Nice jacket!

Oh, the Humanities! by Van ©2013

Chapter 7

Dramatis Personæ


Kim eased herself off the bed and tiptoed to the master bedroom's bathroom.  She relieved herself, splashed water on her face and patted it dry, then brushed her hair.  She glanced at her right wrist and noted that while Tori's flex-cuff had rubbed it a little raw, the redness would fade rapidly, long before the start of the evening's festivities.  There would be no unsightly bruise she'd have to hide with makeup or a bracelet.  She considered a quick shower, but decided to postpone it until she was ready to get dressed for the party.  There was work to do.

She padded from the bathroom to her walk-in closet, noting on the way that Tori was either still asleep or pretending to be.  Kim quickly dressed in panties, bra, jeans, tank-top, and sneakers... and emerged from the closet to find Tori awake and smiling at her, reclined on her side in much the same languid, nude pose as last night, when Kim had first seen her on the bed.  The sun was not yet up, but the nightlight cast enough light to reveal Tori's toned, fit body.  A familiar frisson shivered through Kim's pussy at the beautiful sight.

"You're up early," Tori observed.

"Things to do," Kim grinned.  "C'mon.  Clean yourself up.  We need to do the final test of your part of the festivities."

Tori yawned before answering.  "Now?  Before breakfast?  What's to test?"

"I repositioned the lights like I said I would," Kim explained,  "We need to verify the changes."

Tori flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.  "And we can't do that after sunrise?"

"I want to check it off my list before it's time to wake up Clem."

Tori heaved a sigh, then sat up and swung her feet off the bed.  "Okay."  She stood, did a full-body stretch, and ambled towards the bathroom.

"Don't bother getting dressed," Kim called after her.

"So you can leer at my naked body?" Tori yelled from the bathroom.

"There is that," Kim chuckled, "but it's a lighting test, remember?  And keep your voice down."

Seconds passed, then the toilet flushed and Tori returned.  She'd brushed her hair and washed her face, but that was all.  "You sure you don't want to swap roles?"

Kim smiled.  "Is the mighty, brave Tori Ballantine chickening out?"

"Not at all," Tori purred, then pulled Kim into an embrace and they kissed.  "I was just thinking how good you'd look in my place," Tori sighed, then led the way from the bedroom.  They quietly passed Clem's guest bedroom, then made their way to the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement.

Kim's was a typical suburban basement with natural lighting provided by several window-wells.  At the moment the wells were dark, of course, but during the day they admitted at least some light, attenuated by the plexiglass domes that kept the wells free of fallen leaves, the frosted glass of their double-paned windows, and the anti-burglar bars solidly bolted to the inside window frames. 

The basement was deep.  That is, it had a high ceiling.  The exposed beams were at least ten feet above the concrete floor, and the plumbing runs were either tucked between the rafters or against the walls to minimize overhead obstructions.  The furnace and hot-water tank were also against the walls.  Steel columns added support to the structure overhead, but they were widely placed.  Clearly, the architect's intent was to allow for a finished space.  All that was needed was a suspended ceiling and some paneling.  However, Kim's basement was not finished.  Also, its "decor," what there was of it, was somewhat unusual.

There was the usual clutter of cardboard boxes and plastic tubs—probably containing holiday decorations, camping equipment, etc.—but all were neatly stacked, shelved, and arranged to maximize the available floor space.  A track-lighting system was bolted to the floor joists overhead.  Nothing unusual there; however, an eye-bolt and two dangling pulleys were screwed into a beam and a long steel cable traveled from eye-bolt to pulley to pulley and down to a wall-mounted, hand-cranked winch.  Also, the support columns and concrete walls and floor were painted matte black, not some light color as might have been expected to help relieve the gloom.

Suspension cuffsKim and Tori walked to a folding table off to one side.  Arranged on its black tablecloth were four black leather cuffs with chrome hardware, a black leather ball-gag, several open padlocks of different sizes, and an iPad in a leather case.  The cuffs were of the "suspension" variety, with fake-fur linings and wide, extended straps with heavy D-rings.  One pair was sized for wrists and the other for ankles.  All the buckles were lockable, including the ball-gag's. 

Ball-gagThe gag was actually a hybrid design.  The ball was rather small and was attached to a short plastic pipe, which in turn was attached to a rubber panel riveted to the strap.  The ball and spacer were intended to fit entirely inside the wearer's mouth, and both were pierced by a quarter-inch breathing hole.  The panel would press against the wearer's lips when the strap was buckled tight.

