| by Van ©2013
Gwen spent a
lazy day waiting for the party. Well, lazy hours,
anyway. In the windowless, subterranean, clock-less
chamber, she didn't really know the actual time at any given
moment, but she had a feeling that most of a day was
passing. And speaking of feelings...
After careful consideration, Gwen had decided that while she had
been kidnapped, dragged to a hidden Lair, and was naked and
chained by the neck, she was not terrified. After
all, her kidnapper—The Phantom—was a stunningly beautiful, very
nice blond grad student—newly minted PhD, actually—who had not
only made her deepest, darkest (and squishiest) fantasy of being
abducted and held prisoner come true (in a non
horror/serial-killer movie way), but had been polite enough to ravish
her! Several times! And Inga's fingers, lips, and
tongue were really talented! And Gwen liked it!
None could deny that Gwendoline Percy was a good
girl. She'd never given her parents any real grief,
ever. She had socialized and partied with her high
school friends, within reason, but Gwen was a good girl.
That said, HOLY COW was it fun being teased and diddled
and—in the Anglo-Saxon vernacular—FUCKED by The
Phantom! She couldn't wait to tell Clem about it—all
about it. Her BFF would be absolutely scandalized!
She'd clean her glasses 'til she wore through the lenses.
It was gonna be great!
Gwen catnapped on the cushions, as did her equally naked but not
collared and chained kidnapper/hostess/lover. At one point
Gwen decided she had no choice but to answer an increasingly
urgent call and nudged Inga in the ribs. "Hey."
Inga opened one eye. "Hey?"
"I gotta tinkle," Gwen explained.
Inga yawned before answering. "Who's stopping you?"
Gwen smiled and lifted a handful of steel links. "Mr.
"No, he's not," Inga muttered, then rolled over and went back to
Gwen sat up and pulled on the chain, as quietly as
possible. It was then she learned that her steel tether
was long, as in very long, as in long enough to reach
the Lair's bathroom alcove with yards to spare. Again, as
quietly as possible, Gwen dragged the chain to the bathroom and
did her business, then splashed her face in the washbasin.
She ran a brush through her tousled red locks, then returned to
Gwen sprawled back down next to Inga and did the only logical
thing possible: she also went back to sleep. What
else could she do? Try and escape? (A) She had no
idea where The Phantom kept her keys, and metaphorically kicked
herself for not paying closer attention. (B) It would be very
rude to skip out on Inga's party after she'd promised to
attend. Okay, actually she'd decided to acquiesce in her
abduction, but that was something like making a
promise. And finally... (C) She was still sleepy.
Sometime later Gwen heard running water from the direction of
the bathroom alcove. She rolled over and opened her eyes
to find Inga in the shower. Its clear plastic curtain was
doing almost nothing to obscure the toned, deceptively strong,
and gloriously feminine form of her kidnapper as she
first soaped her body... then shampooed her long, blond
hair. Gwen sighed and enjoyed the show. Finally,
Inga turned off the water, pulled back the curtain, and toweled
With a towel wrapped around her still damp hair but otherwise
nude, Inga padded towards the cushion pile. "Hey,
sleepyhead," she chuckled. "Get up. Time to get
Gwen's smile widened and she yawned and stretched—doing her best
cute-little-ginger-kitten-waking-up imitation—then sat up and
crossed her legs. Ever the optimist, she lifted her collar
chain and batted her green eyes.
Inga shook her head. "It's stainless steel. Get in
Gwen heaved an appropriately much-put-upon sigh, then dragged
herself and her chain to the bathroom alcove, turned on the
shower, and stepped under the stream of gloriously hot
Meanwhile, Inga used a blow-dryer, brush, and comb on her hair,
then applied makeup—tasteful, minimal makeup. Next, she
donned a pair of panties, high heeled pumps, and a floor-length
formal gown, sleeveless, with spaghetti straps, a plunging
neckline, and an open back. All were in black.
Sexy, Gwen thought as she finished her shower and toweled
herself dry. I hope she has something pretty for me.
