THE LOFT —Chapter  4
by Van © 1996
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THE LOFT continues
Our arrival at Aunt Carol's farm must have been well after nightfall. I was aroused from a dream filled slumber when the crate in which Erin and I were packed like cargo stopped its vibrating journey and was deposited on the ground with a jarring thud. I heard the van engine restart and then fade into the distance. Several long minutes of silence followed. 

Erin moaned a series of questioning sounds through her gag, and I felt several of the elastic cords binding us to the crate interior and to each other flex and pull. I forced the word "Fwerph" through my gag in response, and she settled down. ("Fwerph," of course, is the international code for "calm down, shut up, and stop making things worse.") 

After an imagined eternity we heard subdued voices in giggling conversation approach our wooden prison. Abruptly the latches securing the lid were unsnapped and bright artificial light and cool air flooded the crate. The nylon net holding our heads down was released and my restricted vision beheld a pair of slender, freckled, and feminine hands busily detaching bungee cords. By the tugging and sudden slack I could tell that other hands were also at work freeing us from our transport. Finally, all cords severed, Erin and I were helped to stand and were lifted from the crate. 

Of course, we were still wearing the tight harnesses Aunt Carol had used to restrain us for our journey; mine rather simple and utilitarian; Erin's elaborate, erotic, and (no doubt) maybe becoming a bit  uncomfortable. I blinked (my eyes adjusting from the total darkness of the crate) and looked around to discover the interior of a large barn, Aunt Carol, and two giggling strangers. 

Aunt Carol did the introductions. "Brooke, I'd like you to meet two of Erin's cousins, Nichole and Victoria." 

"Nikki and Vikki to our friends," the cousins giggled in unison. They were obviously identical twins, about 18 or 19, and had inherited the family red hair, green eyes, and stunningly good looks in generous portions. Wearing faded denim cutoffs, cotton shirts tied in the front to display flat stomachs and ample bosoms, their hair parted down the middle and braided into pigtails, they were the proverbial farmer's daughters come to mischievous life. 

"I know you're both tired," Aunt Carol said, "so we'll leave the rest of the niceties until morning. Nikki and Vikki, you take care of Brooke, and I'll take care of cousin Erin." 

One of the twins knelt and began unstrapping my ankles and knees, while the other combed her fingers through my hair. "Aunt Carol explained something like this would probably be happening before she left for the city," she explained. "We're going to have so much fun. Isn't she pretty?" 

"Beautiful!" gushed the other twin. 

"She's so short. She's like a little—" 

"Pixie," they said in unison. (Hey! I'm not that short!) 

I was watching Aunt Carol snap a leash to Erin's collar and lead her towards the far end of the barn when one of the twins whipped a bandana from her pocket, folded it into a wide bandage, and used it to blindfold me. Next the twins turned me in circles, giggling and laughing all the while, until I was completely disoriented. They then led me from the barn. (I could tell we were going outside from the sudden cool breeze, the chirping of several million crickets, the croaking of several thousand frogs, and the hay underfoot giving way to packed dirt.) After about a hundred paces we climbed five steps onto a wooden porch, passed through a creaking screen door, and into another building. 

After several twists and turns I was deposited on what felt like a soft and very comfortable bed and the twins began unbuckling the straps of my harness. When they came to the leather bristle-lined thong which had been covering (and teasing) my pubic region, it came away rather sticky and damp. I blushed in embarrassment and the twins exchanged several whispered and amused comments. It was at the same time humiliating and exciting to be the prisoner of these giggling nymphs. 

My gag was removed and a cool glass of water held to my dry lips. Glorious! I croaked a thank you and opened my mouth to say more. One of the twins made shushing noises and held a finger to my lips. I decided to play their game, at least for now. 

I heard the links of a chain tinkling and a wide leather cuff was buckled and padlocked around my left ankle. I was then rolled onto my side and I felt a key being fitted to my handcuffs. The right cuff rattled open, I was rolled onto my back, and my wrists were cuffed in front. (This was the first time in more than a week that my wrists were not locked behind my back. It felt splendid .) 

"Good night, Brooke." Soft lips kissed my own. 

"Good night, Brooke. See you in the morning." Another kiss, then more giggles, a closing door, and a key turning in a lock. I waited several seconds, then lifted my blindfold. 

