Bondage Life, Number 28, 1987, p. 35. From an Italian Vogue magazine, late 1970s.
Author's Note
This offering began with the intention of becoming another one- or two-part Meg and Mignon romp. But it developed into a twelve-chapter 'custom' story - so to speak - written for my friend and muse Cordelia White. In each chapter, I have incorporated most of Cordelia's suggestions, including sections of dialogue and description.
Kitten is a little different from the usual Brian Sands fare in that it contains more explicit erotica. But I think that it is a natural extension of the relationship between the two heroines, as told in the preceding Meg and Mignon stories. The characters, as I have noted before, tend to take over from their author!
Chapter One: What Will it be, Kitten?
'What will it be this weekend, Honey? Burglary, kidnap or robbery?'
Mignon considered her alternatives.
The young woman wriggled in the armchair and self-consciously smoothed the rich honey-hued silk of her skirt over her knees. Meg, sitting in the chair opposite, smiled with pride at the sweet confusion of her lovely younger friend.
'You know we can't do this every weekend, Sweetie,' said Meg. 'You had to attend that literary convention last week, and I had my hands full at work. We haven't been able to play our games for almost three weeks now and, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling just a little frustrated.'
'I know how you feel,' answered Mignon with a sigh. 'I've been missing that delicious feeling when I place myself completely in your hands. Just to think about that point of no return when you tighten the cords around my wrists and I know that I can't do anything about it, and that you'll ignore my pleas to be freed - terrible, frightening burglar that you are!'
Mignon smiled sweetly and Meg felt her soul melt under those soft blue eyes.
'So you'd like me to be a burglar this time?'
Mignon shook her head. 'No, Darling, I didn't mean that. And we did the robbery thing at Christmas. I think I'd like to be kidnapped this time. But not stowed away in the boot of your car,' she added quickly. 'Something different perhaps.'
Meg took the hint on cue. 'There's something you'd like, some special scenario?' she asked perceptively.
'Mm hmm.'
Mignon nodded but remained silent for some moments. Meg waited patiently.
Mignon cleared her throat and the next words came out in a husky whisper.
'I've had a recurring fantasy ever since our play at Christmas, but I think you might get angry.'
'I could never be angry with you, Sweetheart. We've been through far too much together, trusted each other so often and always helped each other. So tell me.'
'I think you will be displeased, all the same, but you can let me know if you think it's nonsense and also impractical.'
'Well? You've succeeded in capturing my whole attention. What is it that's so outrageous it has you blushing so prettily?'
'Well, when we were tied up together. That is, when you tied me up then bound yourself and we helped each other get free, I kept thinking afterwards what it would feel like if we were both held prisoner that way by a third person, another woman.'
Mignon stopped and held her breath.
'What a good idea!'
Mignon gasped audibly.
'We'll need someone we can trust,' said Meg thoughtfully. She drummed on the arm of her chair then smacked the palm of her hand lightly on it. 'I know! There's my cousin.'
'You mean the one in that photograph riding the horse?'
'Yep. She's a real cowgirl. At least she thinks she is. She's a great rider, but her job as a fashion consultant doesn't exactly go with the wild outdoors. But that's not why I think she's the right person to ask.'
Meg stood and walked across to the dresser and took up the photograph. She returned and sat on the arm of Mignon's chair.
'Not very tomboyish is she?'
'No, she's not. She looks more like a highly paid model.'
'Well, she works with models. But you're right, Kitten. Cousin Alice inherited all the beauty in our clan.'
'You're beautiful,' exclaimed Mignon, looking up at Meg's glossy black hair and full figure. The latter was complemented by a fitted shirt of black satin tucked into a long narrow skirt of cream coloured linen slit to the thigh.
'Why thank you dear,' responded Meg, patting a thick lock of her hair. 'But to get back to our subject, it's short notice but she might agree to come up for the weekend.'
'Two days to go,' said Mignon wistfully. 'But how do you know your Cousin Alice will join in? She'll more than likely freak out and think we're really kinky!'
'Well we are, aren't we? Still, that's a matter of definition. No, Cousin Alice and I used to play tie-up games when we were kids, and when we were at university. And if it's kinky that worries you, well Cousin Alice is a Mistress in her spare time. Only, get this, she specialises exclusively in making her women clients happy. Not men, if you see my drift.'
'Isn't that unusual?'
'Very. She advertises privately, of course, as a stress management consultant.'
Mignon could not help laughing. Meg joined in.
'Why ever haven't you told me that before?' asked Mignon, wiping away a tear of laughter with a lace handkerchief of fine linen.
'To be honest, I've been too busy. We don't see a lot of each other. Her business is in another city. And I guess I was also a trifle jealous and worried that if you met her ...'
'I'd never betray you!' exclaimed Mignon in a hurt voice.
'I know, Sweetie. I guess mainly I didn't think of it.'
'Do you think she'll come?'
'There's only one way to find out. I could send her an email but it's quicker by phone.'
Meg picked up her mobile phone and consulted a small address book. Mignon slipped out of her chair and discreetly walked to the bathroom.
When Mignon returned, Meg was sitting in the chair she had vacated, her legs crossed, swinging the upper leg.
'She jumped at the chance, Kitten. I explained about you and your fantasy, and of course she's eager to meet you. I said that you and I are close friends and she understands perfectly. In fact, she said that she helps couples like us who come to her from time to time when they want novelty. She's arriving Friday afternoon, driving down.'
'So it's as sudden as that?'
