by Van ©2010
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		Chapter 7
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Over the next hour, Delfina concentrated on playing her role in Christina's melodrama.

From a dramatic point of view, the role in question—the bound and gagged Billionaire's Daughter kidnapped by Ruthless Criminals—was decidedly undemanding.  You didn't have to be any sort of actress at all to pretend you were lashed to a post with a hundred yards of white, nylon rope if you actually were lashed to a post with a hundred yards of white, nylon rope.  Also, the ball-gag was a powerful aid for remembering her lines, which would be variations on the phrase "mmmmm" until its padlock was unlocked, its buckle undone, and the ball, itself, plucked from her mouth.  And the hinged handcuffs locking her wrists behind her back and the post?  They were redundant, to say the least.

From a physical point of view...  Del had been spreadeagled on the guestroom bed for most of the previous night, and now she was tied to this damn post—and it was getting old.  Her jaw ached, as did her shoulders.  It wasn't too bad, and she thought this was probably because she was in good shape.  It was also a tribute to Polly's skill with the ropes.  Yes, the little blonde's bondage was tight and inescapable, but it also provided distributed support.  None of the neat bands pressed against any of her pressure points or any other part of her anatomy with excessive force.  She could take it... but it was getting old.

And then... there was the psychological aspect.  She refused to believe Christina had really kidnapped her.  Well—she had—but it was a game.  It wasn't real.  It was a game.  She tugged on the steel cuffs binding her wrists.  It's a game, she reassured herself.  Game-game-game.

And the boredom.  She'd been rendered totally helpless by her captors, and then abandoned.  She had nothing to do but think, and that was probably the worst part of the experience, at least up until now.

Not that Del didn't like thinking.  Del loved the intellectual exercise of puzzling something out, especially with respect to her writing.  But she tended to treat her "conversations with her muse" as a background activity.  She'd mull something over while she cooked a meal, or cleaned the loft, or exercised at the club... while she did the thousand and one minor tasks associated with being alive and free.

But if one was alive and not free?

All she could do was stand there... and think... and worry.

She'd already had ample opportunity to visually explore Christina's office while duct-taped to that kitchen chair and lashed against this very post, two days ago.  Her current perspective was slightly more elevated, but the view was the same.  Okay, this time Christina's monitor was off and there was no imminent vibrator "peril".  There was the riding crop resting on Christina's desk, but that was a vague, unfocused peril.  Otherwise... bor-ing!

Different aspects of her predicament began bubbling to the surface, such as:

Being a helpless prisoner causes one to focus on the future.  What's going to happen?  What were her kidnappers going to do to her?  How long before Faith started wondering what the hell had happened to good ol' Delfina and decided to call the police?  Okay, that last part was a little over the top.  Chris and "Little Bit" weren't going to keep her tied up that long.  Then again... what if they did?  Faith was the only one who knew where she was, as far as Del knew.  Her building super was collecting her mail and she'd put a vacation hold on her paper delivery, but only Faith knew where she was.  She hadn't even left a contact number with anyone.

Okay, don't get carried away, Del chided herself.  Christina's gonna let me go and the joke will be over... any second now.  She turned her head towards the doorway.  Any second now.  Nothing.

Nakedness...  Being a naked captive was humiliating.  "The clothes make the person", as the saying goes, but Del had never realized how important having clothes, any clothes, were to her sense of self.  Nudity made her feel like an object—or it did right now, when it wasn't voluntary.  In the steam room or sauna, at the club, nudity was the expected "costume", so it was okay.  Here... now... clothing was a privilege that had not been granted by her captors.  She was less than a person.  She was an animal they were caring for.  She was a thing.

Just then, Christina breezed into the office.  She was wearing the same jeans and cotton tank-top as before, and a mug of coffee was in her right hand.  She went to her desk, set the mug on an electric warming pad and turned it on, then moved the riding crop to the side.  Only then did she turn and stroll to the post, to smile at her helpless captive.