I was laying on a large, Indian blanket covered bed. The room was small and cozy, and had a stone fireplace, (unlit, as this was summer.) The walls were massive peeled logs. The ceiling split beams. Apparently Carol's farmhouse (if this was Carol's farmhouse) was some sort of log cabin. The overhead lights were out, the only light coming from a lamp on a small bedside table. I hopped off the bed and followed the chain locked to the leather cuff locked on my left ankle to an iron staple solidly embedded in the log wall opposite the door. Stretching myself and the chain to their limit, I found the door knob was still a good 18 inches with my straining fingers. Otherwise I was free to roam the rest of the room. I found a chamber pot under the bed and a pitcher of water in a china basin waiting on a night stand. I washed my face and dried it with a small towel, then turned out the bedside light, climbed into the only comfortable bed I had known since this experiment in captivity began. I resolved to begin sorting out my feelings and reactions to this unknown and changing turn of events, but instead fell into a contented and untroubled slumber.

THE LOFT
—Chapter 4

The next morning, I woke to the crowing of an honest-to-God rooster (talk about your bucolic clichés) and stretched luxuriously (which you can do with your wrists cuffed in front.) I heard a key rattle in the door, and the twins entered. 

"Morning, Brooke," said one. 

"Sleep well?" asked the other. 

"Ah, morning—and, yes," I answered. I eyed them apprehensively. "What happens next?" 

"Don't look so worried," they laughed. 

"The serious torture doesn't start until after breakfast." 

"Oh, don't be mean. No one's going to be doing any torturing,—" 

"—At least not of you. Aunt Carol is really peeved with Erin, and—" 

"—She won't torture her either, and you know it." 

(Forgive me if the dialogue gets a little confused. I couldn't tell one twin from the other to save my life, and as far as who was saying what—it didn't seem to matter.) 

My ankle cuff was unlocked, and I was led down a long hallway and into an enormous master bath. The farmhouse was indeed made of framed timbers and logs—but it was hardly a cabin. The decor was a most pleasing mixture of Native American, Craftsman, Art Deco, Modern, and "Post-modern Weird." Most of it should not have gone together. All of it did. (Carol really was an artist.) 

The three of us shared the facilities, including the marble tiled shower. I was surprisingly unencumbered by my handcuffs, and the twins treated me not like a prisoner but like a friend on whom they were playing an elaborate joke. We toweled each other dry and the twins began braiding each other's hair. (I tried to help, but there are some things hinged handcuffs make nearly impossible.) The twins donned cutoffs and shirts, (I was still wearing my birthday suit) and we headed to the kitchen for breakfast. 

Eggs, smoked trout, sauteed vegetables, three kinds of cheese, two kinds of fresh bread, a really good coffee, and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice—the biggest, most delicious breakfast I had enjoyed in years. Mid-way through the meal, Aunt Carol came in the side door. I looked over my shoulder and asked timidly, "Ah, Aunt Carol, where's Erin?" 

"Don't you worry about Erin. You just relax and enjoy yourself. She put you through quite a week, and I think it's only appropriate that she get a taste of her own medicine." Aunt Carol took a swig of coffee and the twins continued the explanation. 

"She's eating her breakfast—" 

"—soggy cold cereal—" 

"—from a dog dish—" 

"—on the floor—" 

"—of her stall—" 

"—in the barn—" 

"—with her hands tied—" 

"—behind her back—" 

"—and her feet tied too." 

"Did you catch that?" Carol laughed. "Sometimes they start talking simultaneously or out of sequence and it gets even harder to understand." 

"Twin weirdness!" Nikki and Vikki said together. 

We laughed and continued to our meal. 

"Aunt Carol, Erin didn't do anything really bad to me," I said, "and I went into all this with my eyes wide open. Please, if I can forgive her...can't you?" 

Carol leaned over and kissed my cheek. "That's very sweet, dear. Erin has a better friend than she knows. I won't do anything more terrible to her than she did to you. The suspense will be the worst part. You'll be glad to hear she was asking about you too." 

We finished breakfast without my securing a parole for Erin, or learning much about Carol's plans for me, other than that I was going to be "allowed" to continue my experience as a prisoner; however, I did learn that the twins were on summer vacation from their freshman year at University, where they were majoring in Art History. 

