by Van ©2010
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		Chapter 9
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The area under the house was brighter than it had been earlier, when Polly had dragged Del on her "tour" and shown her the concrete cell in the central foundations.  The late afternoon sun was sending more light through the horizontal gaps between the planks of gray wood.  In addition, the bulb of a light fixture mounted among the floor joists was burning brightly, providing even more illumination.  And under that light—

"Nrrrrf!" Del screamed through her gag.

—Faith Blendel was sitting in a rusty metal chair, naked, bound, and gagged!

"M'mrfh!"  Faith screamed, as well, but the volume of her contribution to the "conversation" was even more reduced than Del's.  Something large had been stuffed in her mouth, and tight, multiple bands of duct-tape encircled her lower face and head, making sure it was there to stay.  Her flushed cheeks bulged above the silver-gray wrappings.  Her honey-blond hair had been gathered atop her head and was bound in a snarl of hemp rope, a taut, vertical strand of which stretched up to the rafters.

Faith's feet were inside a wooden box, and to the left, Polly, still wearing her white bikini, was using a shovel to stir the contents of a wheelbarrow.  The end of a garden hose with an attached nozzle was under her bare feet, and nearby was a large, empty, brown paper sack, the label of which read—

"Nrrrrf!" Del screamed, again.

—"CEMENT (HYDRAULIC)."

"Little Bit has really outdone herself, this time," Christina chuckled.

"Thank you, Mistress," Polly giggled, continuing to stir.

"Come take a closer look," Christine added, and pulled Del forward.

Faith's bonds consisted of more of the hemp rope and countless milky-white plastic cable-ties.  The ties bound her arms behind her back and the chair, pressing her elbows, forearms, wrists, thumbs, and fingers tightly together.  Her thighs, knees, and lower legs were cable-tie bound, as well.  The ties binding her thumbs and fingers were thin and short, while the rest were thick and long.  As Faith squirmed and struggled, the long, untrimmed ends of the ties rattled and shook.  In addition, hemp rope was lashing her to the chair, with tight, neat bands across her lap and waist, above and below her breasts, and across her shoulders.  Finally, for no good reason other than general bitchiness on Polly's part, a cable-tie had been looped around the base of each of Faith's breasts, then tightened to the point that the fleshy globes bulged like a pair of balloons  They were flushed a pinkish-mauve color.

"Look in the box," Christina suggested, and Delfina did so.

The box had been hammered together from scraps of lumber, and was two or three times the size of a milk crate.  A layer of small river rocks covered the bottom, and a few inches above the rounded stones, four lengths of half-inch, steel rebar had been inserted through holes drilled in the sides.  The ends extended an inch or two beyond the box on either side, locking them in place.  The first bar was behind Faith's ankles, the second under her heels, the third under the balls of her feet, and the fourth under her toes.  Cable-ties had been used to strap Faith's ankles and feet together and to the rusty bars, with the tiny ties used to bind each of her toes.

All of Faith's bonds, cable-ties and rope, were tight enough to dimple her firm, tan flesh.  Her pale-blue eyes gazed at Del in fear and horror.  Then, she shifted her gaze to Christina.  "M'mmmpfh!" she pleaded, and it was very clear that she was pleading.

"Oh, Faith," Christina purred, slowly shaking her head, "you had your chance.  All I asked for was a new contract, a better contract, a fair contract.  Now, I'll have to find a new publisher, one who better appreciates my talents.  And with my sales history, you know that won't be difficult."

Del shifted her horrified gaze to Polly and the wheelbarrow.  The little blonde was using her shovel to turn a gray, wet, sandy slurry that had the consistency of thick pancake batter—or wet cement.

"Hydraulic cement is the kind that doesn't break down in wet environments," Polly explained, then shifted her smile to Faith, "like at the bottom of the ocean."  She shifted her gaze again, this time to Christina.  "Mistress?"

Christina locked eyes with Faith, and nodded.

"Nrrrrf!" Del and Faith screamed, in unison.

Polly lifted a shovel load of the gray, soupy mixture and poured it into the box.  Sploosh!  It splashed over Faith's feet and toes, then drained away into the gravel, leaving a thin gray coating on the prisoner's tan skin.  A second shovel load followed.  Sploosh!  And then a third.  Sploosh!

"Don't worry," Christina said, in an aside to Delfina.  Her eyes were still on Faith, who was struggling for all she was worth and staring in horror at the gray ooze rising to engulf her feet.  "A few days after that sets, I'll give her one last chance to give me a new contract.  If she still refuses, she'll get a one-way boat trip.  If she sees reason, I'll give her a hammer and chisel and let her chip her way out of the box."