Del wasn't sure how she should react to her Head Kidnapper's presence.  At this point she wasn't above more begging—even if it was a lot more begging—but she decided that wasn't the way to go.  She glared at her captor and forced an angry growl through her gag.  "Mrrrrf!"

"Oh my," Christina chuckled.  "If looks could kill, as the saying goes."  Arms comfortably crossed below her breasts, she continued smiling her infuriating smile.

Delfina continued to glare as the seconds passed... and Christina continued to gaze at her helpless, rope-bound and ball-gagged body.  It was humiliating... embarrassing... and she couldn't do anything about it.

"Are you familiar with the works of John Willie?" Christina asked.

Delfina blinked at the unexpected question.

"I'll take that as a no," Christina chuckled, then walked to one of her bookshelves.  She returned with an over-sized book with a white cover, and on that cover was a cartoon illustration of a blonde dressed in what Del could only describe as a Little Bo Peep costume.  She was tied to a tree in much the same way Delfina was tied to the post.  Facing the blonde was a brunette in a rather kinky riding outfit.  The book's title was The Adventures of Sweet Gwendoline, and the author was, indeed, John Willie.

"Polly's inspiration for your current lesson," Christina purred, indicating the cover illustration, "although she seems to have used about twice the amount of rope on you as 'The Mysterious Countess' used on poor Gwen."  She held the the book so Del could examine every detail.

Del gazed at the helpless, illustrated damsel.  At least she has clothes.  And Christina was right about the ropes.  Del's and the blonde's bondage was more or less identical in style, only Del was bound by about twice the number of horizontal rope bands, especially around her legs.

"Seriously," Christina said, "you've never heard of John Willie, Gwendoline, or U-89?"

Delfina lifted her gaze to her smiling captor and shook her head.

"Well," Christina chuckled, as she turned and returned the book to its place in her library, "now I know what to get you for Christmas."  She strolled back to Delfina's post.  "A Perils of Sweet Gwendoline movie was made in the 80's, but it had about as much in common with Willie's original work as..."  She shook her head.  "Let's just say they could just as easily have named the heroine Natasha and called it War and Peace."  Christina's smile turned somewhat feral.  "Of course, back then, Tawny Kitaen was very easy on the eyes."  She reached out, cupped Del's breasts, and gave them a gentle squeeze.  "Like you, Del."

Delfina flinched at her captor's touch, then gave her captive body a jerking twist, which did not dislodge Christina's hands.  She turned her face to the side and closed her eyes.  A blush warmed her bulging cheeks.

Christina began massaging Del's nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.  "You're beautiful, Delfina," she whispered.  "I think I'll keep you."

Delfina's eyes opened and she turned her face back to her captor.  Her facade of righteous anger was shattered, and her naked fear—as naked as the rest of her, at the moment—was revealed.

"Beautiful," Christina sighed.  She continued caressing Delfina's nipples, which had grown hard and erect under her lambent touch.  "Have you ever considered piercing these little gals?" she purred.

"Mrf?"

"I'm talking locking rings, of course," Christina purred, "not posts."

Delfina shivered in her bonds, and squeezed her eyes shut.  "Nrrrf!"  Then, the fingers went away.  She opened her eyes and blinked.  Christina was walking away, towards her desk.

"I've got some writing to do," Christina announced, smiling back at Del over her right shoulder.  "We can't all be on vacation."

Delfina shivered in her bonds, again, and watched as her kidnapper sat in her comfortable chair and powered-up her computer.

"I want you to keep quiet and let me work," Christina said.  "If you decide you won't to be a nice, quiet damsel, I'll send for Polly."  She spun her chair around and smiled at her captive.  "Ever wear nipple clamps, Del?" she asked.  "I have two pair: clover clamps—they tighten when you pull on the connecting chain—and a pair of alligator-clips.  I use fishing weights with them."  Her smile turned bone-chillingly evil.  "They work on pussy-lips, too."

Delfina tugged on the steel cuffs locking her wrists behind the post.  Her heart was hammering, and Polly's ropes seemed tighter than ever—probably because her chest was straining against the tight ropes as her bosom heaved and she panted through her flaring nostrils.

