the yoga classes. Andi,
Effie, and Annika would take part, with the science-dweebs
dressed in tropical yoga costumes in pleasing pastels and Annika
and Frankie naked. The first time, Frankie refused to take
part, explaining that she didn't do yoga, they could all bite
her, etc. Andi and Effie had giggled and explained that
yoga was wonderful and fun and good for her, but Annika let the
shock-collar do the talking. Again, the punishment
delivered by the hellish device was more alarming than painful,
but Frankie got the point and agreed to participate. Naked
and collared, but not bound, Frankie learned the joy of
Truth be told, the exercise periods were fun. Frankie
liked working out and the Damosel Island beach was
spectacular. Bondage was another matter, of course, but
Frankie was a prisoner.
Also, there was old fashioned beach frolicking, in which the
doctors and the amazon donned bikinis and swam and sunbathed and
guzzled cold drinks. Frankie was always "invited" to come,
but remained bikini-free and was always bound and often
gagged. Annika did all the tying and untying, as usual,
and if Frankie was spreadeagled on the sand, like the first
time, tied between two palm trees, or otherwise exposed to the
tropical sun, Andi and Effie diligently ensured her entire body
received regular and very complete coatings of
One time a rain squall blew in off the sea. Frankie was
spreadeagled on the sand at the time, so she experienced the joy
of being pelted by a tropical downpour while naked and
helpless. The others had retreated to the protection of a
distant picnic shelter set back among the palm trees, just at
the border of the sand and vegetation, and drank rum drinks
festooned with fruit while Frankie "suffered."
So... Frankie worked on her tan, got into even better shape,
learned to tolerate being bound and often gagged, and never
being in control of anything. There were also the
gourmet meals with a Caribbean theme. They were nice.
Oh-by-the-way, every other day, sometimes in the morning and
sometimes in the afternoon, Frankie rode the Sybian.
Apparently, the scientists didn't yet have enough baseline data
to begin their serious research. And if it was a reluctant
guinea pig they wanted, it was a reluctant guinea pig they
got! Frankie kicked and screamed and twisted and fought,
but Annika always managed to get her strapped in place atop the
The Sybian sessions were long and intense and... the best sex of
Frankie's life. The best sex not involving the love of
another person, anyway. Frankie didn't love the Sybian,
not in any sense of the word. Nor did she look forward to
being strapped to the thing and boinked senseless, over and over
and over. Honor demanded she fight, and she did. And
as for the traitorous thrill that rippled through her
naked, bound and gagged body whenever she realized she was being
taken for another ride on The Evil Machine? They never
happened! Even at night, when Frankie lay on the bed and
waited for sleep... They never happened!
Frankie tried coming to terms with her captivity, but there were
still too many unknowns. Petra had an agenda, Annika had
an agenda, and the science-dweebs had an agenda. As for
Frankie's agenda, it could be summarized with one word:
escape! But she was on an island, an island supposedly
infested with natives and pirates (although she'd yet to see a
pirate and had only caught a glimpse of one native).
Frankie tried subtly pumping the doctors for intelligence, but
And then there was Annika. The blond amazon never let slip
anything useful, nothing about what awaited Frankie beyond the
"safety" of the doc's Bond-villain lair or Petra's plan for her
future. And rigging-wise, the blonde never made
Day followed day... and Frankie waited for her chance.
|Welcome to Damosel Island
EARLIER, BACK AT THE "NATIVE VILLAGE"...
Edith remained in the
standing spread-eagle between the two posts until sundown.
Then, four female warriors appeared, untied her wrist and ankle
bonds, and hustled her towards the ocean. By this time,
the sun was starting to set and the naked captive was
exhausted. Escape was the last thing on her mind.
She was thirsty and hungry―"Mrrrk?"―but not above a little
genuine surprise when she beheld a two-masted sailing ship
anchored off the village beach!
