Chapter Eleven

Passport to Freedom

It must be Sunday morning, thought Mignon sleepily. She opened her eyes. Her face was nested gently against Meg’s lower abdomen as it rose and fell gently. Her nose pressed against the furrow between Meg’s legs. The strap that held the leather pear in her mouth rubbed softly against Meg’s dark pubic hair. Mignon could hear her friend breathing softly, still in sleep, Meg’s head resting lightly against her own mound. Mignon explored with her tongue; the gag was still there, filling the front of her mouth which felt furry and parched. She tried to move her arms but they were still bound behind her back with her hands tight against the base of her spine and her elbows hard together. Mignon stretched luxuriously against her bonds, enjoying the feel of constriction that invaded all her limbs and most of her body. With her movements, the thick cord shifted deep between her labia. Oh my!

Mignon gasped as a delicious heat stabbed through her. She arched her back against the bonds and a long shiver coursed through her body. She felt sore down there, the result of the long inescapable mutual pleasuring that she and Meg had experienced most of the night. Her movements roused Meg from sleep and Mignon felt her friend nuzzling her gagged face against her own fur. When Alice and Joan came to the door to inspect their prisoners, Meg and Mignon were lying bonded together with sweat, their bodies glistening and still shivering with ecstasy.

Alice laughed. ‘Lovebirds! Didn’t I tell you Joan Dear?’

‘Yers,’ was Joan’s enigmatic response. ‘They’re somewhat pickled aren’t they?’

‘We’ll give you some timely relief from each other,’ Alice continued. ‘Parting is such sweet, etcetera.’

Meg and Mignon breathed a sigh of relief as the cords that bound them together were removed and their breasts, which had been flattened against each other’s abdomen, returned to their normal shape. Meg watched anxiously as Mignon was lifted from the bed and allowed to wobble on joined ankles. The effect of having their elbows fixed behind their back for the best part of thirty hours had taken its toll on both of them, Meg especially, as she was not as limber as her friend. But Meg could only marvel at the lovely effect it had on Mignon’s deportment.

Alice read something to this effect in Meg’s eyes and, playing the part of a spoilsport to the full, remarked, ‘I think we’ve overlooked one of your Rules long enough, haven’t we Joan?’

She picked up a swathe of dark cloth. Joan looked puzzled.

‘See? Blindfolds,’ said Alice as she held the material up and snapped it a couple of times in her hands. The silk made a satisfactory sound and a faint spark of static electricity hissed.

‘Yes,’ said Joan quickly. ‘Rule Five, blindfolds are compulsory, most of the time.’

‘Right. I’ll see to that oversight while you hobble darling Mignon. Then I’ll take Meg for her bathroom privileges while you prepare breakfast. Mignon can shower later.’

From the corner of her eye, Meg caught Joan stooping. But her view was short-lived. Alice wrapped the cloth twice around her face and head, completely cutting off all light. She could only sit there and listen to faint grunts and whimpers as her young friend was re-tied. It was clear from the time it took that the future was going to be no more pleasant than the past. When it seemed to be finally done, Meg was brought to her feet and made to hobble naked out to the bathroom.

It did not take long and, when the blindfold was finally removed from her face, Meg found herself looking up at Alice.

‘I expect you’d rather like me to say "shower and dress," would you, dear? But I cannot. Not after all your rather stylish clothes were condemned to the bonfire. … There’s no point in snorting and going read in the face. They’ve already gone up in smoke. It’s a good thing that Joan saved these. ...’

She held up two pairs of white string-sided panties. Meg recognised them as the ones that she and Mignon had worn for their kidnapping on Friday night. But they were not for use in the expected manner, as Alice revealed when she continued her sentence.

‘… Otherwise, I’d have nothing to gag you with.’

‘You’re not going to get away with this, you bitches,’ said Meg, finding her voice as she felt Joan rope her wrists together tightly behind her back. This time Joan twisted Meg’s hands upwards before binding them back to back. It was a tie that was completely impossible to get out of.

