by Van © 2004
		Chapter 5

Six days passed.  Six days of hard work, carrying Duana's pack up an increasingly steep trail.  Six days of being constantly bound and gagged.  Six days of trail rations and infrequent water.  Six nights of sleeping bound and gagged with her captor's hands sliding over her body, rubbing in ointment to soothe her skin (and taking her sweet time doing it).  Six days without a single slip on her captor's part, without meeting a single traveler, without a single opportunity for escape. Six days—and still Kellan's spirit was unbroken.

Princess Kellan was of Warrior Stock.  It would take more than a little hardship and discomfort to turn her into a weeping ninny.   Besides, she told herself as she negotiated a particularly treacherous stretch of the mountain trail, I can always weep later... after we get to the Sorceress' tower.

Their camp that night was a crude stone hut, half cave, half lean-to.  Strange symbols and runes were scratched in the rock of the cramped interior and the soot of countless fires stained the tilted slab of granite that comprised the roof.  The wind blew eerily through the cracks in the hut walls.

During the night Kellan woke in her bonds.  Something was outside the hut... or a few pebbles had come loose and were rattling down the slope.  A strange, unworldly howl sounded in the distance... or was it another trick of the wind?  Her eyes wide above her gag, Kellan stared out the open doorway at the patch of stars and glowing horizon mist that was all she could see.  She heard a tiny scrape of steel on rock and realized Duana was not at her side, but was seated on a nearby stone, wrapped in Kellan's dun cloak.  Her sword was in her lap, unsheathed and ready.  Kellan lay in terror for some time... until exhaustion overcame her fear and she drifted back to sleep.

Day seven dawned clear and hot.  They left the hut and continued up the mountain.  The trees on the slopes had become short and scraggily, many bent and flag-like in their growth patterns, their branches all on one side, away from the prevailing winter wind.  Mounds of heather grew everywhere, many in full flower and buzzing with bees.

Late in the afternoon they came to an impassable stream pouring down the mountain through a jumble of sharp boulders.  The path turned along the stream and into a narrow valley.  A hundred paces past the entrance, the stream widened into a pond fed by a spectacular waterfall.  The trail led under the falls and out the far side, along the pond and across a narrow brook, then around the far side of the pond and back out to the face of the mountain.  As they came to the brook, Kellan gazed into the far end of the valley.  It was heavily forested, and protected on all sides by sheer, rugged cliffs that rose hundreds of feet.  The sky overhead was clear, but where the cliffs began to converge, all was lost in drifting clouds of white mist.  The banks of the brook were host to a riot of tall grasses and countless flowers—foxgloves, harebells, primroses, wild thyme, cowslips, pansies, and bluebells... especially bluebells.  They grew in azure swaths, up to and under the trees.

The trees... they were ancient and huge, their roots twisted and spread.  Their branches were like the elongated, spindly arms and gnarled elbows of grotesque giants.  Their main boles were wider in circumference than the outstretched arms of five tall men.  They were cloaked in green, living moss, and their dense canopies fostered a deep, sinister gloom.

The trail branched at the brook, the lesser track leading down the valley and into the woods.  Without realizing what she was doing, Kellan's feet took the path into the wild—until she was literally jerked back to reality by Duana's chain.

"Silly girl," the sword maiden scolded.  "Don't you know a Faerie Wood when you see one?  You want to be the Wyrd Folk's slave for seven years?"  A sad smile crossed her features and Duana took a step closer to her captive.  Her left hand, still clutching the collar chain's terminal ring, was placed on Kellan's shoulder.  Her right hand brushed her prisoner's fiery red curls from her freckled face with unaccustomed gentleness.  "But then, Faerie Slave might be preferable to Slave of the Rose Tower... might it not?"  She sighed, turned, and stepped away, taking the trail out of the valley.  The chain went taut and Kellan had no choice but to follow.

"And speaking of the Rose Tower," Duana continued, "we are nearly there, and can afford to dally."  At the edge of the pond, opposite the waterfall, she locked the end of Kellan's collar chain around the gnarled root of an ancient willow, then untied her wrists, helped her shrug out of the pack, and untied her gag.  "Strip," she ordered.

"Why?" Kellan demanded, licking her parched lips and rubbing her wrists.

Duana laughed.  "I don't have time for your Royal nonsense," the sword maiden answered.  "Do you want a relaxing swim, or would you rather I tied you to Old Man Willow and let you watch me swim?"

