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by Van ©2008---
Chapter 6_
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One hour turned into two... then two into three.  Amanda's smoldering anger and humiliation were slowly overtaken by the increasing discomfort of her predicament.  This wasn't her first experience with an extended hogtie—far from it—but it was probably the tightest bind she'd had to endure for more than several minutes.

The first hour was occupied by what she knew would be a totally futile effort to find a weakness in Petra's handiwork.  Her fingers stretched and probed, but it was useless.  Even the knots of the incidental bondage—the bands of cinched cords that, even if untied, would not lead to an escape—remained intact.  In point of fact, if she had correctly analyzed Petra's technique, there were no terminal knots within five times the reach of her hands.

Midway through the second hour, however, Amanda achieved a lesser goal: her mind escaped into a meditative trance, a sort of semiconscious dream state.  Her breathing slowed, as did her heartbeat, and all thoughts of her current discomfort, her anxiety for Gloria, her concern about their ultimate fates—all simply vanished.

It was something her father had taught her, a prerequisite for learning the classic "Coffin Escape".  Sometimes, when she achieved this oxygen and strength-conserving state, her mind would enter a surreal, semi-hallucinogenic, fantasy world; but usually, she found herself reliving the past.

The first full day of summer vacation,
between Amanda's junior and senior years of high school.

---

Amanda was home, in "The Pressfield Compound": an old ranch house, barn, and garage/workshop.  It was tucked into a small, timbered valley on the western slope of the Bitterroot Mountains, just south of Missoula and west of Florence.  Their back porch had a commanding view of the broad, glacial valley below.  This weekend she would be backpacking with her friends up to St. Mary's Peak, then north, along the continental divide, a five day trek that would bring them to a Forest Service road that led past the rear of their property; but today—today she finally got to start her formal lessons in Escapology!!

She'd been pestering her father for more than a year to let her join the act.  She ran track, so she was in shape, and her boobs had blossomed in the last couple of years, so she'd fill out an assistant's costume quite nicely.  Any fool (or hypothetical audience member) could see that—but The Amazing Peter Pressfield would have none of it!  He kept prattling on about wanting a "better life" for his "little girl"; how show business was risky, and not always rewarding; about how much happier she'd be doing something else—anything else.

His heartfelt and well-reasoned arguments fell on deaf ears.  Amanda had been "escapologizing" for years, by herself and with her friends.  Granted, it was mostly play, Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers, Pirates and Damsels, and her friends had all drifted away to other interests, but Amanda was serious!  She was in it for the Art (...and the fun).  It was time to turn pro!

She finally wore down all objections, and now she was on her way to the barn, dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, and a Western-style work shirt, as ordered.  Her dark hair was parted down the middle and hanging in a pair of tight braids, one to either side of her lightly freckled face.  This was not something Daddy had ordered, and she usually thought it made her look too cowgirlie, but she knew Daddy liked it... and he was going to teach her how to ESCAPE!!

Amanda pulled open the door... and froze.  Daddy was there, but so was his assistant, Chessy Golden.  Amanda blinked in surprise.  She didn't mind Chessy being there—she liked Chessy—but she had assumed this was going to be one-on-one time with her father!

"Close it!" Peter Pressfield ordered, "the door and your mouth.  You'll let the flies in."

Amanda pulled the heavy door closed and hurried forward.  Both her father and Chessy were dressed much like herself; but, as always, no matter what they were wearing—Daddy was strikingly handsome, like a prince from some exotic European country visiting a dude ranch—and Chessy... well, Chessy was a tall, drop-dead-gorgeous redhead, built like a drop-dead-gorgeous chorus girl.  But what was she doing here, now?

Peter Pressfield turned to his assistant.  "Your orders are clear?" he inquired.

Chessy smiled at Amanda.  "Show her the ropes.  Make it tight and real.  Let her see what this is all about."

"Daddy!" Amanda objected.  "I thought you were going to teach me."

"I've delegated that tiresome task," her father explained, a smile softening his remarks.  "I'm going into Missoula."

"Daddy!"