"Quiet as a mouse, Del," Christina purred.  "Quiet as a mouse."  She turned back to her computer and began typing.

Oh god! Delfina thought.  This is out of control!

Her prisoner apparently forgotten, Christina continued tapping the keys.

"Mistress" worked at her computer for more than an hour.  Delfina listened to the clacking keys, but other than the back of her kidnapper's head, the back of her chair, and the rest of the office, that sound was her only distraction.  The screen was blocked, and the distance was too great for her to read whatever Christina was writing, in any case.

Finally, Christina stood, stretched, and turned to face her prisoner.  She smiled, then headed for the door.

"Mrrrf?" Del forced through her gag, but her kidnapper was leaving without even a word.

And then she was gone, and Del was alone, again.

She didn't writhe and struggle.  She didn't mewl through her gag.  She simply stood against the post... and waited... and endured.

After several minutes, Del heard a door slam, possibly the outside kitchen door.  She caught movement from the corner of an eye and focused on the dunes beyond the window in front of Christina's desk.  Her kidnappers had changed into their bikinis and were strolling, hand in hand, down the trail to the beach.  Each had a towel draped over her shoulders, and they were talking and laughing.

Like last time, Del thought, miserably, when they left me taped to the chair, against this post, with Polly's 'bomb' nudging my pussy.  I wish it was there, now, she thought—then blinked.  What the hell?  What's the matter with me?  Was it the boredom?  Did she really want her captors to do erotic, uh, things to her... like Polly had, last night?  No, of course not! she assured herself.  Certainly not!

Delfina stood in her tight rope bonds, letting them support her weight, and tried to ignore her aching shoulders, and her aching jaws, and her aching feet.  Everything ached, and she could do nothing about it.  All she could do was wait.

Another hour passed.  At some point, Del's head dropped until her chin rested on her chest.  She closed her eyes... and dozed off... then, she snapped awake, again.  She could hear voices muffled by the glass of the window.

Her kidnappers were returning.  Their hair was now wet, but otherwise they were unchanged.  Despite her condition, despite the way she'd been treated—was still being treated—Del couldn't help but admire their tan, fit, scantily clad bodies.  They're beautiful, the prisoner marveled.  Gorgeous.

Del sighed, then stretched her neck, as best she could.  Her chest was wet with saliva.  Apparently, she'd drooled around the ball-gag, and the wet, glistening result had dripped from her chin.  I guess the ball isn't big enough to fill my mouth completely, after all.

Just then, Christina strolled into the room.  She was still clad in her white bikini, and her short, wet hair was now combed straight back.  "Still here, I see," she chuckled.

Hearty har-har.  Delfina gazed at her captor with what she hoped was a display of pathetic misery compelling enough to trigger her release.

No such luck.  Christina simply gazed at her captive body, and smiled.

Delfina sighed through her gag.  Ah, c'mon!  She heard a tinkling, rattling noise and turned her head to find Polly entering the room with a distressingly large tangle of black leather straps in her hands.  The noise was from numerous dangling buckles, all of which were similar, if not identical, to the padlocked buckle of her ball-gag.

"Time for your next lesson, Del," Christina chuckled.

Delfina fought the start of her "next lesson" as best she could.  But, as before, her kidnappers worked in concert to defeat her efforts.  She didn't make it easy for them, but eventually Del was prone on the floor and free from the post; however, that was the only way she could describe her condition as "free".

Her hands were closed in tight fists and encased in padded leather mittens with wide cuffs that were buckled and padlocked around her wrists.  Wide, hobbling cuffs were locked around her ankles and similar cuffs were around her upper arms, just above her elbows.  The elbow-cuffs were linked to a leather tube with three buckling straps that encased her forearms and pinned her folded arms behind her back in the "box" position.

Mitten-cuffs—ankle hobbles—box-tie binder.  Could it get any worse?  Yes, it could.

