KITTEN
by
Brian Sands
assisted by
Cordelia White
Chapter Eight: Separate Rooms
As the flames on the small bonfire waxed high, Mignon’s dismay increased as though in sympathetic resonance. Joan was moving slowly around the burning heap, poking at it here and there with the long branch, making sure that she stood upwind from the smoke as the silks, nylons and polyesters smouldered and flared.
Mignon turned away. She could not help feeling somewhat distraught at the idea of such beautiful clothing going up in flames - that feeling was probably what Alice and Joan intended - but she tried to tell herself that they were only material possessions. What was much more important was her physical and emotional health and, at that moment, she felt that her physical resources were being stretched to their limit, just as the stockings were stretched taut around her body.
Alice turned Meg from the window and propelled her with fiendish glee back to the bed where she fell in a heap. Mignon tried to follow. She did not want to be hustled along like that. But she found the return hops from the window were more difficult than the approach. Ordinarily, she might have had little trouble waddling on hobbled feet with her knees bound together. But with her arms trussed behind her back and her hands pulled down by the crotch tie that joined them to her buttocks, her hips had become virtually immobile. The increased rigidity caused by her bonds, that in one case were had become literally part of her body, meant that all Mignon could do was to hop. It was as though her lower body was held in a strange sort of medical splint.
The constriction was too much for Mignon. Her knees folded and she sank to the floor. She did not fall. Mignon had enough strength and suppleness left to prevent that. But, when her knees came into contact with the carpet, she rolled onto her right thigh. And from there the momentum carried her the rest of the way to the floor, where she lay exhausted, breathing hard through the gag and with tears of chagrin and hurt pride streaming down her cheeks.
Alice knelt beside Mignon, her expression tinged with a hint of compassion as she tried to untie the stocking knotted multiply at her wrists. It was impossible to undo. Just then, Joan appeared in the doorway, her face smudged with ash and sweat.
‘Just what we need,’ exclaimed Alice, relief showing through the enforced calm in her face and the modulation of her voice, ‘Someone with medical training, a witch doctor no less!’
‘What’s the trouble?’ asked Joan, coming forward.
I was right, thought Mignon as Joan knelt and bent over her. With heels like those, she has to be a nurse or some sort of paramedic.
‘Joan dear, won’t you take a look at darling Mignon’s arm bindings? We don’t want to cause her any permanent harm. After all, there’d be no fun in keeping her for our pleasure, or the pleasure of that potentate I was talking to the other week.’
Joan began prodding and testing Mignon’s wrist, arm and shoulder bindings. Mignon looked up at her hopefully, her neat, well-rounded breasts heaving as though about to escape the diminutive half-cup bra she wore.
The medical expert gave her report.
‘You’ve tied her as professionally as ever, Mistress. Her bonds are tight and no doubt a smidgin painful to wear. But they are not cutting off the circulation unduly. Are they my dear?’
Joan slapped Mignon’s buttocks playfully, causing the poor young woman to jump and glug angrily through her gag.
‘See, this young lady has a lot of that old-fashioned grit left. And she might even be play-acting a little for us.’
Joan bent her face closer to that of Mignon. ‘Take my advice, my dear, relax in those bonds. Struggling and clenching and unclenching your fists is only making the knots tighter. Someone in your situation doesn’t want to pump up like a weightlifter, or hyperventilate for that matter. If you take my advice, I’m sure you could wear them for the rest of the week without much fear of any nerve damage.’
Mignon subsided. She had not been play-acting, though she was unable to tell that to Joan or Alice through her gag. But she had to admit that Joan’s advice was good. I should have known, should have remembered, she thought. Goodness knows I’ve been tied up often enough since I first met Meg. I should have learned that elementary lesson by now.
Alice’s face cleared. ‘That’s a relief anyway. You see,’ she added, turning from Mignon to Meg and back again as she spoke, ‘Joan Darling and I are a team. I do the organisational side of the business - you know, arrange the kidnapping, contact the buyers, even effect the transportation of our merchandise if it’s necessary - and Joan Darling does the moderating. She’s in charge of the health and safety of the sweet heroines we abduct. And, of course, she makes sure that the - ‘
‘Rules.’
‘Yes, thank you Joan. She makes sure that the Rules are followed. Which reminds me. It’s time for a change. Several changes in fact. So, Joan darling, please loosen Mignon’s bonds, but remember ...’
‘Rule Fourteen.’
‘Yes indeed. Her elbows remain bound together. But, I have to admit, that was one of the things that worried me.’
‘No need for angst, Mistress. This young lady is so supple that it takes very little forcing to get her elbows together.’
As she spoke, Joan was snipping through Mignon’s tightly stretched nylon bonds with the small pair of scissors. When the resultant nylon rags fell away, Mignon lay still, her arms loose by her sides, enjoying the luxury of freedom that she knew would be only too brief. Joan did not touch her gag, and Mignon knew better than to try to remove it herself.
Her respite was briefer than she expected, for Joan immediately drew her arms up behind her again where she lay, placed her wrists side by side, and strapped them securely together with a broad strip of leather. Probably one of the soft pieces they bound me with before, thought Mignon, remembering how helpless she had been then. Another strip of leather put Joan’s proposition to the test. Mignon’s elbows verified Joan’s theory. They touched with very little difficulty.
