T H E B O N D A G E
I S O U T T H E R
The see the actresses I would cast
in B-Files THE MOVIE,
follow the link below and use your browser's "Back" feature to
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
SOMEWHERE IN THE EXTREMADURA
The stallion was a magnificent
Arabian, a dark bay with a white blaze, and Bondarella was an
expert rider. The trail was narrow, twisting, and
demanding, unlike the estate's bridal path, which was suitable
for beginning riders and ponies (and for pony-girls pulling traps or
chariots). Bondarella and her galloping mount were the
only things moving on the desolate landscape, other than a crow,
far overhead. Horse and rider crossed the bridal path,
thundered into the stables, and skidded to a halt.
Bondarella vaulted from the saddle and patted the stallion's
flank with a gloved hand. She was wearing boots, skintight
riding pants, and a loose-fitting blouse of light linen.
Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. "Thank you,
Navarro," she purred, and handed the reins to one of the
stable-girls. Navarro was taken away, to be walked until
he cooled down.
The stable-mistress was waiting near the stalls adjacent to the
exercise yard. A tall, handsome woman of swarthy
complexion and dark hair with streaks of gray, she was dressed
in riding costume, like Bondarella, like all members of the
stable staff—well, most of them.
They strolled into the stable's exercise yard. It was
roughly the size of two tennis courts, was open to the sun, and
was protected on all sides by nine-foot walls that served as a
windbreak during the winter months (and as a screen against
prying eyes in all seasons). Above the near half of the
yard, suspended from a web of steel rods stretched across the
top of the walls, the four long arms of an automated exercise
machine slowly turned. A light chain dangled from the end
of each arm. Two of the chains, on opposite arms,
terminated in counterweights, to balance the mechanism, and the
other two ended in spring-loaded clips. The clips, in
turn, were attached to the chains of a pair of nipple clamps,
and the clips were attached to a pair of pacing pony-girls,
providing the motivation to exercise.
One pony-girl had long, straight, blond hair pulled back in a
severe ponytail, and pale, blue-gray eyes. Her skin was
smooth and well-tanned, and she had the defined, toned build of
a gifted field athlete.
The other pony-girl had smooth, tan skin, as well, but of a
darker shade, and her full-bodied hair was as dark as a raven's
wing. Her petite form was also trim and athletic, but in
the manner of a gymnast or ballerina.
Their costumes were identical, but for size:
In addition, the little black-haired pony-girl was locked in a
steel chastity belt. The blonde's pubis, however, was
covered by a triangular thong-strap that buckled to the lower
portion of her body-harness.
- Pony-boots—knee-boots with hoof-like soles that laced
tight and keep the pony-girls permanently on her toes.
- Arm-binders—leather single-sleeves that trapped the
pony-girls' arms behind their backs and their hands
palm-to-palm and tucked in what amounted to tight
mittens. They were laced tight up their entire
lengths, and doubly secured by broad straps that buckled
around the pony-girls' wrists and elbows.
- Corsets—leather bustiers secured with laces and
buckles. They supported the pony-girls' breasts, but
left them completely exposed.
- Body-harnesses—networks of leather straps that yoked the
pony-girls' shoulders, hugged their torsos, and pinned their
arm-binders to the back of their corsets.
- Bit-gag Bridles—webs of narrow straps that caged the
pony-girls' heads, buckled under their chins, across their
foreheads, and over the crowns of their heads. They
anchored thick, rubber-clad bits in their grimacing mouths.
"Romy is magnificent," Bondarella remarked, smiling at the
"Indeed," the stable-mistress agreed. "She excels in
dressage, and her attitude is outstanding, even when I push her
past her limits. I intend to return her to normal grooming
duties next week, and shall begin teaching her how to train the
two-legged members of the stable."
Romy continued pacing the circular track, shoulders back and
chin raised. She lifted her knees high and pointed her
"hooves" with each step.
"And Melosa?" Bondarella asked, focusing on the black-haired
The stable-mistress sighed. "I'm afraid Melosa is a maid,
and not a pony. She is graceful and hard working, and she
has the required stamina, but she does not seem to be able to
find and maintain the required state-of-mind. She cries at
night, and it is bad for the morale of the others, especially
the new acquisitions."
"A pity," Bondarella sighed.
"I'm afraid I cannot recommend her continued training," the
stable-mistress continued, "not as a pony." She turned and
smiled at her Mistress. "She pines for you, you
know. That is why she weeps. That is also why I had
her locked in a steel belt, so she would be ready for you,
whenever you decided to return."
Bondarella smiled. "You mean she has been forced to, shall
we say, abstain from
the nightly intimate grooming? No wonder she weeps.
For how long?"
"She has been chaste since the third day after you left on your
"How very cruel," Bondarella purred.