"Of course," her father continued, "if you'd like to forget all this training nonsense, and come with me, after I'm finished at the bank we could go to the mall... and then to dinner?"

Amanda struck her most determined pose.  "Oh no you don't!  You promised!"

Peter stepped forward and kissed the top of Amanda's head.  "Stubborn and beautiful," he chuckled.  "More like your mother every day."  He turned back to Chessy.  "Tight and real.  You aren't doing her any favors by going easy.  She's got to see what she's up against."  He kissed Amanda's head, again, and headed for the door.  "I'll be back around dark," he said, and was gone.

Amanda stared at the closed door, then turned to face Chessy.

The redhead grinned.  "Don't look at me like that, Kiddo.  This is all The Amazing's idea."  She walked to a large worktable and picked up a coil of soft, quarter-inch, braided cotton rope.  "I won't hurt you."

Amanda snorted in disgust.  "Duh!"  She joined Chessy at the table, reached out, and fingered one of the free ends of the rope.  "I know you won't hurt me, Chester, I just don't know why Daddy doesn't want to teach me himself."

Chessy's smile took a slightly sinister turn.  "He's afraid he won't be cruel enough."

Amanda's smile was skeptical.  "And you will be?"

"The Amazing thinks the best way to start training a novice is to run her smack into the wall, full speed; then dial things back.  He wants me to show you what it's like to experience the inescapable.  Lessons in knot and rope manipulation techniques come later."

"But it won't be that bad, will it?  You really won't hurt me?"

"Duh!" Chessy laughed.  "Spin around, Little Amazing.  Palms together."

"Don't call me that!" Amanda complained, but did as ordered, executing a half turn and placing her hands behind her back.  "Is this what you—oh!  Hey, you're fast!"

With deft professionalism, Chessy had folded two loops in the center of the coil of rope to form a clove-hitch, then pulled the empty knot over Amanda's hands and cinched it tight around her wrists.  "I don't get paid by the hour," she chuckled, continuing to bind her student, "and I've got chores to finish—chores besides trussing up the boss' daughter, that is."  She looped rope around Amanda's hands, pressing her palms together, and then around her thumbs.  She then cinched the loops between her wrists and tied a square knot, pulling the still very long free ends through the knot and making it tight and compact.

She used another coil to bind Amanda's elbows and loop tight bands above and below her breasts, pinning her arms to her torso and yoking her shoulders.  The final knot was tied between her elbows, and as with Amanda's wrists, the free ends were still several feet in length.

Chessy patted the work table, then put her hands on Amanda's waist and gently spun her around.  "Up!" she ordered.

"Okay."  Amanda jumped, with a boost from Chessy, and sat on the edge of the table.  She watched as Chessy used a third coil of rope to bind her ankles.  "Why are you tying the insteps and heels of my boots?"

Chessy smiled up at Amanda's puzzled face as she tied the final knot.  Again, there were several feet of rope still free.  "There's an element of art to a good 'Inescapable'," she explained.  "That's what we call a session like this: an Inescapable.  This will be your first."

"Inescapable," Amanda repeated, in a whisper.  Chessy was busy binding her knees together.  She watched as Chessy cinched the ropes and tied the final knot.  "I'm pretty good at wiggling out of stuff like this, ya know,"  Amanda said.  "Just ask my friends."

Chessy smiled.  "Kiddo, you have no idea what you're talking about."  She patted the table again, and Amanda flopped onto her stomach and squirmed to the middle of the hardwood surface.  "There are a set of principles and techniques that can be applied to render a person completely helpless," Chessy lectured, "without causing them lasting harm.  Over the next few weeks, I'm going to give you a series of practical demonstrations.  Next, you're going to learn how to apply these principles and techniques; and only then will I start teaching you how to exploit errors and mistakes."

"How to escape."

"How to escape," Chessy agreed.  She was intertwining the free ends of the various ropes and pulling them to the edges of the table.  One by one, she tied the stretched ends to eye bolts screwed into the underside of the table's frame.  As this was accomplished, Amanda's bonds coalesced into a tight hogtie.

"Ugh!" Amanda grunted, as the final knot was tied.  "And when do I start learning the act?"