‘Really,’ said Alice sweetly. ‘You think not? I can’t see what two totally naked and fully restrained women can do about it … But since you have inadvertently reminded me that you can still speak, I think we’d better gag you.’

Joan had cut out the sides of both pairs of panties, so that they were no longer wearable. Alice tucked the rope out of sight for a moment and proceeded to stuff the two pairs of discarded panties into Meg’s mouth, Mignon’s pair first. As she pursed Meg’s lips over the not-inconsiderable packing, Joan came to her aid with a large rectangle of medical tape, which was plastered across her mouth and cheeks.

Meg explored the gag. With time she could work the tape off and spit the panties out. She doubted, however, whether she would have much leeway. Meg retched on the panties and then watched as the two women prepared her bondage. They started with the first long length of rope. Alice centred it on the back of Meg’s neck and then brought the two ends over her shoulders. They went under her arms to right and left to be crossed in the small of her back. Then they come back round front and were knotted together a little above her navel.

Other than create a tight harness that pulled her shoulders back and pushed her breasts out, the rope seemed to have no function. And in terms of its effect on her posture, it was far less strenuous than the elbow ties. Alice, however, had other ideas. Tying the second length of rope to the lowest point at the front of the shoulder wrap, she pushed it between Meg's legs, nesting it between her soft cleft and then took it upwards. It went under the rope at the rear of Meg’s neck and then to her wrists. It took three tugs to get the slack out and site Meg’s hands up high at her neck. When the rope had been tied in place, Meg had two options. She could hold her arms up high and put considerable strain on her shoulders or she could cut herself in two, upwards. Alice completed her bondage by tying her ankles, knees and thighs.

The strain on her back and shoulders was doubled as she bunny hopped to the kitchen, prominent breasts bouncing furiously, the crotch rope having its distracting effect all the way. Mignon was already at breakfast. The sight that greeted Meg astonished even her. Like herself, Mignon was now naked, her hands held high on her back by cunningly ties cords attached to the same sort of crotch rope that Meg wore. The sight reminded the older woman of the devilish pleasure she was receiving from that bind. Mignon’s legs were also cinched tightly at ankles, legs and thighs. But being forced to eat breakfast tied up and naked was the least of the younger woman's problems. Poor Kitten, thought Meg as she saw her lovely young friend kneeling low on the floor and more or less lapping up the scrambled eggs and beans from the plate, her soft pointed breasts brushing lightly against the polished surface.

‘Now, it's your turn darling,’ Alice announced when Mignon had finished. Joan heaped the plate with a fresh load of beans, eggs and toast while her mistress hefted Mignon to her feet, and turned to ungag Meg.

‘The rules,’ chided Joan immediately. ‘Rule …’

‘I know, I know ... if one is ungagged the other must always be gagged, Alice muttered, fishing for what looked to Meg to be a very damp scarf, the dampness evidently Mignon’s used saliva. Mignon meekly allowed her captor to stuff the whole of a very large wadded rag into her mouth, before pursing her lips, which were then sealed with tape. A scarf was tied tightly around her mouth and bulging cheeks to hold it all in place. Only when she had checked that Mignon's gag was completely secure did she remove the impediment of sodden panties from Meg’s mouth.

The toast, Meg found, presented the most problem. It had to be prised from the flat of the plate by a combination of tongue, teeth and chin and eaten slowly and all in one piece until smaller scraps began to fall back onto the plate, to be retrieved by tongue and teeth. But neither woman had eaten the night before and they were ravenous. Besides, it was rather fun to have to eat in this way. A sort of freeing-up of inhibitions came with it, not to mention the temporary relief of not having to wear a gag.

Mignon, for her part, remembered how she used to pretend she was a little dog - curled under an upturned wicker chair with a bone of lamb, the meat still on it - when Alice remarked, ‘Come on, dear. Lap it up. Bunnies and kittens do.’