Tori picked up one of the cuffs and began buckling it around her left wrist.

"Tighter than that," Kim remarked.

Tori rolled her eyes, then jerked the strap as tight as it would go and secured the buckle.  She frowned at Kim as the professor handed her a small padlock.  "I thought this was just a test?"

Kim shrugged.  "The locks are reflective.  This is a lighting test."

"Obsessive much?" Tori muttered as she clicked the padlock through the hasp in the buckle's tongue.  She strapped the second cuff around her right wrist, equally tight, and secured it with another small padlock.  Click.  She then lifted her left foot onto the seat of a metal folding chair, Kim handed her one of the two remaining cuffs, and she strapped it around her ankle.  Tori changed feet, Kim handed her the remaining cuff, and she buckled it in place.  "Okay," Tori said as she strolled to the middle of the basement, "lets get this over with so we can eat breakfast.  I'm always hungry after a night of binding and boinking a faculty member."  The overhead pad-eye and pulley nearest the winch were several feet apart, and the pulley between was directly over Tori's head.

Meanwhile, Kim walked to the winch, threw a lever on the housing, and turned the handle.  Cable played off the winch's drum, accompanied by the sound of the slipping ratchet mechanism.  Tock, tock, tock, tock...  Slowly, the cable slid through the two overhead pulleys—  Tock, tock, tock, tock...  —and a pair of widely separated spring-clips lowered to within Tori's easy reach.   The cable formed an increasingly deep "W" as the spring-clips descended.

Tori clicked the left spring-clip through the D-ring at the end of the extended strap of her left wrist cuff; however, the right clip was too far for her to reach with both hands with her left wrist secured.

Ever helpful, Kim strolled to the soon-to-be helpless prisoner, smiled, and secured the right cuff's terminal D-ring with the right spring-clip.  Click.  Tori's hands were now at shoulder height and about three feet apart.  "Spread 'em," Kim ordered as she knelt at Tori's feet.  Tori spread her feet until Kim was able to secure the terminal D-rings of her ankle-cuffs to spring-clips attached to short chains which in turn were attached to eye-bolts sunk in the floor, first on the right—  Click.  —and then on the left.  Click.  Tori's feet were now flat on the floor and about three feet apart.

Tori watched as Kim strolled to the table, returned with a handful of open padlocks, and began clicking them through the hasps in the spring clips.  "Did I say obsessive?" she sighed.  "I meant obsessive and compulsive."  The four spring-clips were now locked, as well as the buckles of Tori's ankle cuffs.

"Anything worth doing is worth overdoing," Kim chuckled, then walked to the winch, clicked the selector lever, and began turning the crank and shortening the cable.  Tock, tock, tock, tock...  Tori's arms ascended, and Kim kept turning the crank until the naked blond was at full stretch.  Tock, tock, tock...  tock...  tock.  Any more and Tori's heels would leave the floor and she'd be up on her toes.

"You know I'm going to get you for this," Tori muttered as she watched Kim stroll to the table and return with the ball-gag and another small padlock.  "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Kim chuckled.

"You're taking this waaay beyond what's required for a simple lighting test."  She nodded towards the track-lights overhead.  "I don't think you changed anything, anyway."

Kim smiled.  "Now you notice?  Actually, I adjusted the outer cans at least three degrees.  Open."

"Now look—Mrrrf!"  Tori glared at Kim as she shoved the ball into her mouth and held it in place with her right hand .

"We never discussed how long this test would last," Kim purred, "did we?  You mentioned breakfast—but I didn't."

The professor stepped around Tori's spreadeagled body and buckled the gag's strap at the nape of her neck, freeing her hair before she jerked the strap tight—  "Mrrph!"  —and clicked the padlock through the hasp.  She strolled around her prisoner 'til they were face to face—as in angry, gagged face to smiling, gloating face.

Tori shook her head and growled through the gag.  Her shoulder-length blond hair fluttered and settled.  Her blue eyes continued staring daggers at her "treacherous" captor.

Kim reached out and cupped Tori's breasts, then used her thumbs and forefingers to gently tease her now erect nipples.  "I really don't need your help handling Clementine," she purred.  "And don't worry.  I'll lock the basement door so she won't wander down here."  Kim slid her hands down Tori's body and began running her right hand through Tori's crotch.  Meanwhile, her left hand was gently squeezing the prisoner's right buttock.  "Who knows what Clementine would do if she found you like this?"