Chessy laughed.  "Like The Amazing said, first you learn the ropes.  After that, you learn how to care for the ropes.  Then, you learn the handcuffs, chains, padlocks, leather straps, etc.  Then, you learn to care for the handcuffs, chains, etc.  And if you're diligent, and learn, and show the talent—then, and only then, do you start learning the act.  Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Amanda sighed, squirming in her bonds.  The ropes not only squeezed her limbs together, but lashed her to the table like luggage on a roof rack.  She watched Chessy walk to a cabinet and return with something in her hand.  "What's that?"

Chessy held the object for Amanda's inspection.  It was a white plastic whiffle ball pierced by a black leather strap.

"A gag?" Amanda demanded.

"This is one we classify as a 'breather'," Chessy explained.  "It doesn't cut the noise level by much, but it does make it difficult to carry on a conversation.  More importantly, it's about as safe as a gag can be."

"But why—?"

"It also makes it quite impossible to manipulate things—like rope, for example—with your lips and tongue."

Amanda snorted in disgust.  "You've got to be kidding.  What am I supposed to be trying to 'manipulate'?  There's nothing within reach of my fingers or mouth—M'mmpfh!"

"Don't look at me like that, Little Amazing," Chessy chuckled as she buckled the strap.  "You want to do this, or not?"

Amanda continued to glare.

"I meant, of course, do you want to continue your training," Chessy clarified.  "It's quite clear you don't like the gag."

Amanda squirmed in her bonds and mewled through the gag in question.

Chessy gently straightened the hang of Amanda's braids, then patted her head.  "I'll take that as a 'yes'.  You look so cute like that, Little Amazing."

"Ou-arr-ee-aah!"

Chessy laughed.  "Okay, okay, I won't call you that... for the rest of the day."  She turned and walked towards the barn door.  "Now, your mission is to escape.  Of course, you won't be doing that, but I do expect a detailed verbal report on everything you do to make the attempt, when I return... which will be... later."

She stepped across the threshold, sent a gloating (but not mean-spirited) air-kiss in Amanda's direction, and pulled the door closed.

Amanda stared at the back of the closed door.  A disgusting string of drool was dripping from her mouth and pooling on the table.  Surprisingly, while her bonds were tight and restrictive, they were not particularly uncomfortable.  Of course, she'd only had to endure their embrace for a short time, but her hands and arms weren't tingling or going numb, like sometimes happened when she played with her friends.  She tried wiggling her fingers, with limited success.  Even if the key knots were within their greatly encumbered reach, and not hopelessly out of reach and out of sight, tied in the ends of the ropes pinning her to the table, she wouldn't have been able to untie anything.

What was expected of her in this first lesson was obvious: do her best, and endure.  Amanda relaxed in her bonds, as best she could—her first set of 'Inescapable' bonds—and she endured.

One week after Amanda's eighteenth birthday.

---

Amanda smiled and waved as Daddy's pickup exited the compound gate and headed towards the road that snaked and switchbacked down the slope to the valley below.  The sound of the crunching tires faded, the minor cloud of pale dust began to dissipate, and Amanda's smile turned decidedly feral.

She turned and headed for the barn.  The Pressfields didn't keep any livestock.  With the patriarch out of town on tour, for months at a time, it wasn't practical.  Amanda had to do her riding during visits to her friends' spreads.  The barn—the main floor, root cellar, and hayloft—were used for storage, as work space... and for other activities.

Amanda was wearing her favorite boots, skintight jeans, and a Western shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the shirttails tied in front, baring her midriff.  Her hair was a riot of raven curls, cascading down her back in a loose ponytail enforced by a narrowly folded bandanna.  She unlocked the side door's high security padlock, released the door's substantial bolt and latch, and entered.  She made her way to the back of the hot, dark barn, climbed the wooden ladder that led to the hayloft, and smiled.

Chessy was exactly where she had left her, standing between two vertical support posts—and not going anywhere.

It was an idea from one of Amanda's notebooks, an idea she'd made real with cobbled together odds and ends from Daddy's workshops.

