by Van ©2010
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		Epilogue
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ONE YEAR LATER
THE CITY

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Faith thumbed the buzzer beside the steel door of Del's loft apartment.  She'd already had to use the spare keys Del had given her to enter the building, so she was unsurprised at the lack of response.  She inserted the appropriate key, turned the lock, then opened the door.

"Oh, Del," she sighed as she crossed the threshold.  She closed the door and engaged the deadbolt and the heavy top and bottom throw-bolts.  Click!  Chunk!  Chunk!  She then walked to Del's computer desk/work-table, deposited her purse and the package she'd been carrying, then turned to face the center of the loft.

Most of Del's place was one large, open space with a twenty-foot ceiling, and the only fully enclosed rooms in the conventional sense were the bathroom and a small utility closet.  I-beams and stanchions supported an elevated sleeping loft that extended from the back wall.  Access was by means of a spiral staircase.  The kitchen was off to one side and the entire exterior wall was one big bank of windows.  Normally, they afforded an unremarkable view of the unremarkable facade of the unremarkable apartment building across the street; but, at the moment, full-length, natural cotton drape-panels hanging from a wire track were providing complete privacy.

The owner of the loft was in the center of the space.  Her arms were raised and she was hanging in midair!  A kitchen stool was lying on its side a couple of feet behind her dangling feet.  Del was naked, but for the pair of black leather cuffs buckled around her ankles, the pair of fleece-lined suspension-cuffs on her wrists, and the panel-gag strapped across her lower face.  She was at full stretch, of course, with her wrists three feet apart and her ankles padlocked together.  Her hair was up, coiled atop her head and held (presumably) by hairpins, although a thin, wispy stand had found its way free from the arrangement and was dangling to the side of her gagged face.  She stared at Faith and forced a moan past her gag.  "Mrrfh."

Faith could tell her friend wasn't in great distress.  The heating system was turned up to an unseasonable level, accounting for the patina of sweat glistening on her tan skin, but her gagged expression signaled embarrassment and chagrin rather than pain.  "Hold your horses, Del," Faith chuckled.  "Let me check this out."  She walked a slow circuit around the naked captive, inspecting her predicament and admiring her friend's toned, helpless body. Sooooo beautiful, Faith marveled.  She focused on her helpless friend's dark, curly, pubic thatch.  Hmm, needs a trim... Her smile turned a tad sinister. Or maybe a shave.

Del had rigged a steel cable and winch to suspend her bicycle over the main space.  This kept it out from under foot when not in use while letting it serve as decoration.  One end of the cable was anchored to a side wall by means of an eye-bolt up near the ceiling.  The cable then traveled through a pair of pulleys clipped to eyelets in either end of the top of a three-foot steel bar; on to an eye-bolt on the opposite wall; then down to a hand-cranked winch bolted to the wall at shoulder height.  The bar also had bottom eyelets, and normally they held a pair of padded, double-fork hooks that cradled the bike's handlebars and seat.

At the moment, however, the bike was leaning against a bookcase, the forked hooks had been replaced with simple snap-hooks, and the only thing suspended from the system was Delfina.

"Why the hell did you do this to yourself?" Faith demanded.  "Never mind," she sighed, shaking her head.  "I know why.  'Research.'  Christina has created a monster.  I should be surprised when I don't come over here and find you naked and tied up.  Make it, how the hell did you do this?"

Faith righted the stool, kicked off her heels, and climbed onto the seat.  "You're an idiot, you know that?"  She unbuckled the gag and helped Del ease the attached plug from her mouth.  It turned out to be a double-sided retainer of black PVC.  "When did you buy this monster?" she demanded.

Delfina swallowed and licked her lips.  "It arrived this week.  It works."

"I bet," Faith muttered.  "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"How did you do this yourself?"

"Oh, yeah.  Piece of cake."  Del nodded at the bar overhead.  "I reached up and snapped the cuffs' rings through the hooks, then stepped off the stool."

Faith examined the hooks in question.  They were equipped with spring-loaded swing-gates, insuring that whatever was being held by the hooks wouldn't slip free when they weren't under load.  Right now, of course, gravity was the factor responsible for keeping Del a helpless prisoner.  Faith shook her head.  "It still had to be difficult."

"I had to experiment 'til I got the bar at the right height," Del explained.  "Too high and it's difficult to reach the hooks.  Too low and it's tricky to swing back onto the stool after I decide I've had enough."

"And being a colossal klutz," Faith sighed, "you tipped over the stool, anyway."

