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by Van ©2007---
Chapter 5_
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Gloria's mind drifted.

It had been an incredible dream—vivid, disturbing... and hot!  ...especially the last part.  Things had started out pretty bad—downright horrific, in fact.  She'd gone with Amanda to check out a lucrative modeling gig, and almost immediately things went wickedly wrong.  (Classic success anxiety dream.)  She'd been captured (they'd both been captured), she'd (they'd) been encased in leather and transported... someplace.  Then, she was separated from Amanda and tortured.  (All of which was perversely entertaining, in a pretend Damsel-in-Distress sort of way, but why the separation?  More subconscious anxiety role-playing?)  There was that irritatingly cute and sadistic little blonde (who probably represented unresolved conflict issues with that Pamela Buccellato cheerleader-bitch and her clique of cheerleader-bitch girlfriends from High School).  Then the hot part had kicked in.

Fresh from being tortured (strappado, with a side of nipple clamps), she'd been taken to a very girly, very feminine, pink-on-pink bedroom.  She'd been staring at a huge canopy bed with pink bedspread, pillows, and curtains (almost offensive enough to send her into aesthetic shock)—when a blindfold was pulled over her eyes (leather, and padded with lambswool fleece) and its strap buckled behind her head.  She was tossed on the bed, and as soon as she stopped bouncing, a pair of hands started gliding over her body, giving her an intimate and incredibly nice massage.  Then another pair of hands started using scissors to snip and remove the tape mummifying her fingers and hands.

She remembered that there were some chains involved.  The hands doing the massaging seemed to be dragging steel hardware as they kneaded and probed Gloria's sore, tired muscles.  The other pair of hands, the pair dealing with her taped fingers, seemed to be unencumbered.  In any case, the massage continued, and then her knees and ankles were untied.

The massage reached her private anatomy, and things shifted from restorative/therapeutic to provocative/erotic.  She tried to resist, but now there were more than hands involved.  She was on her back (and her bound wrists and elbows), and one body (one firm, warm body) was pinning her right leg to the bed, and was using a hand to control her left thigh (preventing her from closing her legs).  Then the other hand (plus a tongue and two lips) started probing and caressing her sex!

The other body (also firm and warm), the one with the chains, was using her weight to pin Gloria's upper body.  Her hands were squeezing and teasing her breasts, and her lips and tongue were nuzzling, kissing, and licking her ears, neck, and face, including her tape-gagged mouth.

Both her masseuse/lovers were definitely female, because there definitely were breasts (not her own) involved in the pinning and skin-on-skin squirming and sliding.

Smooth, warm skin...  Soft hair tickling her body...  Subtle, feminine perfume (and musk)...  Strong, skillful hands, and tongues—especially those wet, slippery tongues...

After several minutes, her gag was removed, and the kissing moved into French territory... and became mutual.  In fact, after Gloria "endured" two crashing orgasms, everything oral became mutual—nipple sucking, the licking and sucking of various labia and clits—everything.  Her wrists and elbows were still bound, so all she could manage was to awkwardly stroke, caress, and/or squeeze any anatomy encountered in passing, but she tried her best.

Gloria stopped counting her orgasms at six.  There were brief respites (in which her anonymous lovers seemed to be concentrating on each other, rather than Gloria), but it was still hours of a more-or-less continuous and skillfully orchestrated orgy-à-trois.

Early in the festivities, Gloria remembered trying to ask questions (of the obvious who/what/where variety), but her only replies were shushing noises and fingers pressed against her lips.  She took the hint.

At some point there was champagne (icy cold and very refreshing) and various forms of finger food (shrimp, chicken nuggets, little sausages, cheese, olives, various raw veggies, etc.).  The meal was integrated into the lovemaking, with strategic parts of Gloria's anatomy being anointed with various sauces and serving as dipping bowls.

Cleanup after the meal was also integrated into the fun, with tongues, and warm, wet washcloths licking and scrubbing Gloria's skin.

And then the lovemaking had started again!  What a dream!!

Gloria opened her eyes, or rather, she tried to open her eyes.  She was still wearing the blindfold from the dream, the one with the fleece lining, and a ball-gag was in her mouth, and—

It wasn't a dream!! she realized.  None of this is a dream!!