*

The meal did not last long and, when it was over and the prisoners’ faces wiped clean by Joan’s solicitous hands, they were taken each in separate directions, Meg to the bedroom where they had spent the night and Mignon to the long-awaited bathroom.

In the room outside the bathroom, however, Joan brought them to a stop - Mignon had been alternately hobbling and hopping - and, taking the young woman by her shoulders, the older woman turned her round to face her.

‘We move into a new phase, sweetie-pie. As you know, you and your friend have to be left here for most of the day while we do our stuff with the said lawyer. We considered the alternatives and decided, against the Rules a little, that we will require you and your friend to wear these items for the day.’

Joan held up some sort of garment in front of Mignon’s eyes. It was black and semi transparent, a little like the body stocking Meg had worn. But it had satin panels that separated the diaphanous black into strips, and small red bows. It was edged with black lace ‘top’ and ‘bottom.’ Mignon’s eyes widened for, as Joan turned the material from side to side, she recognised it as a corset of some sort.

Joan continued speaking. ‘I want to see you wearing this little nothing when you come out of the bathroom. Do you understand?’

Mignon gulped and nodded. ‘Y- Yes.’

‘It is a delightful garment, don’t you think?’

Mignon nodded again. She liked nice clothes, liked the feel of silks and satins against her skin as she moved, but she had never worn one of these things before. She could only assume that it would be laced very tightly around her slender frame.

Joan went on. ‘It’s a near replica of a Victorian corset. They’d have used whalebone for the stays in those times.’ Joan tapped the material for emphasis. ‘But we pretend that we’re more enlightened, so this one uses light and very thin steel. But it has the same effect. You will wear it for us, won’t you?’

‘I- I’d like to,’ Mignon stammered.

‘Good girl. It will help to keep you warm too, as you shan’t be wearing anything else.’ Joan placed the corset delicately into Mignon’s hands. ‘It’s a beautiful thing, my dear. Wear it with pride.’

*

Mignon finished her shower in a little over ten minutes, and as she was towelling herself dry, getting rid of the last of the caked make-up that had not run off her legs, she happened to look down. Mignon froze. In a corner by the tiled wall her eyes caught a faint glint of metal. It was only a freak of the light revealed momentarily by the way she was standing, otherwise she would never have noticed. When she bent down and picked it up, Mignon’s sudden hope was realised. It was a half razor blade, the sort that had a protective strip on the back, a single-edged blade.

All through her captivity, Mignon had been wondering how she and Meg could ever get free. She had been praying for some kind of break. A small miracle was all I need, she thought, and here it is in the palm of my hand. There was even a means of hiding the blade that would not have been possible if she had been completely naked.

When Mignon emerged five minutes later, fresh and pretty and hiding her secret, Joan was waiting for her, a coil of cotton rope in her hands.

‘I see the steel stays are having their effect,’ Joan remarked as she approached Mignon.

They did indeed. After her shower, Mignon had had to squeeze herself into the garment. Yet despite the ferocity of its embrace, it did not really cover anything vital. Mignon’s loins and bottom were completely exposed, as well as her breast. She had found that the top of the corset had two semi-circular cut-outs. They merely formed a platform for her breasts, which stood upright her nipples teased erect by the change in temperature during her passage from the bathroom to the room with the post. The corset was more uplifting than the most ambitious of shelf bras. Mignon thought of Alice’s paper-thin blouse. That scarcely hid anything, but she would have felt a little less vulnerable even with something like that to cover her breasts. Joan was speaking, and Mignon came to attention.

‘You know that the Victorians used stays to reduce their waists to nineteen inches,’ Joan explained. ‘Quite a dangerous practice and consequently one I would never recommend. And, in your case, and, in Meg’s case it doesn’t apply.’ She began to pluck at the lace fastening. ‘Still, I think that I can do better than you did. You really are wearing it a trifle loosely. Twenty-one inches ought to be practical. And twenty-two for your friend.’

‘And you never know,’ Joan continued. ‘With a bit of practice and the right diet we might get you both down to twenty inches in a month or two … Now to tie you.’