"We'll keep her in slave chains, of course," Polly giggled.  "Wouldn't want her running away after she finishes her work."

Del's vision blurred, and she blinked her eyes.  She felt... groggy... sleepy.  Her heart was pounding with horror and fear, but she felt herself becoming... strangely detached from the situation.

"Let's leave Polly and Faith to their fun, shall we?" Christina purred, then turned Del around and led her towards the open door.

Del dug her heels in the sand and moaned through her gag, looking over her shoulder at Faith—but Christina had a firm grip on one of the harness straps, and she couldn't prevent herself from being dragged away.  As they crossed the threshold, Del's last sight of her editor and friend was her fellow captive's weeping, terrified eyes peering at her over her tight tape-gag.

"She's beautiful like that," Christina asked, "isn't she?"

Del blinked, again.  Crazy!  They're both crazy!  Now, her vision was beginning to swim, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.  Sleeping pills, she realized.  Chris gave me sleeping pills.  Almost as if she was an outside observer, Del "watched" as she was led up the porch steps and into the house, then back to the empty room on the second floor.

By the time they arrived, Del was losing her struggle to stay awake.  Without being fully aware exactly how it happened, she found herself back on the doggy-bed, with her head and shoulders in Christina's denim-clad lap—and Chris was smiling down at her and gently stroking her hair... and her breasts... and her stomach.

"Go to sleep, Del-licious," Christina purred, "and dream of all the sweet, wonderful things I might do to you while you slumber.  Maybe you'll wake to find yourself in chains and locked in my dungeon under the house.  Maybe you'll wake mummified in duct-tape from head to toe, with one of Polly's toys tucked between your legs, teasing your pussy."  She leaned close and kissed Del's forehead.  "Maybe you'll wake in total darkness, naked, in a coffin-sized box, buried six feet under the sand, with only a thin snorkel-pipe keeping you alive.  Or maybe it'll do something really mean to you."

Cra-zy.  "Mmmm."  Del couldn't focus... couldn't keep her eyes open... couldn't really process what Christina was saying.  Warm, soft lips kissed her face, again, and more words were being spoken, but it was far away, and she couldn't make any sense of the words, none whatsoever, and—

Del opened her eyes, and found herself staring up at the underside of the mosquito net canopy surrounding the bed in the guest room... her guest room... the one she'd been sleeping in before...

What?

Del sat up, and found she really was in the guest room, in bed.  She was naked, and under the sheet and light blanket she'd used before—before she was kidnapped.  She lifted her hands from under the covers and stared at the black leather mittens and cuffs still buckled and padlocked around her closed fists.  I'm still kidnapped, she realized.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and Faith Blendel entered the room.  She was wearing shorts and a white cotton blouse.  "Good, you're finally awake," the grinning honey-blonde chuckled.  "Use the john and come on down for breakfast.  It's almost ready."

And then she was gone, leaving the door open behind her.

"W-what?" Del gasped.  Faith—not with her feet encased in cement and bound and gagged down under the house?  Breakfast?

Del stared at the open door, then at the mitten-cuffs locked on her hands.  It wasn't a dream, she told herself.  It was all real, and I'm not dreaming now.  She kicked her legs free of the covers and rolled off the bed.  Other than the mittens, she was nude, totally nude, and completely free—no ankle cuffs, harness, or gag.  Even the scrunchy was gone, leaving her hair a tousled mess.

She did have to tinkle, and she was hungry.  Thanks to the mittens, she couldn't open the chest of drawers, much less dress herself.  Well, I want answers, she decided, and food, and to hell with modesty.

She padded down the hall to the bathroom, relieved herself, then headed for the stairs.  The faint sound of clattering plates, voices, and laughter echoed up from below.  Answers!  One mitten-encased hand on the rail, she descended the stairs.  When she came to the kitchen, she slowly, cautiously eased around the edge of the door and gazed inside.  Polly and Faith were setting the table for four.  Polly was still in her bikini, but today her hair had been parted down the middle and hung on either side of her pixie face in girlish braids.

Suddenly, Christina appeared behind Delfina.  "There you are," she said, kissing her startled guest's lips as she breezed past and on into the kitchen.

"What the hell is going on?" Del demanded.  It wasn't exactly an angry growl, but it was clear she wasn't in the mood for nonsense.

"Mornin' Del-licious," Polly giggled.