A harness of thin straps, also with locking buckles, embraced her torso.  Three straps formed a "Y" that yoked her shoulders and met at a steel ring just above her breasts.  The vertical strap then continued down her body to cleave her labia.  Its run was interrupted by two additional rings that anchored a pair of horizontal straps, one just below her breasts, and the other squeezing her waist.  They all buckled behind her back, and had been threaded through "D"-rings in the mittens, elbow-cuffs, and forearm-binder, making an integrated system that held her arms and torso in its tight, padlocked, black leather grip.

The ball-gag remained in her mouth, of course.  Helpless and miserable, Delfina lay on her side and stared up at her bikini-clad kidnappers through the curtain of tousled hair that half-covered her face.

"Fetch a scrunchy for Del, would you please?" Christina asked.

"Why not use a rubber band from your desk?" Polly responded.

"Something pretty," Christina purred, smiling at the little blonde.

"Yes, Mistress," Polly sighed, then turned and pattered out the door.  "Right away, Mistress.  Quick as a bunny, Mistress.  Your groveling slave lives to serve Mistress, Mistress."  Her continuing sarcasm faded into the interior of the house.

"Little scamp," Christina chuckled, then smiled down at her prisoner.  "More single-purpose haute couture for you to experience, Del," she said.  "Kind of amazing, don't you think?  Somewhere, busy little leatherworking elves are turning this stuff out.  Binders and harnesses and gags and stuff you've never even dreamed about, all of it designed for one use, to render a captive completely helpless.  And all of it is useless for anything else."  She took hold of Del's shoulders and pulled her up to sit on her rump.  "Handcuffs, convict chains, even old style dungeon chains—they're implements of law enforcement, aren't they?  Straitjackets, medical restraints, braces and splints—those are for patient care."

Christina knelt behind Del and put her arms around the captive's body.  "No cop is going to put you in something like this," she whispered in Del's ear, "no matter how many parking tickets you owe the city.  No bailiff is going to drag you into court bound in this way, and no doctor is going to 'prescribe' this sort of treatment."  She cupped Del's breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze.  "Assuming, of course," she continued, still in a whisper, "the doctor hasn't kidnapped you to use as a lab rat for his or her nefarious experiments."

Del squirmed and shivered in her bonds.  Christina's gentle massage and the intimate presence of her bikini-clad body were... disturbing.  And the way that strap was sliding through her pussy when she moved wasn't helping.

"But even then," Christina continued, pausing to nuzzle the skin behind Del's right ear, and then to plant a light kiss on the ear, itself.  "Even then, our hypothetical mad doctor would probably use the padded, tan leather versions of this sort of stuff, don't you think?"

Polly breezed back into the room.  A jingling keyring was clipped to the tie of her bikini bottom, over her right hip, and a hairbrush and the ordered scrunchy were in her hands.  The hair restraint in question was a small, crumpled ring of black velvet, presumably covering an elastic band.  "Rank has its privileges," she grinned as she took in the sight of her Mistress embracing their prisoner.

"And that's somehow in doubt?" Christina laughed.  She stood, stepped to the front, and pointed at Del.  "Ponytail," she ordered.

"I live to groom," Polly muttered under her breath, knelt behind Del, and began brushing her long, sleek, brown hair.

Delfina sat perfectly still, her hobbled legs tucked to one side, as the brush slid through her locks.  She gazed up at Christina in sullen misery as Polly gathered her hair and captured it in a tight ponytail.

"Much better," Christina said.  "Now," she continued, shifting her smile to Polly.  "Give the Billionaire's Daughter that tour we agreed upon, then put her away and meet me in the kitchen for lunch."

"May I borrow Mistress' crop?" Polly asked.

"Yes, you may, Little Bit," Christina chuckled, "but don't mark any of that pretty, tan skin unless you have to."

Polly stood, strolled to the desk and retrieved the crop in question.  She then grinned, struck a pose, and gestured at her own body.  "You mean this pretty, tan skin?"