"Mrrrfh!"  Tori continued to glare, but telltale, shivering shudders quivered through her stretched, helpless body, betraying her excitment.  As much as Tori would have liked to not react to what Kim was doing to her, she was only human.

"Besides," Kim whispered, "this is the first item I can completely check off my things-to-do-before-the-party list."  She took a step back, turned and strolled to the table, then returned with the iPad.  She folded the cover back, then opened a note-taking app and made a show of swiping her finger and making a check-mark.  "Tori Ballantine—ready."  She then lifted the iPad and walked a slow circle around her captive, taking several photos as she did so.  Returning to the front, she reversed the screen so Tori could see, then swiped her finger, scrolling through a slideshow of Tori's spreadeagled, naked body and her angry, gagged face.  "Excellent," Kim chuckled.  "I'll have to e-mail these to the others immediately."


"Attitude, young lady," Kim chuckled.  "I know some blogs where these photos would be very well-received.  Don't make me make you famous."

Tori's answer was her continuing hostile stare.

Kim closed the iPad's cover as she strolled towards the stairs.  "See you at the party," she said as she climbed the steps, "when it's your turn to play."  She turned off the basement lights when she reached the top, then crossed the threshold and closed the door.

Tori thought she might have heard the key turning in the lock, but the door was pretty far and she couldn't be sure.  The only light in the basement was now the very weak glow emanating from the small, widely-spaced, barred windows.  The sun was beginning to rise.  She tugged on her wrist bonds .  The wire enforcing her spreadeagled pose shook a little, but that was it.  The only sound was the quiet click and clatter of the padlocks securing the cuffs and snap-hooks.

I didn't think Doc had it in her, Tori mused.  It's a good prank, but she must know I'm gonna get her back... in spades.  She tugged on the cuffs, again, with the same result.  Of course she knows, Tori realized.  She's counting on it... and I have all day to think about it.

Oh, the Humanities!
Chapter 7

Kim released Clem from the medical restraints at dawn, then suggested she take a shower, adding that her "costume" would be waiting when she returned to the bedroom.  Clem stretched and started for the bedroom door, then gasped—  "Eeek!"  —when Kim pulled her naked body into a warm hug and kissed her lips.

"I'm so glad you've decided to help me with this party," Kim said; then kissed Clem again, released her embrace, and took a step back.

"Uh, okay."  Blushing like crazy—and still naked—Clem padded from the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, the same bathroom where Tori had "helped" her prepare for bed.  She noted her clothes were gone, rather than being scattered on the tiled floor as she'd last seen them.

Everything Clem needed for her morning toilette was there: a new toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, a brush and comb set, a hairdryer, and a stack of thick, fluffy towels.  She relieved herself, then took her time in the shower.  As the hot water cascaded down her body and Clem scrubbed herself clean, her thoughts drifted to Gwen.  She was worried, or more precisely, concerned.  Who knows what's happening to her?  Clem trusted Kim Pappas, so she pushed her apprehensions away.  Gwen and I can compare notes later... after all this is over.

Eventually Clem emerged from the bathroom clean, refreshed, her shoulder-length hair shining and neatly brushed, and with a towel wrapped around her torso.  She padded back to the bedroom.  The professor was gone, the restraints that had secured her to the bed were nowhere to be seen, the bed itself was neatly made, and waiting on the bed—

"You have got to be kidding me," Clem huffed.

Arrayed on the bed was what was unmistakably a French maid's uniform, a black dress trimmed with white lace, a white apron with more lace, and a white lace cap.  There were also black, high-heeled pumps with ankle-straps, black fishnet stockings, black elastic garters trimmed with yet more white lace, frilly panties, and a pushup bra.  Finally, there was a folded note on expensive paper.

Clem picked up the note, unfolded it, and read.  Its message was a single word: "Please?"  It was written in an elegant, almost calligraphic script, presumably by Kim Pappas.  Clem couldn't help but smile.  French Maid was kinda appropriate.  After all, she was supposed to help serve at a party.  Of course, the way all of this was going, an Alice in Wonderland outfit might have been even more on the mark.

"In for a penny..." Clem muttered under her breath, and began to dress.  The dress was mini-skirt short and off the shoulders, but with short frilly sleeves that covered half her upper arms.  She was showing quite possibly the most boobs of anything she's ever worn, including her high school prom dress.  The frilly lace of the skirt's lower hem didn't quite meet the garters holding up her stockings, revealing an inch or two of bare thigh.  If she wasn't careful how she moved, Clem knew she'd be flashing her bloomers all day.  The lace bonnet was totally nonfunctional, and the ends of the pair of ribbons dangling from the back tickled her neck and shoulders.  Finally, there was a black velvet collar that tied around her throat, like some sort of absurd pet collar.