It turned out Inga did have something pretty for Gwen,
but it wasn't a gown. Point of fact, Gwen wasn't sure what
"It's called a wrist cage," Inga explained, slowly turning the
steel object in her hands for Gwen's inspection. The
"cage" was four semicircles of rounded steel attached to a
cross-shaped, four-part hinge. They closed to form two
hoops nested together at a right angle. The pretty part
was the fancy, engraved, heart-shaped padlock that secured the
hasp opposite the hinges. Inga turned a tiny key in the
padlock, clicked it open, then opened the cage.
"For me?" Gwen sighed, her eyes on the padlock. "Are those
diamonds?" She focused on Inga. "You shouldn't
Inga smiled. "Hands behind your back," she suggested
Gwen sighed again, then turned her back and crossed her
wrists. "Okay, but you'll just have to take it off again
so I can get dressed."
Inga closed the cage around Gwen's wrists and clicked the
padlock through the hasp.
Gwen twisted her wrists, testing the cage. One thing was
for sure, as a restraint, it worked. Also, it was
comfortable. The hoops were rounded and smooth, it didn't
weigh that much, and as long as she didn't get carried away with
the struggling she'd be fine, helpless and fine. The
smooth, flush hinges slid against her butt and the pretty
padlock dangled on the opposite side.
Meanwhile, Inga had placed a folding chair in the bathroom
alcove and readied the hair-dryer and brush.
Gwen took the hint and sat on the chair. "Seriously," she
said, raising her voice to be heard over the dryer, "what have
you got for me to wear? What color?"
"That would be telling," Inga answered.
Gwen pouted in silence as Inga continued drying and brushing her
hair. Pouting Princess was one of her best looks.
She watched in the mirror above the washbasin as Inga fussed
with her hair. She was a Pouting Princess Prisoner with
pretty hair that was growing ever prettier. She couldn't
help but smile. It spoiled her pout, but she couldn't help
Inga was finally satisfied and set down the brush.
"C'mon," she said and led Gwen towards the clothing rack.
She knelt and helped Gwen step into a pair of high heeled pumps
The shoes were a pretty bronze color and Gwen noticed what
appeared to be a shimmering, floor-length cloak or cape of the
same color on a hanger on the rack. "Is that for me?" she
asked, nodding at the cape, then her eyes popped wide.
Inga had opened a box and produced a carnival mask. It had
a beak of horn or plastic, a pair of piercing eyes with yellow
irises, and was festooned with rust, brown, black, and gray
Gwen sighed, then focused on Inga. "An owl?"
"Perhaps," Inga answered. "A bird of prey, certainly."
Gwen was staring at the mask. "Will this be a full-blown
costume party, or just a masked ball?"
"You'll see," Inga said, then stepped behind Gwen and buckled
the mask's brown leather strap behind her head. "Or
rather, you won't see."
"Hey!" Gwen complained. "I thought the eyes were one-way
glass or something. What kind of mask has opaque eyes?"
"A blindfold," Inga answered.
"Oh, very funny," Gwen muttered. "Seriously?
A blindfold?" The mask/blindfold was well-padded on the
inside and totally light-tight. Inga was fussing with her
hair, pulling strands out from under the strap. Then, the
buckle was released, the strap pulled tighter, and the buckle
secured, once again. There was a quiet click and
Gwen surmised that somehow the buckle had been locked and the
bird mask was on to stay.
Inga stepped to Gwen's front. "Very pretty," she sighed,
and continued fussing with her captive's hair.
"No, seriously," Gwen huffed. "A blindfold? You're
making me go to your stupid party wearing a blindfold?"
She heard the sound of Inga's heels tap away—
"Inga?" —and then they returned. The padlock
securing Gwen's chain was lifted, a key turned, and the padlock
and chain dropped away with a rattling clatter. The
rounded steel collar was still around Gwen's neck. "Well?"
Gwen heaved an impatient sigh. "The blindfold?
"Yes, you're wearing the blindfold," Inga chuckled.
"Well, unlock my wrists so I can get dressed," Gwen muttered,
then her smile returned. "Or is it a strapless gown I can
step into? I look really good in strapless gowns."
"Also out of them," Inga purred. "Open."
