by Van © 2004
		Chapter 3

Dawn returned to the barn in about ten minutes and freed Kelly from the pillory and Debbie from the shrew's fiddle.  The giggling youngster showed her literary idol and "Fellow Captive" to a guest bathroom.  "Isn't Dawn's hardware the greatest?", the blonde gushed as they freshened up.  "I mean, everything's so solid and heavy and you just know you can't get out, even if she doesn't lock you in; and it's all so... authentic."

"Yeah, she does a good job," Kelly muttered, splashing water on her face to hide a slight blush.

"Get her to show you her deluxe stocks sometime," Debbie added.

Ablutions completed, they joined Dorey and Dawn on the large deck behind the main house.

Kelly's welcoming dinner went very well.  They ate under a canvas canopy at a trestle table set with glazed stoneware, hand-forged utensils, and goblets and glasses of green, recycled glass.  The pot roast was delicious, as promised, and the abundance of red wine accompanying the meal was excellent.  Soft Celtic/New Age music filled the air and a dozen candles competed with strings of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead to light the table.  Debbie fell into the serving girl role suggested by her costume, but joined her sisters and their guest to consume the meal.

Conversation turned to Kelly's new home, and how she was going to furnish and decorate.  "I'll go slow with the furniture," Kelly explained.  "I want to do it right, keeping Arts and Crafts as a theme, but I don't want to live in a style museum."  Her hosts nodded.  "Besides, I can only afford so much so fast, if you know what I mean."

"Oh!  You should have Dawn make you some stuff!" Debbie blurted.

"Debbie," Dawn scolded, "put a sock in it."  She smiled and turned to Kelly.  "I didn't invite you here to sell you furniture."

Kelly smiled back.  "Your work sells itself.  Deb told me you built almost everything in the house... including all this?"  She indicated the table and chairs they were currently occupying and Dawn nodded.  "Give me a tour and a price list," Kelly continued, "and we can probably do business... 'til my money runs out."

"I've got it!" Dorey said.  "I've been considering hiring a model for the new catalog—"

"There's only so much of the Brat's ugly face we can expect our customers to take," Dawn interrupted.  "Ow!"  The Brat in question had stretched forward under the table and kicked her detractor in the shin.

"Behave, you two!" Dorey admonished her sisters.  "Now, as I was saying, we've been considering hiring a model.  You'd be perfect."

Kelly blushed.  "I'm no model," she objected.

"You'd be perfect," Dawn agreed with her sister.

Debbie giggled and took a sip of wine.  "I'll make you a little sign: 'will model for furniture.'"

Dorey rolled her eyes.  "Clear the table, Brat," she ordered, and Debbie complied (still giggling).  "Seriously," Dorey continued, "you have great features, and that peaches-and-cream complexion and red hair are just what we need.  I just finished a velvet gown that was made for you.  I'll use you and Debbie for the catalog, and we can pose little tableaus."

Kelly was still blushing.  "But, I-I don't know how to model."

"You're talking about that green gown with the rust accents?" Dawn asked.  Dorey nodded.  "She is perfect," Dawn gushed, then turned to Kelly.  "I just finished a new bed for the Brat," she said.  "Your mattress is Queen-size, right?"  Kelly nodded.  "Good!  I'll give you her old bed to use 'til I can design you one of your own."  She took a sip of wine, staring at Kelly over the rim of her goblet.  "Hmm... something with Arts and Crafts lines and joinery, but decorated with Celtic carving.  I'll do some drawings."

Debbie returned to the table with a tray of small glasses and a squat bottle of brown glass.  "She hasn't said 'yes' yet," the youngster observed, winking at Kelly.  "Mead liqueur," she whispered, nodding at the bottle as she charged four glasses.

Dorey and Dawn exchanged a smile, then turned to Kelly.  "Please?" they begged in unison.

Her cheeks burning, Kelly's eyes were on the table.  She was flattered (thrilled) by her hosts' opinion of her looks, but still...  "I don't know how to model," she objected again.

"We'll show you," Dawn said.  "Look, it's no big deal.  I refurbish antiques in addition to the originals I design and make from scratch.  Some things you like are bound to show up.  Since you're in no rush we can keep an eye out for good pieces and I can give them to you near cost; at cost if you help me with the work."

"And you really do have that Medieval Princess look I need to sell costumes," Dorey added.