Christina laughed, then nodded at Del.  "No, that pretty, tan skin."  She stooped and picked up a length of the white nylon rope still cluttering the floor and began tying a knot in one end.  "I have plans for your pretty tan skin," she purred, "for later."

"Oh, Mistress!"  Polly shivered with theatrical delight.  "I swoon at the prospect."

"Little scamp!" Christina chuckled.  She'd finished tying a simplified version of the hangman's knot, then dropped the noose over Delfina's head and snugged it tight.  Not too tight, but tight enough for Del to know it was there.  She freed the end of Del's ponytail from under the rope, then handed the free end to Polly.  "Scoot," she ordered, planting a kiss on her protege's cheek.  "I need to check my e-mail."

"Yes, Mistress," Polly responded, then smiled at Delfina.  "Up," she ordered, giving the rope a shake.

Delfina sighed through her gag, then awkwardly heaved herself to her hobbled feet.

Polly waved the crop in her face, a totally unnecessary warning gesture, and then used it to point to the door.  "Off we go, Del-licious," she purred, then led the way.

"'Del-licious'," Christina laughed as she sat in her chair.  "I love it."

Del sighed, again, and followed in the wake of her Junior Kidnapper's bikini-clad form.

Del was led out the back door, down the porch steps, and along the trail to the garage.  The sun felt good on her skin.  It was a small thing, but something positive for her to focus on, for a change.

Polly's destination was the first of the three garage bays.  Each had its own double door secured by a deadbolt lock.  The little blonde unlocked the left-hand door, swung it open, and led Del inside.  Del could see her Outback  parked in the next bay, and a Jeep Liberty, presumably Christina's, in the bay beyond.

The flat roof was corrugated steel over steel trusses, and was festooned with spiderwebs, some of which were old cobwebs, and some of which were new, and occupied.  Del shivered in her bonds as she examined the orbs and their eight-legged, supremely patient owners.  I hate spiders, she thought.

"I hate them, too," Polly said, as if reading Del's mind.  "That's why Mistress only puts me out here when I've been really bad."

The garage walls were gray, unpainted concrete, as was the floor.  Ragged, raised lines scored the walls, marking seams in the forms into which the concrete had been poured during construction.

A great deal of sand had found its way inside, and sweeping the floor appeared to be even less of a priority than evicting the spiders.  The floor wasn't uniformly sand over concrete, however.  A long strip of wooden planks was set in the bay floor, perpendicular to the doorway.  Overhead, near the far wall, a chain-hoist was bolted to a joist.

Polly looped the end of Del's leash through a hand-bracket on the back of the right-hand door and tied a quick-release knot.  She then walked to the back of the bay, unhooked the hoist's dangling chain, and returned to the door.  Del watched as she knelt and closed the chain's terminal snap-hook through a ring set in one of the planks.  She then slid back a heavy, flush-mounted bolt on the same plank, returned to the end of the bay, and began pulling on the hoist chain.

The entire set of planks opened as one unit.  It was now clear it was a hatch, resting in a shelf in the concrete and hinged at the far end.  Underneath was a rectangular pit, about four feet wide, five feet deep, and nine feet in length.  It was filthy, to put it mildly, and had several more arachnid tenants.

"I think one of Christina's ancestors was into cars," Polly explained.  "Chris uses the Oil Can Henry's in town for her oil changes.  This"—she gestured at the pit—"Mistress uses as an oubliette."

Delfina's locked eyes with Polly.  Oubliette?

"Don't freak out on me, Del," Polly chuckled.  "I'm not going to put you down there."  Her smile turned a little sinister.  "Not this time."  She started pulling the chain, again, this time in the opposite direction.

The hatch slowly began to close.  Delfina could see it was constructed of thick, treated lumber, and was well-braced with cross-members secured by countersunk lag bolts.  It must weigh a ton, literally, Delfina realized.  Even if it wasn't bolted shut, there's no way I could lift it, even a little, even if I was completely free.  She shivered as the lid closed, settling into its concrete trough with a solid thud Del could feel with her bare feet.  It would be horrible to be trapped down there... with the spiders... in Christina's 'oubliette'.  She watched as Polly stooped and threw the bolt—thunk—then unhooked and re-secured the hoist chain.  Next, Del's leash was untied, she was led outside, and the garage door was closed and locked.