"Open what? Mrrrpfh!" A rubber ball had been thrust
into Gwen's mouth, and Inga was buckling its attached strap at
the nape of her neck! "Mrrrf?"
"Yes, a gag," Inga confirmed as she pulled Gwen's hair free and
finished securing the strap. "A ball-gag, to be
precise." Inga smiled at the result. "I wish you
could see it. The ball is translucent bronze with swirls
of rust-red, gray, and black, like a giant fire-opal, and the
leather strap is narrow and brown. You see, the mask and
gag are a set. Very pretty."
Gwen wasn't interested in the aesthetic quality of her
gag. "M'mffgh-nrr-mrrf-nrr!" She was twisting her
caged wrists, tossing her masked and gagged head, stomping her
feet, and generally throwing a minor tantrum. It's
difficult to stomp in pumps with four-inch heels, but the ankle
straps helped. In any case, Gwen was not happy.
"Settle down," Inga chuckled, pulled the bronze cape off its
hanger, and settled it over Gwen's shoulders.
Gwen stood still as Inga engaged a toggle at the cape's
throat. Her heart was hammering and she was panting
through her gag and flaring nostrils. Naked? Gwen
thought. She's gonna keep me naked? She
wasn't in a panic, but this was unexpected, to say the
least. The satiny fabric of the unlined cape was cool and
smooth against her skin, and although it was light, the garment
had some weight. "Mrrrf?" she whined.
"Perfect," Inga sighed as she lifted the cape's generous hood
and settled it over Gwen's head. "My pretty, pretty hawk,"
she purred, then leaned close and whispered in Gwen's left
ear. "Don't be frightened, Gwendoline. The Phantom
won't let anything happen to you. I'll be right at your
side all evening, and I'll keep you safe." She paused to
engage two more toggles, securing the front of the cape to the
level of Gwen's breasts. She then clicked the snap-hook of
a leash of light steel chain to the ring of Gwen's collar.
"I'll keep you safe," she repeated, "no matter what happens."
Now Gwen's heart was really hammering, but her breathing
was returning to normal—or what passes for normal when you're
naked under a satin cape, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and
collared. She heard a rustling sound, similar to when Inga
had lifted the cape and placed it on her shoulders. She
surmised Inga was donning a cape of her own. Then Gwen
felt her leash chain lift.
"And we're off," Inga said.
"Mrrf?" The chain went taut and Gwen took a stumbling
"Don't worry, Pretty Hawk," Inga purred. "I won't let you
walk into anything."
Step after step followed, and Gwen "allowed" herself to be led
away—to wherever they were going—to a party!
And I'm NAKED under the cape!
Her cape fluttered and parted, and Gwen knew she was making a
brazen display of bare tummy, red pubic thatch, and
thighs. And unless Inga decided to set a more sedate pace,
the display would continue. And there was nothing Gwen
could do about it. It was... wicked!
|Oh, the Humanities!
French Maid was vocationally on the mark for serving champagne
and hors d'oeuvres at a soirée, but when Clem finally worked up
the courage to emerge from the kitchen with a tray of four
champagne flutes—Alice in Wonderland popped into her
head, once again. She couldn't have been more surprised
if she'd found the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and the Cheshire
Cat chatting over tiny plates of Swedish meatballs and
bacon-wrapped mini-sausages. Clem almost dropped
the tray, but Kim was there to steady it and her.
Four women were present in the living room, not counting Clem
and Kim. Three were dressed in beautiful cocktail
dresses, and the fourth... was not. In a daze, with Kim at
her side, Clem minced across the room in her high heels and
tinkling chains, presented her tray, and the three wearing
dresses accepted flutes of bubbly.
Professors Whelan and Chen she recognized. She hadn't yet
had a class from either of them, but she recognized them, and
they were nice. Dr. Knudsen, the archeologist, she didn't
recognize, but after Kim made an introduction she was also
nice. They were all very nice. And beautiful.
And Clem managed not to faint, nor did she manage to do much
more than stare and answer their polite questions in
monosyllables. Yes, she was enjoying the university.
Yes, English was her declared major. No, she hadn't taken
Anthropology 101 as an elective. Etc.