"Oh, please say you'll do it!" Debbie begged.

Still blushing, Kelly accepted a glass from Debbie, as did Dorey and Dawn.  "Will model for furniture," the redhead muttered, and all present clinked glasses and took a sip of liqueur.

Her captor's smug smile was the last thing Princess Kellan saw as the lid of the trunk closed.  She forced a piteous plea past her gag, but was ignored.  She was in total darkness!  The air was close and sweet, the scent of roses now cloying, to the point that Kellan's head began to swim.  She heard the key turn in the lock, and at the same time a series of solid clicks, as if several bolts were engaging around the interior of the lid.  Something (the key?) tapped the lid once... twice... thrice.... then there was a blue flash, and—

—she heard the bolts in the lid disengage.  Apparently her captor had changed her mind, and did not intend to lock her in the Sorceress' magical shrinking trunk.  The lid opened, and cool air flooded the confined space.  Kellan lifted her gagged head... and blinked in surprise.  It was night!  Seconds before it had been midday, but now it was night!  Her captor, Duana the sword maiden, reached into the trunk and lifted Kellan's booted feet into the air.  Kellan's shoulders fell against the trunk's padding.  She looked up at her captor through a disheveled mass of red curls and forced a Royal Complaint past her gag.

Duana was busy untying the rope binding Kellan's ankles.  She continued until her prisoner's legs were free of rope to the first bands knotted and hitched below her knees.  She then pulled off the Princess' boots, one by one.  Her linen hose were next, then Duana wrapped Kellan's gown back around her lower legs and bound her shins and ankles.  She dropped Kellan's feet, and the captive tucked her bound legs under her rump and sat up in the trunk.

They were surrounded by a dark, dense grove of pines and the only light was a small campfire flickering between a pair of logs.  Duana's knapsack was hitched to a drooping branch to the left and her blanket and Kellan's cloak were laid out over a pallet of pine boughs as a crude camp bed.  To the left—Kellan's eyes popped wide and she mewed through her gag—to the left a young serving girl was standing balanced on a short, upended log.  A noose was around her throat and stretched tautly to a stout branch overhead!  Her bare feet were bound together with a hank of hemp and apparently her wrists were bound behind her back.  More hemp was tightly hitched, cinched, and wound around her shoulders, arms, and torso.  Her eyes were wide with fear above a knotted cloth thrust between her teeth and tied behind her head.  Her pretty face was half obscured by several strands of her honey blonde hair.

"One of your father's subjects," Duana explained, putting one booted foot on the serving girl's precarious perch and rocking it slightly.  The captive's bound feet shifted slightly to compensate.  "She volunteered to accompany us on our journey."

The Princess and serving girl locked eyes in silent communion.  To Kellan it was clear the poor girl had volunteered for nothing.

"She's an excellent cook," Duana continued, "and quite strong for her size... from hauling all that ale to your father's lounging men-at-arms, I suppose.  Anyway, she's been hauling my pack for two days now, and I'm afraid her feet need a little protection.  You don't mind a commoner borrowing your boots, do you Princess?"

Poor child, Kellan thought.  Actually, her fellow captive was a young woman, a little younger than Kellan herself, but definitely a woman.  Of course you may use my boots, Kellan thought, wishing she could tell the girl so with her voice.  Her own gag made this impossible, of course.

"I've put her in this perilous pose to ensure your parole," Duana explained.  "If you struggle or give me any trouble, I'll kick Maid Dallas' log out from under her tender feet, and she'll hang.  Understand?"

Her eyes still on her fellow prisoner, Kellan nodded.   Be brave, 'Maid Dallas'!

Duana walked over and lifted Kellan out of the trunk and lay her on the camp bed.  She then lay next to her and untied Kellan's bandage gag.

When her mouth was finally free of the tight layers of linen, Kellan spit out her cloth stuffing and swallowed.  "Please, don't hurt her!" she croaked.

"Not quite as spoiled as one would think," Duana said.  "Don't worry.  I won't leave her like that all night.  You think I want to cook my own meals and haul my own kit unless I have to?"  She produced Kellan's book of Frankish verse, opened it, and turned it so the firelight lit the first page.  "I can read," Duana announced, "but not this gibberish.  What is it?"

Kellan squirmed in her tight ropes, trying to get comfortable.  "Frankish, in the new forms."

"Read," Duana ordered.