"Well, yeah," Del admitted, "but I've only been hanging here a half-hour.  It's not so bad."

"Del," Faith sighed, "people die like this.  It's a method of execution.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  Crucifixion?"

"I know," Del responded, "but it takes days 'til your diaphragm gives out and you finally suffocate.  Anyway, you're early."

"Only by an hour," Faith countered.  Gag in hand, she stepped off the stool and walked around to face her suspended friend.  "We had a deal," she lectured.  "You know you're not supposed to experiment like this without telling me ahead of time."

"I told you," Del protested.

"You told me to come over for dinner," Faith huffed.  "You didn't tell me you were up to something dangerous.  What if I had a late meeting?  What if I just decided to blow you off?"

"Uh, in that case... I guess I'd be screwed," Del admitted.

"Well and royally screwed," Faith sighed, shaking her head.  "Like I said, Chris has created a monster."  She pointed to the package on the desk.  "That's the galley-proofs of Saddle Soap."

Saddle Soap was Del's new novel.  In it, a female detective went searching for a missing friend who was into the local BDSM scene.  The detective posed as an aspiring bondage model, so as not to arouse suspicions.  Eventually (inevitably), things went wrong and she found herself a prisoner at a kinky, private country club, where she learned a great deal more about being a "pony-girl" then she would have liked.

"Final mark-up is next Wednesday in my office," Faith added.  "I'll send you an e-mail with the time."

"Fabulous," Del sighed, "now, let me down and I'll get dressed and start cooking dinner."

Faith smiled.  Del's toes were on pointe.  Her muscles were sharply defined—her abdomen as taut as a drum head and her breasts stretched flat—as flat as their volume would allow, that is.  "Well, I'd hate to ruin your experiment," Faith purred.  "I assume this is something that might find its way into the follow-on to Saddle Soap?"

"Possibly," Del answered with a grin.  "The ol' tortured-by-the-villains-for-vital-information bit.  Hardly groundbreaking, but I want to give it a try.  Uh, let me down?"

"How far along are you with the follow-on?" Faith inquired.

"Halfway to the rough draft," Del answered, "and no, you can't see any chapters.  Not yet.  Now, let me down if you want to eat."

"If you're going to be rude..."  Faith returned the stool to the kitchen area, then removed her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.  "It's too hot in here," she complained.

"Not to me," Del chuckled.

"Actually," Faith said, "there's no need to cook at all.  There's an Armenian place I've been meaning to take you to, and they do takeout."  By this time she'd also removed her blouse and skirt and was clad in only pantyhose, panties, and bra.  "This is better," she sighed.

Del mustered her best cajoling, pitifully sad smile/pout.  "I'd really like to be let down."

Faith grinned and strolled to the winch on the wall.  "If you insist."  She thumbed the switch to the "DWN" position and began turning the hand crank.  The pawl rattled against the gears as the drum turned.  Click-click-click-click-click...

"Thank you," Del sighed.

Faith continued lowering the suspended captive until Del's toes were about four inches from the floor, then stopped.  "Is this far enough?"

"What?  No!"

Faith gave the crank a partial turn.  Click-click-click.  "How 'bout now?"

"Faith!"  Now Del's toes were about three inches from the floor.

"Don't have a cow," Faith chuckled.  "I'm just helping you with your research.  Tell me what I want to know or I'll lower you into this pit full of...  Hmm...  Snakes?  Spiders?  Hungry rats?  Dyspeptic ferrets?"

"Thanks for being a friend," Del sighed.  "I'm suffering the agony of total suspension, you know."

"It's your plan," Faith countered.  "And since those cuffs are wide and well-padded and designed for this sort of thing and you're obviously not in agony, I'm just availing myself of the opportunity to be a total sadistic bitch.  I love your hair like that, by the way.  Very Gibson girl.  You ought to write something set in that period.  Corsets, camisoles, frilly knickers, stockings and garters, button-down shoes, rakish cads with long mustachios and even longer whips, naughty French maids who tickle and tease their helpless mistresses...  Think about it."

"Too much research," Del responded.  "Too much research of the non-fun variety."  She sighed, again.  "You're really going to leave me like this?"

"Don't be absurd," Faith chuckled, and turned the crank.  Click-click-click... click... click!  "There," she said, and locked the winch.

Del's toes and the balls of her feet were on the hardwood floor, but her heels were still in the air.  "Great," Del huffed.  "Now you're only a semi-sadistic bitch."