Chessy was wearing one of her old assistant's costumes, the strapless leotard part, anyway.  Her feet and long, shapely legs were bare.  There was no such thing as old net pantyhose.  Once they were damaged, out they went.  The leotard was metallic gold and very French cut.  The remaining elements of Chessy's ensemble were all restraints.

Her arms were behind her back in a single-sleeve of butter-soft, pliant, black leather, cross-laced from wrists to top with a black leather thong, secured first with a surgeon's knot, then an elegant and decorative rosette.  The ends had been trimmed close, making the intricate complex of interlaced strands impossible to untie.  The sleeve alone was tight enough and secure enough to defeat any attempt at escape, but it was only the beginning.

A harness of leather straps encircled Chessy's form.  It yoked her shoulders, passed above and below her breasts, pinched her waist, and pinned her sleeve-encased arms against her body.  It also bound her legs together above and below her knees, around her calves and shins, and around her ankles.  The vertical straps of the harness, as well as the diagonal straps crossing her shoulders, were thin and narrow; but the horizontal straps were thick and wide, about an inch-and-a-half.  They were secured with double-tongued buckles, in a neat, vertical row down Chessy's front.

Steel rings sewn into the harness' sides were lashed to the posts with light cord, in an intricate spiderweb-like arrangement; but it was not to keep Chessy standing upright.  A pair of stout hemp ropes passing through rings at her shoulders and up to the rafters performed that function.  Small pulleys were incorporated into the web of cords, and the entire pattern was interconnected, with the ends tied to a set of four home-made electrical switches of Amanda's design.

Each switch consisted of a cylindrical fishing weight hot-glued to a small copper plate.  A second copper plate was glued to a block of wood resting on the floor.  One of the cords kept the weight suspended above the block, separating the plates by about a quarter-inch.  Thin, coiled wires traveled from the plates to a hobbyist's junction box purchased from the Radio Shack in Missoula.  As long as the plates were apart, the circuit was open, but if they came together, current would flow.

The cord web was just tight enough to keep all four circuits open; but if Chessy squirmed in her bonds or twisted her body, there was a significant chance that one or more of the pairs of plates would kiss.  If she allowed the ropes tied through the harness' shoulder rings to take her weight, all four would kiss.

And what was the consequence of the captive redhead allowing the plates to make contact?  A large, wand-style vibrator was strapped between her legs, with its head pressed firmly against her sex.  If one pair of plates met, the wand would vibrate at its lowest setting.  As each additional pair met, the power level would increase.  If all four met, the wand would buzz at half-power.

There was an additional refinement.

A three-inch hole had been drilled in the barn's south-facing wall and covered with a thin plate of glass.  At this time of day, a beam of sunlight lanced from the tiny window and struck the hayloft's wooden floor.  It was actually Amanda's High School Science Fair project.  Weather allowing, she had carefully marked the position of the sunbeam at hourly intervals, for a full year.  Not every day, of course, but often enough to derive a simple set of equations that described and predicted the movement of the beam.  It had been good enough to get her to the State Finals, where she was awarded a bronze-category ribbon—hardly surprising, since most of her classmates had presented poster reports about wildlife or tree species, not really getting the whole experimental science thing in the first place.  It had not been good enough to compete with the hard-core science geeks, with their robots, molecular biology protocols, and college-level mathematics.  No problem.  The project served its purpose: it would help get her into University; and it provided a timer for her Diabolical Torture Device.

The arcs of Amanda's solar calendar were marked on the floor with tiny copper tacks, and waiting near the end of the arc was another gizmo purchased from Radio Shack: a small, rectangular, photo-voltaic panel.  It was also wired into the junction box, and when the sunbeam reached the panel—which would be in about two hours—and for however long it remained shining on the panel—which would be for about a half-hour—the vibrator would buzz at full power, no matter how Chessy struggled to avoid its rubberized, doorknob-size head.

Amanda slowly sauntered towards her "victim", her boots tapping the wooden planks with every step.  "I assume you heard Daddy leaving, never suspecting you're my helpless prisoner, locked in the barn, of course... so now it's just us girls."  She pulled the bandanna from her hair, and used it to pat her face.  "Hot up here, isn't it?" she remarked.  It was hot, indeed, with the sun beating on the barn roof.  The still air in the hayloft hovered somewhere in the low nineties.