‘A month or two?’ Mignon’s thoughts raced as her arms were drawn behind her. ‘But ... you’re going to let us free after today ... Aren’t you?’

Joan chuckled. If it was an act, it sounded very real. Mignon began to feel frightened. She turned her head, but Joan had stopped what she was doing and, with a suddenness that caught Mignon completely off guard, pressed the leather pear gag back into her mouth. Mignon ‘ngked’ faintly as the straps were buckled up tight, tears starting in her eyes.

‘That’s to prevent more undesirable outbursts, my dear,’ Joan grated. ‘Now, let’s finish trussing you up.’

Joan worked carefully and with a sort of clinical exactitude that had Mignon more frightened than ever. What a combination, she thought, medical and military background, I’m sure!

The corset was laced up the back. Mignon gasped as it closed tighter around her body and Joan drew the laces firmly before knotting them tightly. It felt as if she was going to be cut in two. The Mignon heard a ‘snick.’ She turned her head back and tried to see what Joan was doing.

‘Just a little padlock, dear,’ explained Joan crisply. ‘Before I’m finished, you’ll have an accentuated hourglass figure that will be there to stay. I rather like that. It reminds me of a corset scene in a John Willie story. You’ve never heard of him?’ she added, seeing Mignon’s puzzled brow. I’ll tell you one day when we have more time ... and you will have more time, I guarantee it,’ she continued as she drew Mignon’s arms together.

‘We thought about using cuffs, but leather is so much more aesthetic to look at, and more gentle on the skin too.’

Mignon’s elbows were drawn together. She felt the leather strap being inserted into the buckle, followed by another faint but penetrating ‘snick.’

There followed in quick succession leather straps around Mignon’s torso: above her breasts, below her breasts, around her waist. Her arms were now firmly against her back.

‘Wrists too, dear. No half measures. One of the Rules you know.’

In a short time, Mignon’s wrists were half crossed side by side and strapped tightly together. The sound of another padlock closing filled her heart with an almost hopeless finality. She still had her secret, but how could she implement it with her elbows and wrists padlocked as well as buckled in place?

*

Without further ceremony, Joan walked Mignon out of the post room, without bothering to hobble her ankles. That had Mignon even more worried, wondering what was being planned. They passed through the living room to the bedroom where she and Meg had just spent that incredible night together.

As they entered, what caught Mignon’s fancy more than anything else was the corset that Meg was now wearing.

Mignon’s corset was of black satin with red bows that contrasted against her honey-hued skin and hair. Alice’s corset was red, contrasting nicely against her straight dark hair and an almost alabaster-smooth complexion. But Meg’s corset was ivory white with transparent panels like the one Mignon wore, and adorned with black bows and shocking pink lace at the low scoop neck and the bottom hem. The vivid white contrasted against Meg’s Latin skin colouring.

What fascinated Mignon most, however, was Meg's figure. Mignon never tired of looking at her friend, admiration that she knew was fully reciprocated. Meg’s long legs ran into slender hips which curved at the top towards a trim tummy and a neat waist. Above, her waist flared outwards to reveal two large shapely breasts. She was a lovely shape. But now, her figure was augmented by the boned corset, which constricted her waist more than Mignon would have thought possible. Meg had an hourglass figure. Her breasts, pushed up and out by the top of the corset like Mignon’s seemed huge, an effect magnified by the way her shoulders were dragged back by the uniting of her elbows behind her back. Mignon had no doubt that, like her own, Meg’s arms were strapped at wrists and elbows and each strap secured with a small but effective padlock.

Alice straightened up. ‘Ah there you are, Joan Dear. Let’s put our two lovebirds into their bower for the day and head off to town. We have a big day ahead of us.’

‘We get the money?’

‘Oh yes indeed. We’ll secure our two dears in separate rooms, just to make sure. They can have very long and boring hours bound and gagged and alone, each with her own thoughts? Hey love?’