After the breakfast dishes were washed, I got a quick tour of the house. It was huge, and the decor of the remainder lived up to the promise of the parts I had seen before. The tour ended in a large, airy sunroom attached to the rear of the house. 

"Nikki and Vikki are going to pamper you this morning, while I make life interesting for Erin. Have you ever had a mud-wrap?" 

"Mud-wrap? One of those health spa things?" 

"You'll love it!" one of the twins exclaimed. 

"We do it to each other all the time," said the other. 

"It's heavenly," they said together. 

"Remember, ladies," Aunt Carol admonished with a wink in my direction. "Brooke is our prisoner. She's to be under control at all times." 

"No problem!" the twins said in unison. 

Now the fun began. I was a little apprehensive, (after all, I knew Aunt Carol only slightly, and the twins hardly at all,) but I wasn't really scared. I knew they wouldn't do anything to hurt me. 

I was led over to a padded table and helped to lie on my back. Leather cuffs were buckled around my ankles, then my handcuffs were removed and replaced with leather cuffs. Each of the four cuffs were attached to a different corner of the table with a long thin chain. I had a great deal of freedom of movement, but insufficient slack to free myself, at least not very quickly. Aunt Carol kissed my forehead and left the twins to their task. I craned my neck anxiously as they rummaged in various cabinets to gather their supplies. 

For the next hour I received the most complete (and delicious) massage of my life. I was oiled, kneaded, stroked, manipulated, and stretched until I was limp as a dishrag, and had a delectable burn in every muscle. The entire time I remained a complete, if somewhat loosely secured, prisoner. Next, I was scrubbed from head to toe with mildly abrasive soap and soft cotton cloths, with an occasional rinse of warm water. My body was then coated with a thick layer of some exotic green herbal sludge, and I was tightly wrapped with long strips of wet linen bandages. One at a time, my cuffs were removed, the exposed ankle and foot or wrist and hand was coated and wrapped, and then my legs were joined together and my arms swaddled to my sides with more wet bandages. When the twins were finished I was nearly immobilized, barely able to squirm. Only my head was uncovered. Even if I had wanted to struggle while I was being mummified, it would have been impossible. The twins were careful to free and re-secure my limbs one at a time. 

Next came a facial massage, followed by a facial mask of astringent mud. Then my hair was oiled, combed flat, and more of the wet bandages were applied until only my eyes, nostrils, and mouth were exposed. 

"Open wide," said one of the twins. 

"Why?" I mumbled cautiously. 

"We could pretend it's to give you some kind of herbal gum treatment or something,—but it's really just a gag." The twins laughed and easily defeated my half-hearted struggles, thrusting a semi-hard rubber wedge between my teeth, then using their fingers to tamp it into my mouth. The wedge was roughly the size and shape of my oral cavity, with strategically placed ridges and grooves to accommodate my teeth and tongue, and was pierced by a hard plastic tube about a half inch in diameter which protruded from between my lips about an inch. More wet bandages were wrapped around my head and soon not only was the wedge in to stay, but (as the saying goes) my lips were sealed. As a gag it was highly effective; however, I found I could easily breath through the tube. (There must have been one or more rigid air passages through the wedge.) I was now very tightly wrapped, and about as totally restrained as I had ever been. 

"The bandages dry out and shrink—" 

"—if left exposed to the air—" 

"—so there's one last layer to add—" 

"—which will keep you nice and wet—" 

"—and warm and toasty." 

Clear plastic wrap (the kind usually used to cover leftover food) was carefully (and even more tightly than the bandages) applied to my mummified form—first in broad sheets, then in carefully applied narrow strips. When the twins finally finished and restowed their supplies, I was as tightly encased as if I had been cast in fiberglass. My most violent and energetic struggles resulted in only a barely noticeable twitching of my legs and body. I couldn't even turn my head more than a tiny fraction of an inch. 

Lastly, (and without any practical purpose other than to make me feel even more a prisoner) several broad nylon straps were stretched across the table to secure my sarcophagus-like form at the ankles, calves, thighs, waist, below the breasts, above the breasts, and across the forehead. 

"She's not panicking, is she?" asked one of the twins anxiously. 