When Mignon’s knees had been strapped together just above the joint and her ankles also bound, this time with a leather hobble that allowed very little distance between them, the young woman was stood on her feet once more. Meg, still in her nylon binding, was stood upon her feet, propped up alongside Mignon by Alice.
‘Are you cooking up something?’ asked Alice.
Joan took the line without batting an eyelid.
‘Yes Mistress. Conflagration number two.’
‘She’s very good with numbers,’ added Alice, giving Meg a gentle nudge that Mignon did not see.
‘Right,’ continued Joan, taking charge. ‘You two beautiful captives, look to the front, and hop to it.’
I wonder, thought Mignon, whether she’s also had military training?
Their movements guided and controlled by Alice and Joan, Mignon and Meg alternately hopped and waddled together through the house, their breasts bobbing alternately up and down and from side to side, until they were standing outside in the yard facing the smouldering embers of Joan’s bonfire.
Mignon shivered. It was cold out here dressed only in a minimal pair of panties and bra, though Mignon decided that even more substantial lingerie would be no protection from the cool air. She looked at the glowing ashes. The fire was no help; it burned too low.
Joan saw the direction of Mignon’s gaze and for once read her thoughts accurately.
‘Wondering how this can make you warm, Dear?’
‘Go on, show her, Joan darling,’ said Alice encouragingly.
Once again Joan produced the small scissors and, to Mignon’s consternation and Alice’s laughter, the straps of her bra were cut, followed by those of Meg’s bra. But Joan did not stop there. Mignon watched as Meg’s panties were snipped at the side and pulled down to her knees before they were separated from her body altogether. Joan turned to Mignon and did the same to her last covering. Suddenly the cool air felt even chillier as it moved about Mignon’s silky triangle.
From a laundry basket Joan took out handfuls of fabrics, some of which Mignon recognised right away as items of either hers or Meg’s clothing. These were piled onto the ashes, and soon the flames were licking merrily upwards once again. I didn’t know that Meg brought so many of her clothes with her, thought Mignon as she observed several blouses and business skirts going into the fire that she had not seen before. Finally, the small handful of bras and panties were tossed into the conflagration and turned over with the long stick until they caught alight. Mignon watched the flames lick around the remnants of her dignity.
Alice looked into Mignon’s blushing face. ‘Warm enough for you dear? She asked gently, giving her captive a broad wink.
Mignon walked and hopped back to the house, her means of locomotion defeating her efforts to retain the semblance of a straight and proud posture.
*
They were in the living room again, seated side by side on the sofa, watching as Joan and Alice between them prepared things in the kitchen.
‘A small meal for you both,’ Alice called over her shoulder, ‘after which the fun begins anew. And we must not forget ... ‘
‘Rule Thirteen.’
‘Which is?’
‘At meal times your hands remain tied firmly behind your backs ...’
Oh no! Mignon groaned into her gag. How on earth did their captors expect them to eat while their wrist sand elbows were securely united behind their backs? She realised almost immediately that it did not worry Joan Darling and Mistress Alice in the slightest,. The latter’s words elaborated on that issue.
‘Don’t worry, dears, Joan Darling will wipe away the excess dribble, and you can always repair your, hum, rather smudged make-up during the bathroom breaks. And, because you’re in your birthday suits, it’s not as if anything is going to spill and ruin nice clothes! It’s rather fortuitous really that we followed our normal practice of burning your underwire half-cup bras. And, what’s more, the way those elbow ties make your delectable breasts thrust outwards, you would have spilt food all over their delicate - but now alas burned - fabric.’
‘And Rule Twelve,’ continued Joan, ‘While one eats - or does anything else that requires that her mouth be free - the other must always remain gagged.’
‘Who’s first for din-dins?’ asked Alice gaily as she walked into the living room with a large bowl in her hands.
‘Let it be Mignon, Mistress Dear? She’s been a good girl.’
Mignon did not know what she had done to deserve being called a good girl, but she accepted the removal of her gag gratefully. The nylon wrapping her lower face and jaw had begun to chafe uncomfortably and, when the packing was eased gently from her mouth as well, the relief was so great that she almost cried. She looked across at Meg who nodded her head a fraction.
The brunch was rich chicken soup with croutons. Joan’s ministrations testified to her nursing skills as she spoon-fed Mignon and gently wiped her chin to catch the few stray drops that escaped her hungry lips. When the young woman had eaten her fill, she nodded her thanks and unintentionally belched faintly, which made her blush even more furiously than when her panties were removed in the yard.
For that matter, Mignon and Meg were still completely naked. But Meg did not appear to mind - the room was air conditioned and therefore warm - and Mignon was so hungry that she forgot that inconvenience while she was eating.
Joan plastered a wide strip of flesh coloured medical tape smoothly over Mignon’s mouth and lips at the same time as Alice freed Meg’s gag.
Alice paused and looked up. ‘That’s a good idea, Darling Joan. No packing, yet. We’ll relax the Rules just a little.’
‘But shall I ...?’