The last words were aimed at Meg and accompanied by a vigorous slap on a naked buttock. Meg squirmed helplessly and grunted unintelligibly through her gag.

Oh god, thought Mignon, this can’t be happening. I can’t let it happen. I just have to get us free today! As Joan led her out of the room, Mignon’s fingers pressed tighter against the back hem of her corset. She felt the faint, reassuring outlines of the blade secreted in the lining.

Mignon was taken into a different room. It was at the far end of Meg’s house and was furnished with a simplicity that was more than minimal; it contained only a mattress on the floor.

The young woman was helped to sit on the mattress, then Joan busied herself, fastening the young woman’s ankles, legs, knees and thighs with separate lengths of soft cotton rope taken from the bag with which she seemed inseparable.

Joan squatted back on her haunches and looked at Mignon calculatingly.

‘I think I’ll change your gag, sweetheart. Rules three, eleven and five.’

Mignon racked her brains, trying to remember the sequence of Joan’s Rules, but without success. What followed, however, gave her a good estimate of their content.

The plug gag was removed and a wadded white handkerchief quickly substituted before Mignon had a chance to say a word. Her lips were forced together by Joan’s simple expedient of pressing her chin with the heel of her hand so that Mignon’s jaws were forced shut, the gag in her mouth already all the way behind her teeth. A broad strip of heavy brown-coloured medical adhesive tape was smeared across her mouth and lips, sealing them tightly together. Joan followed this with a broad band of silk tied over Mignon’s lower face, the compacting method that had been used on her before.

Finally, Joan produced a leather half mask, but one that did not have a built-in pear gag. It was a simple, soft muffler, but its effect was considerable once it was fixed in place with transverse straps that passed to the back of Mignon’s neck and a vertical strap that extended over the bridge of her nose to the back of her neck. It divided in one section to allow the prisoner’s nose to fit. Mignon heard the by now familiar ‘snick’ sound as another miniature padlock was clicked in place.

She was silenced incredibly well, able only to hum through sealed lips, the resonance of whatever sound she could make absorbed by the gag filling the front of her mouth behind her teeth. All of it was compacted and muffled by the combined effects of the silk bandage around her face and the soft leather muffler gag. Mignon did not bother to struggle against it. She knew that it was impossible to get it off.

In fact, she did not struggle at all, just looked up at Joan with resignation in her eyes.

Joan laughed. ‘Nearly done, love. Just one more finishing touch.’

Mignon was rolled onto her side. Another length of rope was looped around her ankles and drawn tight. It was then passed to her waist strap and pulled in, drawing her feet towards her hands. When she was in a half-hogtie, Joan stopped and secured the strap.

‘Hmm, I should convenience you with a crotch tie as well,’ mused Joan. ‘But I think you’ve had enough fun for one day, and we’re in a hurry.’

She climbed to her feet and walked away. When she was halfway to the door, Joan stopped and turned. ‘I almost forgot,’ she exclaimed. ‘Rule Five: blindfolds. Now ... let’s see.’ She delved into her bag and came out with a large black silk scarf. ‘This will do.’

The scarf was long and narrow and went around Mignon’s head three times before being tied at the back. Almost all its length was used up and Joan seemed to have some difficulty in making the double knot firm. But the blindfold felt tight enough to Mignon, and her hopes of escape began to fade. When the door closed behind Joan’s ironic, ‘Have a nice day,’ Mignon had a brief spasm of struggling before she relaxed and lay still. She was breathing heavily through her nose and the tightness of the gag around her face made her feel faint.

Mignon lay still and listened hard. She thought she heard a door slam, but the distant sound of a car was more audible and she relaxed. Their captors had gone. They were alone. We might be in separate rooms, and we might be bound and gagged very tightly. But we have all day at our disposal. I’m not going to let this situation beat me.

Slowly and cautiously, lest her hands slip and lose her precious passport to freedom, Mignon’s fingers reached under the hem of the corset in search of the blade.

Chapter Twelve

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© Brian Sands 2003