"No, just exploring her new world. Remember your first time?" 

"Of course. You're so deliciously immobile, and then the mud starts heating up and it all feels like everything's getting tighter and tighter, until you think you can't breath—but you can." 

"Then you start drifting and dreaming—" 

"—and finally someone comes and lets you out—" 

"—and you get to shower, and drink some cool water—" 

"—and stretch and move again—" 

"—and scratch all those nasty itches that start around the third hour—" 

"—and don't quit." 

The twins were enjoying themselves, predators gloating over their helpless prey, watching my eyes dart from face to face. They were right though, the mud was starting to heat up. To think, people actually pay big money for treatment like this. 

The twins completed their tidying up, planted farewell kisses over the region of my tightly wrapped cheeks (the ones on my face), and I was left in complete (and increasingly "warm and toasty") immobility on the table. It was something like a steam bath, but not as extreme. I could feel myself sweating (like the proverbial horse), but at some point (time began to have little meaning) I reached a state of equilibrium—simmering in a moist, tight, cozy blanket.

THE LOFT
—Chapter 4

I did start dreaming, but I never went fully to sleep. It was the sort of dreams you sometimes have right before you wake, where you know you're dreaming and can sort of actively direct things, but unexpected images and events still intrude now and again. At first I dreamed Erin and I were the tightly bound prisoners of Carol and the twins (real creative, huh?), and they were doing all sorts of naughty and pleasurable things to us. At some point, suddenly I was in charge, and Erin, Carol, and the twins were my prisoners. I was just starting to do something really wicked to all four of them using frozen yogurt, whipped cream, several bananas, some sticky papaya slices, about a gallon of honey, and assorted sprinkles and nuts (I think I was preparing a dessert you can't order in the average ice cream parlor) when I became aware of hands gently cutting through by plastic and cloth wrappings with a pair of nurse's bandage scissors. 

Aunt Carol removed all my bandages until I was laying on the table in nothing but a layer of damp mud. I felt glorious. The cool air washed over me like water from a mountain spring. I felt tingling and alive over every square inch of my body, but every muscle was heavy and relaxed. I could hardly move. 

Carol began washing off the mud using a washcloth and a basin of cool water. The mud and cloth felt scratchy, like wet sandpaper, or a kitten's tongue, and by the time the worst of the mud was removed, movement was returning to my arms and legs. Carol helped me to sit on the edge of the table, my feet dangling over the edge. I was still filthy from scalp to toes, but was no longer a mud monster. Carol hugged me and lightly kissed my lips. 

"It feels good, doesn't it?" 

"Oh, yes!" I answered. 

"Well, you'll notice you're completely free, and if you wish, you can stay that way... or, you can continue as my prisoner. It's been a long time since I've had a chance to play these sorts of games, and I confess I'm enjoying myself a great deal; however, I will not put my own pleasure ahead of someone else's freedom. That would be evil. If you want to play, it will be of your own free will." 

"What about Erin?" I asked. 

"Erin is family, so she'll forgive a great deal." Carol leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Besides, I'm going to let her go in the morning. One day and two nights of non-stop bondage are enough to pay her back for what she did to you." 

"I don't mind being your prisoner, Carol," I said quietly. "I trust you like I trust Erin, and I know you won't hurt me." 

Carol smiled broadly and gave me a big hug. 

"I'll never knowingly hurt you, my precious little Brooke." She took a step back and helped me off the table. "If you're game, we can put a bit more of a scare into Erin, and make her day even more memorable. The twins are trying to get her e-mail password out of her, and if she sees you and thinks we're giving you hell too, maybe she'll crumble." 

"You want her password? Why?" 

"Remember how her boss is expecting her to send him e-mail if she wants to extend her vacation? I told her two weeks of punishment isn't enough and I’m going to send the message myself so she can enjoy a third week." 

"That's fiendish!" I laughed. 

"Isn't it though? The twins are persuading her to tell them the password even as we speak." 

"What are they doing?" Visions of whips, riding crops, election campaign literature, and other unpleasant tools of peruasion were swimming in my head. 

"Nothing truly drastic," (Phew!) "but she's not enjoying it. I'll show you, but first, I propose trussing you up like a Christmas goose and parading you in front of her. I'll do my wicked witch imitation, and I expect you to give her your best distressed damsel performance. Then I'll take you someplace you can relax 'til dinner." 