Clem gazed at herself in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door.  "Ridiculous," she growled, then a smile curled her lips.  "And sexy."  She opened the door and minced towards the kitchen.  It was going to take her a little time to get used to the high heels.

Oh, the Humanities!
Chapter 7

After a pleasant breakfast—marred only by the embarrassment (and compliment) of being oohed and awed over by Kim when she appeared in the kitchen dressed in full Gallic domestic regalia—Clem got to know the public rooms of the professor's house very well, first with a feather duster and then with a vacuum cleaner.  Meanwhile, Kim was cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, not that anything needed cleaning.  The entire house was spotless, as far as Clem could tell.

After lunch, the caterers began to appear.  Polite women—only a few of whom were openly amused by Clem's attire—dropped off plastic-covered platters of hors d'oeuvres, steel chafing dishes, take-out containers full of more hors d'oeurves, and bottles of wine, spirits, mixers, and soda.  Kim's kitchen had two ovens, a third warming oven, a very spacious refrigerator, and a chilled wine cabinet.  Everything could be stored safely until the party.  The caterers left written instructions on how to complete the final preparations, then departed.

Late in the afternoon, Clem was going over the checklists when Kim appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a cardboard box.

"The hot appetizers are ready, aren't they?" Kim inquired.

"Yes," Clem answered.  All I need to do is light the Sterno cans."

"I'll do that right after I get dressed," Kim said, then set the box down on what little free space remained on the kitchen island.  "But first, I have to complete your costume."  She opened the box and Clem stepped closer.

"What else is needed?" Clem sighed.  "I couldn't be more French maid if you—oh!"  Whatever enhancement Clem was about to suggest was lost forever.  Eyes wide behind her glasses, she stared into the box and beheld a set of cuffs and a tangle of light steel chains.  The cuffs were steel lined with black leather.  The chains links were of the nested variety that flow together, like liquid ribbons of silvered steel.  "Really?  Chains?"

Kim smiled and lifted the cuffs and chains from the box.  "A French maid is nice, but a French maid in chains is even better."

Clem was dubious.  "A French maid in chains?"

"Remember the theme of the party, Clementine," Kim purred.

"The damsel-in-distress," Clem sighed, and held out her wrists.  She watched as Kim closed a cuff around her left wrist.  It locked with a quiet click.  Her right wrist was next.  Click.  And then her right and left ankles.  Click.  Click.  The connecting chains were in one piece, and configured like a sideways "H."  A two-foot vertical chain joined the center rings of the two-feet of horizontal chains separating the wrist and ankle cuffs.  There were no dangling padlocks as the steel cuffs had internal locking mechanisms.  The leather linings were smooth and comfortable, and the entire ensemble was surprisingly light.  "Am I supposed to be a naughty French maid?" Clem drawled.  The chains were an encumbrance, but she could tell she'd still be able to continue the food preparations and carry a small tray.

"Oh, yes," Kim said with a smile, then kissed Clem's lips.  "But mainly, you're unfortunate enough to find yourself in the employ of a beautiful, rather kinky aristocrat with a serious cruel streak."

Clem rattled her chains and smiled.  Truth be told, she tinkled her chains.  They were too light to actually rattle.  "That would be you?  Cruella de Pappas?"

"Something like that," Kim chuckled.  "Now, continue your work while I get myself ready.  Chop, chop!"

"Oui, madame," Clem responded with a saucy smirk and a curtsey accompanied by more chain tinkling.

"Don't make me get my riding crop," Kim chuckled as she left the kitchen.  "When the doorbell starts ringing, leave it to me," she called back as the kitchen door swung closed behind her.

"Crazy," Clem sighed, her lips still curled in a smile.  She turned and went back to work.

Oh, the Humanities!
Chapter 7

The Phantom's Committee
Kim changed into an indigo cocktail dress.  It had very short sleeves, a generous scoop-front, and the lower hem came to just above her knees.  Smoky black pantyhose and black heels completed the outfit.  Her hair remained as usual, loose about her shoulders and parted down the middle.  She smiled at herself in the bedroom mirror, pleased with the result.  She'd already done her makeup—understated, also as always—and knew she looked hot, the perfect hostess, if she did say so herself.