Gloria rolled on the bed.  (It felt like the bed... the same bed.)  Her wrists were still behind her back, but now they were locked in manacles— steel manacles—and the manacles were attached to a steel belt around her waist.  In addition, her ankles were shackled, separated by about a foot of chain.  She groped with her fingers, exploring the surface of her restraints, but encountered only smooth metal.  She could feel a seam in one of her manacle cuffs, but it was hairline thin.  All the cuffs, manacles and shackles, were thick and wide, and followed the contours of her wrists and ankles in detail.  However, where the two or three links of chain linking the manacles to the belt were attached, there was no obvious padlock or any sort of locking mechanism.  There was nothing she could attack... even if she had a set of picks and/or a length of stiff wire... which she didn't.

"Mrmfh!"

Gloria flinched in her bonds.  She wasn't alone.  She seemed to be alone on the bed, but there was someone else in the room.

"M'mrmfh!"

"Mmff?" Gloria "answered".

"Mrmfh!!"

Gloria squirmed to the edge of the bed that seemed to be closest to the voice, eased her feet to the floor, and stood.  The carpet underfoot was thick and soft.  Her unknown companion continued giving her gagged encouragement, and Gloria slowly, step by cautious step, moved towards the sound.  After several steps, her companion's mewling abruptly took a warning tone.  Gloria cautiously reached forward with her right foot... and her toes encountered... steel bars?  She moved forward until her legs were pressed against the obstruction.  Yes, they were definitely vertical steel bars (metal, anyway), about as thick as her thumb and a little more than the width of her knee apart.  There was a horizontal bar about at the level of her waist... then nothing.  A cage?

"Mrrf!"  Fingers brushed against her thighs—fingers belonging to hands that had been thrust against the bars.

Gloria knelt on the carpet, turned her head, and presented the nape of her neck.  The fingers fumbled with the buckle of her ball-gag.  It was released, and the strap rattled free.  Gloria expelled the ball from her mouth while the fingers unbuckled her blindfold.  Ball-gag and blindfold fell to the floor, and Gloria blinked in the sudden pink light.

Okay, the light wasn't pink, it was white; but almost everything in the room from which it had to reflect was pink.  Her fleeting impression upon arrival had been correct.  She was in a very girly, very pink bedroom, complete with frilly pink curtains and bed linen, and predominately pink and white stuffed toy animals.  It was... nauseating.  She looked down at her feet, and found her just-removed blindfold and gag were also pink; a translucent pink rubber ball for the gag, pink fake-fur fleece padding for the blindfold, and pink-dyed leather straps for both.

Gloria shuffled on her knees to face the cage.  It was a cage, roughly a meter high and wide, and a meter-and-a-half deep; and it was occupied by a naked woman, a very healthy, very attractive woman, of African heritage.  A pink ball-gag, companion to Gloria's former gag, was in her mouth, and she was...

Gloria's eyes popped wide.  "Fiona?  Is that you?"

Gloria stared in disbelief.  It was Fiona Lassiter, assistant to Chessy Golden, Amanda's greatest professional rival.  She'd met Fiona months earlier, at a club.  She'd been going in and Fiona had been coming out, so they hadn't really had much of a chance to talk.  Gloria knew Amanda and Fiona's boss had a lot of history, both having started in the business as assistants to Amanda's father, Peter Pressfield.  She also knew they'd had a serious falling out at the time of the elder Pressfield's accidental death.  Amanda wouldn't talk about it, but Gloria knew the two events were closely related.  The tragedy was the result of a new, overly complicated trick gone horribly wrong, and Amanda blamed Chessy.

"Mr'mrr!"  Fiona was kneeling on a thick pad of pink fake-fur lining the bottom of her cage.  Her smooth, chocolate-brown skin was a dramatic counterpoint to the fluffy pad and the silver-chrome of her restraints and the bars of her small prison.  The restraints in question were a waist-belt, manacles, and shackles—identical in material, style, and placement to Gloria's own.  Fiona's hair was a riot of raven, shoulder-length curls.  Her face was incredibly beautiful, just as Gloria remembered, despite the gag.  Fiona returned Gloria's stare, amusement and mild impatience in her gorgeous brown eyes.  "Mr'mrr!!"

Gloria blinked.  "Oh—hi—Fiona—sorry.  Come closer."  She did a half-turn and pressed her manacled hands against the bars.  Fiona leaned forward, turned her head, and Gloria dealt with the gag's buckle with deft professionalism, despite her bound condition and the awkward angle.

Fiona spat out the ball.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Gloria responded.

