|by Van © 2018
By the time
I got to the kitchen, Winnie had just finished filling my
teakettle at the sink and was putting it on the stove. I
puttered around, opening various cabinets and the fridge and
marshaling my tea service and placing everything on a tray.
I placed a couple of
Twining™ English Breakfast Tea teabags in the teapot and moved
everything else to the breakfast nook. Eventually, the
kettle whistled, Winnie filled the teapot, then carried it to
the table as well. We waited for it to steep. There
would be no discussion of anything until the tea was
ready. Civilization has rules.
- "Brown Betty"
- Cups and saucers—check!
- Moo-cow pitcher
full of milk—check!
- Sugar bowl with
- Teaspoons and
sugar cube tongs—check!
- A pair of cloth
Then, I realized a critical component was missing, namely,
something to nibble on! How could I forget something to
nibble on? I scrambled back to the cabinets for a small
plate and some cookies for myself (the American) and biscuits
for Winnie (the Brit). There was an open package of
Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies, but only a few were left so I
opened a bag of Murray® Old Fashioned Ginger Snaps and added
some to the plate.
By the time I returned
to the table, the tea was ready.
- Plate of
"I'll be mother," Winnie purred, and poured tea into the
cups. They already held the correct amount of milk.
I added two sugar cubes to my cup, gave it a stir, and we were
I told Winnie everything that happened the previous night and
this morning, but I did most of it in the form of a barrage of
badgering questions. I guess I was nervous.
Did Winnie know that Fern Wu and Libby Locke were a pair of
grab-handed kidnappers? No, she didn't.
Did Winnie know Libby and her seriously gorgeous mother Irene
lived in a seriously magnificent mansion? Yes, she did.
Yeah, well, did Winnie know that that exact same seriously
magnificent mansion had a bona fide torture chamber
in the basement?? "Do tell!" Winnie gasped. I did,
describing the furnishings of Irene's Playroom in lurid
detail. "My goodness!" Winnie shuddered, then fortified
herself with a sip of tea.
Also, did Winnie know Fern, Libby, and Mrs. Irene Locke not only
play kinky games, but drag helpless kidnap victims (like myself)
into their erotic dalliances? "You're kidding!" Winnie
Okay, I laid it on a bit thick, and I realized I wasn't being
totally fair to Fern, Libby, and especially Irene (who is seriously
gorgeous and was nice enough to mediate my
initiation). I walked things back a little, explaining
that it was all in fun and I wasn't really in what you could
call... distress. Winnie sipped her tea, smiled, and
listened. Eventually, I finished my sordid tale and Winnie
not only knew what had happened but how I felt about it.
That was a good thing, I suppose, 'cause maybe later she could
explain it to me.
And then there was... The Club. What could Winnie tell me
about The Club?
Winnie took a sip of tea before responding. "Are you quite
sure this 'club' of theirs actually exists? Perhaps it was
"A jest," I snorted as I sipped my tea. "Freakin'
hilarious. Absolutely side-splitting. Of
course there's a club." I heaved a little sigh.
Winnie chuckled. "I suppose you should discuss it with
"I suppose," I agreed.
"I like your new cage," Winnie added.
I blinked in confusion, momentarily flashing on the iron cages
in Irene's Playroom; then I realized Winnie was gazing through
the bay window at my garden.
"Oh. Yes. The cage. Wildbirds
Unlimited®. I think it's different from the one you use."
"It is," Winnie agreed.
"The squirrels hate it."
"Which, of course, is the point," Winnie chuckled. She
reached out and took my hand. "Are you quite settled now,
I blushed. "Yes," I said quietly, "I'm fine." Much
to my surprise, I meant it. Tea with Winnie had made
things better. And Winnie had a good point about The
Club. I needed some excuse to talk to Irene
again, just on general principles. Pumping her (so to
speak) for information about The Club was as good an excuse as
"Brilliant," Winnie smiled, released my hand, then gave it a
gentle pat. "Now..." she paused to refill our
teacups. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to observe any more
of my clients' sessions."
I blinked in surprise (meaning alarm). "Huh?"