Just then, the chime of the front doorbell sounded.  Actually, it was the quiet repeater chime in the hallway just outside her bedroom.  She hurried to the front door, paused to gently shake out her hair and straighten any errant strands, smiled, and opened the door.  Waiting was a slightly older redhead in a summer dress of frilly silk in a gray and lavender leaf pattern.  "Megan, welcome!" Kim gushed as she embraced her guest and they exchanged a smiling kiss.

This, the first member of The Phantom's dissertation committee to arrive (not counting Kim Pappas), was Dr. Megan Whelan, tenured professor of English Literature.  The fifty-something beauty's green eyes sparkled as she gazed at her hostess and good friend.

Kim, in turn, was drinking in Megan's body from the toes of her open sandals (with four-inch heels), to her white nylon-clad, freckled legs, to her very pretty dress, to her freckled face, to her loose, shoulder-length, ginger hair.  "You look stunning," Kim gushed.

"As do you," Megan responded.

"Hold the door!" a voice called from the front walk, and Kim and Megan turned to watch Dr. Ellen Chen approach.  A professor of Linguistics, the forty-something beauty was wearing a knee-length, body-hugging, spaghetti-strap dress of silver silk embroidered with silver-gray and dusky-rose flowers.  Ellen's grandparents on both sides of the family had emigrated from China, and her long, black hair and smiling face bespoke her heritage.  "I'm not the last, am I?" she inquired.

"Only the second," Kim chuckled.  The committee members had all agreed on a specific arrival time, to expedite the final, "special" party preparations.  Kim glanced behind Ellen and her smile broadened.  "And here's everyone."  The two remaining committee members were strolling up the walk.

First came Dr. Bibi Knudsen.  The blond, blue-eyed, forty-something archeologist and native of Sweden had recently been promoted to full professor.  Her hair was cropped short in a boyish pixie and her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled.  She was wearing a tangerine coat, which she began to remove.  Underneath was a strapless cocktail dress of the same hue.

Next came Dr. Cynthia Webbel.  The shortest of the group, the brunette was removing a tan coat, revealing a sleeveless little-black-dress.  Its plunging, V-shaped neckline accentuated her ample bosom.  Cynthia was a tenured professor of Robotics and Artificial Intelligence Studies in the Computer Science Department.  University regulations require at least one member of all graduate committees to be from outside the candidate's field of study, from outside their department and college, if possible.  Technically, Bibi already satisfied that requirement, so Cynthia's presence was icing on the proverbial cake.  Her hair was cut short, like Bibi's, but slightly longer.

After a round of hugs and kisses, Kim led her fellow academics towards the master bedroom.  "My little helper is busy in the kitchen," she said in a quiet voice as they crossed the living room, "so let's keep the noise down."  They reached the bedroom and Kim held the door so they could enter.  "You all parked on the street, right?" Kim inquired as she closed the door.  "The driveway is clear?"

The others nodded in the affirmative.

"You-know-who will be able to pull into the garage," Bibi confirmed.

"Excellent," Kim said, then gestured towards her neatly made bed.  On it were two cardboard boxes and a new deck of playing cards.

The committee watched as their chairwoman picked up the deck, broke the plastic seal, opened the box, and pulled out the cards.  She peeled off the cover card and the two jokers, placed them face-up on the bed, then began shuffling the deck.  "Everyone agreed to this," Kim purred, looking from face to face as the cards rippled between her fingers.  "Everyone."

"So say we all," Ellen purred, and the others laughed (a little nervously).

Kim shuffled the deck one last time, then fanned the cards.  "No cheating," she purred and presented the deck to the others.  One by one they each selected a single card and held it against their breasts.  Kim returned the deck to the box, dropped it on the bed, then smiled.  "Ready.  And.  Now!"

Megan, Ellen, Bibi, and Cynthia held their cards against their foreheads, face out, as in the game of Indian Poker.  The results were:

4 of Diamonds
King of Clubs
9 of Hearts
3 of Hearts
Dr. Megan Whelan
Dr. Ellen Chen
Dr. Bibi Knudsen
Dr. Cynthia Webbel

Oh, the Humanities!
Chapter 7

Cynthia noticed the others were smiling at her.  That is, all the others were smiling at her.  Her own smile faded and she heaved an appropriately melancholy sigh.  "Oh, maaan."  She dropped her hand and gazed at her card.  "The three of hearts," she muttered.  "It figures."

Kim smiled at Ellen.  "As high card, you're in charge."

Ellen nodded, her smile still focused on Cynthia.  "Minions, grab her!" she ordered.