"I made sure she was in a position to watch, of course, each
time the grooms serviced the other ponies."
"Of course," Bondarella chuckled. "Let her complete the
day, then have her bathed, oiled, and her mane ribboned, and
bring her to my chamber at midnight. She can transfer back
to the house-mistress's staff in the morning."
The stable-mistress nodded. "As you command."
Bondarella spun on her booted heel and strode towards the main hacienda.
and continued across the enclosed courtyard. It was a
Moorish water-garden, and one of the "garden nymphs" was busy
removing spent blossoms from a large bed of mixed flowers.
The nymph was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a sleeveless,
semi-transparent sun dress of white linen, and it was clear that
the pretty young honey-blonde was not wearing any
underwear. She was, however, wearing a full set of serving
chains: manacles, shackles, and collar, all linked to a central
length of light chain. The connecting chains were long
enough to allow her to accomplish the tasks the garden-mistress
might set for her, but she was
She was also gagged. A mask-gag of smooth, butternut
leather covered her mouth and was buckled and padlocked at the
nape of her neck. She paused in her work and gazed at her
Mistress with pale green eyes as Bondarella strolled past.
"Very pretty, Lynda," Bondarella called back over her shoulder
as she entered the house. She might have been referring to
the garden, the gardener, or both.
Bondarella made her way to the main stairway to the lower
levels, started down... then paused on the first landing.
Tucked into an alcove was a large cylindrical jar of thick,
clear glass. Crammed inside its close confines, in a
semi-fetal tuck with her legs bent and her knees pressed against
her breasts, was an attractive young woman. She had a
trim, well-proportioned figure, and she was naked. Her
skin was fair, with a dusting of freckles across her nose and
cheeks, shoulders, and between her firm, full, and at the moment
mildly squashed breasts. Her straight, dark brown hair was
cropped in a pageboy, and she was bound from shoulders to toes
with hemp rope in elaborate, Shibari-style bondage. Her
wrists were bound in a reverse-prayer, and horizontal and
vertical bands pinned her arms to her sides and her legs
together from thighs to ankles, including her big toes.
She was gagged with a large ball-gag under a tightly laced
neck-corset and half-mask of black leather.
The jar had an equally thick and heavy glass lid, secured by a
basket-cage of heavy steel bands and a high-security
padlock. Two openings in the lid were plugged by a pair of
thick-walled hoses of natural rubber that trailed to a compact
air recirculating machine, quietly churned in a back corner of
the alcove. Bondarella knew the apparatus heated and
humidified the air it forced into the jar, making the atmosphere
damp and close—which explained the patina of sweat glistening on
the smooth skin of the captive's bound, contorted body.
Belladonna joined Bondarella on the landing. She was
wearing a black silk tank-top and skintight jeans. Her
feet were bare. They both gazed at the prisoner in the
jar, and she gazed back with sad, blue eyes.
"What did Cyrielle do this time?"
"The usual," Belladonna chuckled. "I believe the
house-mistress is punishing her for a less-than-enthusiastic
dusting of the main library, and
a display of insubordination. It would seem a
serious attitude adjustment is in order."
"Cyrielle can be a good maid when she wants to be."
"When she wants to be," Belladonna agreed. "Shall we flip
It wasn't clear whether the object of their discussion could
hear what they were saying, but her worried gaze darted from
face to face with great interest.
"I think we both have more than enough on our plates for the
moment," Bondarella chuckled. "Let's wait until the next
time Cyrielle craves attention."
"And if I need a subject for the next round of demonstrations
for my whipping class?" Belladonna inquired.
"That's another matter," Bondarella chuckled, turned, and
started down the stairs.
Belladonna lingered a few seconds, smiling down at the helpless
maid... then followed her Mistress.
Back in the jar, Cyrielle shivered in dismay (or perhaps in
delicious anticipation). The house-mistress hadn't told
her how long she'd be suffering in the jar. She squirmed
in her tight bonds, longing to be able to straighten her arms
and legs. At least she
didn't leave me up to my neck in olive oil, like she did
Marie, last month, she thought. Of course, if she
was going to be handed over to the tender mercies of Mistress
Belladonna when the house-mistress finally did let her
out... maybe the jar wasn't so bad.
domain, the notorious "Giggle Works". It was a large,
stone-walled chamber with a vaulted ceiling and was, perhaps,
best described as half modern scientific/engineering workshop
and half Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.
Betty, dressed in gym shorts and a tank-top, was seated on a
chaise lounge with her legs straight and her ankles resting in
the padded, semi-circular openings of the lower half of a set of
heavy stocks. A wireless computer keyboard was balanced on
her lap. Before her bare feet was an array of compact
robotic manipulator-arms. Some of the assemblies ended in
tufts of feathers, some in tiny nozzles that blew puffs of warm
air, and some in very human-like and fully articulated plastic
hands. "It works!" she said, beaming at the newcomers.