"My clients are entitled to their privacy," Winnie explained.
She'd said "prev-uh-cee," in the English manner, instead of
"pry-vuh-cee," like an American. That was cute,
but... No more Sessions in Winnie's studio?? I
sipped my tea in devastation.
"You still have things to learn, of course," Winnie continued,
"so I suppose I'll have to schedule you a few sessions of your
I nodded in agreement, then started blinking again.
"Huh? I mean... what are your rates?"
"Oh, no-no-no, Molly," Winnie chuckled. "You're a
writer. It's my creative duty to indulge your
curiosity. There will be no charge."
"But..." I blinked in mild embarrassment. "You're
running a business... right?" I sipped my tea. "I
don't wanna be a freeloader."
Winnie smiled. "I'm waving my usual fee in the interests
of friendship and creativity." She patted my hand,
again. "I'll check my schedule." (She said
"shed-yule." More Brit-speak. Very
cute.) "I'll let you know when I have a free appointment
slot. If the time works, I'll pencil you in."
And tie me up, I mused. I nodded (and listened to
my pounding heart). Out in the garden, the Chickadee and
Nuthatch Gang had arrived. We sipped tea, nibbled cookies
and biscuits, respectively, and watched the show.
A few days
later I received a call from Winnie. Our schedules synced,
and it happened.
The Fourth Session!
~ or more precisely ~
Molly Schmeck's First Session!
♫ DUN-DUN-DUMMM! ♫
It might have been a little
forward, but I arrived at Winnie's door at the agreed upon date
and time wearing sandals, jeans, a t-shirt (powder blue) and no
underwear. It was the same "trick" Fern had pulled
for her session. Everything was coming off
anyway, so why not go commando and save on laundry? It
made me feel like a seasoned veteran (and slightly naughty).
Winnie greeted me with the usual smile and kiss on the cheek,
then took my hand and led me to the studio. Without
prompting I strolled to the Hidden Clothes Closet (seasoned,
slightly naughty veteran that I was) and disrobed. Once my
sandals were on the closet floor and my jeans and t-shirt hung
from hangers, I closed the door and turned to face my smiling
ginger hostess. Winnie's hair was pulled back in a
ponytail and she was wearing her Daisy Dukes again, this time
under a white tank-top. I don't know if she did
it for me, having somehow sensed my appreciation of the way she
looked in cut-offs and a bra-less tank back in my kitchen, but
she looked great. Freckles! Pokies! Ginger
I casually padded to the center of the studio while Winnie
casually padded to the Hidden Rope Cabinet, made her selections,
then padded in my direction. Did I mention that Winnie's
feet were bare? I don't know if she ever wears shoes at
home. I've never seen her wear shoes at home. I'm
not even sure she owns shoes. Anyway, Winnie's
feet were bare... and freckled.
End result: When Winnie was finished crafting her magic, I
was bound from shoulders to toes.
My upper arms were pinned to my sides in the usual
over-the-breasts, under-the-breasts, and yoking-the-shoulders
harness; however, my wrists were crossed and tied in front
of my body (which was novel) and were part of a
crotch-rope-and-waist-encircling-tie that pinned my wrists to my
tummy just below my navel. And oh-by-the-way, this time
the crotch-rope was friendly from the very beginning. It
cleaved my labia and butt-cheeks! One further detail: the
upper-body harness arrangement encouraged my upper-arms to
squash my boobs together from either side, just a little.
You've heard of a pushup-bra? Winnie had roped me into a squeeze-harness.
Also, from the waist (and crotch-rope) down, my legs were bound
together at mid thighs, just above and just below my knees,
across my lower legs at my shins and lower calves, around my
ankles, and my feet. Apparently, it was what's
called a "ladder-tie." Rope was horizontally looped
around my legs, cinched between my legs, stretched
vertically to the next position, and the process repeated.
Also, grinning her usual gorgeous grin, Winnie had reached
behind her head, released the hemp cord binding her ginger
curls, and used it to bind my big toes. And she
not only tied my Big Piggies together, but looped the free ends
of the cord through the ropes binding my feet and stretched it
taut before tying the final knot.