"So," Fiona continued, in a whisper, "tell me the news.  Is the kidnapping still on the front page?  How soon should the cops be here?"

"Uh..."  Gloria blinked, again.  "I don't think the papers even know Amanda and I are gone, and as for the cops—"

"Not you!" Fiona interrupted.  "What about Chessy and me?"

"Chessy's been kidnapped too?"

Fiona's eyes filled with tears.  "So, it's true," she muttered.  "No one even knows we're missing."

"Don't cry," Gloria said.  Her own eyes were welling.  "Tell me what happened."

"It was a month ago," Fiona explained.  "We were in our hotel room, in Vegas, and room service knocked on the door—only it wasn't room service.  A bunch of women dressed as hotel staff grabbed us, stripped us naked, and strapped us into these harness-sheath things.  Then, they folded us up like a couple of pretzels and strapped and clamped us into a couple of foam-lined trunks that matched our other luggage... and wheeled us right out of the hotel."

"Gags?"

Fiona nodded.  "And how!  Also, they used some sort of spray that paralyzed our vocal cords."  She managed a weak smile.  "There was nothing we could do.  The trunks had these tiny built-in periscopes, believe it or not, so we could watch them get away with it."

"Sadistic bitches," Gloria growled.

"No one knows?" Fiona asked.

Gloria sighed.  "About two weeks ago I read something in Variety about you guys going on sabbatical in Europe.  I mentioned it to Amanda, and she got all huffy and... you know."

Fiona sighed.  "Yeah, they're still pissed at each other."

"A month?"

Fiona sighed again.  "At least.  It's hard to keep track of time.  I haven't seen the sun in...   I think it's been a month."

Gloria's stomach turned in a knot.  "And now they have both of us."

"All of us," Fiona added, "at least I think so.  I haven't actually seen Chessy since the kidnapping."

"Really?"

Fiona nodded.  "So, details.  They kidnapped you guys too?"

Gloria blushed.  "They didn't have to.  Amanda and I were offered a sponsorship deal, allowed ourselves to get talked into modeling some leather outfits, and by the time we realized anything was wrong..."

"It was too late."  Fiona smiled, again.  "Don't feel stupid.  These people know what they're doing."

Gloria smiled in return.  "I know, but I can't help wallowing in some amount of self-recrimination."

Fiona nodded.  "You get used to it."

Gloria leaned close to the bars.  "So," she whispered, "you've had a month to think about it.  What's the plan?"

Before Fiona could answer, a new voice spoke.  "The plan is, we have more fun!"  It was Lizette La Roque.

The pert little blonde was in the doorway, dressed in a pink silk robe, with a broad smile on her overly-cute face.  She took a step to the side, and a naked, masked woman in serving chains pushed a cart into the bedroom.

The chained woman was tall, about six feet, with full, firm breasts and smooth, well-tanned skin.  Her physique was athletic and feminine perfection, personified, and her hair was a mass of black, shoulder-length curls.  Her mask was silver.  Its features were classically beautiful, and incorporated a tiara-like gold band that encircled her brow, rose to a peak in front, and was decorated with a red star.  A length of thin, metallic gold rope was looped around her throat and tied with an elaborate, non-compacting knot.  The remainder of the rope was coiled in Lizette's right hand.

"By the cage, Diana," Lizette ordered.  The servant pushed the cart to the center of the room, then carried a silver tray from the cart to Fiona's cage and set it on the pink carpet.  Lizette followed, keeping slack in her golden leash.

The tray held a silver carafe, a single cup and saucer, a plate piled with pastries, and a bowl of diced fruit.  Gloria eyed the breakfast feast, and her mouth watered.  The champagne and finger-food of the previous night were only a memory, and the activities that followed had been strenuous.  She could eat.

Lizette returned to the cart, dropped the rope coils on the now empty cart, and made a sweeping gesture towards the door.  Pushing the cart, Diana made her exit.  The door closed.

"Wonder Woman?" Gloria asked her fellow prisoner.

Fiona nodded.  "Lizzie, here, is what clinical psychologists call 'spoiled rotten'.  If she wants to play at dominating Wonder Woman, 'Mumsy' gets her a Wonder Woman."

Lizette sauntered to the cage and sat cross-legged on the carpet.  The resulting gap in her robe revealing she was not wearing panties, pink or otherwise.  Her smile turned evil, and she shook a finger at Fiona.  "That was insubordination!" she warned.  "Just you wait until—"

"Oh, shove it!" Fiona interrupted, then turned back to Gloria.  "The Pink Poodle's bark is worse than her bite, especially when she's trying to impress."