'Yep. She won't bring much gear. I said we preferred rope and cloth or tape, not all that leather and vinyl - '
'And rubber.'
'No.'
'I can come over Friday evening.'
'Be prepared to spend Friday night and all Saturday and Sunday kidnapped. There won't be any escape.'
'For either of us.'
'That's right. Oh, and there's one other thing. You know my little stone cabin in the mountains.'
Mignon nodded. It was not so much a cabin as a rambling mini-mansion with an attic, a cellar, and many spare rooms. Mignon shivered in anticipation of Meg's next words.
'I'll ask Cousin Alice to make it like a real kidnapping. We'll be bound and gagged and transported in her car to my country hideaway.'
'In the boot?'
'Yep. Obviously. It's the most logical place to put a kidnap victim ... You're not frightened are you Kitten?'
'Just a little apprehensive,' said Mignon. 'You know I'm a bit of a claustrophobe. And I've never met your cousin.'
'Oh she's trustworthy, don't worry about that. And remember, this time we'll be in it together. Make sure you pack your bag with nice clothes. You know how much I like seeing you in silks and lace, like now for instance.'
Mignon dropped her eyes, pleased with the compliment.
'Meg dear,' she raised her eyes to see Meg standing in front of her, a length of soft cotton cord in her hands. 'I was hoping ...'
Meg had taken up the rope so quickly because it was conveniently at hand. She had decorated all the curtains of her apartment with thin cotton cord. When the curtains were drawn, the ropes hung in loops on hooks screwed into the walls behind them. When the curtains were open, they were held in symmetrical curves by the ropes. Meg and Mignon found the arrangement ideal for sudden intimacies.
'Suddenly at Home,' as Meg said, referring to a complicated and somewhat melodramatic play by Francis Durbridge. None of the actors in the play were tied up, though one woman was carried unconscious from the stage to be hidden, in the audience's imagination, in the adjoining bedroom. The promotional flyer however dispensed with that fact and came with an illustration of a pretty woman dressed in a full slip lying face down on the floor looking up anxiously. In the line drawing she was bound with her arms behind her and ropes around her chest and midriff lifting her breasts off the floor, her legs bound at ankles and knees.
Mignon knelt on the floor, placed her arms behind her, and waited with a thrill of immediately realised anticipation as Meg began to bind her wrists. Her left forearm was placed parallel with her right forearm and so each wrist was bound to each forearm just below the elbows. It had almost the same effect as if her arms had been tied to her sides. She could scarcely lift her arms away from her body. Another piece of cord fastened to her wrists extended down to her ankles, binding them, but allowing her legs to remain straight. It was almost a hog tie because raising her arms was stopped by the attachment to her ankles, unless she bent her knees.
Meg looked down at Mignon lying helpless at her feet, the silken skirt of her dress flowing to one side, caressed one buttock while the other cheek was lid bare, apart from the stockings and suspender belt that were now revealed.
Meg fetched a chair from the kitchen and tipped it over near Mignon.
'There, now you look uncannily like a model on an Italian magazine I saw only last week. I don't know what it was they were advertising, chairs, rope, silk dresses, perfume, cosmetics? Your guess is as good as mine.'
'I saw it too, a reproduction from the 1970s to show that the product has never changed! That's unusual in advertising. I think it was for lipstick.'
Meg shrugged. 'Who knows?'
'That magazine advertisement's given me an idea for another story ... Am I being burglarised?'
'Yeah kid, an' don' give me any trouble,' said Meg in her best gangster accent.
'Oh no! You won't hurt me? Help Help!'
'Foolish of you to try calling for help, little one. Nobody can hear you, but I can, and it's very annoying. Just so as not to take chances, and to give my ears a rest, I'll have to gag you.'
'Oh no, please don't gag me. I promise I'll be quiet.'
'Too late. You should have thought of that before you started yelling your fool head off.'
Meg took up the silk scarf that was tied loosely to the handle of Mignon's shoulder bag, folded it to a rectangle then a couple of times more to produce a two inch wide band. She made a knot in the middle and from Mignon's bag selected two clean lace handkerchiefs, women's size. She began to fold them carefully so that all the lace edges were safely within the layers of fine cloth. They knew that stray threads on a gag could slip easily deep into the captive's throat and induce choking, and Meg decided that this was possible with fringed scarves and lace handkerchiefs or table napkins.
Mignon pretended to protest, but she did not struggle much, and in a short time Meg had packed the linen wad into Mignon's mouth and tied the knotted scarf between her teeth.
'That'll hold the gag in place. But I'd better make sure there's as little noise out of you as possible.'
Meg strode to the bathroom and returned within seconds with a two-inch roll of medical adhesive tape in her hands. She tore off a sizeable length and strapped it neatly over Mignon's lips and mouth, sealing the silk knot and the two handkerchiefs within. She looked down and exulted in the contrast between Mignon's pink flesh, her wide blue eyes, and the white tape.
'You truly are the sweetest, most feminine young woman! You don't know how proud I am to have your trust, Kitten. Yeah I can say without a doubt that I'm a top and you're a bottom - what a sweet enticing bottom it is too. But in two days we're going to meet a real domme.'
Mignon mewed plaintively, but her eyes were shining, her face flushed, and her breathing short and sharp. She strained at the cords that bound her, enjoying the pressure of them around her wrists and body. Her breasts through the thin silk of her dress rubbed to distraction against Meg's soft carpet.
It was a long night ...
© Brian Sands 2003