Kellan licked her lips and began.

"Strengthen, my love, this castle of my heart,
And with some store of pleasure give me aid,
For jealousy, with all them of his part,
Strong siege about the weary tower has laid.
Nay, if to—"

"Love poetry?" Duana interrupted.  Kellan nodded.  "The whole thing?"  Kellan nodded again.  "The Franks are such a strange lot.  They make love at the drop of a hat, then compose dour songs and poems about it as if it were a disease.  I was hoping this would be about Roland of the Horn, or something... stirring."  She closed the book and tossed it towards the open knapsack.  "Well then, I have no need of your scholarship, Princess."  Before Kellan could protest, the cloth was stuffed back in her mouth and Duana was restoring the tight wrappings of her gag.  "It's back in your box, Princess-fair-with-the-fiery-hair, and Maid Dallas will warm my bed."

Kellan was tucked back in the trunk, bare feet first.  She wiggled in her tight bonds and forced a despairing whine past her gag.  The lid closed and the lock and bolts engaged.   Warm her bed? Kelly wondered.  She carries a warming pan in her knapsack?  Kellan heard three hollow taps, and once again there was a blue flash.

It was nearly midnight when Dawn found a flashlight and led Kelly back to her new home.  They took the forest trail, as Dawn had promised.  It was a new moon with only a few stars visible through the canopy of tall conifers, so the light was very much needed.

"I had a really good time," Kelly said as they walked.

"We did too," Dawn responded, "especially The Brat.  She's something of a writer too, you know."

"She never mentioned it.  Fiction?"

Dawn laughed.  "I hope so.  Damsels and magicians and trolls and fairies and such."

"I've never dealt with the fairy folk much in my books," Kelly said.  "Someday I want to... but I'm not ready.  Has Debbie published anything?"

Dawn shook her head.  "No.  She fills notebooks by the dozen.  I think her stuff's good, but she's scared to show it to anyone."

Kelly smiled.  "Been there and done that," she muttered.  "I'll find a way to broach the subject with her... tactfully."

"Tactfully," Dawn agreed.  An owl hooted in the distance.  "Probably a Great Horned," Dawn whispered.

"Close?" Kelly asked.

"No, it's probably down the ravine near the beaver pond."

"Beaver pond?"

"It started out that way," Dawn responded.  "The beavers are gone, but we keep it repaired, stacking rocks to keep the spillway from washing out.  It's the closest thing to a swimming pool we have around here.  It's perfect for sunbathing and skinny dipping.  I'll show you the trail sometime."

Kelly nodded, then realized the gesture would be unseen in the near darkness.  "Sounds like fun."  They reached the house and Kelly unlocked the back door.  "Thanks again for the meal and companionship.  I feel very lucky to have you for neighbors; all of you."

Dawn smiled, leaned forward, and gave Kelly a quick kiss on her left cheek.  "The feeling's mutual.  I'll be by sometime tomorrow with Deb's old bed.  Bye!"  And then she was gone.

"G'bye!" Kelly called after her new friend, then watched her cross the small clearing and disappear into the woods.  She made a quick circuit to check that all the doors and windows were secure, then peeled off her clothes and crawled under the covers on her mattress.  Kelly always slept in the nude.  Her left hand went to her cheek, where Dawn's warm, wet lips had planted their goodnight kiss.  She closed her eyes, remembering the naughty, strangely exciting sensation of being helpless in Dawn's pillory.  A thrill coursed through Kelly's sex at the memory of Dawn's smiling face as she snapped the clip on the end of Debbie's chain through the pillory's hasp, locking Kelly in her wooden prison.  Kelly's right hand slid under the covers to her sex, and she used the edge of her palm to give herself a long, slow, gentle caress.

Dorey had changed into her usual sleeping costume, pajama pants and a tank top, and was brushing her teeth.  She spit in the sink, rinsed her mouth, looked into the mirror, and found Debbie leaning against the bathroom door frame.  The Brat had changed into her usual sleeping costume: a babydoll nightie and matching panties.  Dorey gazed at her little sister, and sighed.  "Tonight?"  Debbie nodded, a coy hint of a smile on her lips.  "I would have thought you'd be tired from a hard day's work and meeting The Famous Kelly Fey," Dorey suggested.

"Isn't she nice?" Debbie gushed, "and I'm not tired."