Gloria stared in alarm.  "Huh?"

"Fifi!" Lizette warned again, still shaking her finger.

"Fifi?" Gloria asked.

Fiona nodded at Lizette.  "The brat thinks it's cute to call me Fifi," she explained.  "She'll probably think up a nickname for you, too."

Lizette scowled.  "I told you—"

"And I told you to shove it!" Fiona retorted, then winked at Gloria's still shocked expression.  "She told me you were coming, and how she was going to put you through 'Hell Week', just like she did with me.  Nonstop torture and sex, the usual."

"Fiona!"  Now, Lizette's demeanor was unmistakably petulant.  "You're ruining things.  Mumsy says—"

"Hush!" Fiona ordered.   "Just 'cause Mumsy likes to rule the roost from a throne of intimidation and fear—"

"Hold it!!" Gloria shouted.

Fiona and Lizette stared at the flustered Latina in surprise.

"None of this is real?  You're both just playing with me? ...with Amanda?"

Lizette laughed, and Fiona shook her head.

"No, Honey," Fiona sighed, with a sympathetic smile, "it's all real.  The chains and bars and locks are real; the finest money can buy, in fact.  Lizzie's mom has kidnapped us, and they enjoy playing games, and they don't give a rat's ass whether we want to play or not, and it's very real."

Gloria's gaze turned from Fiona, to Lizette, then back to Fiona.  "Oh."

"She won't hurt you," Fiona said.

"I will too!" Lizette objected.  "I'll—"

"Stifle!" Fiona interrupted, yet again.  "She'll tie you up and do all sorts of mean things to you," she continued, "but she'll make very sure you don't come to any actual harm."

"Oh yeah?  Well..."  Lizette paused, and sighed.  "Okay, I won't really hurt you."

"Liar!" Gloria huffed.  "Last night you hurt me pretty good... before they brought me here, I mean."

Lizette smiled at Fiona.  "Strappado," she explained, "with Mercy's special clover-clamps on her nipples and tied to her toes."

Fiona glared at the smiling blonde.  "You bitch!"

"I try," Lizette responded, then focused on Gloria.  "Admit it.  You used to play games like that with your boss—your former boss, I mean—just like Fifi did with Mumsy's fox."

Gloria frowned.  "Mumsy's what?"  Then she understood: Chessy—redhead—fox.  "Never mind."  She glanced at Fiona, and blushed.  "Whatever Amanda and I may or may not have done in private is none of your damn business."

"Besides," Lizette continued, ignoring Gloria's last statement, "I think I more than made up for any hurt, afterwards."

Gloria glanced at the rumpled bed, and her blush deepened.  "It's polite to ask first, before... that sort of stuff."  She glanced at Fiona.  "I suppose she made you watch from your cute little cage, right?"

With Fiona's dark, African complexion, it was difficult to be sure, but she may have also been blushing.  "Uh..."

Lizette laughed.  "She did a lot more than watch!"

Gloria blinked.  "It was... You were the other one?"

Fiona nodded.  She definitely was blushing.  "Sorry."

Gloria lips curled in a shy smile.  "What for?  You were good."

Fiona smiled back.  "So were you."

"And I know I was good," Lizette added.

"Shut up, you little bitch," Fiona growled.  "Strappado and tits-to-toes?  Taut, I assume.  For how long?"

"Only an hour," Lizette answered.

"Bitch!" Fiona barked.

Lizette poured coffee from the carafe into the cup, then took a delicate sip, before answering.  "Wait 'til you see what I have planned for today."

Fiona swallowed, nervously.  "Okay, I take back the 'bitch' part, but that was mean."

"Very," Lizette agreed.  "Now, are you two going to show Mistress the proper respect?  That's me," she explained to Gloria.

"So you told me," Gloria muttered, "yesterday."

Lizette smiled.  "So I did," she agreed.  She then focused on Fiona.  "No more impertinence," she ordered.  "In fact, no more talking at all, or you'll both have ball-gags for breakfast, and you can watch me eat all this delicious food."

Gloria and Fiona exchanged a commiserating sigh, and waited, in silent patience, for 'Mistress' to start hand feeding them their share of the meal.