"And loving every minute of it," Faith chuckled.  She was climbing the stairs to the sleeping loft.

Del watched over her shoulder.  "Taking a nap?"

"Looking for something," Faith answered.  She was rummaging in Del's chest of drawers.

"What?" Del demanded.

"Where do you keep that—never mind!"  She'd opened the nightstand drawer.  "Found it!"

"Found what?"  Del's eyes widened.  "Oh."

Faith was descending the stairs with Del's wand-style, Hitachi vibrator in her left hand and the coil of its attached extension cord in her left.  "Have you packed for next week?"

"It doesn't take long to pack a bikini," Del answered.

"Be sure and bring your little black dress, or something similar."  Faith plugged the extension cord into an outlet near the desk.  "Chris says we're definitely going back to that seafood place."

"Nobody dresses at Pantera Key," Del chuckled.

"Bring it anyway," Faith ordered.  She was walking towards Del, the Hitachi in one hand, the gag in the other, and a very self-satisfied grin on her face.

"Aren't we bossy," Del sighed, and tugged on her wrist cuffs—or, more precisely, her biceps flexed a little.  Her semi-suspended condition didn't allow enough slack for a bona fide tug.

"I am, anyway," Faith purred as she set the vibrator on the floor, then readied the gag.  "You're not in a position to boss anyone, are you?"

"I thought you were gonna order takeout?"

"I'm early, remember," Faith countered.  "There's plenty of time to call in an order.  Anyway, back to Pantera Key.  It's a two week vacation.  I expect you to get some writing done, but I don't want you and Chris and Polly to spend the entire time banging away at your computers and ignoring me completely."

Del laughed.  "Selfish much?  I'm sure Chris or Polly or myself will find ways to keep you entertained.  I bet Chris has some new toys."

"Be sure and pack this thing," Faith said, waving the double-retainer strap-gag in Del's face.  "Polly will hate it."

"It's not that bad," Del stated.  "I'll show you later."

"You'll show me now," Faith chuckled, and "forced" the plug into Del's mouth.  The captive didn't actually resist.  Faith stepped behind Del and buckled the strap.

"M'rrpfh!" Del complained.  Faith had pulled the strap tighter than it had been before, when Del had gagged herself.

"It certainly seems pretty effective," Faith purred.  "Let's give it a good test."  She stepped to Del's left side, put an arm around her waist, and delivered a resounding slap to her right butt-cheek.  Whack!

"Nrrrf!"

"What's that, Del?"  Whack!  "You don't want a spanking?  Whack!

"Nrmfh!"

"Well then—"  Whack!  "You should follow the rules—"  Whack!  "And not do self-bondage without telling me ahead of time—"  Whack!  "Got it?"  Whack!

"Mrrr!"

"All right.  We have an understanding.  One more for good measure."  Whack!

"NRRRF!"

"Yes, I really am a sadistic bitch," Faith chuckled.  "You're absolutely right."  She continued her embrace and began a massage of Del's butt with her right hand, the hand that moments before had been the instrument of punishment.  "What a pretty shade of pink," she purred.

Del shivered in her self-imposed bonds as Faith's hand continued its gentle, circular motion.

"You're not fooling anybody, you know," Faith purred, continuing her massage.  "Least of all me."  She eased her hand between Del's butt-cheeks and began sliding the edge of her palm against her labia.  "You're wet, Del," she stated.

"Mrrrpfh!"  It was a moan, but not a protest.

"Why are you naked, Del?" Faith continued.  "Surely you learned everything you'll ever need to know about what it's like to me a nude captive at Seaglass.  Are you naked for me, Del?  Did you really tip over the stool by accident, or did you wait 'til you heard my key in the lock, then do it on purpose?"

"Nrrrrr."

"No matter," Faith chuckled.  "The result is the same.  You're mine, Delfina Shaw.  You're mine all night, and I finally get my revenge for what you did to me on my birthday."

They played like this about once a month.  Not exactly like this, of course.  It was always delightfully different.  And it wasn't a regularly scheduled thing.  Situations just seemed to pop out of nowhere and one of them would find herself the naked, bound, and gagged plaything of the other—about once a month.  Sometimes Del would be the one on top, and sometimes it would be Faith.  And more often than not, especially when they made a weekend of it, they'd switch roles at some point.  It was a lot of fun, and it let Del continue the "research program" she'd started at Seaglass; but each encounter happened entirely by chance—or so they kept telling themselves.