"Del-licious," Faith giggled, "I love it."  She smiled at her naked friend.  "Del-licious."

"In answer to your question," Christina said, "Joe's Scramble is what the hell is going on."

"What?" Del blurted.

"Ground beef, onions, garlic, spinach, eggs," Polly explained.  "You know, Joe's Scramble." she nodded at Faith.  "Dimples said it's your favorite."

"One of her favorites," Faith countered.

"Stop it!" Del screamed.  Her eyes were welling, and she was starting to get angry.

Christina stepped forward, took Del by the arm, and led her into the kitchen.  "Easy," she whispered, then turned to the others.  "And you two stop being cute."

"Yes, Mistress," Polly and Faith responded in unison, then exchanged a smile and a wink and went back to completing the meal preparations.

"I'll explain everything," Christina reassured Del, "but first, let's eat.  I know you're hungry."

Delfina lifted her mitten-encased hands.

"Yes, sorry about those," Christina purred, "but I had to be sure we had a chance to talk—"

"Before you run screaming out of the house," Polly interrupted.

"Last warning, Little Bit," Christina said.  She was smiling, but her tone was serious.

Polly dropped her gaze to the floor.  "Yes, Mistress."

"Have a seat, Del," Christina said, pulling out a chair.

The others carried plates loaded with the steaming scramble, warm toast, and oven roasted diced potatoes.

Del's eyes were welling.  "I—"

Christina kissed her, again.  "C'mon.  I'll feed you."

Delfina sat and placed her mitten encased hands on her lap.  She was hungry—for food and answers.

"It wasn't concrete," Polly said, explaining why Faith wasn't down below, waiting for her one-way sea voyage.  "It was beach sand and a little powdered charcoal.  I snagged an empty cement bag from a construction site as a prop."

They were all more than halfway through the meal, with Christina feeding herself and her naked, mitten-cuffed house-guest.

"Those damn cable-ties were real enough," Faith complained, as she consumed the last of her potatoes.  She focused on Del.  "Christina's stage direction was: 'Faith Blendel, naked, bound, gagged, and helpless'; but, as usual, Polly got carried away."

Polly giggled.  "Too much is never enough," she quoted.

"You were in on all of it," Del accused, glaring at her honey-blond friend, "from the beginning."

"Of course," Faith laughed.  "What kind of an editor would I be if I let my authors wallow in ennui when they should be writing bestsellers?"

Del continued to glare.  "So, you sent me out here to be stripped naked, tied up and gagged, and repeatedly raped by 'Little Bit' over there."

"'Rape' is such a harsh word," Polly giggled.  "Let's say 'pleasured', shall we?"

"Our 'research' was a valuable experience, wasn't it, Del?" Christina asked, then loaded her fork with the last bite of scramble on Del's plate and offered it to her pouting lips.

Del sighed, opened her mouth, and accepted the food.  She chewed and swallowed.  "Yes," she admitted, "but why did you have to be such a sadistic nut-job at the end, there?"

Christina smiled, then held Del's coffee cup so she could drink.  "Military training, no matter how real, is no substitute for actual combat.  That's an analogy, of course, but I think it's an accurate one  As long as you knew we were just playing a game, that you hadn't really been kidnapped, I could only show you so much."

Delfina nodded.  "Well... what now?  How do you know I'm not going to call the cops?"

"You won't do that," Polly laughed.

"Why the hell not?" Del demanded.  "Why should I let you get away with terrorizing me?"

"Because it was a valuable experience," Christina said, "and you know we love you, don't you, Del?"

Delfina sighed.  She was angry, very angry, but she knew Faith (intimately), and clearly the whole thing had been a practical joke, for want of a better term.  She looked from Christine's smiling face, to Polly's dimpled smirk, to Faith's goofy, ever-so-slightly chagrined grin.  They love me?  And I know it?  She sighed, again.  I do.  I really do.  She nodded.

"Besides," Polly added, "it would be your word against ours."

Christina frowned.  "Polly!"

"I was speaking objectively," Polly responded, "exploring practical aspects of the situational dynamic, like you taught me, remember?  We are all writers, here—"  She nodded at Faith.  "—except for the parasitic, commercial leech, of course.  No offense."

"Oh, none taken," Faith responded, sipping her coffee.  She smiled at Del.  "Anyway, I'll back you up if you do decide to go to the authorities.  Not with respect to Edna the cash cow, of course," referring to Christina by her pen name, "but with respect to the little blonde psycho.  We'll tell the cops it was all her doing.  When she gets out of prison, she can write me a women-behind-bars novel."