Gloria focused on Fiona's breasts... her brown, perfect breasts... with their dark, dusky nipples.  She remembered sucking and teasing breasts, last night, once they'd taken off her gag—and come to think of it, some had been larger than others.  She noticed Fiona returning her gaze, and blushed.  A frisson of arousal rippled through her sex.  Fiona smiled, shyly, sending another quivering thrill through Gloria's body.  At least I'm not alone, she mused, returning her fellow prisoner's smile.  Good god she's beautiful!

As they consumed the last of the fruit, two of the mirror-masked and leather catsuit-clad handlers appeared, as if on cue.  Fiona's cage was unlocked, and both captives were gagged with black ball-gags with white leather straps  Gloria and Fiona had kept silent during the meal, as ordered; but now their continued obedience was entirely moot.

They were hustled from the bedroom and down a series of corridors.  Still in her pink robe, Lizette followed, a few paces behind the prisoners and their handlers.  An elevator ride brought them to another floor, and they negotiated another maze of corridors.

Eventually, they stopped, a door opened, and they entered a large, circular room.  Its walls, ceiling, and floor were black.  Roughly in the center, brightly lit by several small spotlights, a pair of vertical steel poles stretched from floor to ceiling.   Projecting at just below waist height on each pole was a small saddle, also of steel, and rising from each saddle—Gloria's eyes popped wide in alarm—was a glistening black phallus!

Gloria's handler forced her to her knees, then went to assist her companion.  Gloria watched as Fiona's manacles were detached from her steel belt, and the belt removed.  The goons then dragged her to a pole, lifted Fiona above its phallus and with her back to the pole, and eased her weight down onto the saddle.  Gloria was close enough that she could see why the shaft now impaling her fellow-prisoner had been glistening.  It had been coated with a thick, even layer of some sort of lubricant gel, and the excess now oozed from the saddle and dripped down Fiona's thighs.

Gloria forced a protest past her gag and tried to rise to her feet, but Lizette was standing close behind.  The little blonde laughed, placed her hands on Gloria's shoulders, and forced her back to her knees.  "Going for help?" she inquired in a mocking tone.  "There are only two kinds of people in Mumsy's Tower, Glowie: those who are here to help Mumsy and me, and the help-less.  And I assure you, most of them, especially the ones in Mercy's 'Junior Executive Training Program', are in need of a lot more help than you and Fifi.  They'd consider what's about to happen in here to be a day off."

The handlers had separated and reattached Fiona's manacles and shackles.  Her wrists and ankles were now behind the pole, and she was up on her toes, to prevent her full weight from falling on the saddle.  The catsuited she-goons picked up a long coil of white rope and began using it to bind Fiona's body against the pole.

"The poles are more complex than they seem." Lizette lectured.  "Little teflon-lined eye-bolt thingies pop out of the back, about every six inches from neck to ankles, and it's not really one pole, you see, but a series of telescoping sections that..."  She patted the top of Gloria's head.  "Don't worry.  You'll see soon enough."

Gloria sighed.  Whatever Lizette had been prattling about, one thing was for sure: the handler-goons knew how to tie someone to a pole, the someone in question being Fiona, of course.  Gloria watched as they looped and hitched tight, symmetrical strands around her friend's body.  Some of the runs were simple, horizontal loops pressing her against the pole, and some were part of an emerging diamond-hitch pattern that criss-crossed her form down its entire length.  The process took several minutes, and rather than ending with knots, the final free-ends of the rope were threaded into holes in the back of the pole, one behind Fiona's head and the other near the floor.  There was a whirring noise, and the remaining slack disappeared with a taut snap.

It was clear Fiona no longer had to worry about keeping her weight off the steel saddle.  The thick, white rope dimpled her dark skin from shoulders to ankles.  Already inescapably bound by her manacles and shackles, she was now doubly helpless.

Next, it was Gloria's turn, of course.  She didn't resist.  There didn't seem to be any point.  The saddle, minimal as it was, gave her some degree of support, but she was actually relieved when the rope started tightening around her body.  As they had with Fiona, the handlers started with loops around her arms, breasts, and torso; then worked their way down, adding her waist, hips, thighs, and legs.  Loop by loop and band by band, they bound Gloria in exactly the same manner as they had Fiona.

Eventually, the she-goons finished their task, picked up the steel waist belts, and exited the room.  The door closed behind them with a solid clang.

Smiling sweetly, Lizette stepped forward.  The poles were just close enough for her to cup a breast of each of her captive playthings.  "This is going to be a lot of fun," she purred, giving each handful a gentle squeeze.

