by Van ©2013
		Chapter 8

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. Chain?"

"No, he's not," Inga muttered, then rolled over and went back to sleep... apparently.

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 the cushions.

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 herself dry.

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 ready."

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 the shower."

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 water.

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 was.

"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 have."

Inga smiled.  "Hands behind your back," she suggested (ordered).

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 it.

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 with ankle-straps.

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.  "Oh, pretty!"

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 feathers.

"A bird," 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?"

"Well what?"

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 step.

"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!

Granted, 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... strange.

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 the day.

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 voice spoke.

"Doctor Pappas, your guest of honor, plus one, are pulling into the garage."

"Thank you, Sally," Kim said.

"I will now invite your virtual guests," the voice continued, "as planned."

"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 friend."

"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 sophisticated."

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?"

"Huh?"

"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 me?"

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, okay."

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 maternal pat.

There was 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 continued.

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 open.

"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 much point.

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 head.

"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.

"Welcome!"

"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 pounding, again.

"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 nearest speakers.

        "She's beautiful."

        "The blonde or the redhead?"

        "Both."

Gwen heard a male and a female voice speaking on her left..

        "I've always been partial to redheads."

        "Especially redheads with nice breasts."

        "That's why I married you, darling."

        "Hah!  Give us a kiss."

A different conversation was happening to Gwen's right, and this time it was two women.

        "I like the fact that she isn't shaved."

        "Hmm, I'm not so sure.  There is something to be said for the little girl look."

        "Pervert."

The last comment was followed by giggling laughter and the clink of glasses.  Gwen continued blushing and her heart continued hammering.

        "She's in excellent shape."

        "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 collar.

"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 delicious bubbly.

"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..."