The doctor was no expert in tall ships, but she thought it might
be what was called a "brig." It might have a propeller and
engine, but clearly its principal means of propulsion was the
wind. At the moment, most of the sails were furled, and
Edith could see tiny figures scrambling aloft in the rigging and
taking in what canvas remained. There was one minor
anachronistic detail: mounted at the top of the main mast was a
small, saucer-shaped radar dome. It was a light shade of
blue-gray and faded against the cloudless blue sky, but it was
There was something else that was undeniably noteworthy.
Fluttering from the brig's fantail was a large flag. It
had a black field with a large, white skull-and-crossbones and a
white canton with a black rook chess-piece.
Petra's pirates, Edith thought. Of course.
The "Pirate Queen's Castle" was the other venue of
Petra La Roque's kinky resort.
A longboat was rowing towards the beach, manned by several of
the pirates. All were female (big surprise), athletic,
easy on the eyes, and represented every human race. They
were dressed in the expected piratical manner: bare feet,
knee-britches, loose blouses with puffy sleeves (showing a lot
of skin), cloth sashes or wide corset-belts, and headscarves
and/or three-cornered hats. They were armed with
flint-lock pistols, knives, and cutlasses. All of these
details became increasingly clear as the longboat slid through
the surf and was hauled up on the beach with native
assistance. The pirates and amazons were quite obviously
on a friendly basis as there was a great deal of laughing,
handshaking, embracing, boob-grabbing, and butt-slapping.
All of this Edith noticed with furtive glances. Her main
focus was on the pirate who had ridden the prow of the
longboat. Her costume was as piratical as the rest, but
clearly, she was the captain. She wore tight trousers
tucked into thigh-boots with turned down tops, a wide sash of
blood-red silk, a sword belt with a rapier and sheath, crossed
bandoliers with a brace of pistols and several throwing knives,
and a loose, billowing blouse of white linen that showed a lot
of smooth, tan cleavage. Leather bracers were on both her
wrists, necklaces worth a queen's ransom in gold, silver, and
precious stones graced her throat, a three-cornered hat with a
long, elegant plume was atop her head, and a smile curled her
Edith strongly suspected the captain was a Latina. She was
short, something like 5'2", with a stunningly beautiful face and
big brown eyes. She also had an athletic figure and very
nice boobs. She tossed her plumed hat back into the
longboat, shook out her long, raven-black hair, spread her arms,
shrieked in delight―"Petra!"―then rushed across the sand
to throw herself into Petra La Roque's arms.
Edith hadn't realized that the Jungle Queen and her
spear-bearing escort were present, having been more or less
mesmerized by the arrival of the pirates. She watched as
Petra and the captain hugged and laughed. It was now
undeniable that the she-pirate was petite, voluptuous and
Everyone was all smiles, except Edith, and continued laughing
and chatting as the natives led the pirates down the beach to
Edith's right. Petra led her piratical guest in the same
direction. Seconds later, Edith's handlers dragged her
after the crowd.
They arrived at what was obviously a site prepared for an
outdoor party. There was a large fire burning in a pit in
the middle of a clearing. Long, low tables in the general
shape of a horseshoe surrounded the fire with the open section
facing the sea. Natives were milling about, carrying
platters of food and jugs of what Edith suspected were beverages
appropriate for the "luau" Petra had mentioned earlier.
Edith's handlers forced her to the sand beside the table at the
nearest end of the horseshoe, produced coils of rope, and
proceeded to bind her freckled, slightly sunburned body from
shoulders to feet. They took their time and made a job of
it. Eventually, Edith was in a box-tie with her arms
raised and her wrists crossed and lashed against her spine, just
below her shoulder blades. Rope yoked her shoulders and
pinned her upper arms to her sides, passing above and below her
breasts. More rope lashed her legs together at the thighs,
above and below her knees, around her calves and shins, and
around her ankles, feet, and big-toes.