"Now, down to business," Faith purred.  She knelt and picked up the Hitachi, then resumed her one-handed embrace.  She thumbed the switch on the handle—buzzzzz—nestled the throbbing saddle against Del's labia, and held it there.

Del flinched and squeezed her eyes shut.  "M'mmmpfh!"

"We'll do this for one hour," Faith whispered, her lips an inch from Del's left ear, "until the time you told me to arrive.  Then, I'll make my call.  When the food arrives, I'll do my best to shield your naked, helpless, suffering body from the delivery boy, but he might see something.  After all, you're in plain sight from the door."

"Mrrrf!"  She's kidding, Del thought, I hope.

Faith was right about Del being wet.  She'd been wet before Faith arrived.  Her pussy had already started feeling a tad lubricated when she finished locking her cuffs to the bar.  She stepped off the stool, and she was unmistakably wet.  Then, when she tipped over the stool and realized with absolute certainty that she was well and truly helpless!  And it really had been an accident... not that it really mattered.  Anyway, after the initial wave of panic, she was really wet.  Bzzzzz...  And now, it felt like her pussy was melting!  BzzzZZZzzz... Faith was varying the pressure—pressing the vibrator hard—then easing off—then pressing it again.  BzzzZZZzzzzzz...  She was playing her like the proverbial Stradivarius.  BzzzZZZzzzZZZZZZzzz...

"I've reached a decision," Faith whispered.  "I'm going to leave you like this all night.  And in the morning, I'm going to crank you up high, turn on all the lights, open the drapes, and leave."

"Nrrrrrfff."  It was a quiet, moaning plea.

"I'm sure one of your neighbors across the street will notice you, eventually."  Faith's tongue probed Del's left ear, then she nibbled the lobe and gummed the outer shell.  "Once the sun sets and it gets dark, somebody's bound to notice... eventually."

"Mmmmm."  Del knew with certainty that this time Faith was kidding.  At least, a part of her was certain.  Mostly, she was... distracted... very distracted.  BuzzzZZZzzz...

"Cum as many times as you want, Del-licious," Faith whispered.  "We have all night."

BuzzzZZZzzz...

AT SEAGLASS

---

Christina was in the spare bedroom on the second floor, the one furnished (unfurnished) as an inescapable prison cell.  The slats of the sunscreen/storm-shutter were open, allowing as much light to enter the dreary space as was possible with the shutter lowered and the metal grill padlocked in place.  Chris was naked, and her arms were behind her back and zipped and buckled into a leather arm-binder.  In addition, her ankles were buckled in leather cuffs, and the cuffs were clipped to the D-ring at the tip of the binder's mitten, enforcing a strict hogtie.

The arm-binder was of the single-sleeve variety, and it was new, having arrived in the mail less than a week before.  Polly had experienced its tight, elbow-crushing embrace right out of the box, but this was Christina's first encounter.  The black leather "garment" was top-of-the-line.  The leather was subtle and soft, and the buckling straps sewn into the top and around the wrists were wide and thick.  Some manufacturers sold similar products that were baggy and loose.  They might still be effective restraints, but Chris considered them quite unattractive.  This model, however, hugged Christina's arms and hands like a second skin, a tribute to the artistry and skill of its pattern maker.  Although tightness alone was enough to make it inescapable, a pair of straps stretched from under each of Christina's armpits, crossed over her chest, traveled over the opposite shoulders, and were buckled to the top of the binder.

All of the binder's chrome-steel buckles were lockable, and the over-sized pull of the heavy-duty zipper running the sleeve's length clipped over the tab of the top buckle, allowing one padlock to secure both; however, neither the arm-binder nor Christina's ankle cuffs were, in fact, padlocked.  Of course, unless Chris suddenly discovered her toes had magically become as dexterous as her mitten-encased fingers, they might as well have been.

Christina was also gagged, and it was a new model that had arrived with the arm-binder.  Its mouth-stuffer was an oversize pouch of stuffed leather, and holding it in place was a harness of thin straps that caged her head like an equestrian headstall.  To anchor the plug, a pair of straps buckled at the nape of her neck, another pair buckled under her chin, and a third traveled across her cheeks, met at her brow, stretched across her crown, and buckled in the back.  Additional straps linked the parts of the system together.  When properly adjusted, the harness encased the wearer's head and effectively locked her jaws around the plug.  As usual, Polly had been up to the task.  The soft plug filled Christina's mouth to capacity, leaving only enough space for a portion of her copious drool to ooze forth and dribble to the floor.