I nodded my consent and Carol opened a cabinet, extracted several coils of braided nylon rope, and tied my crossed wrists behind my back with several tight windings. I felt several knots being tied, but my groping fingers could touch none of them. Next a doubled rope was tied to my wrists, passed through my left armpit to the front, passed over my head, around the back of my neck, back to the front, was passed under my right armpit, and then back to my wrists. The ropes were pulled tight and the free end slipped under the ropes at the nape of my neck. The ropes were pulled tight again, my arms were pulled up towards my shoulder blades, and everything became very taut indeed. More rope was wound around my upper body, above and below my breasts, binding my arms tightly to my sides. Carol moved to my front and used another rope to join the ropes above and below my breasts, pinching the ropes binding my arms into a tight "x." She passed the free end of the rope between my legs, (being sure it parted and nestled within my sex), moved around to my rear, took a bight around my waist, and tied the end off to my wrist bondage. 

"Try to get free, dear," she said. I began twisting and turning, flexing my arms and fluttering my fingers. "That's enough," she said after about a minute. She then methodically retied several knots, removing the tiny amount of slack that had been achieved by my feeble struggles. 

"That should hold you for a while." 

I was getting excited again. The tight crotch rope was part of the reason, but mainly it was the experience of allowing myself to be bound by a beautiful woman old enough to be my mother. It felt devilish. 

Carol knelt at my feet and hobbled me with a short piece of rope. She then stood and popped a rolled bandage into my mouth. I hadn't been expecting a gag, and the unexpected intrusion made me even more excited. Another bandage was wound tightly between my lips and around my head several times, then tied at the back of my neck with a double knot. 

Carol put one hand on my right breast, kneading my erect nipple between thumb and forefinger. I moaned softly and closed my eyes. Suddenly I felt a sharp smack on my left buttocks. I yelped and my eyes opened wide. 

"Just testing the gag," Carol smiled. She tied a slip knot in a piece of rope and dropped the loop over my head. With this improvised leash, she pulled me over towards a tall cabinet in one corner. She opened the cabinet door and I was presented with the startling sight of my own tightly restrained body reflected in a full length mirror. 

I was a wretched sight: tousled hair wet and plastered with oil, body filthy with the remnants of my mud wrap, upper body in tight inescapable bondage, cheeks bulging above a tight gag. Although the mud wrap had been heaven, I looked like I'd been through hell. 

"Let's go, you pitiful waif," Carol chuckled. She led me through the house, out the kitchen door, and into the barn. Inside the barn the twins were gathered around a heavy wooden table on which a scratchy wool horse blanket had been spread. Lying on the blanket was a very sweaty, naked, and agitated Erin. Spread-eagled on her back, tight ropes securing each limb to a table leg, a plastic "whiffle ball" (a hollow ball pierced by numerous round holes) was held in her mouth by a narrow leather strap. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me, and inarticulate questioning noises issued from her gag. The twins were standing on either side of the table, sorting a collection of feathers and small paint brushes. 

"Any progress?" Aunt Carol asked the twins. 

"No—" 

"—none." 

"We've only started just now." 

"The fun—" 

"—is about—" 

"—to begin." 

Carol grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me over to the table. "I'm very disappointed in you, Erin. I thought you'd see reason and we wouldn't have to resort to this." Carol stretched out her hand and grasped Erin's right nipple between thumb and forefinger, turning and rubbing it gently. Erin twisted in her bonds, hot, angry, and defiant. "I'm going to up the ante. The twins will tickle you 'til you tell them the password, but because I don't want to waste the hours it might take to make you talk, I'm going to be making life miserable for your little friend here until you decide to cooperate." I took my cue and began whining through my gag and feebly struggling against my bonds. The twins were throughly enjoying the performance, trying very hard not to break into giggling fits, but Erin seemed to be buying it. Carol released Erin's right nipple and reached over to lightly run one fingernail over Erin's left nipple. Erin shivered and grew very still. "Quite a responsibility, isn't it Erin? Now you're suffering for two. Nikki and Vikki, do your worst." 