Meanwhile, the luau was getting underway. The pirates and
villagers were now wearing flower leis, nibbling on plates of
food, and chugging rum drinks, ale, and wine from coconut shell
cups, tankards, and goblets. Petra was seated at the very
center of the horseshoe with the pirate captain on her right,
the African native leader on her left, and the European native
leader on the captain's right. The remaining places at all
the tables were occupied by villagers and pirates, and platters
and bowls were still being carried from the village to the
There was a hearty cheer as drums began to beat. A line of
very pretty young women dressed in grass skirts, leis,
and nothing else hurried forward and formed a line between
Petra's table and the fire. They struck a graceful pose...
then began shaking their hips, waving their arms, planting their
bare feet, turning, and gracefully gesturing with their
hands. In Edith's opinion, the style was Polynesian,
possibly Tahitian, and was totally out of place on a Caribbean
isle, but was very pleasant to watch... even if Edith was
thirsty and hungry, stringently bound and gagged, and everyone
around you was feasting and partying.
Guitars began strumming, voices began singing (in Hawaiian?),
and the drumming and dancing continued.
Suddenly, a pair of villagers carried a platter of food to
Edith's side and knelt in the sand. One of them, a pretty
strawberry-blonde with a dusting of freckles across her nose,
shoulders, and bare breasts, lifted Edith's bound body until her
head and shoulders were cradled in her lap, then untied and
removed her gag. The second villager, a petite
Asian―Chinese or Japanese―held a coconut shell cup to Edith's
Edith drank carefully, and was glad she did. It was a
potent concoction of fruit juice and rum. Nonetheless, she
downed half the cup, then accepted tidbits of roast pork,
grilled fish, fresh fruit, and roasted vegetables.
The sun set, the dancing, music, and feasting continued, and the
party as well. Soon―and it was hardly surprising with the
quantity of alcohol being consumed―the festivities began veering
towards drunken revelry. Edith saw more boob-grabbing and
it was soon joined by serious face-sucking. It was mostly
pirates and villagers, but the villagers did outnumber their
swashbuckling guests, so there was also some
The strawberry-blonde and Asian took good care of Edith, making
sure she had a full belly and a well quenched thirst.
Then, they popped the gag stuffing back in Edith's mouth,
resecured the leather-thong cleave-gag, and continued cradling
her in their lap. They also
kissed―strawberry-blonde-on-Asian―fondled Edith's breasts,
each others breasts, and stroked and massaged Edith's
thighs and labia.
With her legs bound, access to Edith's crotch was restricted;
however, it proved to be sufficient. Slowly, inevitably,
with the party raging around them and the third or fourth group
of dancers (now drunken dancers) providing
entertainment, Edith's handlers coaxed a quaking orgasm
from Frankie's tired, helpless body. She shivered and
squirmed in her caretakers' embrace... froze as waves of
pure pleasure coursed through her bound and gagged body... then
heaved a sigh and relaxed.
Edith happened to glance at the table of honor and noted that
Petra was making out with the pirate captain―the beautiful,
raven-haired, big-breasted pirate captain. It was quite a
sight, the tall, blond, Jungle Queen kissing and caressing the
Edith closed her eyes. She opened them again when the
strawberry-blond removed her gag and the Asian held the cup for
her to drink. This time she guzzled the entire
contents. Being drunk didn't seem like a bad idea.
She also returned the kiss when the blonde leaned down and
thrust her tongue in her mouth. The Asian refilled the cup
from a moisture-beaded jug, drank it herself, then began
diddling Edith's pussy and stroking her butt and thighs.
Needless to say, a good time was had by all and it continued
long into the night, long after Edith had slipped into
unconsciousness, exhausted and helplessly bound, but satiated in
|Welcome to Damosel Island
morning, Edith woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed―NOT!
For one thing, she'd slept in the sand (and the arms of her
strawberry-blond and Asian handlers) and still bound with rope
from shoulders to toes. It hadn't been her choice, of
course. She wasn't consulted. She noticed that
several other pirates and villagers had slept (meaning passed
out) at the party site as well. They were now waking up,
groaning, and readjusting their costumes.