Cynthia heaved another sigh.  "You don't have to—Mrrrpfh!"  Bibi had grabbed her and was holding her arms behind her back with her left arm.  Her right hand was clamped over Cynthia's mouth.

"Hold her steady," Megan said as she reached around Cynthia's body and groped for the fastenings of her dress.  "This is pretty," she remarked, pausing to finger the fabric of Cynthia's dress and brushing her fingers against the captive's left boob in the process.  "I'd hate to rip it."

"That would be a tragedy," Ellen agreed.

Cynthia's wide, brown eyes darted from face to face.  "Mrrf."  Bibi's hand tightened until her cheeks bulged.

"I'm glad it's Cynthia," Megan said.  "She's little and easy to control."

Cynthia glared at the smiling redhead, making her displeasure quite clear.  "Nrrrf!"

"Perhaps we should gag her first," Bibi suggested.

"No, first we strip her," Ellen decreed.  "Then we gag her."

Ellen had succeeded in finding the clasp and zipper.  Ziiiiip.  The dress opened and slithered to the floor.  Cynthia wasn't wearing a bra.  Her remaining clothes were pantyhose, a pair of skimpy, thong-style panties, and open-toed heels, all in black.  She squirmed a little as Megan pulled down her pantyhose and panties.  The smiling redhead also removed Cynthia's white-gold necklace with diamond pendant and matching drop earrings.

"Such a pretty all-over tan," Ellen sighed.

Megan nodded in agreement.  "Yes, no tan-lines."  She removed Cynthia's shoes, then pulled the hose and panties the rest of the way off her feet.  "I was afraid of this," she sighed as she held up the panties, what there was of them.  They were mostly elastic lace ribbon.  The triangular, semi-transparent front panel was miniscule.

"It's a start," Bibi chuckled, and nodded at Megan.

Cynthia watched as Megan carefully folded the panties into a compact wad, then held them before Bibi's hand.  The blond's hand came free—  "No—Mrrf!"  —Megan crammed the silky glob into her mouth, and Bibi's hand clamped down hard, once again.  "Mrrpfh."

Ellen frowned, her eyes locked with the naked captive.  "Not nearly enough."  Her smile returned.  "I know what to do."  The others watched as she reached under her dress and pulled down her own panties, placed her left hand on Kim's shoulder to steady herself, and stepped out of the silky, whisper-thin, rose-pink garment.  Like Cynthia's panties, they were a thong, more or less (mostly less).  She handed them to Megan, and the smiling redhead folded them into a wad, as before.

Cynthia complained— "Mrrf!"  —but couldn't prevent Ellen's panties from joining her own.  "Nrrrf!"

"Still not adequate," Megan said, then smiled at the others.  "Don't you think?"  They nodded, and Megan sat on the bed.  "Hold on," she chuckled.  "I'm wearing pantyhose."

"I'm not," Bibi said.  "Here, take her."

"Most kind," Megan sighed as stood and traded places with the smiling Swede.

Cynthia made a half-hearted effort to impede the process—  "Mrrpfh!"  —but soon it was Megan's left arm pinning her elbows together behind her back and Megan's right hand clamped over her silk-stuffed mouth.

Bibi reached under her dress and removed her panties.  They were a third thong, and like her dress, were tangerine in color.

Megan watched, they all watched, as Bibi crumpled her panties into yet another wad.  "Is this 'Citrus Day' in Sweden?" Megan asked, "part of a week long 'Salute to Fruit' festival, perhaps?"

"No, I simply think I look good in this color," Bibi answered in her lilting, barely noticeable accent.

"You look good in any color," Kim said.

"How kind," Bibi beamed.  Then, coordinating with Megan, she stuffed her panties into Cynthia's mouth.  This required a little tamping and pushing, but the task was soon accomplished and Megan's hand was back in place.

"Still not really adequate," Ellen decided, "but any more and she'll look like a little chipmunk with her cheek pouches full of seeds."

Cynthia stared daggers at Ellen and forced an angry growl past the three thongs and Megan's freckled hand.  "Mrrrf!"

Kim stepped forward with a strip of the same experimental "wound dressing" she'd used to tape-gag Clem the night before.  "Allow me," she said, Megan removed her hand, and Kim peeled off the paper backing and pressed the panel over Cynthia's closed lips.

Cynthia could have made an effort to expel the stuffing more-or-less filling her mouth as the panel approached her face, but instead she held her head steady as it was pressed home.  If she was unfortunate enough to be the one chosen at random to attend the party as a helpless captive, she might as well have an attractive gag.  She did glare at Kim as she continued smoothing the tape.  It was expected.

