by Van © 2004
		Chapter 9

Kelly tickled "Maid Deborah's" feet for the better part of two minutes.  The hapless "serving girl" struggled and writhed, tugged on her leather manacles and twisted her stock-bound, toe-tied feet to the limit of their captivity.  She also giggled through her gag, of course, her eyes wide with distress.  The quill slithered and slid over Debbie's dirty soles and between her wiggling toes, sometimes gliding in slow circles, sometimes in long strokes.  The poor girl's face was flushed, sweat beading on her forehead and between her heaving breasts.

Kelly paused in her labors and smiled at Dorey's camera.  "Surely this is enough?"  Debbie nodded in enthusiastic agreement, then clinched her eyes tightly closed and whined through her gag as Kelly resumed tickling her feet.  "Or do you need more?" the gloating "princess" inquired.

Dorey smiled and pulled the memory stick from her camera.  "All done," she announced, then turned and started walking towards the house.  "I'll start lunch."

"I'll help!" Dawn called after her, then stepped forward and whispered in Kelly's ear.  Debbie watched with growing apprehension, especially as Kelly's smile turned somewhat... feral.  Dawn blew her captive little sister a kiss, then hurried after Dorey.

Still smiling and still twirling the dreaded feather, Kelly strolled from the foot of the stocks to Debbie's side.  Princess and Serving Girl locked eyes for several long seconds... then Kelly tucked the quill in Debbie's left braid and reached for the knot of her gag.

The folded cloth fell free and Debbie spit out the wadding.  "You're a horrible, horrible person," she muttered, the twinkle in her eyes belying her words.

"I do my best," Kelly purred, pulled over a wooden stool, and sat down.  "Dawn tells me you're a writer."

Debbie tugged on the manacles binding her wrists before answering.  "I dabble," she admitted.  "I'm nowhere close to being a real writer... like you."

"Let me see your work," Kelly suggested, a kind smile on her face.

"No!" Debbie answered, blushing furiously.

"You think I learned to write all on my own?  You think I didn't have mentors?"

Debbie pulled on her bonds.  "I'm not ready," she whined.

Kelly chuckled.  "Let me be the judge of that."

"No!"

Kelly's smile turned decidedly coy.  "Is there nothing I can say to persuade you?"

Debbie shook her head, still blushing.

Kelly reached out and plucked the quill from Debbie's hair.  "Nothing I can do?"

Debbie's jaw dropped and her eyes popped wide.  "You wouldn't."

Smiling evilly, Kelly nodded.  "It's for your own good, Deb.  You'll thank me for this someday."

Debbie squirmed and pulled on her bonds as Kelly repositioned the stool (and herself) to the stocks, opposite Debbie's wriggling feet.  "Please!  I... I... ehhh!  Stop!"

Kelly had used her feather to give Debbie's left sole a long, slow lick.  "Last chance."

"You rat!" Debbie accused.  "I—arrr—AHHH-EHH-YEEE!"

Kelly was tickling Debbie's feet in earnest, working over the soles and toes of both feet, rapidly switching from one to the other.  Her frenzied victim giggled, squealed, squirmed, and struggled.

"What the hell is going on back here???"

Kelly and Debbie looked up to find Dawn, hands on hips and a disapproving frown on her face.

"Uh-I-Debbie won't let me read her stories," Kelly explained, blushing furiously.

"Kelly's torturing me!" Debbie said simultaneously; panting, sweating, and smiling at her rescuer.

Dawn shook her head, stepped forward, and thrust the wadding of Debbie's gag back in her mouth.  Outraged and dismayed, Debbie squirmed, mumbled, and glared at her sister as she tightened the overlying cleave-gag.  Dawn gave the knot a final cinch (causing Debbie to wince), then shook her right index finger at Kelly.  "Between the power tools and Dorey's sewing machine, there's enough noise around here," she explained.  "Please keep your victim gagged from now on."  She kissed Debbie's forehead, smiled at Kelly, spun on her heel, and sauntered away.  "Lunch in half an hour," she called back over her shoulder.

Kelly and Debbie's heads swiveled and their eyes locked.  Kelly smiled... Debbie whined piteously... Kelly twirled her feather...  and Debbie countered with her most heart-rending gagged pout.  "Oh..." Kelly whispered, "I just love those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes."