Everything was interconnected, so when I started testing my
bonds by rolling my shoulders, twisting my torso, and flexing my
legs and feet, my beasts were squeezed a little, my crotch-rope
got downright fresh, and my toes lodged formal protests.
It wasn't painful, but the ropes tightened here and slackened
there whenever and no matter which way I squirmed; however, none
of the ropes loosened or shifted position.
Naked and helplessly bound on the studio floor, I watched as
Winnie strolled to the Hidden Blindfold and Gag Cabinet.
Winnie might be short (5' 2"), but jeez-Louise she has
nice legs! Strong. Freckled. Anyway... she
returned with one of her breather-ball-gags with its hollow
mouth-plugging sphere pierced by a dozen holes.
I swallowed nervously as Winnie knelt and hauled my head and
shoulders up onto her lap. "Do you have to gag me right
away?" I inquired (whined). She smiled and popped the ball
into my mouth. "Mrrrf!" Apparently, she did. I
heaved a ventilated sigh as she buckled the strap at the nape of
"There," Winnie said, smiling as she straightened my hair with
her strong, freckled fingers. Okay, here's a stipulation
for all future references. Whenever I mention any part of
Winifred Wilde's firm, toned, gorgeous little
body—except her eyeballs, teeth, lips, palms, or the soles of
her feet—assume freckles. "All tied up and helpless," she
And with that startling revelation, Winnie kissed my forehead,
eased me off her lap, gracefully climbed to her feet, then
padded to the faux shoji sliding glass door. She smiled,
waved (wiggling her fingers), then pulled the door closed and
engaged the latch. Click!
So... my very own solo session in Winnie's studio. I
squirmed and rolled and further tested my bonds. Ow!
And that included (unfortunately) my tied toes.
Note to self: Don't try wiggling your toes when they're tied
together and tautly tethered to your bound feet.
Second note to self: Never start a session with Winifred Wilde
without first inquiring as to exactly how long said
session is shed-yuled to take.
Anyway... minutes passed, I finished convincing myself that I
was well and truly helpless, then carefully rolled and squirmed
until I could gaze out the window wall at Winnie's Secret
Garden. It was as gorgeous as ever, but the Chickadee and
Nuthatch Gang were busy elsewhere, perhaps in my backyard.
A robin came swooping through, checked a section of lawn for
worms, apparently found none, and left in obvious
disappointment. It was a little late in the day
And then, I heard the faux shoji glass door unlatch and rumble
open. I rolled over to face said door—and my eyes popped
wide in surprise! "Mrrrfh?"
Locke! Irene Locke was standing in the open doorway!
Second stipulation for future reference: "Irene Locke" always
means "seriously gorgeous Irene Locke." And that's not
"seriously gorgeous for a forty-something Irene Locke," but
"seriously gorgeous Irene Locke"—period!
Irene was dressed in a hideously expensive, custom tailored,
designer original, stunning outfit: high-heel sandals
and an airy, frilly sundress in a rose-red and pale-pink floral
print. Her glorious blond hair was loose around her
shoulders in a purposely deceptive riot of carefully coifed
curls. Boy howdy did she look good!
Irene! My rope-cleaved lady bits tingled in greeting, as
did my semi-erect nipples. I also blushed (much like I'm
blushing as I type this).
"Hello, Molly," Irene purred, then stepped forward and walked a
slow circle around my prone, naked, bound, and gagged
self. "You certainly are helpless, aren't you." It
was a statement, not a question.
I was. I blushed, squirmed in my bonds, and this time
remembered not to include my toes.
"Winnie has done her usual outstanding job." Irene added as she
I blinked and tugged on my crossed and bound wrists before
answering. "Mrrrpfh!" ("Yes, outstanding.")
Irene smiled her dimpled smile. "Oh, Winnie has been
wicked." She was gazing at my rope-cleaved crotch!
"Bound as you are... you can't touch yourself, can you?"
My blush deepened (by which I mean my cheeks approached
Irene gracefully knelt, reached out, and used her right index
finger to trace the vertical pair of crotch-rope strands from my
bound wrists to my modestly and neatly trimmed pubic bush.