Polly stuck her tongue out at Faith, then began clearing the table.

"I understand you're angry," Christina said, smiling at Del, "which is another reason for the mittens.  I wanted to make sure you had a cooling off period."

"Which should go pretty quickly, considering the lack of clothes," Polly quipped.

"Are you kidding?" Faith sighed.  "This time of year, nothing ever cools off around here."

Christina rolled her eyes, then placed a hand on Delfina's thigh.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm not in a blind rage, if that's what you mean."  She glared at her hostess for several seconds, then sighed.  "Okay, you're off the hook—with respect to the cops, anyway."

"Good enough," Christina chuckled, and produced her keyring.  She unlocked the padlocks of the mitten-cuffs and unbuckled the straps, then held them so Del could pull her hands free.

Del flexed her fingers and hands, then smiled at Christina.  "There is one condition," she purred.

"Yes?"

"I need more research," Del explained.

"Oh goody!" Polly giggled.  "Del-licious wants to be tied up some more!"

Del shook her head.  "Del-licious does not want to be tied up some more.  Del-licious needs to explore the other side of the kidnap equation."

"What does that mean?" Polly chuckled, then her smile froze.  "Oh!"  The little blonde heaved a theatrical sigh.  "Here we go, again.  'The Perils of Poor Polly'."

"I can see how a little revenge might clear the air," Christina chuckled.  "Polly will complain, of course, but she won't mind a little time as your kidnapper's practice dummy."

Still smiling, Delfina locked eyes with her hostess.  She picked up her coffee cup, took a slow sip, then set it back down.  "Who's talking about Polly?"

THE NEXT DAY

---

Del and Faith were enjoying the beach, reclined on the lounge chairs near the fire-pit.  Both were dressed for the occasion—Del in the "paprika-red" string bikini Faith had helped her shop for back in the city—Faith in a white, very French-cut, very décolléte one-piece.  Both had already indulged in a relaxing swim and had been basking long enough for their hair to have dried.

"I may never go home," Delfina purred.

"Amen," Faith sighed.

Del glanced at her watch.  "Oh, look at the time.  I almost missed the scheduled start of the next experiment."

"I would have reminded you," Faith chuckled, glancing at her own watch.

Del smiled.  "How very conscientious."

Faith lifted her hands over her head and stretched her tan, toned body full-length, sighing and pointing her toes, then smiled at her fellow sunbather.  "What's next on the program?"

Del picked up a clipboard and consulted a list.  "Uh... Numero Uno on 'four', and Numero Dos on 'two'."  She was referring to the settings of an identical pair of "silver bullet" vibrators.  This particular model was waterproof, and their thumb-sized vibratory modules was attached by long, thin wires to combination four-speed remote controls and battery packs.

And where, exactly, were the modules in question?

A cardboard box was resting on the sand between the two chairs.  "Is the coast clear?" Del asked.  Faith looked up and down the beach, then nodded.  Del lifted the box and moved it to the other side of her chair, revealing—

Polly Nestor's head!

The rest of the little blonde was buried under the sand, of course, and in answer to the vibrator question, "Numero Uno" was lodged inside the little blonde's pussy, and "Numero Dos" was tucked in her anus.

And oh-by-the-way, Polly was hogtied with a large portion of the white nylon rope she had used to tie Del to the post in Christina's office.  Del, herself, had done the honors, binding Polly's wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles, as well as pinning her arms to her torso and her thighs to her ankles.  Faith's contribution (and minor act of revenge) had come in the form of the small cable-ties binding Polly's thumbs and big-toes together.

"How ya doin', there, Slave-Sister?" Del inquired.

The question was rhetorical, as Polly's mouth was plugged by the two-inch ball-gag Del had endured during the later part of her captivity.  The two vibrator remotes rested on the sand in front of the blonde's sweaty, grimacing face.  Each bore a small patch of duct-tape with their designation lettered in waterproof marker.  Polly watched with dread as Del and Faith each picked up a remote and changed the setting.

"Ready?" Del asked, consulting her watch.

"Ready," Faith confirmed.

"Three, two, one, and now!"

Polly whined through her gag as the vibrators were switched on.  She whined, again, as her tormentors returned the remotes to the sand.

Del and Faith watched as Polly—Polly's head, anyway—shuddered and twisted.  She continued moaning and whining, her eyes clenched tightly closed.

"This must be a good one," Faith posited.

"'Good' being a relative term," Del chuckled, "but I think you're right.  I bet the mismatched settings are causing all sorts of harmonic, uh, thingies.  I was never any good at physics."