Dorey sighed again.  "You realize that come morning no excuses will be accepted.  No begging off your chores, no being too tired to help Dawn move wood, and no crankiness!"

"Yes, Dorey," Debbie said.  "The window seat, okay?"

"Scoot!" Dorey responded, making shooing gestures with her hands.

Debbie scampered to her room, flopped onto her bed, and lay on her back with her legs together and arms at her sides.  The bed was fully made, but a dark blue top sheet was stretched atop the comforter, and dozens of neatly coiled cloth bandages were arranged near the headboard.  The bandages were cut from a bolt of royal blue, polyester blend satin.  Each was two and a half inches wide and yards long, with all edges carefully tucked and machine hemmed by Debbie herself.

Dorey smiled down at her little sister.  "Ready?"  Debbie nodded.  "I mean, have you brushed your teeth and relieved yourself?  No begging to be let loose at oh-dark thirty in the A.M."  Debbie nodded again.  Dorey picked up a bandage, unfurled it, and began binding Debbie's left wrist to her left thigh.  She took several turns around upper thigh and wrist, being careful each layer of the wide ribbon lay flat and smooth as she worked.  The initial windings were rather loose, but tightened up somewhat when Dorey took several turns between Debbie's wrist and thigh, cinching the bondage.  When only about a foot of bandage was left at each free end, Dorey tied a neat, carefully compacted bow, then tucked the bow up against Debbie's thigh, under the wrappings and out of the reach of questing fingers.  Debbie's right wrist received similar treatment, then more bandages were used to bind Debbie's ankles and knees and to pin her arms to her torso.  Dorey took her time, making sure all the bindings were smooth, tight (but not too tight), and inescapable.

Next, Debbie was wrapped in the sheet.  Dorey pulled the first layer over her sister's bound body and carefully tucked the edge under her limp form, to get a taut fit.  She then rolled Debbie over and over, each time pulling and tucking any loose cloth.  Much dragging and lifting of Debbie's limp form was required, as well as much straightening and smoothing of the sheet, but eventually Debbie was completely swaddled with only her head exposed.  Dorey tucked the layers of sheet under her feet and used a satin bandage to wrap the layers of dark blue cotton tightly against Debbie's already bound ankles.  She finished the ankle binding, tied a neat bow and tucked it under the layers of bandage, then reached for another satin roll.

Eventually, Debbie's sheet-shrouded body was captured in a carefully hitched web of narrow strips.  The horizontal and lateral bands pressed the sheet against her body, creating an unmistakably female bundle.  Once the final bow was tied and tucked from sight, Debbie twisted and writhed in her bondage.  Dorey watched her sister struggle for several seconds, a kindly (sinister) smile on her face.  "Not going anywhere, are you?"

Debbie stopped struggling.  "No," she said, "I-I'm helpless."

Dorey stepped to a chest of drawers and returned with pair of bandage scissors and a wide roll of hypoallergenic medical tape.  She pulled a seven inch strip from the roll, cut it off, and held it before Debbie's face.  "Lips together!" she ordered.

"No stuffing?" Debbie complained.

"We've been over this," Dorey sighed.  "No effective gags unless Dawn or I are in the room.  Lips together."

"Meanie!" Debbie mumbled, then pursed her lips.

Dorey pressed the tape against Debbie's lips and face, then carefully smoothed the milky rectangle, making sure the tape's adhesive had a good grip.  She turned, and found Dawn had returned from escort duty.

"Our new neighbor get home okay?" Dorey asked.

Dawn nodded, gazing down at her slowly writhing, bound, bundled, and gagged baby sister.  "We spoil her too much."

Dorey smiled.  "As I recall, you were the one who introduced her to The Damsel Game, when she was ten."

"And you were the one who introduced me," Dawn responded, "when I was ten.  She staying here?"

Dorey shook her head.  "The window seat.  She insists."

Dawn gazed down at Debbie, her smile taking on the unmistakable glint of the Gloating Villainess.  "Yes... let's lock her in a coffin in our deepest dungeon."

Debbie's bedroom had a wide bay window with a built-in window seat.  Dawn turned the skeleton key in a lock set in the woodwork below the seat, then slid back a section of trim.  Several quiet metallic clicks could be heard, the sound of the steel bolts securing the lid disengaging.  Dawn had built the window seat herself.  All sides were of thick plywood, framed eight inches on center with two-by-fours, and secured with wood screws and steel angle brackets.  The façade facing the interior of the bedroom matched the decor, of course; but the thick walled (and cleverly ventilated) "storage compartment" under the window seat's heavy lid was, to put it mildly, overbuilt.