She shifted her attention to Debbie's wriggling toes and leaned forward.  "And just look at these plump little piggies."  Kelly stretched, rolled her shoulders, and twirled her feather.  "When you've had enough... just nod your head."

Princess Kellan languished in her golden bonds and golden cage for some time.  Darkness hung like a shroud, and the only sounds were her own gagged breathing and the metallic clinks and scrapes of her bonds bumping and sliding against the bars of her cage as she tried to find some degree of comfort.

Hours passed... it had to be hours... and nothing changed... save her growing hunger... and thirst... and the aching soreness of her limbs from lack of motion.  She tried to sleep, but was rewarded with short, fitful naps.  She would lean against her cage (a matter of less than an inch, as the gibbet-like encasement fit her standing body like a glove), close her eyes... dream of home... then snap awake to find herself still a bound, caged, and helpless prisoner, far, far from home.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted and Kellan found herself in an elegant circular chamber.  The floor was a mosaic of polished stone tiles depicting horned and bearded satyrs and loosely clothed female nymphs dancing, feasting, and making love.  Glazed windows in the marble walls and the dome far overhead admitted sunlight and a view of the ubiquitous vines covering the Rose Tower.  A low table surrounded by couches and piles of cushions occupied the central space.  The table groaned with plates and platters.  Every delicacy known to Princess Kellan was on display.  Roasted meats, whole fowl, large and small, stews and pies, sauces and gravies, wine, beer, ale, and mead...  Kellan's empty stomach growled, her nostrils flared at the complex, delicious aroma, and her gagged mouth found new reason to drool.

 Kellan's cage hung from a chain, several yards above the floor. There was no second chain linking her to the floor as there had been before.   She wiggled in her bonds and the cage shimmied and swayed.  Kellan caught movement from the corner of one eye, turned her head, and watched The Sorceress drift into view.  As before, her feet were off the floor and and her red robe and long, blonde hair were billowing in her wake.

The Sorceress settled to the floor and reclined on a couch.  Her cape and golden gown settled themselves into elegant folds and her hair slithered down her back to hang glossy and straight.  She glanced up at her red-haired prisoner and smiled.  "If you promise to be a well-behaved guest," she said, "you may join me for repast."  She raised her right hand and made a complex gesture.

The cage began to change, the bars bending, shrinking, growing, releasing and reattaching.  Kellan's body was carried along through the metamorphosis.  Her knees were folded, she was bent at the waist, and she was forced into a fetal tuck, her gold-covered breasts pressed against her thighs, her ankles snugged against her buttocks, and her brank-caged chin resting on her knees.  The cage bars held her in this pose.  

The Sorceress closed her hand and the bars began to squeeze.   Kellan whined through her gag and her eyes popped wide in distress.  "Ill manners will not be tolerated," the Sorceress announced, and opened her hand.

The cage cracked like an egg and Kellan dropped towards the floor.  She mewed through her gag as she fell—then found herself floating above a couch.  Her brank and its gag were gone, and her manacle cuffs, ankle cuffs, and the torques on her upper arms were unattached.  She settled into the couch's soft cushions, her former restraints now golden jewelry.  She squirmed and found a comfortable position (in which her crotch shield and breast cups didn't pinch or bind).  After her extended bondage, Kellan wanted to stretch her limbs and roll her shoulders, but such behavior was unladylike at table.

Her stomach was still growling, and the Sorceress' "repast" was now within reach, but Kellan was not broken.  "Why am I here?" she demanded, her gaze on her smiling, gloating captor.  "What are you going to do to me?"

The Sorceress picked up the leg of a roast quail, dipped it in a reddish brown sauce, and gave it a delicate lick.  "Fair questions," she purred, sucked the meat from the bone, and tossed the bone away.  "I've debated keeping you in complete ignorance..."  She used a small knife to spear a cube of beef from a platter.  "...to heighten your apprehension."  She chewed and swallowed the beef, then reached for a morsel of lamb.  "But there's something to be said for the gnawing terror of knowing one's fate, don't you agree?"