This did not help my blushing and blinking problems.
"And she wasn't nice enough to tie knots in the rope," Irene
continued. "What a tease."
"Mrrrf?" ("Knots?") What did she mean by "knots?"
"Yes, knots," Irene confirmed, but didn't followup with an
explanation. She continued sliding her finger slowly up
and down my crotch-rope.
"What's all this then?" Winnie's voice demanded from the open
faux shoji screen glass door.
and I shifted our smiling and blushing (respectively) faces to
the door in question and confirmed that the rest of Winnie had
also returned to the studio. Winnie shook her smiling
head, causing her ginger curls to flutter, and strolled to the
Hidden Chair Closet, opened its not-so-secret door, and produced
the black steel straight-back chair with armrests, my former
throne during the First Session (the First Observation Session
with Micki, the other First Session). She placed
it in our general vicinity, then placed her hands on her hips.
"You know my rules, Mistress," Winnie stated.
"I do indeed, Mistress," Irene chuckled as she gracefully
climbed to her feet.
Mistress? My blinking gaze shifted from Winnie to
Irene, then back to Winnie. How could they both be
Irene spun on her exquisite and fashionable sandals and strolled
to the Hidden Clothes Closet, opened the door, and began
disrobing! It didn't take her very long. Soon her
sandals, sundress, and underlying bikini-panties and bra were in
the closet and naked Irene was strolling back in our
direction. She gracefully settled into the chair, demurely
crossed her legs (right over left), placed her hands on her
right knee, and favored us with a coquettish smile.
(Regarding my previous stipulation that "Irene Locke" always
includes "seriously gorgeous," when she's naked, add "stunning"
Meanwhile, Winnie had padded to the Hidden Rope Cabinet.
"Not like that," she scolded. "Legs to either side and
through the armrests."
Irene rolled her eyes and winked for my benefit, then stood and
carefully sat back down with her legs spread on either side of
the seat and behind the front supports of the armrests
in question. She even managed to do it gracefully!
Needless to say, her knees were now permanently splayed.
The position was the precise opposite of ladylike. Her
heels and insoles were off the floor and her feet resting on her
toes and the balls of her feet. Obviously, her lady bits
were on full, complete, and open display!
I blushed, blinked, and tugged on my wrists in acute empathetic
mortification and etiquette-related distress. The rope
sliding through my crotch added a thrilling grace note.
Hey! Don't judge! Could the situation be more
explicit and naughty? Anyway, cut me some slack.
(Winnie's ropes sure didn't.)
Winnie carried over several coils of brown rope and set to
work. I watched. Irene smiled serenely and watched me.
End result: Irene was lashed to the chair from shoulders to
ankles. Her feet were now completely off the floor, her
ankles tied to the chair's back legs, and her knees to the front
armrest supports. Her formerly voluntary unladylike pose
was now rope-enforced and involuntary, and until Winnie
untied her, she would stay that way! Her arms were behind
the chair-back with her armpits resting on the top.
From my position I couldn't see the details behind the chair,
but from what I'd been able to follow of Winnie's actions,
Irene's wrists and elbows were bound in some manner. As
for the front, Irene's upper body was lashed against the
chair-back in what I was coming to recognize as a "standard
body-harness," but rather that using the harness to simply pin
her upper-arms against her torso and/or as a lashing point for
her forearms and/or wrists, Winnie had used it to bind Irene to
the chair. So, ropes yoked Irene's shoulders, passed above
and below her magnificent breasts, and were interlaced and
cinched with various parts of the chair. Additional ropes
encircled her narrow waist and passed vertically through her
I was impressed (among other things).
And speaking of magnificent breasts, a word about watching a
woman with breasts like Irene's being bound to a chair, and that
word is: Wow!
As Winnie tightened the doubled strands, she made sure the
doubled strands were neatly stacked and had uniform tension by
sliding a pair of fingers between each pair of doubled strands
and Irene's smooth, tan flesh. The flesh in question
dimpled under the gentle pressure, and Irene's boobs bobbed,
ever so slightly. The boob-bobbing was barely perceptible,
but as I was watching closely, I can confirm that it
happened. Also, now and then the exercise "required"
Winnie to grasp and lift one of Irene's breasts so she could
properly position a doubled strand and accomplish her task.