Chessy didn't answer.  Another of the Pressfield arsenal of "breather gags" made this impossible.  It was a thin, wide flap of black leather, tightly covering Chessy's lower face from just below her flaring nostrils to just above the point of her chin, and was secured with a broad, double-tongued buckle at the nape of her neck.  The bulge of a large rubber ball could be seen, under the panel and in her mouth, and the ball and panel were pierced by a half-inch hole.

Also, Chessy didn't need to answer.  Her skin was shining with sweat, and several strands of her copper-red hair were plastered to her freckled face.  Of course it was hot.  There was no fear in her gorgeous, hazel eyes, only a smoldering resentment.

Amanda wasn't fooled.  "Don't stare your daggers at me, Chester," she said.  "If you didn't want to do this, why'd you volunteer?"  This was another question not requiring an answer.  One of Chessy's presents to Amanda, on her eighteenth birthday, had been a promise to act as test subject for an Inescapable from Amanda's "Inescapable Notebook".

Of course, Chessy had no way of knowing that the teenager's active fantasy life was going through an "overly-complicated deathtraps" phase, and that she'd already cobbled together the elements of a full day's "entertainment" for her "present"—or that said "entertainment" would be so... intimate.

She knew now.

There was something else that was now abundantly obvious: Amanda had developed a full-blown crush on her escapology teacher.

It wasn't as if there hadn't been signs—the shy, flirtatious glances; the rapt attention to every word of instruction during lessons; Amanda's lingering in the barn to watch when Chessy practiced the act with her father... not that Chessy seemed to mind.  "Little Amazing" knew she had blossomed into an incredible beauty—smart as the proverbial tack, dedicated, and determined to make a go of her chosen profession.  How could Chessy not like her?

And she wasn't so little any more... especially across the chest.

A large fly was buzzing around the the immediate area.  Amanda watched as it landed on Chessy's shoulder, then crawled across her glistening, freckled skin—over the leather of the first horizontal strap of the harness—and onto the bulge of her right breast.

"Shoo!"  Amanda waved her hand and the fly took flight.  They could hear it buzz away to the barn's interior, then all was quiet.  "He's waiting 'til I go away," Amanda said, then reached into her pocket and produced a folding knife.  She opened the blade, and with careful, deft precision, began severing the threads holding together the right bra cup of Chessy's leotard.

"M'mmr"—buzzz—"RRF!"  Chessy had tried to pull back, but her bonds made this impossible; and her efforts had caused two pair of the copper plates of her Deathtrap Predicament to kiss, sending a vibrating pulse through her loins.  She watched as Amanda finished severing the seams of the cup and pulled down the ruined remains, exposing her right breast.

"Very pretty," Amanda sighed, and started on the left cup.  "Don't worry," she said, "I'm being very careful.  If you want to keep this old rag, you can stitch it back together, no problem."  She exposed Chessy's left breast, then folded and pocketed her knife.  Her leering, gloating smile had become open, worshipful appreciation.  "So very pretty," she whispered, then gave the right nipple a hesitant, almost chaste kiss.

Chessy shivered in her bonds.  Her "angry" glare had softened.  Her chest heaved and her nostrils flared above her gag.

"You're completely helpless," Amanda whispered, "aren't you?  I can do anything I want... and you can't stop me."  she leaned close and used the tip of her tongue to tickle Chessy's right nipple.  Both nipples slowly grew hard and erect.  "Daddy won't save you," Amanda purred.  "Daddy's on his way to town.  In fact, he's still in the going-away part of the journey, and he'll be gone 'til well after dark."

The fly had returned.  It took a lazy, buzzing circuit of Amanda and her "victim", then returned to the main barn.

"Flies," Amanda said, her expression suddenly thoughtful.  "I wonder how many we could attract if I coated your tits with a nice, even coat of... honey..."  She kissed each nipple in turn, and this time her actions were anything but chaste.  "...or maybe molasses?"