For another thing, Edith had a pounding headache... make that a
hangover. Yep... it was a hangover.
Villagers with irritatingly chipper expressions and trays laden
with pitchers of coffee, cream, sugar, and stoneware mugs were
making the rounds, dispensing caffeinated ambrosia to the
suffering party-goers. Coffee was offered and accepted by
Edith's handlers (lovers), and the strawberry-blonde held the
mug so Edith could take a careful sip. The brew was strong
and bitter, but Edith knew the taste had been sabotaged by the
post-party nastiness coating her mouth. Medically
speaking, she knew she needed hydration, and coffee was all that
Edith had another semi-urgent need, and as if reading her mind,
her handlers untied her legs, lifted her to her feet, and led
her to a small outhouse a few yards into the jungle.
Rather than being a hole dug into the sandy soil, the facilities
were quite modern, albeit camouflaged to appear primitive.
The commode was metal, but textured and carefully painted to
resemble a small barrel. The seat was weathered and
battered wood, but it turned out to be comfortably smooth.
More camouflage, Edith decided. Anyway, she emptied
her bladder... then was led away.
Their immediate destination was a large hut on the edge of the
village. Edith realized she'd entered by the rear and
found herself standing between her handlers in the back of a
smithy. Lengths of iron chains, manacles, fetters, and
other examples of the metalworking art hung from wooden racks or
occupied crude shelves. All were hand-forged in
appearance, but Edith suspected it was more camouflage.
Towards the front of the hut was a forge, an anvil, and a rack
of tools. There was also a very large, very muscular woman
lounging in a hammock rigged under the smithy's front
porch. She was nursing a mug of coffee and wasn't happy to
see the new arrivals.
The smith―Edith assumed she was the smith―heaved a sigh, downed
the last of her coffee in one gulp, then left the hammock and
stomped into the smithy. She was tall, well over six feet,
and was very muscular. Her waist was wasp-thin and her
stomach well-sculpted and flat. Her breasts were large,
but they competed with her pecs and other chest muscles for
attention. Her arms were an anatomy lesson in and of
themselves. Edith unconsciously ticked off the Latin names
of the various groups. The smith's face was beautiful,
even while scowling. Her hair was a pale blond plaited in
a single tight braid that trailed down her back. Her eyes
were pale blue, and her skin deeply tanned. She was
dressed in a loincloth, like the rest of the "natives," but a
leather apron hung from a peg in one of the vertical support
posts near the forge, waiting to be donned when she went to
The smith towered over Edith and her handlers, hands on hips,
and glared. "Really? Before breakfast?"
The Asian handler suppressed a giggle while the
strawberry-blonde shrugged. "Her Majesty's instructions
were detailed and specific," the blonde explained. "Do you
want to be the one responsible for delaying Captain Sangria's
"Hell, no," the smith growled. "Let's get it over
with." She stomped to a nearby shelf.
It occurred to Edith that "stomping" was probably an inaccurate
description. The blond giantess was all muscle, and she
was huge. This was probably her normal gait.
Anyway, she picked up an iron cage the size of a bowling ball
and carried it forward. Edith got her first good look at
the object, gasped, and took an involuntary step back―or rather,
she would have stepped back if her handlers hadn't suddenly
grabbed her by the arms and shoulders and forced her to her
The object was a scold's bridle, a contraption designed to cage
a woman's head and anchor a gag in her mouth! And Edith
very much suspected she was the woman in question!
"No―Gaaa-grrrrf!" The bridle was lowered over Edith's head
and its spoon-like gag element forced into her mouth.
Curved iron bands on hinges closed and ratcheting lock
mechanisms repeatedly clicked until Edith's head was tightly
encased. The bridle incorporated a flat gag-panel and iron
bands encircled her crown, framed her nose, passed under her
chin, and came together at the nape of her neck. The
"spoon" was more of an irritant than a silencer, but the
gag-panel made up for that deficiency by pressing tightly
against her lips. "Mrrrpfh!"