Winnie smiled and concentrated on her work, but Irene continued
gazing at me while all of this was happening. I could tell
that she could tell that I was... appreciative.
The binding and tightening of Irene's chair-and-crotch-rope was
also illuminating, meaning stimulating, meaning was causing my
own crotch-rope and/or my lady bits to shiver in sympathy.
As for the effect on Irene, her smile never wavered, but I did
detect the occasional flinch in her shining blue eyes as things
So... I was bound, gagged, and helpless on the studio
floor. Irene was bound to the chair but not gagged.
At least I was "free" to wiggle and squirm around the matting,
and as long as the faux shoji glass door remained open (and
Winnie ignored my efforts) I'd be able to "escape" into the rest
of the house. On the other hand, with her feet off the
floor and barely able to squirm, Irene was stuck in the
chair. She might be able to rock back and forth
and eventually succeed in tipping over said chair and sending
herself crashing to the padded floor, but that would hardly be a
positive development. I was still a novice, of course, but
I seriously doubted that landing with a thud would have
caused Winnie's ropes to shift in a way that the
prisoner-of-the-chair could exploit. Even I could see that
Winnie had crafted yet another inescapable web of bondage.
Winnie strolled to my side, knelt, and once again hauled my head
and shoulders up and onto her bare lap, leaving my head resting
against the front of her Daisy Dukes. (See previous
stipulation regarding Winnie's skin and the topic of
freckles. Winnie's thighs were firm, smooth, and
"Mrrk?" I inquired as Winnie reached behind my head, unbuckled
my ball-gag's strap, and rebuckled it on its first hole.
She then plucked the ventilated sphere from my mouth, but before
I could wet my lips, she did it for me. That is, she
leaned close and kissed me full on the mouth... deeply and
wetly... with tongue! My cheeks blushed and my heart
thumped, but my crotch-ropes very much approved.
Eventually (in only a few seconds, actually) Winnie sat upright
and began combing my hair with her fingers. She was still
smiling, of course. So was Irene.
"Now..." Winnie lifted her smiling gaze to Irene, then
back to me. "I believe you have something you'd like to
discuss with Mistress Irene?"
I blinked and blushed. (Say what?) "Huh?"
"The Club?" Winnie reminded me.
"Oh... The Club."
Winnie and Irene exchanged a knowing smile, then Winnie eased me
off her lap, stood, and padded towards the door. "I'll
give you ladies some privacy," she purred. (Again with the
"prev-uh-cee.") She smiled, waved, the faux shoji glass
door closed, and the latch engaged with an audible click.
I gazed at Irene. Irene gazed at me. We were alone
in the studio, naked and bound but not gagged, which meant Irene
could answer my questions and I could ask them. Clever
Winnie. Such a cunning plan.
stated. I didn't even make it a question. Pathetic.
Irene was sympathetic. She's so
sweet. "Don't be nervous, Molly."
"I'll try," I sighed, then swallowed. "Tell me about...
"What do you want to know?"
I sighed again. "Who are the members?"
Irene's smiled her incredible (and slightly annoying)
smile. "Besides Winnie, Fern, Pumpkin, and Myself?"
Pumpkin was her Mean Girl daughter Libby, of course.
"Uh-huh," I responded.
"The club has many members, Molly," Irene said, "but I won't
name names. You must meet them in person."
That seemed fair. Prev-uh-cee. "So... what have I
gotten myself into?"
Irene's smile became a dimpled grin. "Quarter-inch braided
Apparently, Libby had inherited both her Viking-shield-maiden
gorgeousness and her Mean Girl genes from her
mother. "Don't make fun of me," I whined.
"I'm sorry, Molly," Irene chuckled. "I couldn't
resist. The Club is a group of like minded friends who, on
occasion, get together to explore the many aspects of bondage
"Kinky bondage fun?" I inquired (in a pathetic squeak).