Kellan turned her head to gaze at the rippling water, licked her lips again, rolled her aching shoulders, then sat on the grass and began removing her boots.  Her bodice, blouse, and skirt followed; then she slowly, cautiously stepped into the water.  It was cold, hardly surprising this high in the mountains; but it felt good after the endless, ever-climbing, dirt and rock of the trail.  She waded out until it was above her knees; sat on her rump; used her cupped hands to drink the clear, sweet water; then wet her upper body, face, and hair.  One hand clutching the steel collar locked around her throat, she turned and watched her captor gather her clothes, boots, and the knapsack, and walk further down the trail until she was well beyond the reach of Kellan's long, thin, tethering chain.  Duana dropped the knapsack on the ground, spread the serving girl costume on the grass, then began unlacing her leather jerkin.

Kellan continued pouring water over her head, shoulders, and breasts; watching as her captor stripped to the skin.  Duana's body was lithe and trim, her muscles well-toned; her skin pale and unblemished; her breasts firm and pert; her stomach flat and well-sculpted; her dark blonde hair hanging down her strong back, straight and sun-streaked.  She stooped and retrieved her sheathed sword and the cord she had used to bind Kellan's wrists, then strolled back to the willow, a gloating smile on her face.  She dropped her sword on the bank and beckoned to Kellan, waving the cord.  "Out you come, Princess," she called, shaking the end of the collar chain.  "Don't make me reel you in like a trout on the hook."

Kellan glared at her naked, infuriatingly smug captor, then stood and sloshed back to the shore.  "You're a cruel monster," she muttered, then turned her back.  Duana grabbed her wrists and crossed them behind her back.  Cord tightened and was knotted, then Duana draped one arm across Kellan's shoulders and led her prisoner back into the water.  Kellan tried to twist free.  "Keep your hands off me," she growled.

Duana laughed and grabbed a fistful of dripping red hair.  "It's not as if you have a choice, Princess," she noted, and dragged her captive further out, until the water was nearly at their waists.  She pulled Kellan off her feet and held her close as they half-floated among the aquatic weeds.

Kellan kicked, floundered, and squirmed, her hair flailing and chain rattling as she fought to escape Duana's grip.  "No!" she moaned in a hoarse whisper.

Duana clutched Kellan's right breast with her left hand, wrapped her legs around the prisoner's thighs, tightened her grip on Kellan's hair, and kissed her lips.

Kellan squirmed and finally managed to break the kiss.  "I hate you!" she gasped as Duana squeezed her breast, slid one leg between Kellan's to prevent them from closing, let her hand glide down Kellan's flank, and cupped her sex.  "Oh!  Stop... Please stop," the blushing princess begged.

Duana's fingers slid between Kellan's nether lips and teased the nubbin of flesh and soft folds within.  "Not your choice, Princess," she purred and kissed her again.

Kellan bucked and struggled... then... to her infinite surprise... found herself returning her captor's kiss with equal enthusiasm.

It took several days for Kelly to gather her supplies.  She wanted to do this thing right.

She found a store specializing in boating supplies that sold braided nylon rope in a dark teal she found particularly attractive; so attractive she went to a linens store and bought a set of sheets to match.  The manufacturer called the color "eucalyptus," and she liked the way it looked against her skin and red hair.

She also found a web site that sold three-inch wrist and ankle cuffs with faux fur linings.  They were black leather with solidly attached two-inch steel rings, and wide, deep, velcro closures.  They also sold a gag, a two-inch, eraser-pink ball of unpainted rubber with a black rubber elastic loop as strap.  All were surprisingly affordable and express shipping only took three days.

She spent those three days perfecting her "timer."  The bed's "automatic curtain release" required a weight on the hook built into the top of one the headboard posts to keep the scissor-clamp closed, and had a provision for a sash-pull which would counteract the weight and pull the clamp open, whether the hook was still weighted or not.  In a brainstorm of which she was particularly proud, Kelly realized how she could combine the two features to induce a mess-free, timed delay in the release of the clamp.