Kellan glared at her captor, still ignoring the food spread before her.

The Sorceress popped an olive in her mouth, and smiled.  "Several years ago I came across a scroll with an ancient spell, a means of gaining control of great powers.  The 'living soul of the daughter of a king' is one of the ingredients.  I've spent a great deal of effort gathering all that is required... and now I have it."  She reached for a tart-sized pie and devoured it in two bites.  "What am I going to do to you?"  She favored her prisoner with a cruel smile.  "Many unbearably painful and pleasurable things, for a very, very long time.  And when your ordeal is over, I will be the most powerful mage this world has ever seen."  She speared another cube of beef, dipped it in a yellow sauce, popped it in her mouth, and slowly chewed, her amused eyes focused on her scantily clad, red-haired prisoner.

Kellan stared back with a carefull neutral (she hoped) expression, trying not to surrender to panic.  'Unbearably painful and pleasurable things?'

"I'm sorry," the Sorceress purred.  "Did I spoil your appetite?"

Debbie's wrists were crossed behind her back and bound with cotton clothesline.  More of the soft, braided rope bound her ankles, knees, and elbows.  She was seated in a straight chair in front of her writing desk, her arms behind the chairback, and her feet tucked under the seat.  More rope lashed her in place, above and below her breasts, across her shoulders, around her waist, across her lap, and linking her wrists and ankles.  Three long, wide strips of white medical tape sealed her lips over the crumpled bandana stuffed in her mouth.

Kelly, the author of Debbie's condition, was gracefully reclined on the prisoner's bed, her bare feet crossed atop a big pillow.  More pillows were piled against the headboard and cushioned her head and shoulders.  Several of Debbie's spiral notebooks were scattered about, and Kelly was studiously reading the latest, idly twisting a curl of her red hair, carefully turning the pages, and pausing occasionally to scratch a note in the stenographer's pad at her right side.

Both had changed from Dorey's costumes before lunch, donning jeans and tank-tops, then had retired to Debbie's room for "The Reading."  They'd started with Debbie simply watching... but her nervous pacing and constant interruptions to ask inane questions made it impossible for Kelly to concentrate... at least that was her excuse to get out the rope and tape.

Debbie twisted slowly in her bonds, concentrating on her bound wrists.   Kelly knows her stuff, she decided.  Her groping fingers couldn't reach a single knot, not the knots securing her ankles to her wrists, her waist or lap in the chair, or the wrist bonds themselves.  She could feel several different strands of rope, but no matter what she did, no matter how she twisted, pulled, or tugged, none of the strands moved.   She took hitches around the chair and the other ropes as she went, the prisoner realized.  I'm not going anywhere.

Kelly mumbled something under her breath, made a quick note (underlining something three times), turned the page, and continued reading.

What? Debbie wondered.  What did she find?  What did I do wrong?  It was excruciating to be helplessly bound and gagged while her favorite author and friend read her work; excruciating, humiliating... and exciting.  She squirmed in her chair and felt the slight wetness between her legs.  A blush colored her cheeks, the parts not covered by tape.  She hates it, the miserable captive decided.

Kelly flipped the page, frowned, riffled the rest of the notebook to confirm it was empty, then turned her head to gaze at Debbie.  "This is it?" she asked, her expression neutral.  Debbie nodded, her blush deepening.  "Damn!" Kelly cursed, closing the notebook and tossing it aside.  "I hate reading half a story."  She straightened the notebooks into a single stack, then swung her legs off the bed and sat up.  "No outline, notes, anything to tell me where this thing's going?"

Debbie shook her head.  She hates it!

"I love it!" Kelly said, smiling.  "It's a little rough in places, but basically solid.  I think with a little help... very little... you can whip this into a first novel to be proud of.  I'll help, of course, both with the polishing and the publishing.  I know I can get my agent interested, and..."

Debbie's eyes were wet, and as Kelly watched, a tear rolled down her right cheek and the tape covering her mouth.  "Poor thing," Kelly whispered, went to Debbie's side, carefully peeled the tape from her lips and pulled the bandana from her mouth.  "Why are you crying?"

The chair-bound captive smiled up at Kelly.  "You really like it?" she asked.  Kelly nodded.  "Really?"