"Neither was I, but I know what you mean," Faith purred.

Just then, a tinkling, clattering noise sounded from the direction of the house.

"Oh, good," Faith said, glancing over her shoulder at the trail between the dunes.  "Drinks!"

"It's about time," Del muttered.

Christina was shuffling towards the fire-pit.  Her wrists, ankles, and throat were locked in steel shackles and collar, all joined by hefty steel chains.  The restraints were "dungeon hardware" of modern manufacturer, but designed to envoke their medieval antecedents.  In addition, a steel chastity belt was padlocked around Christina's waist and through her crotch.  It was also rather medieval in appearance.  The toned, firm, shapely, forty-something body of the Mistress of Seaglass was otherwise quite naked.  She carried a tray with an insulated carafe and four ice-filled tumblers.

"Drinks, Mistresses?" Christina sighed as she neared the sunbathers.

"Is that the manner in which you were told to address your superiors?" Del demanded.

Christina sighed.  "May this humble slave offer drinks to her Beautiful Mistresses?"

"You may," Del conceded.

Christina knelt in the sand near the fire-pit, her back to the ocean and facing Polly's grimacing, shivering, whining head, then set down the tray.  Her eyes kept darting to Polly as she filled two tumblers with a fruity rum punch, added straws and a garnish of sliced lime, and handed them to her "Beautiful Mistresses".

Del pointed to a tin bucket next to the old equipment trunk a few feet to the right of the pit.  "Cool-off your Junior Slave-sister, Senior Slave-Sister," she ordered.

"At once, Beautiful Mistress," Christina sighed.  She heaved herself to her feet, went to the trunk and lifted the bucket, then shuffled to the surf.  She waded out until the waves were splashing her thighs, filled the bucket, and began the shuffling journey back to the fire-pit. 

"She has such pretty breasts," Faith whispered to Del.

"Very pretty," Del agreed, also in a whisper.

Christina had returned.  She stepped behind Polly's head and held the bucket at the ready.

"Slowly," Del warned.  "Minimal splashing."

"Yes, Beautiful Mistress," Christina sighed, and began pouring the seawater over Polly's head.  She started with a trickle, then slowly increased the volume.  In seconds, Polly's head was soaked.  The remaining water streamed down her matted hair and glistening face and soaked into the sand.  Mission accomplished, Christina carried the bucket back to its former position, then returned to kneel between the fire-pit and Polly's head.

Chris gazed at Polly.  Several strands of the little blonde's sopping wet hair were now plastered across her grimacing face.  She stole a glance at her "Beautiful Mistress", and when she found Del looking back, quickly dropped her gaze to the sand.  A ghost of a smile curled her lips, threatening to dimple her cheeks, but she remained properly respectful.

Del wasn't fooled, but neither was she inclined to take offense.  She watched as Christina noted the settings and "on" condition of the two vibrator remotes, and the "Senior Slave-Sister's" struggle to control her amusement intensified.  "Junior Slave-Sister?" Del asked, addressing Polly, "would you like to cum?"

Polly turned her head to face Del, as best she could, and nodded, frantically.

"Well," Del continued, pausing to sip her drink, "wait 'til Mistress Faith and I have finished our rum-punches, so we can properly appreciate the show."

"You're getting good at this Cruel Mistress stuff," Faith noted, sipping her own drink.

"Good teachers," Del purred.  "Are you thirsty?" she asked.  The question was for Christina.

"Yes, Beautiful Mistress," Chris answered, her eyes still gazing at the sand between her knees and Polly's head.

"I thought so ," Del said.  "You may pour a punch for yourself and for Little Bit.  I think she'll be ready for a drink, as well, once I let her cum."

"Yes, Beautiful Mistress," Christina repeated, and lifted the carafe.

THAT NIGHT

---

"Well, I hope you're happy," Polly huffed.

"Granted, this was not how I expected all of this would turn out," Christina chuckled.  "I expected Del to become my devoted slave, like you, 'Junior Slave-Sister'."

Polly laughed.  "But instead, you get a taste of what it's like to be the helpless captive of a cruel Mistress, for a change."

"More like a reminder, Little Bit," Christina sighed.  Silence stretched, and she knew her protege was curious.  "I'll tell you the thrilling, cautionary tale of my early years, Polly, but not tonight.  Anyway... this is not what I expected."