To the hook she attached a two-liter plastic water bottle.  Minor modifications to a nylon strap and net bag designed to hold such a bottle for picnics made this possible. The bottle hung neck down and she cut off the base to make it a narrow, cylindrical funnel.  A second bottle in a second bottle bag hung below from the sash pull ring.  Experimentation confirmed that the funnel bottle and its bag alone didn't weigh enough to keep the scissor-clamp closed.  That required the additional weight of a half-dozen ice cubes.  She used a length of rubber tubing to direct the flow from the funnel bottle to the collection bottle, the bottle hanging from the sash ring, and her Devious Device was complete.

So... fill the funnel bottle with ice and its weight would hold the scissor-clamp closed.  Allow the melt water to flow from the funnel into the collection bottle, and eventually either the weight of the funnel would be insufficient to hold the scissor-clamp closed, or the weight of the collection bottle would be sufficient to pull the sash ring and release the scissor-clamp.  It was elegant and fool-proof, and, since Kelly used black nylon bags and cobalt blue plastic bottles, stylish!

All Kelly had to do was lash her left wrist and two ankles to the bed at three points using cuffs, rope and the bedpost rings, rig the fourth cuff with a slack rope from the remaining bedpost ring, through the cuff ring, back through the same bedpost ring, and up to the one-way friction clamp; pull on the rope an inch at a time until the velcro strap on the fourth cuff was out of the range of her mouth (and any gag she might be wearing was out of the range of her fingers)... and she'd be helpless; helpless until the ice in the funnel melted, dripped into the collection bottle, the scissor-clamp opened and the friction clamp dropped, and she had her sufficient slack to free herself.  What could go wrong?

Kelly filled the days until the cuffs and gag arrived taking notes for a new novel and finishing her unpacking.  She ran into the Behrs now and then, but mostly she was on her own.  She also ran a series of tests to determine the minimum number of ice cubes necessary to keep the scissor-clamp closed, and the time it took to melt additional ice cubes.  After several trials she had the shape of the ice cubes verses time curve worked out.   My High School science teacher would be proud, she mused, ...scandalized, but proud.

The cuffs and gag finally arrived, delivered by a UPS "Brownie," a cute brunette with a quirky smile, big brown eyes, and well-toned legs showcased by her uniform shorts.  Kelly had the package open before the sound of the delivery van had completely faded.

The cuffs were supple and smooth, just as she'd hoped.  She wrapped one around her left wrist, carefully seated and closed the velcro closure, then tugged on the attached ring.  Perfect!   The cuff was tight, inescapable, yet comfortable, and no matter how hard she pulled on the ring, none of the velcro ripped free.  The faux fur lining was soft against her skin, and the butter-soft leather smooth and gleaming.  She lifted the closure of the cuff to her lips and found there was just enough of a seam to get a good grip with her teeth and easily pull it open.

The gag wasn't quite as big a hit.  The rubber of the ball tasted terrible, even after being rinsed, and the black rubber strap was tight, a little too tight; but from her very limited experience with such things Kelly had come to believe the closest thing to a comfortable gag was probably a few strips of slightly elastic tape, and even that could pull on the skin.  Still... the delicious helplessness of not being able to speak, not being able to call out for assistance, from anyone, really fueled the fires of her fantasy.  It was worth a little discomfort... as long as she didn't bruise the corners of her mouth.

Enough waiting!  It was mid-morning, Kelly already had her ropes cut to length, there was a full bowl of ice cubes in the freezer, and she'd been planning and dreaming about this enough!  Delayed gratification was all good and well, but Kelly was ready.  There was only one thing that could cause her to delay or abort "Operation Tie Kelly to the Bed."  She swallowed nervously, licked her lips, and picked up her cell phone.

Dawn tied the final knot of her big sister's bonds and took a step back.  They were in one of the Behr compound outbuildings.  Dorey was sitting on an old packing crate, bound and gagged, and dressed in one of her "Emma Peel catsuits."  This one was skintight spandex and covered her completely, with no unsightly panty or bra lines.  The base color was a deep blue-violet, and the cuffs and accent stripes along the arm, leg and torso seams were burnt umber, as was the sewn-on belt riding low on her hips.  A long zipper ran up the front from just above her navel to just under her chin, but at the moment it was half unzipped, providing a provocative glimpse of smooth, fair skin, including the inner slopes of her firm breasts.  Gloves and high-heeled boots in a butternut leather that matched the suit's accents completed the ensemble.