Kelly's smile broadened.  "At some point you're going to have to take 'yes' for an answer and stop fishing for compliments," she purred, then found a tissue and gently wiped Debbie's eyes.  "You have a real talent, Debbie," she said, sitting back on the bed.  "I'd very much like to help it develop."

Debbie nodded.  "Okay.  What do we do?"

"You really don't have an outline for the rest of the plot?"  Debbie shook her head.  "No idea where the rest of this thing is going?"

Debbie squirmed in her bonds.  "Well... I wouldn't go that far.  I... no.  I'm waiting for my muse to tell me."

Kelly sighed and leaned back against the headboard pillows.  "There's nothing wrong with simply writing.  Listening to your inner voice is good; but a plot needs structure.  Characters need structure.  The reader may be surprised by things as they happen, but if the foundation isn't solid, nothing rings true."

"Mixed metaphor," Debbie observed.

Kelly laughed.  "Shut up and learn, newbie.  Duana the sword maiden?"

"Yeah?"

"Underdeveloped!" Kelly pronounced.  "Why's she helping the Sorceress?  What's her back-story?"

Debbie squirmed again.  "Uh...  She's supposed to get a set of invincible armor, and—"

"But why is she doing it?" Kelly interrupted.  "Is she just evil?  Is she motivated by revenge for some past wrong?  Is she really good, but so twisted by life experience that she acts evil?"

Debbie's eyes were wet again.  "I—"

"Stop that!" Kelly snapped.  "That's the real reason you need to outline and make notes before you start.  It's too easy to get defensive about your words.  It's the story that's your baby, not the words."

Debbie smiled.  "You aren't going to get all 'Plato's cave' on me, are you?  The words are shadows on the wall and only the story is 'real'?"

Kelly smiled back.  "Your assignment, should you choose to accept it... And I'll tickle you some more if you don't! ...is to write a full page of notes on each of your characters: back-story, physical description, attributes, traits, skills, weaknesses, motivation, etc.  That's one full page each and one page only on the Princess, Dallas, Duana, and the Sorceress.  Talk about underdeveloped!  The Sorceress is nearly a complete unknown.  Either justify that or fix it!"

"Yes, ma'am," Debbie said, still smiling.

"I'm not finished!" Kelly responded.  "I want an outline of the full story.  I want the mechanics of how this plot is going to be resolved; a straightforward blow-by-blow of the escape, battle, rescue, or however you plan on resolving things.  And if any additional characters are involved, add them to the list of character notes."

Debbie's smile faded.  "Yes, ma'am," she said again.  "When do you want all this?"

"I'm leaving for the promotional tour on my latest..."  She nodded towards the novel on Debbie's nightstand.  "...on Monday, so you luck out.  When I was in school I used to have to do stuff like this overnight, and more!  Have your notes and outline ready when I get back."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kelly walked to Debbie's chest of drawers and pulled a fresh bandana out of the top drawer, then strolled towards her new protégé, folding the crisp cotton cloth into a wide bandage.

Debbie watched her new mentor approach, then sighed as the bandana settled over her eyes, was cinched tight, and was knotted behind her head.  She heard a fresh strip of tape being ripped from the roll and smiled.  "You know, I could get started right away, if you'd let me."

"Teacher knows best," Kelly purred.  "Lips together.  Let's see that cute little puppy-dog pout."

Debbie followed orders and the tape was pressed over her lips, then pulled taut and smoothed by Kelly's strong hands.

"There," Kelly whispered, then kissed the top of Debbie's head.  "I'll check in with your sisters before I go, and see you get plenty of time to think.  I've got some work of my own waiting at home."

Debbie twisted in her bonds.  She heard Kelly patter across the floor towards her bedroom door.

"You really are good, Deb," Kelly said, "and I'll make you better."

A thrill coursed up Debbie's spine as she heard the door close.   Dawn is so lucky, the captive mused.  And Kelly too.  I wish I had someone to do the 'squishy stuff' with.  She struggled in what she already knew to be her inescapable bonds, shook her head to confirm her blindfold was on to stay, and mewed softly through her tape-gag.   There must be some way I can get Dawnie to share.