"Kink is in the eye of the beholder," Irene sagely observed.
Or somewhere, I silently amended, tugging on my
"You've been inducted into the Rope chapter," Irene continued.
I blinked several times before replying. "R-rope?"
Irene nodded. "There are also Leather, Latex, and Steel
chapters. as well as a chapter that's into... Egyptology?"
"M-mumific-cation?" I stuttered.
Irene nodded. "There is overlap, of course."
"In the bandages?" I squeaked.
"No, Molly," Irene chuckled, "there's overlap in chapter
"Oh, of course," I nodded (and blushed). "Uh, how much
"Many of us have favorites," Irene replied, "but there's significant
I nodded. "How big is... The Club?"
"Bigger than you might think," Irene purred, being cagey.
"Membership cards? Secret handshakes? Decoder
Irene laughed. "None of that. We're just friends
"Naked, bound and gagged fun," I muttered.
"In this chapter," Irene agreed.
"Wait!" I gasped. "What about your dungeon... I mean Playroom?"
"I did say there was overlap," Irene purred.
"Yes, you did," I agreed. "Are there... ranks?"
Irene smiled and lifted an eyebrow.
"Am I a 'Brownie' or a 'Tenderfoot?' I heard you and
Winnie call each other 'Mistress.' Is that a rank?"
"Yes," Irene confirmed. "You're a Baby Bondage
Scout. Winifred and I are both Mistress First Class.
I'm senior, of course."
Obviously, she wasn't serious. "Stop it," I pouted.
(It was a pretty silly question. Ranks.
What was I thinking?) "I take it there's no handbook or
collection of how-to pamphlets?"
Irene smiled and shook her head.
"We're very informal," Irene chuckled.
"No kidding," I sighed, squirming in my bonds, which apparently
were The Club's dress code. I racked my brain for a more
sensible question. Nothing.
"Are you all right, Molly?" Irene inquired.
Like I said, she's sweet. "Yeah," I sighed. "So...
what happens next? I meet new people? By which I
mean new members? Other chapters?"
"Maybe," Irene replied, "but perhaps you should gain a little
more rope experience and increase your general comfort level."
"That's probably best," I agreed.
"There's no rush," Irene added. "Take your time.
This is just friends having fun... and we're all very glad
you've joined us."
I blushed and nodded. I guess I owe Winnie a fruit
basket... or something.
Suddenly, we heard the telltale click of the faux shoji
glass door's latch and the portal rumbled open. Winnie had
"So," Winnie said as she padded to my side, knelt, and once
again hauled my head and shoulders onto her lap, "I assume all
your questions have been answered to your complete and total
"Well, actually," I muttered, "I was wondering if—Mrrrf!"
The ball-gag was back in my mouth and Winnie was buckling the
strap. Big surprise.
Winnie dumped me off her lap. "Nrrrf!" (How rude!)
She then gracefully stood and padded to the Hidden Blindfold and
Gag Cabinet. Irene and I watched as she made her
selection, closed the door, and padded behind Irene and her
chair. The selection in question turned out to be a jumble
of thin black leather straps with steel rings and buckles and an
inch-and-a-half black rubber ball. I couldn't see any
I locked eyes with Irene as Mistress Winnie eased the ball into
Mistress Irene's smiling (and now grimacing) mouth, and began
buckling and adjusting the straps. The result was like
nothing I'd even seen before. It was a head-harness, like
the things they use to keep a bit in a horse's mouth, only this
one was keeping a rubber ball in Irene's mouth.
Straps passed under her chin, to either side of her nose, and
across her forehead. It looked tight and, as Winnie had
taken the time to evenly divide and arrange Irene's blond curls,
not entirely unattractive. I guess I was developing a
personal bondage aesthetic. But then, the thing was caging
the head and silencing the mouth of the seriously gorgeous,
stunning, and HOT Irene Locke. How could it not be
Still smiling, Winnie padded to a new Hidden Closet,
one I'd not yet seen her visit during previous visits. She
opened the door and wheeled out a steel lab cart laden with...
At that point, my First Session and my membership in
The Club rose to a whole new level!