Dorey's bonds were quarter-inch braided cotton rope, and had been applied with consummate skill.  Her arms were folded behind her back with each gloved hand cupping its opposite elbow.  Tight bands of rope encircling her forearms and maintained the pose.  More rope was looped and hitched around and between her arms and torso and across her shoulders, and her legs were lashed together at the ankles, knees, and thighs.  Finally, a long series of running hitches linked her bonds from the tightly lashed insteps of her boots to her rope-yoked shoulders.

Her gag was simple but effective: a two-inch rubber ball had been crammed in her mouth and her lips sealed behind several tight bands of tight, clingy, elastic bandage.  Dorey squirmed in her inescapable bonds and mewed through her gag, batting her eyes at her captor.

Dawn was also in costume, another Dorey Behr original and another catsuit.  It was black leather, cut to hug every curve of Dawn's athletic form yet allow freedom of motion.  The finish was gleaming, supple, and smooth, with a subdued, pebbled texture. High-heeled boots, gloves, a harness with several pouches, and dark shades completed the outfit.  Dawn's hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and a cruel smile curled her lips.

"So, Agent Unicorn," Dawn purred, "once again you are in my power."  Gloved hands on hips, Dawn slowly paced around her helpless captive.  "This time there will be no rescue, and... excuse me."  She reached into a pocket of her harness, produced a wireless phone, flipped it open, and held it to her ear.  "Hello?"  Dorey sat in her bonds and waited patiently (her only option).  "Oh, hi!" Dawn said into the phone, then turned her back on her helpless sister and strolled out the door.

Dorey squirmed in her bonds.  Dawn had done a thoroughly professional job of tying her up.  No surprise there.  The last time Dorey had escaped her little sister's bonds on her own they had been nineteen and twelve, respectively.  She looked around the cluttered outbuilding.  It had no tool bench and was mainly used to store odds and ends, and given Dawn's diverse commissions, some of the ends were very odd.  She supposed she might eventually hop around and find a loose nail or a rusty hasp or something and saw through a strategically important strand of her bonds... assuming she didn't loose her balance, fall on the floor, and find herself flopping around like the proverbial fish out of water... but before Dawn was finished, she doubted she would be granted even that slim possibility of escape.

Dawn strolled back into the building, folding her phone and stashing it back in her harness.  "That was Kelly Fey.  It seems I'm invited to dinner tonight at her place, six o'clock sharp."  She reached out and tested the tightness of the strands of rope hitched between Dorey's breasts.  "Curious... she was adamant about the time... made me promise to be punctual."  She stepped behind her prisoner and added yet another hitch to the already redundant final knot securing Dorey's bonds.  "Six o'clock... sharp.  There's something going on there."  She stepped back to Dorey's front.  "Oh well.  Where was I?"  She reached out and lifted Dorey's chin with her right hand.  "This time there will be no rescue, Agent Unicorn.  I'm going to have to stash you until a retrieval team can bring you to our Secret Base for interrogation.  It's going to be several uncomfortable hours, I'm afraid, but no worse than what you did to me last year in Moldova."

Dawn walked into the back of the cluttered room and pulled the dust cover from a tall, narrow, vertical object.  It was a wooden box, approximately seven feet high by two-and-a-half wide by one-and-a-half feet deep.  She unlocked a heavy padlock, lifted a hasp, and several bolts spaced evenly around the periphery of the box and linked by thick steel rods disengaged.  The front opened and several horizontal slats with concave cutouts were revealed.

Dorey sighed through her gag and glared at her sister.

"That's right," Dawn said, dropping out of character, "Professor Sinistero's Magic Cabinet of Doom!  I've been looking for a use for it ever since 'The Professor' reneged on his contract and I was stuck with the damn thing."  She lifted Dorey and carried her over her shoulder towards the cabinet.  The prisoner wiggled and squirmed, but couldn't prevent being tucked into the coffin-like interior.  The purpose of the slats became clear.  Dorey's neck fit the smooth concave cavity in the top slat, and the cavities in the other slats fit the back of her body at mid-torso, waist, thighs, just above her knees, at mid-calf, and at her ankles.  Dorey watched as Dawn fit a board into slots in the sides of the cabinet even with her ankles.  It slid forward until it met the rear slat, then clicked and locked.  One by one additional slats slid into place, until the already bound "Agent" found herself secured in stocks from ankles to neck.