But then there was the mouse—the one not in a cocktail
dress. The mouse didn't take the remaining flute
from Clem's tray.
Whoever she was, she was short, something like 5' 2" in her bare
feet. Her arms were bound behind her back in a black
leather, arm-hugging, zipped and buckled binder-thingie, a
matching leather collar was around her throat, and she was
wearing a fake-fur mouse half-mask and a silver-gray silk veil
across her lower face. Kim made no introduction, and
whoever she was, she didn't have much to say. In fact, she
had nothing to say. Clem could see her lips
through the veil, but she just—stood there, saying nothing—like
her lips were glued together or something. It was...
And speaking of strange, except for the binder and the veil and
mask, the mouse was nude—as in naked—as in attending the party
in her birthday suit! Also, there were clamps and chains
and diamond pendants dangling from and draped between her
nipples! And Dr. Chen was leading her around on a leash of
light steel chain!
The petite, naked mouse had pretty brown eyes, a killer
body, and her nipple-clamped and bedazzled boobs were kinda
big. Not huge, but generous and well-shaped. And she
had an allover tan and short, reddish-brown hair and...
Clem's head was throbbing, her face was flushed, and her knees a
little fluid. Maybe I am gonna faint,
she decided. Luckily, once again, Kim was there to save
An arm around Clem's waist, Kim lifted the fourth flute from the
tray and held it to Clem's lips. "Drink," she ordered, and
Clem complied, taking a generous gulp. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Clem answered (lied). "I'm okay."
"Good girl," Kim purred. "Bring out the cheese platter,
would you please?"
Clem was staring at the mouse—and the mouse was staring
back. Such pretty eyes, Clem mused, then shook her
head. "What? Oh, the cheese. I'm on it."
Cheese for the mouse, she thought.
"Good girl," Kim reiterated, kissed Clem's left cheek, and
released her sideways hug.
Clem carried the empty tray back to the kitchen.
"Curiouser and curiouser," she muttered under her breath as she
pulled a tray of assorted cheeses from the refrigerator, removed
its plastic-wrap cover, and minced and tinkled her way back into
the living room.
Over the course of the next hour, Clem came to terms with the
situation and even began enjoying herself.
The partying academics chatted, nibbled savory tidbits, and
drank champagne, all except for the captive little mouse.
She simply stood there... on her cute little bare feet... with
her cute little thatch of pubic mouse-fur on open display... and
with the sparkling diamonds and silvery chains swaying from her
nipples whenever she moved. Clem found herself fascinated
by the diminutive captive. Occasionally they would lock
eyes—that is, the mouse would find Clem staring at her—and Clem
would blush and turn away.
Clem was diligent in her domestic duties, fetching drinks and
making sure the hors d'oeuvres were replenished as needed;
however, the professors did include her in their
conversations. They tried, anyway. The problem was,
Doctors Pappas and Whelan were discussing literary works and
authors she'd never even heard of, so she didn't have much to
say. On the other hand, Doctors Chen and Knudsen were deep
in debate over whether various terms in various early
Indo-European languages were loan words from Proto-Norse or the
other way around. Clem couldn't offer any opinions—mainly
because she had very little idea what they were talking about.
Anyway, if was fun hanging out with the docs... and the
mouse. Clem managed to sneak a couple of glasses of
champagne (sneaking them 'cause it's what a maid-in-chains would
do), and also surreptitiously grazed on Kim's excellent
spread. She noted that unless a large number of guests had
yet to arrive, there were going to be a lot of leftovers.
Everyone would probably be going home with a generous
doggie-bag. She smiled at the naked captive across the
room, still being led on her leash by Dr. Chen like an exotic
pet. Or mousey-bag, as the case may be.
Suddenly, a melodic chime sounded. Soft music had been
playing all along, mostly hits from the 80's mixed with Light
Classical and Easy Jazz. Clem had already noted that
Professor Pappas' sound system was really good.
There were a lot of tiny speakers scattered around the room, and
the acoustic balance was perfect. The music stopped and a
"Doctor Pappas, your guest of honor, plus one, are pulling into
"Thank you, Sally," Kim said.