"Robo-tickling?" Bondarella asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yes, it works!" Betty enthused. "Once the freedom of
motion of the tootsies is limited, the only real problem is
regulating the sensitivity of the robotic elements. A grad
student at Lewis and Clark University sent me some new code...
and it works! I just integrated the control program, and
now I can move on to the testing."
"Testing, huh?" Belladonna purred. Before Betty could
react, she lifted the top half of the stocks, pivoted it on its
hinge and slammed it closed, then engaged the spring-loaded hasp
that held the stocks closed.
"No!" Betty shrieked, leaning forward and lunging for the
hasp. This caused the keyboard to slide off her lap.
"Ow! Let me go!"
Belladonna had grabbed Betty's hands and was twisting them
behind her back.
"Play nice, girls," Bondarella admonished, with a tolerant
"Sis!" Betty complained to Bondarella, her features set in a
truly pathetic pout, "I can't test it on myself."
"You don't have faith in your own work?" Bondarella
inquired. "You didn't use modular design and the
established object library? Your efforts won't plug right
into our existing control software?" She strolled to a
worktable and returned with a pair of plastic wrist binders,
thick-walled plasti-cuffs padded with medium-density foam.
"Everything should mesh," Betty admitted, still pouting, "but I
need to be able to take notes. I was gonna use one of the
Bondarella chuckled. "I'm sure you were." She tossed
the binder to Belladonna, who zipped the loops closed around
"Oh!" Betty squirmed and tugged on her bonds. "This
sucks!" she groused.
"Yes, it certainly does." Belladonna agreed. She strolled
to the workbench and returned with a second binder, which she
used to zip Betty's elbows together. She handed the
keyboard to Bondarella, then reached out and teased the strands
of long hair that had fallen across Betty's face. "Would
you like a gag?"
"No, I wouldn't like a
gag," Betty huffed.
Bondarella had turned the monitor away from her imprisoned
little sister and was using the keyboard to open menus and type
commands. "A gag shouldn't be necessary," she said.
"We paid good money to have this place soundproofed."
"Very funny," Betty groused. "What are you gonna do?"
"Oh..." She continued to type. "Nothing much.
I'm linking your robo-ticklers to one of our Roger programs, and
all of this will be logged and video-recorded, of course, so
you'll be able to use it to make your adjustments."
"A Roger program?" Betty asked. "Oh... to vary intensity
and timing? With what parameters?"
Bondarella smiled and strolled towards the door.
"Last chance for that gag," Belladonna purred in Betty's ear.
"I don't want a damn gag!" she muttered. "What
parameters?" she demanded. "Sis, what parameters?
As Belladonna joined her Mistress in the doorway, the robotic
arms hummed, retracted to their stowed positions, then flexed
and extended themselves straight up, one-by one. They
retracted, again, then three pair with feathered tips slowly
extended towards Betty's helpless feet. The white plumes
fluttered as the tips of the arms vibrated with a melodious hum.
Betty's wail of despair was cut short by the closing door.
"What parameters did you
Bondarella continued smiling, but she didn't answer.
Belladonna grinned, and followed her Mistress down the hallway.
going to talk about it?" Belladonna asked, as they walked along
the dark stone passageway.
"You mean talk about it again,
don't you?" Bondarella chuckled.
"We never should have gone after a bunch of cops in the first
place," Belladonna huffed. "I said so from the beginning."
"I decided the risk was acceptable," Bondarella said, "and our
patrons—some of our
patrons—were very insistent."
Belladonna snorted in disgust. "If Petra La Roque wants to
goad the entire US Government into descending on her operations, let her take the risk."
Bondarella laughed. "Don't repeat the mistake of so
many. Governments are made up of people, and they don't
turn into all-powerful, all-knowing entities simply because
they're large and well-armed. The government—any
government—remains a semi-organized mob. It is individuals
who make them effective, and these individuals spend most of
their time and effort battling chaos, stupidity, and internal
"Thank you for that reading from Poli-Sci for Dummies," Belladonna
chuckled. "Individuals, huh? Like Dana Scully?"
"Exactly," Bondarella purred, "Dana and her entire team, in
fact. We probably could have continued with our original
plan and operated in North America for as long as we wished;
but, despite the efforts of their so-called superiors, Dana and
her team were simply too dangerous."
"So you say,"
Belladonna huffed. "I think you called off the operation
'cause you'd developed a crush on a certain red-haired Special
Bondarella didn't answer, and continued walking.
"You know," Belladonna continued, with a coy smile. "If
you are suddenly
enamored with carrot-tops, I can take a trip to Ireland and
bring you back a dozen or so to choose from."