"As you can see," Dawn lectured, "the door has slots to match the stocks as well, so everything is doubly secure once it's closed... and the bolts thrown... and the padlock locked."  She reached up and began unwinding Dorey's bandage gag.  She plucked the ball from in the prisoner's mouth, then wound three layers of bandage between her teeth and around her head as a cleave-gag.  "There," she said with a gloating smile.  "Your interrogation is a high priority, 'Unicorn', so I've been instructed to make sure you don't suffocate."  She produced Dorey's palm radio, clicked it on, and set it on the neck stock slats near the captive's left ear.  The voice-activated microphone was already plugged in, and Dawn clipped it to the elastic bandage over her left cheek.  "There.  As I was saying, your interrogation is a high priority, but making sure you aren't rescued before your interrogation is even higher.  This is a sound-activated bomb."  She patted the radio.  "If you make any noise above nine decibels, it will blow your pretty head clean off."

Dawn closed the cabinet door, threw the bolts and snapped the padlock closed on the hasp, trapping her squirming, completely helpless sister inside.  Then, as a final torment, she opened a narrow slot in the thick, heavy wood, revealing Dorey's wide, staring, blue eyes.  "Well... I'll leave you to your fate, Unicorn.  Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky, I'll complete the rest of my mission early, and can get back to base in time to assist in your interrogation."  She fluttered the gloved fingers of her left hand in a mocking farewell, and slid the slot cover closed.

Dawn exited the outbuilding, slamming the door for her bound, gagged and encased sister's benefit.  A whining buzz was coming from the woodshop.  She stuck her head inside and found Debbie, wearing safety glasses and hearing protection muffs, her hair in a tight ponytail.  The most junior Behr was running raw stock through a planer, smoothing the surfaces and edges of the wood prior to making cuts for the next piece of furniture on the order list.  Dawn waved and got her attention, then held up her radio and three fingers.

Debbie smiled, paused to insert an earpiece under her right ear muff, switched the radio in her hip pocket to channel three, then went back to work.

Princess Kellan was sore, tired, and confused.  The dip in the pond had been refreshing, but the liberties her captor had taken during the dip had been horrid... and wonderful.  The things Duana had done with her fingers and tongue!  Kellan had "practiced kissing" with her playmates at the castle, a giggling, girlish game in which all the court maidens participated, but this was different... very different... wonderfully different... horribly different.

The trail had crested one peak, and was now climbing a saddle between two even taller peaks.  Sunset was only a couple of hours away, and Kellan was sure they'd stop soon.  She rolled her shoulders to adjust the hang of the pack, but this was nearly impossible with her wrists bound together in front and then to a hemp belt encircling her waist.  She was developing a blister on her left heel.  Kellan would have complained, or at least tried to learn how soon they were going to make camp, but her gag made this impossible.  She sighed, tried again to settle the pack, and glared at her captor's back.

Duana seemed completely unaffected by the pace, the increasing altitude, or anything else.  Her brown leather boots, pants, and jerkin, as well as her coarse, forest green shirt were none the worse for wear; albeit the sleeveless shirt was a little sweat-stained; and she carried her sword and various sheathed blades as if they weighed nothing.  In comparison, Kellan's serving girl outfit, already worn and stained before being "borrowed" from Maid Dallas, looked ready to fall from her exhausted body into a heap of soiled, ripped, sweat-soaked rags.

Kellan stared at the strong, lightly tanned hand of her captor as it held the ring of the chain that was linked her collar.  She kept thinking of what that hand, those fingers, had done to her just hours before in the pond... how they'd caressed her breasts, and stomach, and her most private person.  She relived yet again the things Duana had done to her bound, helpless body.  I hate her, Kellan decided, but knew she was lying to herself.

The saddle flattened out to a grassy plateau.  Duana paused, took a step to the side, and pointed up the trail.  Once again, the smile on her beautiful face was decidedly sad.  "The Rose Tower," she announced.

A thrill of dread shivered up Kellan's spine.  About a mile ahead she could see a ruined castle.  The main walls and towers were reduced to little more than tall heaps of stone, pointing at the sky like the blunt gray teeth of a long-dead dragon; but the central keep looked nearly intact.  The castle and mountainside for a half-mile around were covered with blue-green vegetation.  Even at this distance Kellan could tell they were roses.  Some were bushes as tall as trees, but most were long trailing and climbing vines.  And at the center of the riot of stone and dark leaf, all around the tall, straight keep, the vines were in bloom, their color the exact shade of freshly spilled blood.