The Mistress of Seaglass was on her stomach, with her thighs, tummy, and breasts pressed against the unforgiving floor.  She was near the wall opposite the closed and locked closet, and Polly had not been thoughtful enough to deploy the doggy-bed and ease Chris' condition.  She'd already tried rolling onto her side, onto both sides, and onto her back.  There was no comfortable position.  Her shoulders ached like crazy, and her jaws felt like they were permanently locked around that insidious plug.

One day a month, Christina sighed.  It's only for one day a month.  That was the deal she'd struck with her protege in the aftermath of 'The Delfina Shaw Affair'.  She owed it to Little Bit to let her experience the thrill of being the one in charge, now and then.  And, truth be told, Chris was finding a little refresher training as bottom to be a good thing.  Recreational aspects aside, the research was helping both of them with their writing.

Just then, the key rattled in the lock and the door opened.  Polly had returned.  "Miss me?" she giggled, then walked over to the captive, knelt, and began the somewhat involved process of unbuckling her gag.

"Gagh!" Christina gasped as the plug was pulled from her mouth.  "That thing is nasty—"  She licked her lips and worked her lower jaw.  "—just like you said."

"And the single-sleeve?"

"Also nasty," Christina sighed, "also like you said."

Polly tossed the gag to the floor, then padded to the closet and unlocked the door.  She was wearing a pair of denim cut-offs—"Daisy Dukes" Chris called them, although she'd had to explain the reference to Polly—and a white cotton blouse.  A terrycloth headband was keeping her blond hair flowing back and out of her face.  Her feet were bare, as always.  She grabbed the doggy-bed, then closed and relocked the closet door.  She tossed the mat in the corner, about as far from her hogtied mentor as was possible, then padded over and settled on the soft, sage-green fleece in a semi-lotus with her back against the wall.

"What are you grinning at?" Christina demanded.

"Teri made the grocery delivery," Polly announced, "and she was nice enough to bring the mail.  The sleep-sack has arrived!"

"It's about time," Christina huffed.  "I was thinking it wasn't going to get here before the city-slickers showed up."

The sleep-sack in question was a sheath of unbleached, cotton canvas.  It left only the wearer's head exposed, and had internal sleeve-pockets to trap her arms against her sides.  The main sack was closed by a pair of zippers that ran along the top, their lockable tabs meeting over the crotch area.  Next, thin cord was laced through a double-row of grommets, snugging the canvas against the wearer's body.  Then, wide, heavy straps of cotton webbing with friction buckles closed around her feet, ankles, knees, thighs, waist, above and below her breasts, and around her throat.  D-rings ran down either side, positioned to lash the wearer in place or to serve as suspension points.

In preparation of its arrival, Chris and Polly had already installed concealed pad-eyes under the wooden frame of the bed in the guest room—the furnished guest room—and had elastic bungee cords ready to anchor a sleep-sacked visitor to the bed.  The cords had snap-hooks at either end, and were sized to provide uniform stretch.  They knew they might have to make adjustments in the individual lengths, but that was the sort of thing that could only be worked out with an operational test.

"Excellent," Christina sighed, rolling her shoulders.  "You can try it out tonight."

Polly's smile turned evil.  "I can try it out?  It's my turn to be resident bitch-goddess, remember?  I don't turn back into a submissive pumpkin 'til sunrise tomorrow."

"Yes, I remember," Chris said, dryly, rolling her shoulders, again.  "Okay, I try it out.  Now, we agreed no more than two hours in this damn sleeve.  You are keeping track, aren't you?."

"Sorry, but it isn't time," Polly chuckled.  She stood, unzipped and pulled off her shorts, peeled off her panties, then sat back down.  "If you're gonna be such a big baby, I'll let you out and we can have some lunch, but first, I have a task for you to perform.  Can you guess what it might be?"

Christina heaved a sigh, then started squirming towards her grinning Mistress-for-a-Day.  "Remind me to have you refinish this floor," she muttered, "naked, hogtied, and with the sanding block strapped in your mouth."

"That won't work," Polly giggled.

"Then we'll rent an orbital sander and I'll clamp a double-dildo harness to the handle."  Christina continued crawling, inchworm fashion, towards Polly.  "You can vibrate your way across the floor, gagged and locked in chains.  It should be most entertaining."

"What a creative mind you have!" Polly giggled.  Christina was still less than halfway to her goal.  "Move it," the little blonde commanded, waving her right hand in an imperious manner. "Polly's pussy is lonely."

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Chapter 9

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