Bondarella paused in the process of unlocking a massive door and
smiled at her companion. "Don't be jealous, darling," she
"Hah!" Belladonna scoffed, and helped her Mistress (and lover)
open the iron-reinforced portal.
was Bondarella's private domain.
The architecture was similar to Betty's Giggle Works, but the
chamber was nearly twice as large. A series of skylights
of frosted glass provided abundant light, and its dozen or more
Gothic arches supported curved iron tracks which met at the peak
and were cross-braced by additional horizontal tracks.
Gears and cables allowed the hundreds of anchoring points
running in the tracks to be repositioned at will, and a wheeled
library ladder off to one side could be used to reach any part
of the system. The many curtained alcoves between the
arches held rolling racks of hemp rope and cord of various
sizes, as well as shelves and cabinets filled with the gags,
binders, sheathes, corsets, harnesses, and hundreds of other
"accessories" Bondarella had collected in the pursuit of her
Belladonna knelt and helped her Mistress remove her riding
boots, then both women disrobed.
Totally nude, Belladonna stepped to the center of the expanse of
thick, well-padded carpet cushioning the floor. She began
a series of stretching exercises.
Bondarella released her long, dark hair from its former
ponytail, then donned a robe of black silk. She turned and
watched her lover's strong, well-toned body as the pale,
short-haired beauty knelt, leaned forward, extended her right
leg, and rocked back on her toes, flexing the hamstring.
"I don't believe the report from Greece," Belladonna said, as
she switched legs and flexed her left hamstring.
"That we've become a target for Thomasina Crown?" Bondarella
chuckled. "Neither do I. Her thing is the art
world. I've never gone after art or artists, other than
actors and dancers. There's no reason that I should be on
Tommy's target list."
"Like I said, I don't believe it," Belladonna said, then her
lips curled in a teasing smile. "Perhaps she knows about
your Kilborn sculptures," she suggested.
"I purchase Maggie Kilborn's works through reputable dealers,"
Bondarella clarified. "I don't steal them."
"But you wouldn't mind stealing her, would you?" Belladonna purred, "Maggie
Kilborn, I mean. She's hot, if you like older women, and
that would give you two red-haired,
Bondarella laughed as she cinched her robe's belt. "Maggie
is quite beautiful," she agreed, "but she couldn't continue her
work if I kept her tied up or chained in the dungeons."
"There is that," Belladonna agreed. "In any case, I think
someone is putting out misinformation. Crown has no reason
to be interested in us."
"Perhaps I'll contact her and clear the air," Bondarella said,
"but not today." She sat on the edge of the carpet and
settled into the semi-lotus position. Her lover continued
to methodically stretch and flex her limbs and joints. So many possibilities,
Bondarella thought, pondering the variations of rope-enforced,
helpless, suspended contortion she had yet to inflict on
Belladonna's perfect form. So many possibilities. There were
targets to vet and operations to plan, well into the next year,
as well as patrons to coddle and placate—but all of that could
wait—all of that would wait.
"What will we do when Claudia returns to the continent,"
Belladonna asked, "perhaps bringing the little blonde FBI Agent
Bondarella smiled. Her own Claudia, Giulietta Mandovini,
the Italian beauty who had impersonated the real Claudia Bosco,
had returned, of
course. At this very moment she was "relaxing" in one of
the lower dungeons, naked, chained to the wall, and wondering
when her Mistress would get around to rewarding her for the role
she had so adroitly played in the aborted American
Bondarella decided. I'll
play with bella Giulietta tomorrow.
She imagined Claudia Bosco in Belladonna's place, already bound
and gagged, staring daggers at her with her gorgeous eyes, and
wondering what contorted hell she would be forced to endure this time. I might have to keep her,
Bondarella mused, if she
persists in her pursuit and crosses my path a third time.
And that delicious little American blonde, Veronica Mars?
At something like 155 centimeters, she'd make a magnificent miniature
pony. A challenge to
train... but magnificent.
"Well," Bondarella said, finally, "if bella Claudia is going to be a problem, time
will tell, as it always does. We won't let down our
Belladonna finished her stretching exercises with a final,
back-arching reach for the heavens... then settled to the
carpet, crossed her legs, and placed her hands in her lap,
mirroring Bondarella's pose. "I'm yours, Mistress," she
whispered, and lowered her head.
Bondarella remained still for a full minute... then rose to her
feet and walked to one of the alcoves. She took hold of a
rack laden with coils of five-millimeter, soft, conditioned hemp
rope, and wheeled it onto the carpet. She selected a
fifty-meter coil, shook it out, doubled it, and found its
So many possibilities,
she mused. So many
|Except for one last thing