Carol took hold of my rope leash and began leading me out the door. I played my reluctant prisoner role to the hilt, struggling against by bonds, whimpering through my gag, resisting the leash, and looking backwards over one shoulder as the twins brandished their quills and leaned over Erin with rather theatrical sadistic glee. As I was dragged out of sight I heard the first muffled peals of involuntary laughter. Poor Erin!

THE LOFT
—Chapter 4

Aunt Carol and I returned to the house where I was untied and offered the opportunity to get thoroughly clean in the master bath. Dressed in a silk robe and completely free of any form of bondage, I spent the rest of the day reading, napping, and trying not to think about what might or might not be going on in the barn. 

Dinner that night was a delicious chicken stir-fry. Afterwards, Aunt Carol removed my robe, tied my hands behind my back, and led me towards the barn. As we approached the barn door, she took my elbow and whispered in my ear. 

"Maybe I'm a wicked witch after all. I've decided to give you the chance to do for Erin what she wouldn't do for you." I started to ask what she meant, but she put her finger to lips and we proceeded into the barn. 

Erin was lying on her back in one of the stalls. Cushioned on a bed of fresh straw, her nude body was pinioned in place by padded leather cuffs on each wrist and a broad, corset-like belt around her waist. The cuffs and belt were joined to each other and to several iron rings bolted to the stall's timbers and floor by a multitude of taut, steel chains. She was gagged and blindfolded by an elaborate leather harness which covered her eyes and ears with a wide suede band, and secured a bit-like ring between her teeth by narrow straps at the corners of her mouth. Bulges under the suede band hinted at soft eyepads and muff-like ear coverings. Her ankles were lifted into the air and held there by padded cuffs attached to a trapeze-like bar which was in turn held aloft by more chains which disappeared into the darkness of the barn's high ceiling. 

Defenseless and exposed, pinned on her back with her private parts on public display, Erin was an erotic offering. She could tell she had visitors. She was struggling with her bonds, thrashing about with her tightly strapped head, and was moaning and gurgling through her ring-gag. I watched my bound roommate in fascination, and was not even aware when Aunt Carol stooped and locked a padded cuff with a long attached chain to my right ankle. 

"Good night," Carol whispered. The stall door slid shut and was bolted and locked. Several seconds later the heavy barn door itself was also closed, shutting out the sounds of the night. Erin and I were alone. 

I absently twisted my wrists and was surprised to find ever increasing slack. After several seconds of effort I pulled my wrists free and the cord that had been binding them dropped into the straw. (Aunt Carol must have untied the knots while I was unaware.) I dragged my chain over to Erin and lay down next to her. All of Erin's bonds were secured with tiny locks. Without the keys, or services of a locksmith, I was unable to free my friend. She struggled weakly against her cuffs and chains, and a quiet sob escaped her gag. Wanting very much to comfort and reassure her I reached out and stroked her right neck and shoulder. Erin turned her head away and moaned again. My forearm brushed across her nipples, and they grew hard and erect. Without making a conscious decision to do so, I leaned over and applied my lips and mouth to each in turn, suckling hungrily. Erin bucked once, then began to writhe and moan. 

Aunt Carol had created a situation of great erotic subtlety. Erin was locked in her bondage and could not avoid the attentions of her unknown companion (me.) Chained at the ankle, I was unable to leave but was otherwise totally in charge. I could ignore her completely, tease and tantalize her (but give her no release), or I could become her nameless guardian and lover. 

The anonymity was delicious. With very little effort I reached my decision and the rest of the night I repeatedly entertained my roommate with fingers, lips, and tongue. I slowly worked her over from neck to breasts to the glorious gift between her legs, until she made her chains sing with one or more crashing orgasms; then we would catnap for a while and I would start the wonderful process all over again. 

Ever use your tongue to play connect-the-freckles on a closely chained redhead? Ever french-kiss a bound beauty through her ring-gag? Ever lick the sweat from the body of a frenzied prisoner after her seventh orgasm? I have. 

Aunt Carol woke me from an exhausted sleep at dawn and helped me to the house while Vikki and Nikki began freeing Erin. Erin’s blindfold was still in place as I left, so she never saw that her silent but attentive companion of the night had been me. (It occurred to me later that she probably thought it was one of the twins.)

THE END
—Chapter  4





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