Gloria locked eyes with Fiona and arched an eyebrow in question.

Fiona sighed and shook her head.

Lizette had followed the exchange.  "Oh, Fifi hasn't played this game, Glowie," she told Gloria.  "You should see this place when Mercy uses it to train one of her classes.  There are sockets for two-dozen poles, and when they're all rigged, it looks like a veritable forest of helpless damsels in here.  One hardly knows where to look.  And when the action starts..."

Gloria and Fiona exchanged a worried glance, then shifted their attention to their captor.

"Oh, I've said too much," Lizette whispered, with a coy smile.  "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Just then, the door opened and the she-goons reentered.  (Their costumes were the same two colors, anyway.)  One was holding a steel chair, or maybe it was a stool.  The other had several coils of white rope.

Now that the goons were closer, Gloria could see that the chair was more of a stool... a disturbingly odd stool.  It was made of the same silver-chrome steel as the poles to which the captives were bound, and it had three legs.  One of the legs extended above the seat, as a sort of minimalist backrest, and it was curved to follow the shape of a human spine.  The seat was rather small, and was sculpted to accept the curves of a human rump.  There was also a black phallus, identical to those impaling Fiona and herself, and it was mounted on the seat at the anatomically appropriate position.

The handler mated the slightly longer back leg of the stool with a small socket in the floor, pushed down, and the stool locked in place with an authoritative snap.

Next, something very surprising happened: Lizette opened her robe, shrugged out of the sleeves, and tossed the garment towards the door!  She stretched her nude, petite body, reaching for the ceiling... then smiled at the handlers.  "Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

The handlers seized Lizette by the arms and lifted her over the stool.  The little blonde gasped as they lowered her onto the phallus.  Either it was already well-greased, like the pole varieties, or watching her "toys" being made helpless had caused Lizette to lubricate herself.

The rope was next, and binding Lizette to the stool took longer than the binding of the other two captives, combined.

Gloria glanced at Fiona, and was surprised to find her pole-tied companion totally unamazed.  Apparently, this was not the first time she had seen the boss' daughter rendered as helpless as herself.  Crazy!  Gloria turned her attention back to the floor show.

The goons tied Lizette with her elbows touching, behind the backrest-pole, and her wrists together, palm-to-palm.  Multiple rope bands pressed her torso against the pole, above and below her breasts and around her waist and forearms.  Additional bands lashed her lap to the seat.  Her feet were lifted off the floor and pulled back, splaying her knees.  Her ankles were tied to the backrest-pole, and her thighs were first lashed to her shins, then to the stool's front legs.  All of the various loops and bands were tightened by cinches between elbow and elbow, wrist and wrist, waist and chair, thigh and calf, ankle and chair, knees and chair, and wherever else the handlers could manage to snake a length of rope.  The final bondage snugged Lizette's rope-yoked shoulders against the top of the pole.

The handlers took a step to either side and watched Lizette squirm and struggle, fighting her bonds with all her strength.  This continued for at least a full minute... then one of the handlers reached out and began combing her fingers through the little captive's tousled blonde locks.

Gloria was surprised, again.  The gesture was strange, almost... affectionate.

"It's tight," Lizette announced, in a quiet voice.  "I can't move."  She continued squirming, and the anonymous handler continued her gentle grooming.  The other handler reached into a pocket, and produced a clear zip-lock bag containing what was apparently a folded swatch of crimson-red cloth.  Lizette's eyes widened at the sight.  Her gaze darted from the mirrored faceplate of the handler, to the bag, and back.  "No," she gasped, in a strangled whisper.

The handler opened the bag, extracted what Gloria could now clearly see was a pair of panties.  She let them fall open, to hang in a loose mass from the fingers of her gloved hand, then held the crimson silk close to Lizette's flaring nostrils.

Lizette shuddered in her bonds.  "No," she gasped, again, "not Mercy's."

The other handler suddenly tightened her grip, grabbing the petite prisoner's hair and pulling her head back.  The panties were crammed in Lizette's gasping mouth, and held there with a tight hand-gag.

What did she say? Gloria wondered.  'No mercies'?  ...or was it 'not Mercy's'? ...as in Mercy Dench's panties??  Meanwhile, the handlers were applying strips of white tape to Lizette's lips, sealing her mouth and covering her lower face from just under her nostrils to just under the point of her chin.  Gloria couldn't be sure, but neither of the masked goons looked tall enough to actually be Mercy Dench, so the use of Mercy's intimate apparel as gag-stuffing was prearranged?? ...by Mercy herself, maybe??  This place is a frakkin' madhouse!!