"I will now invite your virtual guests," the voice continued,
"Excellent," Kim responded.
Clem frowned. "Sigourney Weaver?" she said to Kim.
"Sally is a simulation," Kim explained, "the avatar of my home
automation system. Sigourney Weaver is the default voice
setting and I've never changed it." She glanced at the
mouse, then back to Clem. "The software was a gift from a
"Oh, I get it," Clem said. "She's sort of like Siri, the
semi-helpful voice on my iPhone."
Kim smiled. "Exactly, only my Sally is much more
The music resumed, and with it Clem noticed a great many quiet,
disembodied voices, slowly rising in volume. They were all
in conversation, but Clem couldn't follow whatever they were
saying. "Are those the virtual party guests?"
"Yes," Kim nodded. "Now, I need you to be quiet for a
while, Clementine, okay?"
"I need you to be a silent observer," Kim continued, then
reached down the front of her dress and produced a strip of the
paper-backed plastic she'd used to gag Clem the night
before. "I can gag you, if you wish, but I was hoping it
wouldn't be necessary. That way you can continue eating
and drinking. Will you control yourself? No
outbursts? Not a single word, no matter what you
see? Will you do that for me, Clementine? Will you
Trust? Clem thought as she stared at the strip in Kim's
hand. She lifted her gaze to the professor's smiling face
and nodded. I must be crazy, but... "Uh,
Kim slid the strip back under her dress, against her left breast
and once again out of sight, then kissed Clem's lips.
"Good girl. Now, prepare yourself."
Clem nodded, again. "Okay.'
The doorbell chimed and Kim went to answer. "Remember your
promise!" she called back over her shoulder.
Clem realized Megan and Bibi had appeared and were standing
close, on either side.
"Don't worry," Megan whispered in Clem's left ear.
"We'll help you keep your promise," Bibi added from her right.
Kim opened the front door and two figures appeared. Clem gasped—but
managed to stifle an actual outcry by clamping her right hand
over her own mouth.
"Good girl," Megan whispered as she gave Clem's shoulder a
|Oh, the Humanities!
another hike down the tunnels under the campus, but the trip
wasn't nearly as long as before. In less than a minute
Gwen found herself climbing a set of stairs. Blindfolded
and in high heels, with her wrists cuffed—caged, actually—behind
her back, it might have been a little precarious, but Inga was
right there and made sure she didn't trip and fall. There
was a pause while Inga unlocked a heavy door... then the journey
They were outside. Gwen was sure they were outside.
The air was cool, especially when her cape fluttered open, which
it was doing a lot, and her body was exposed to the
night air. Gwen assumed it was night. She didn't
feel any radiant heat from the summer sun, and although a formal
schedule hadn't been established, Gwen had the distinct
impression the party they were going to would be after
dark. There was another pause, and Gwen heard a car door
"In you go," Inga said, then guided Gwen into the car and onto a
seat, making sure she didn't bump her head. She also
arranged her party date's cape to preserve her modesty, and
snapped her lap and shoulder belt in place.
The door closed with a solid thunk, and Gwen was alone in the
car. She was sure she was in the front passenger
seat. The left door opened and she heard someone,
presumably Inga, slide behind the wheel. The engine purred
to life, the parking brake was released, and they were off.
Gwen sat in her seat and "enjoyed" the ride. She was
nervous but in control. In control! But for
the ball-gag in her mouth, Gwen probably would have laughed at
her own mental "joke." It was one of those transitive and
intransitive situations. Gwen was in control of herself,
and Inga certainly had her under control. Okay, it
wasn't much of a joke. I really am nervous,
she realized. The drive continued with Inga saying nothing
and Gwen not bothering to try starting a "conversation."
Given her limited vocabulary—"M'mmm," "Nrrr," etc.—there wasn't
It was a short trip, no more than five minutes, maybe
less. Then, they pulled into... someplace. Inga left
the car... there was the prerequisite pause... then Gwen's door
opened and she was helped from the car.
"I want you to be brave," Inga said quietly. "Can you do
that for me?"