Next, a collar with a dangling leash-chain was locked around
Edith's neck and cuff-like fetters around her ankles.
Then, her box-tie was untied and cuffs locked around her wrists
and upper-arms. The wrist- and ankle-cuffs were all
connected by more chain, a configuration Edith recognized as
classic "slave-" or "serving-chains." Her hands were now
in front; however, a short chain connected the upper-arm-cuffs
behind her back. The foot-long chain connecting the
wrist-cuffs was therefore somewhat taut and her flailing hands
and fluttering fingers were trapped at the the level of her
The smith went to the shelf and returned with one more item.
It was a chastity belt! Like the rest of her restraints,
it appeared to be hand-forged; but, like the scold's bridle and
her other bonds, the edges and interior surfaces were quite
smooth. Greatly encumbered by her chains, Edith tried to
fight, but soon the belt was locked around her waist and the
hinged crotch-panel cleaved her buttocks, cupped her pussy, and
was locked to the belt in front.
Edith's handlers and the smith stepped back and watched as Edith
tugged on her fetters, tried to kick, rolled her shoulders,
twisted at the waist, and shook her caged head. It might
have been a traditional Courtesy Struggle, but it was clear that
Edith was not in a courteous mood.
"Nrrrrrf!" Her green eyes flashed and she stared daggers
at her handlers and the smith... then her eyes welled and tears
dripped down her bulging cheeks to disappear under the diagonal
bands framing her nose and the top of the gag-panel.
"This one's special," the smith said, "isn't she?"
"We do not know the details," the Asian handler answered,
"We should go," the strawberry-blonde sighed, took hold of
Edith's collar-leash chain, and led the still weeping redhead
away. The Asian followed. The smith refilled her
coffee mug, then returned to her hammock.
Edith was led back to the party site, but this time she was
taken to the area between the table of honor and the fire pit.
Petra and the pirate captain―"Captain Sangria" the
strawberry-blonde had called her―were at the same seats as last
night and were enjoying what appeared to be a hearty breakfast.
"Ah, your new ship's doctor has arrived," Petra said between
Edith's handlers forced her to her knees, slid the leash through
the chain hobbling her ankles, and clipped the end of the leash
to the collar. Kneeling was now Edith's only option, other
than flopping onto her side or doing a face-plant in the sand.
"Irish?" the captain inquired.
"American," Petra answered.
"I like redheads," the captain said. "I also like this
omelet," she added, lifting a forkful of the omelet in question
and popping it in her mouth. She chewed and
swallowed. "My complements to the chef."
Her eyes and cheeks were still wet, but Edith was no longer
weeping. She heaved a gagged sigh and stared at Petra and
Captain Sangria. The captain spoke with a slightly husky,
very sexy Mexican accent, in Edith's humble opinion, and she was
as beautiful as ever... and as sexy as ever.
"I believe she calls it her Colorado Omelet," Petra said.
"Bacon, pork sausage, shredded beef, ham, onions, green peppers,
and cheddar cheese, with her special salsa." She leaned
towards her guest, forked a bite of the omelet in question, and
popped it into Captain Sangria's smiling mouth.
"Yum," she gorgeous pirate purred.
"Anyway," Petra said, gesturing towards Edith, "I don't mind tan
lines around her wrists, ankles, and bikini area, but I want the
rest of her returned with lots and lots of freckles."
"I understand," the captain chuckled. "I also like
redheads with freckles. Clear-skinned Celtic beauties have
their place, but there is much to be said for freckles."
Petra nodded and sipped her coffee. Breakfast for Petra
and her guest continued while Edith knelt before them on the
Well, the captive-in-chains mused, it looks like I'm
going for a cruise.
|Welcome to Damosel Island