Delfina was back in the full sun, but a chill shivered up her spine, nonetheless.

"Back to the house," Polly chuckled, and led the way.

Instead of mounting the steps to the porch, as Delfina expected, she was led to the timber-walled enclosure under the house.  Polly unlocked a wooden door and led her prisoner into the cavernous interior.  Seaglass was built on a combination of massive posts and a central, foundation basement of poured concrete.  Horizontal planks spaced a finger-width apart enclosed the space.

Polly dropped the end of Delfina's leash and unlocked a steel door set in the concrete.  Del took a hobbled step back, and sighed.  Making a run for it was as impossible as ever.

The door opened on squealing hinges—creeeeak—revealing a room with a low ceiling.  It was about five feet wide and ten feet deep, and all four walls were smooth concrete, broken only by the steel door frame set into the front wall.  Overhead, panels of expanded metal were bolted to the bottom of the massive joists of the house, forming the ceiling.  Centered on the back wall, a large, steel eye-bolt was set in the concrete, and dangling from it was about five feet of heavy chain.

"Mistress only uses this cell in the Summer."  Polly grinned.  "By which I mean, of course, Mistress locks me in here only in the Summer.  It's too chilly in here the rest of the year."

More than enough light filtered between the joists and through the grate ceiling for Del to get a good look at the stark, empty cell, only there was nothing other than the chain for her to see.  It was a cell.

"The worst part is the mosquitoes," Polly sighed.  "The wind can't get in here, but they can, and once they find you..."

Del stared at the chain.

"Mistress has matching hardware for that thing," Polly explained.  She turned and smiled at Delfina.  "Shackles, belt, collar—all thick and heavy.  Very medieval."  Del's rope leash was still in her hand.  She stepped into the cell, gave the white rope a tug, and Del had no choice but to follow.  "Pretty small, isn't it?" she purred.  Her voice echoed off the walls.

Dell looked around the cell.  There wasn't a lot of light, and most of it was coming through the open door.  If that door was closed...

"Dreadful, isn't it?" Polly whispered.  She took the leash in both hands and reeled Delfina in.

"Nrrf!"

"Settle down, Del," Polly chuckled.  Holding the rope tight in her right hand, she used her left to caress Del's breasts.

"Nrr!"

"I said, settle down," Polly whispered.  She leaned close and kissed Delfina's gagged mouth.  "You need to learn to obey me, Del-licious, now that we're slave-sisters."

Del tried to twist away, but couldn't.  Slave-sisters?  Polly was nuzzling her neck, and sliding both hands over her leather-bound body.  Del lifted her right leg, to try and push Polly away, but her hobble prevented her from exerting any real force, and—to her infinite surprise—she found her heart wasn't in it.  She still very much wanted to be free of her bonds, but she couldn't find it in herself to hate Polly—her "slave-sister"—or to want to hurt her.

"Del-licious," Polly purred and continued her embrace, and her caresses, and raining kisses on her squirming, writhing captive.  Finally, she stepped back.  "That was fun," she chuckled.

Del felt a blush color her cheeks, and the strap cleaving her pussy sent a thrill through her bound body.  Dammit! she thought.  I should be angry... furious.  She sighed through her gag.  But I'm not.

Polly was gazing back, the usual saucy, irreverent, irrepressible smile curling her lips.  She looked gorgeous in her white bikini—but was a blush touching her cheeks, as well?

Must be a trick of the light, Del decided.

"C'mon," Polly said, and gave Delfina's leash another tug.  She led her from the cell and locked the door.  "One more stop on our tour," the little blonde said, "then you get to take a nap and I get my lunch."

Delfina's stomach grumbled.  I hope I get some lunch, too, she thought, and that 'Mistress' decides to let me go.