The handlers made a final check of Lizette's bonds... then checked Fiona and Gloria... then retrieved Lizette's robe... and exited the chamber.  The door closed with a clang, as before.

Gloria squirmed against her bonds.  Now that she was free of distractions (more or less) she realized the rope was actually slightly elastic, like very stiff bungee cord.  If her wrists and ankles weren't locked in inescapable steel, and the ropes hadn't been applied with such obvious skill, there was enough stretch that she might have been able to wiggle out of them... eventually... maybe.

Fiona was testing her bonds, as well; but Lizette was sitting perfectly still and smiling behind her gag at her now fellow-captives.

Seconds passed... and became a minute.  One minute became two.

Suddenly, there was a hydraulic hiss, and Fiona rose into the air, about two feet.  She screamed through her gag and her eyes popped wide.  A buzzing noise sounded and she slowly dropped, about six inches, then rose again.  Her rope bonds had tightened, dimpling her skin even further.

Gloria could see that six-inch sections of Fiona's pole were telescoping apart, about an inch between each section, opening and closing as she was carried up and down.  The pace slowly increased, and the tone of the buzzing sound modulated with each cycle.  This continued for about a minute, until Fiona's breasts were bobbing and oscillating—then there was another hiss and Fiona and her pole slowly dropped to their original position.

Her toes back on the floor, Fiona shivered in her bonds.  A film of sweat glistened on her face and between her breasts.

Gloria frowned.  What the hell is going on? she wondered.  What—"M'rrh!!"  She shrieked through her gag as her own pole lifted her into the air.  The buzz sounded again, and it was the phallus buried in her sex!  It was pulsing and vibrating!  Her bonds had tightened, as the pole first rose, and then repeatedly, as the telescoping sections opened and closed.  The damn thing's humping me! she realized.  It went on and on, and like it had with Fiona, the pace accelerated!  Much to her chagrin, and despite her smoldering resentment at the way she was being treated—Gloria had to admit it was starting to feel good—and then it stopped... leaving her in the lurch.  Dammit!!

Gloria glared at Lizette.  You bitch!  It was pointless, of course.  In fact, Gloria knew her helpless outrage was probably stoking the little blonde's fire.  Suddenly, the buzzing noise returned!  Gloria focused on Fiona, expecting to see her rising back into the air—but Fiona's position was unchanged, and her eyes were on Lizette.

Gloria turned back to the captive blonde, and noticed she was squirming with renewed enthusiasm.  It's her turn, Gloria realized.  It was Lizette's phallic invader that had come to life!  It buzzed and throbbed for a minute, the same as with the pole-bound captives—then it stopped.

An irritatingly smug smile on her tape-gagged face, Lizette gazed at Gloria—then swiveled her head to Fiona.

Fiona gazed back—then moaned as, once again, her pole lifted her into the air and her vibrator came back to life.

Gloria sighed, knowing she would be next.  How long is this 'game' going to last? she wondered.  It was all getting to be just too much!   Being kidnapped was bad enough; having a sadistic, possibly unbalanced youngster have her way with her was certainly bad enough; but they kept changing the damn rules!!  Gloria was emotionally and physically tired—and now they weren't going to let her rest!

She desperately wanted a chance to get somewhere with Fiona and talk.  She needed the low down on this place.  Maybe Fiona had some ideas on how to get out of here, and maybe not; but what she desperately needed was some balance, some idea of the rules.

Fiona's feet were back on the ground, and while she was obviously aroused, Gloria was sure she hadn't had a chance to cum. 

This is mean, Gloria fumed, glaring at Lizette.  She knew what was coming.  It would only be a matter of seconds until—"M'rrf!!"  Gloria was back in the air, and the monster in her sex was buzzing away!  As before, as with Fiona, the bobbing pace slowly accelerated, but she could tell that unless the "ordeal" lasted longer than it had before, she wouldn't be able to cum this time, either.  Maybe later, after several more rounds bouncing on this pogo-stick-from-hell, she would cum... but not this time... not during round two.

Gloria continued to glare at Lizette as she was repeatedly lifted and dropped on the saddle and buzzing rod, and the elastic ropes squeezed her body.  Bitch! she silently cursed the watching Lizette.  I hope Amanda's having better luck!