Kim reached into the open box on the bed, produced a roll of the same almost-clear tape, pulled free a long strip—  Riiiiip.  —and ripped it from the roll.  Snick.  "Just to be sure," she purred, and used the strip to take a tight turn around Cynthia's lower face, stretching the tape as she applied it to the prisoner's skin.  Bibi held Cynthia's hair out of the way as best she could.

"Only one turn?" Ellen asked.

"This stuff is super strong," Kim explained, "and it's really a turn-and-a-half, with the overlap in the back."

"Amazing," Bibi said.  "It really is nearly invisible."

"I think it's the reflective index," Kim responded, "and the texture.  I suppose there's a detailed technical explanation for how it mimics human skin; but unfortunately, the only science nerd in the room has her mouth stuffed with dirty panties."  The others laughed, except for the science nerd in question, who glared at Kim above her sealed mouth and slightly bulging cheeks.  "Okay," Kim chuckled, "turn her around."

Acting together, Megan and Bibi spun Cynthia 180°.  Then, standing to either side, they held her arms behind her back.

"Palms together with fingers interlaced," Kim ordered.  Cynthia sighed the obligatory gagged sigh, then complied.  Kim took three tight turns around her wrists, then five turns just below her elbows, pressing them together.  Next, she mummified her fingers and hands, then took additional turns until Cynthia's hands, wrists, and forearms were completely wrapped.

Meanwhile, Ellen had reached into the open box and pulled out a single-sleeve, a one-piece armbinder some call a monoglove.  Most of the sleeve was made from soft, slightly textured, black leather, like a fine pair of gloves; but there were also thick, substantial straps with shining steel buckles stitched and riveted in place.  It closed with a zipper.  Ellen slid the binder up Cynthia's arms, snugged it up to her armpits, and zipped it closed.  She then flipped a pair of long, thin straps attached to the top over Cynthia's shoulders.  Megan and Bibi crossed the straps, forming an "X" between Cynthia's sternum and throat, then passed them back to the rear, under her armpits.  Ellen threaded the straps through a pair of buckles, pulled them as tight as they would go, secured the buckles, and slid the ends of the straps through retaining loops.  Finally, wide, cuff-like straps were buckled around Cynthia's wrists and elbows.

Cynthia's colleagues/captors all took a step back and watched her turn in a slow pirouette, twisting her shoulders and demonstrating her complete helplessness.  Cynthia's nude, tan, healthy, petite body was breathtaking.  Her full breasts, flat tummy, narrow waist, and strong legs could only be described as—

"Tiny-hot," Bibi suggested.

Once again, Ellen spoke for the group.  "So say we all."

Cynthia glared at her captors, but could do nothing to hide the blush darkening her already slightly flushed cheeks.  It was a compliment, and she was among friends—gloating, smug, evil friends.

Kim reached into the box and produced a swatch of silver-gray silk.  She handed it to Megan and she held it open between her freckled hands.  It was a harem-girl's veil, designed to cover and reveal.  Megan draped it over Cynthia's face, across the bridge of her nose, and secured the veil's clasp behind her head.  It covered Cynthia's nose and mouth but did little to hide her features.  It was, however, up to the task of fully disguising her already "nearly-invisible" tape-gag.  "Hmm..."  Kim stared at Cynthia's lips, still somewhat visible through the tape and veil.  She turned and hurried to the bathroom—and returned quickly with a container of lip gloss.  "Lift the veil and hold her head," she muttered.  Bibi did so and, frowning with concentration, Kim applied a careful coat of deep-red gloss to Cynthia's bow lips—over the tape, of course.  It might not be the perfect shade for Cynthia, but it certainly made her lips more prominent.  "Blow on that," Kim said to Megan, then returned to the bed.

"My pleasure," Megan purred, leaned into Cynthia's glowering face, pursed her smiling lips, and blew on the little captive's tape-gagged mouth.  She did this several times, with Cynthia continuing to stare daggers, then took a step back.

Kim had returned with a black leather collar.  It was a high-end product, similar in style to the armbinder.  She buckled it around Cynthia's throat, gently turned the collar until the buckle was in the back and a steel ring in the front, then clicked the clip of a leash of light steel chain through the ring.  The leash dangled between Cynthia's breasts and down her tummy, pubic thatch, and thighs.  Its black leather wrist-loop bounced against her knees.  "Doesn't she look precious?" Kim beamed.