They were lying on the bed in Delfina's former guest room.  Christina was on her back with her head towards the headboard.  Polly was on her stomach, on top her Mistress, with her head towards the foot of the bed.  Both were naked, with each of their wrists attached to one of their partner's ankles, left-to-left and right-to-right, using a mixture of steel handcuffs and padlocked leather cuffs.  This had seriously depleted the Seaglass inventory of lockable restraints.  The captives were otherwise unrestrained, but attempting to escape would be a very awkward proposition.  Even getting off the bed was iffy, and would be of questionable value.  Their captor (Delfina, of course) had packed her suitcase and moved down the hall, and in the process had taken anything with her she thought might be of value to prisoners attempting to regain their freedom.  Icing on the proverbial cake, the bedroom door was locked.

"The phrase 'hoist by one's own petard' comes to mind," Polly sighed.

"Not to worry, my little Shakespeare scholar," Christine giggled, "She'll probably let us go in the morning."

"Or not," Polly sighed.

"Or not," Christina agreed.

"Do you want to roll over?" Polly offered.

"Do you want to roll over?" Christina countered.

"I'm fine, for now," Polly responded, then grasped her Mistress' ankles, tucked her arms between Christina's legs, and pulled.

Christina didn't resist, so this bent her knees and brought her feet close to Polly's shoulders.  She didn't resist, either, as her diminutive protege used her forearms to spread her thighs apart.  Polly kissed Christina's labia, then delivered a slow, wet lick their entire length.

"You little scamp," Christina chuckled, quivering under Polly's warm, soft body.  "Again?"

Polly delivered another lick, probing deeper, this time.  Then, she lifted her head.  "Too much is never enough," she quoted.  For Little Bit, it was something of a mantra.  She returned to the task at hand—or at tongue, in this case.

Christina shivered, again.  "Scamp," she sighed, grabbed Polly's ankles and pulled them close, mirroring her companion's actions.  She then lifted her head and put her own tongue to work.

MEANWHILE, DOWN THE HALL IN THE MASTER BEDROOM...

---

"Tomorrow?" Faith asked.

"Yes, I'll let them go, tomorrow," Del answered.  "It's hard work wrangling slaves.  I'm supposed to be on vacation."

Faith smiled.  "You surprise me," she said.  They were under the covers of Christina's king-size bed, with Delfina curled up against her left side.  Both were naked.

"I surprise you?" Del chuckled.  "I think I'm the one who's filled her quota of being surprised on this innocent little trip to the seashore."

Faith kissed the top of Del's head.  "I warned Christina to be careful, that you might freak out if she took things too far.  You surprised us both, and let her take things even farther than I think she'd planned."

"Yeah," Delfina huffed, "I let her.  And what makes you think I didn't 'freak out', as you put it?"

"The way you handled yourself after it was all over," Faith answered.  "You're a pillar of strength, Del."

Del chuckled.  "Yeah, I'm a walking cliché."  She lifted her body and threw back the covers.  This revealed the fact that Faith's arms had been folded behind her back and bound in a tight box-tie with white nylon rope.  Del caressed one of Faith's breasts with a gentle hand.  Her other hand and its attached elbow were supporting her smiling head.  "I like your tits."

"Thanks," Faith chuckled.  "The way you have me tied gives the gals a little support."  The breasts in question were bulging between the neat bands of white, braided nylon pinning Faith's arms to her sides, but an objective viewer would have to agree that they didn't really need any support.

"Yes," Del continued, "they aren't all that big, but they're nice and firm."

"We can't all have splendiferous hooters," Faith countered.

"Oh, look," Del purred, delicately teasing Faith's nipple with her fingernails, "your little gals have sprung to attention, both of them."

"For a newcomer to all this fun-with-rope stuff," Faith said, through clenched teeth, "I can't get over how fast you're learning."

Delfina smiled, then sat up, piled the pillows against the headboard, and reclined on her back against the impromptu cushion.  "Do me a favor and eat my pussy, would you?"

"Sure," Faith answered, rolling her eyes, "I've got nothin' better to do."  She squirmed down the bed and rolled between Del's splayed legs.  "You mean this pussy, here?" she asked, nodding her chin at Delfina's crotch.

"That's the one," Del chuckled, then gasped as Faith nuzzled her inner thighs and began licking and probing her labia.  "You don't waste any time, do ya?"

Faith's answer was to slide her tongue against Del's clitoris, squirm the tip to lift the hood, and wiggle it back and forth.

Delfina shuddered, gently clutched a double handful of Faith's tousled, honey-blonde locks, and pointed her toes.  "It's good to be the Mistress," she sighed.

Faith's tongue continued to tease and slide.