"Mrrf," Gwen "answered," then nodded her gagged and blindfolded
"Good girl," Inga purred. "Remember, I'll be with you all
night, no matter what."
Gwen's leash went taut and they were walking. They left an
enclosed space, maybe a garage by a side door, and then were
outside, again. After a brief stroll, a doorbell chimed,
and a door opened.
"Thank you," Inga answered.
"Come in, come in."
Gwen thought she kinda recognized the voice that wasn't
Inga, but wasn't sure. And there were other
voices, a lot of other voices. Gwen's heart was
"Let me take your cloak," the unknown voice offered.
"Most kind," Inga answered.
Gwen heard the rustle of cloth. There was another of those
infuriating pauses while she waited in blindfolded
bondage... then she felt fingers fussing with the toggles
securing her cape! Her cape! The only thing
she was wearing! "Mrrrf!"
"Steady, brave girl," Inga whispered.
Then, the cape was lifted from Gwen's shoulders!
"Nrrrf!" It was more of a gagged, whining sob than a
protest, but she made it clear she wasn't happy. Now
Gwen's heart was really hammering, and she was blushing
and shivering with embarrassment.
The voices weren't helping. They were soft and distant,
for the most part, and from the way they were carrying Gwen was
sure they were in a very large space, a ballroom,
perhaps. There was a band playing somewhere, and its soft,
echoing music reinforced her impression of the room's vast
size. The voices continued, mostly indistinct murmurs, but
she could hear some of what was being said, presumably from the
"The blonde or the redhead?"
Gwen heard a male and a female voice speaking on her left..
"I've always been partial
"Especially redheads with
"That's why I married you,
"Hah! Give us a
A different conversation was happening to Gwen's right, and this
time it was two women.
"I like the fact that she
"Hmm, I'm not so
sure. There is something to be said for the little
The last comment was followed by giggling laughter and the clink
of glasses. Gwen continued blushing and her heart
"She's in excellent
"Yes, with firm, toned
muscles, but not overly athletic. A fit, healthy girl."
"They all think you're beautiful, Gwendoline," Inga whispered in
Gwen's right ear.
Gwen could feel Inga's breath... and smell her perfume.
"If you can control yourself," Inga continued, "I'll take out
your gag and you can have something to eat and drink.
Would you like that?"
What Gwen would like would be either a magic invisibility cloak
or a deep hole to jump into and hide, but she'd take what she
could get. "Mrmpfh."
"I'll take that as a yes," Inga chuckled, and several of the
unseen and unknown voices chuckled as well. Apparently,
they'd been listening.
Gwen felt her gag being unbuckled, loosened, and the buckle
re-secured. Then a hand, she assumed Inga's, eased the
ball from her mouth. The ball-gag now dangled around her
throat like some sort of absurd costume jewelry necklace.
Gwen licked her lips. "Inga," she whispered.
"Yes," Inga whispered back.
Gwen swallowed before continuing. "I'm scared."
"No, you're brave," Inga whispered.
Gwen shivered with embarrassment and distress and her heart was
still pounding, but not like before. There had been
nothing teasing or mocking in Inga's voice. "Okay," she
sighed, finally. "Courage to the sticking place." A
pair of warm, soft lips kissed her pouting mouth.
"There's my girl," Inga whispered. "Now, here comes the
maid with a nice, cold glass of champagne."
Gwen heard the tinkle of steel-on-steel, sort of like the sound
made by the leash of nested links clipped to her own steel
"Thank you," Inga said, presumably to the aforementioned maid.
There was a pause, then the lip of a cold glass touched Gwen's
lower lip. The glass tipped and she gulped a mouthful of
"Have some more, brave girl," Inga chuckled.
The glass was tipped again and Gwen drank. "That's good
stuff," she said.
"Food is on the way," Inga said. "Then, we'll circulate."
"Do we have to?" Gwen whined.
"Aren't you hungry?" Inga asked.
"No, circulate. Do we have to circulate?"
Inga leaned close and kissed Gwen's lips, again. "It's a
party. You don't want to be a wallflower, do you?"
Gwen twisted her caged wrists and heaved a sigh. "As a
matter of fact..."
|Oh, the Humanities!