Chessy's glare returned, but she was having obvious difficulty keeping her gagged moans from betraying her growing excitement.  They'd both shared Damsel-in-Distress fantasies, especially over tea or hot cocoa in front of the fire.  They both knew the other considered escapology more than just a job.  Even so, Amanda's lessons had been entirely professional... well, mostly professional.  There had been a little teasing and gloating, on both their parts, when Chessy tied Amanda, and vice versa... but nothing explicitly erotic had ever happened.  Okay, okay, there'd been a few greeting kisses that were, perhaps, a tad enthusiastic; and a few touches that had lingered just a little too long... but nothing like this.

Amanda smiled.  "Don't worry, Chester," she reassured her captive.  "It's too hot to climb down the ladder, rummage around the pantry to find a jar of honey or molasses, climb back up the ladder, and paint your boobs."  The fly made another circuit of the hayloft, and this time it settled somewhere among the rafters.  "Besides, your friend seems to think you're plenty sweet without any added enticement.  He must like the taste of your sweat."  With a mischievous grin, she leaned close and gave the glistening, sweat-beaded skin of Chessy's sternum a slow lick.  "Umm, salty...  I wonder if any of his friends will show up."  She took Chessy's head in her hands, and kissed her damp forehead.  "Keep count for me, will you?"

Amanda took a step back—took a long, last, savoring look at Chessy's helpless form, from head to toe—then strolled to the ladder.  "Yeah, it's damn hot.  I'm going skinny-dipping in the pond," she announced.  "If you manage to escape... come join me."

The fly lifted off from the rafters, buzzed around Amanda, then landed on Chessy's left breast.  Amanda grinned, blew Chessy an air kiss, and started down the ladder.

THE PRESENT

---

Amanda was roused from her trance-induced daydream.  Two of Petra's glamazons were using some sort of shear-like tools to sever her bonds, releasing her from the tight hogtie she had endured for... several hours?  The angle of the sunlight streaming through the office windows confirmed the sad truth... as did the aching, sore, stiff condition of her body.  The last of the cords were removed, and she lay in a semi-fetal tuck on the coffee table.  The combination ball-bit gag remained strapped in her mouth.  Her jaw ached as badly as her shoulders, spine, and knees... but she was too weak to reach up and try to remove it.  She was too weak to do much of anything at all.

The glamazons stepped back, and Amanda turned her head.

Petra La Roque was standing in the middle of her office, smiling down at the conversation pit and the naked, pitiful prisoner lying on her coffee table.  She was dressed in an ivory business suit, with matching stockings and heels.  In her right hand was the leather loop of a light steel chain, and attached to the other end of that chain was the rust-red leather collar of a mostly naked female prisoner.

The prisoner was a redhead, evident from the copper-red color of her long curls and the abundance of freckles covering her tall, toned, athletic body.  She was wearing a leather mask, artfully sculpted and dyed in tones of rusty red, white, and black, to resemble the visage of a red fox.  It covered her eyes and upper face, but didn't conceal the black rubber ball and rust leather strap of the gag in her mouth.

Her restraints, while obviously inescapable, were dyed and fringed to carry forward the fox motif.  Black mittens resembling paws covered her fists, then transitioned into rust-colored sleeves that strapped her elbows together behind her back and cuffed her wrists to the waist of a tight leather corset.  The corset was white in front and rust-red on the sides and behind, and it incorporated a bronze-toned, metal chastity belt.  Hanging from the back of the chastity belt, possibly from the end of a butt-plug, was a large, fluffy fox tail—rust red with a white tip.

The final element of the costume was a curious pair of knee boots.  They were rust at the top, and darkened to black at the toes.  There were no heels, but the elevated, stiff design of the insoles forced the wearer to hold her feet permanently on pointe.  As a final touch, and in the same manner as the costume's mittens, the actual toes of the boots resembled paws.

Amanda forced a mewling cry past her gag, and her eyes popped wide.  Only the captive's gagged mouth, shoulders, upper arms, breasts, hips, and thighs were exposed; but she could also see her hazel-green eyes through the mask.

Without question, the "fox" was Chessy!!