Ouch!Megan and Bibi agreed, but Ellen shook her head.  "Hmm... not quite."  She went to the box, rummaged inside, and returned with—a pair of nipple clamps!  To be precise, they were spring-loaded, self-tightening clover clamps, joined by a light steel chain.

Cynthia's eyes popped wide and she took a step back, until stopped by the grinning professors Knudsen and Whelan.

"Oh, the heart breaks," Ellen chuckled as she strolled towards Cynthia.

"As if she wouldn't put them on any of us," Kim agreed.

Ellen teased Cynthia's nipples until they grew erect—it didn't take much teasing—then carefully applied the clamps, first squeezing the right nipple—  "Mrrf!" —and then the left.  "Nrrf!"

"Drama queen," Ellen accused, smiling at Cynthia's angry, gagged, and veiled face.

Kim smiled and turned to the bed.  "I've got an idea!"  She returned with Cynthia's earrings and necklace.  Cynthia had pierced ears and the earrings were the kind with small hooks.  Kim leaned close and slipped the hooks through the attachment rings of the nipple-clamp chain.  The pendants now dangled from the ends of the clamps.

"Very pretty," Ellen purred, and the others agreed.

"I'm not finished," Kim chuckled.  Squinting with concentration, she closed the clasp of the necklace chain through the attachment point of the necklace pendant.  The fine chain now formed a figure-eight centered on the pendant.  Kim clipped one loop through the right earring hook and the other loop through the hook on the left.

Cynthia was now wearing nipple-clamps with dangling diamond pendants, a steel chain draped from clamp to clamp, and a much lighter doubled chain of white-gold with a central diamond pendant.  Lucky for Cynthia, the added weight wasn't very much.  The necklace chain and pendant drooped to just above her navel, next was the vertical drop of the collar's leash chain, and then came the nipple-clamps' connecting chain.

"Now that's pretty," Ellen sighed, then kissed Kim's lips.  "Are we ready?"

"Shoes?" Megan suggested.

Ellen gazed at Cynthia's feet.  They all did.  "Hmm...  The open-toed pumps she brought are very nice... but our little Cynthia has such pretty feet."  She shook her head.  "No shoes."

"Besides," Bibi added, "barefooted with the rest of us in heels, she's even tinier."

The others chuckled and Cynthia glared in response—or more correctly, she continued glaring.

"One last thing," Kim said as she returned to the bed.  Thus far the second box had remained unopened.  Kim opened it now, rummaged inside, and returned with an animal mask.  It was plush, made of brown, white, and black fake-fur, and this particular mask took the form of a smiling mouse.  It was actually a half-mask, and would only cover the wearer's nose and eyes.  Most such things would be held on by an elastic cord or a pair of ribbons, but this particular mask had a half-inch-wide brown leather strap with a steel buckle.Such a cute little mouse.

Cynthia would have nothing to do with it.  "Nrrrf!"  Megan held her shoulders and Bibi her head, but she continued to struggle.

Ellen knew what to do.  A smile on her beautiful face, she reached out, took hold of the chain linking the nipple clamps, and gave it a firm tug.

"Mmmf!" Cynthia took the hint and froze in place.

"Good girl," Ellen purred as she fit the mask over Cynthia's glaring eyes.  Bibi threaded the strap through its buckle, freed Cynthia's hair, pulled the strap tight, and secured the buckle.

Cynthia's colleagues fussed with her hair, especially her bangs, making sure her russet locks draped over the top of the mask and to either side of its cute little mouse ears.  They also straightened her veil.

Megan had strolled to the bed and was gazing into the second box.  Inside she found three more masks: a red vixen, a Siamese cat, and a golden lioness.  She smiled at Kim.  "You were ready for whoever won the lottery," she noted, holding the masks for the others to see.

Kim smiled back.  "Or lost the lottery, depending on your point of view."

Megan gazed back into the box.  "No cute little mouse tail?"

"I wish I'd thought of that," Kim chuckled, "but no."  She lifted the leather handle of Cynthia's leash and placed it in Ellen's hand.  "Don't lose her, okay?"

"I won't," Ellen purred, smiling at Cynthia.

"All right then," Kim continued.  "The Phantom will be arriving in about an hour.  Let's all get something to eat and drink, shall we?"  Her smile focused on Cynthia.  "Well... not all."

Cynthia rolled her eyes.  The others laughed and started for the bedroom door.  Cynthia's leash began to go taut, the nipple-clamps, chains, and pendants swayed, and the captive little mouse had no choice but to follow.


Oh, the Humanities!
Chapter 7

Chapter 6 Chapter 8