‘By all means. It is time for bathroom privileges again, and sweet Mignon might as well go first, since she’s finished eating.’
Mignon’s ankles were freed. She was helped to her feet by Joan and led towards the door of the bedroom where she and Meg had spent the night bound together.
‘Oh, Joan dear, not there,’ Alice called after them.
Joan stopped and turned. ‘Oh yes, Phase Three, separate rooms ... and other things.’
‘That’s right. You’re slipping Joan my dear,’ quipped Alice. ‘You know Phase One, kidnap and transportation, and Phase Two, a night in bed bound and gagged together.’
‘Yers, Mistress. I was forgetting. Mea culpa.’
‘Quite so, Joan. Now go take care of the little one. Later, together we will prepare her for Phase Four.’
Alice turned back to the feeding of Meg and Joan led Mignon in another direction, to a room down the corridor towards the laundry.
*
The room into which Mignon was ushered was large and bare of all furniture aside from a table and a plain wooden chair. Table, chair, and flooring were all of light stained wood of Scandinavian manufacture. A large window filled half of one wall. It had wooden shutters of that matched the minimalist interior.
Joan carefully stripped the tape from Mignon’s lips and gently propelled her towards a door that led to another en suite bathroom.
‘Shower and change, sweetheart. Yes, change. You will find one item of clothing allowed under Rule Seven. When you come back in, you will be bound again.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good girl. Now go and have a short break. Fifteen minutes, and if you overstay that time there will be no more bathroom privileges. I’m not just a pretty face you know.’
Mignon carried out her ablutions dutifully. She knew that both Joan and Alice would keep their word. If they promised respite, they would allow respite; if they promised punishment, they would carry out punishment. That’s why they’re both Mistresses, mused Mignon as the wonderfully warm water of the shower battered the aches from her tired body.
When she dried herself, Mignon looked for the item of clothing Joan had told her to expect. But at first she could not find it. She was expecting another set of panties and bra and, when they were not in clear sight on a stool or the edge of the wash basin, Mignon began looking through the cupboards. She found the item of clothing in the last place she looked, a narrow locker beside the door.
It was a full slip, the one of filmy silk chiffon that she had scarcely worn. Joan had not consigned the lovely garment to the flames. That part of her punishment had been a trick, to some extent anyway considering that bra and panties were in fact consumed in front of her eyes. Mignon drew the slip on over her head and let it fall across her breasts and around her body. She shivered with the delicious sensuous feeling that the fine garment gave as it hissed across her skin.
A touch of light make-up and fifty quick strokes of her honey-gold hair with a brush and Mignon felt ready to take on the next test that Joan and Alice would demand of her. As she stepped through the door, her bare feet cool on the wooden floor, she wondered how Meg was faring. Was Meg too being allowed to wear something she liked?
Joan was waiting for her in the middle of the room, standing next to the chair with a length of soft cotton rope in her hands. Mignon walked to the chair, the skirt of her slip with its lacy hem floating around her legs. She sat and, without a word, placed her arms behind her and remained still. Whistling tunelessly, Joan bound Mignon’s wrists together through the rungs that formed part of the back frame, anchoring the rope to one rung so that Mignon would not be able to move without taking the chair with her.
She tied Mignon’s elbows together firmly but not too tight, then knelt and bound each of her ankles to a chair leg. Before doing so, however, Joan did something else unexpected. From a bag that stood by the wall, she produced a pair of Mignon’s shoes and put them on the young woman’s feet. They were dressy shoes, their heels about two inches long, another item so far saved from the flames.
‘And now, from my box of tricks,’ said Joan as she stooped over her bag, ‘a large triangular bandage which will hold a gag neatly and very tightly in your mouth. Oh, and the gag itself of course ...’
Joan brought out from the bag some more of Mignon’s things. Mignon saw with the shock of recognition that they were two pairs of her own panties, one of satin and the other of flimsy and outrageously sexy silk and lace. Joan bunched them up, wrapping the satin wad in the silk, folding the latter in such as way that the lace hem was invisible.
With a sigh, Mignon opened her mouth, tilted her head back at Joan’s bidding, and accepted the gag. When the packing had been pressed deep into her mouth past her teeth, the bandage was rolled into an irregular tube and a knot tied in its centre. Knot and bandage were stuffed into Mignon’s mouth where they rested between her teeth and so prevented her from expelling the gag. The prisoner looked up at her captor. Mignon was used to being tied up but she never quite got used to wearing this sort of gag.
Joan looked at her watch, which she put away under the shapeless monk’s habit she wore.
‘Mid-afternoon sweetie. You shan’t be entirely comfortable, sitting on that hard chair, but it’s a lot better than what awaits you this evening. So try to get some rest, as best you can.’
As Joan paused at the doorway, the room behind Mignon was flooded by streams of light filtering through the wooden slats of the window. Dust motes floated in the air. The curves of Mignon’s slender body became visible, framed by the translucent folds of the silk chiffon slip against the background of light.
‘Such a pretty young woman,’ said Joan thoughtfully, ‘What a pity we’ll have to change all that.’
Joan was thinking aloud. The words made Mignon’s blood run cold.
© Brian Sands 2003