Dawn opened the seat's lid, then returned to the bed to help Dorey lift and carry their sheet-wrapped, ribbon-bound, and tape-gagged little sister to her requested fate.

The interior of the storage compartment was well padded.  Thick, heavy foam blocks lined the bottom and sides.  They'd been cut to follow the shape of a human body, then covered in black velvet.  Debbie's helpless form dropped into this cavity with less than an inch to spare on all sides.  

There was a small niche built into the side of the space above and behind Debbie's head, a six inch cube with a standard power receptacle.  "Is that a new nightlight?" Dorey asked, indicating a flat, streamlined, plastic object plugged into one of the outlets.

Dawn nodded as she clicked a switch on the light's front.  There was a brief pause, then the front panel flickered and glowed with a dim purple radiance.  "UV light," Dawn explained.  "I'll get the baby monitor," she said and walked away.

Dorey smiled down at her slowly squirming captive.  "Careful what you wish for, Princess," she said.  (Kidnapped Princess was Debbie's favorite fantasy.)  "It just might come true."

Dawn returned with one of the palm-size radios the sisters used to keep in touch as they moved about the property.  This one had a voice-activated microphone plugged in, as well as an AC adapter.  "Channel three," Dawn said as she plugged the radio in and lay it flat in the niche.  The microphone clipped to a staple driven into the wood above Debbie's head.  Dawn and Dorey would sleep with their radios set to channel three and on their bedside nightstands.  "The Princess'" prearranged safety signal would be to hum the song I Need a Hero through her tape-gag.

"Well... sleep tight," Dorey said, stifling a yawn with one hand and reaching for the edge of the window seat's lid with the other.

"Wait!" Dawn objected.  "We can't leave her in there all alone."  She then turned and went to the bedroom closet.

Debbie forced a questioning noise past her gag.  Dorey shrugged, then smiled when she saw what was in Dawn's hands.

It was a stuffed animal toy, but not just any stuffed animal toy; it was a tarantula, eighteen inches across, and frighteningly realistic.  Made from soft polyester fake-fur in several different shades of brown and dark tan, it really looked like a gigantic spider, all the way down to its eight eyes, sinister fangs, creepy mouth parts, and the arch of its semi-stiff, hairy legs.  The illusion was reinforced by Dawn's slowly moving hand tucked into the hidden cavity in the tarantula's body.  "Why look, it's Schelob," Dawn purred.

Debbie's body went perfectly still and her blue eyes wide with fear.  (Her sisters knew she wasn't really afraid.  She'd purchased "Schelob" herself at a toy store in Cannon Beach.)

Dorey stroked Schelob's head, and Dawn skillfully worked the puppet to make the spider respond.  "A pity the Princess' mouth is gagged," Dorey said.  "Where will Schelob lay her eggs?"

Dawn leaned close so Debbie could stare into the spider's many eyes.  "There's always her nostrils."  She set the toy on Debbie's sheet-wrapped, satin ribbon bound, and slightly heaving bosom, carefully tucking its legs against the close padding and the helpless captive's body for a realistic spidery pose.  Debbie lifted her gagged head and shuddered in her bonds.

"Sleep tight, Princess," Dawn whispered, and slowly closed the window seat lid.  Debbie writhed and struggled, mewing piteous, whimpering noises.  And then the lid was closed.  Dawn paused, then slid the bar of trim that slammed the bolts home.  She paused again, then turned the key in the lock.  She then turned and grinned at her sister.  "The UV nightlight?" she whispered.

"Yeah?" Dorey whispered back.

Dawn took several steps back and motioned for Dorey to follow, then whispered in her ear.  "I discovered that the ends of Schelob's fur glow under UV; and I found a clear resin that glows red under UV... and painted her eyes!  Just wait 'til the Brat's eyes adapt to the dark."

Dorey simultaneously shuddered and stifled a laugh.  "You rat!" she accused.  "And if she wakes in the middle of the night and looks up...  You wouldn't ever do anything like that to me, would you?"

Dawn smiled sweetly, spun on her heel, and left the room.  Dorey sighed and followed, turning out the light and closing the bedroom door.