The Mansion - Part Two

Confused by the rapid change in events, Nancy reluctantly walked beside the girl, surrounded by the dogs as they herded them along. Occasionally, one of the dogs would wander from the pack to sniff at the trees but soon bounded back.

The girl slipped on some wet leaves and stumbled into her. Nancy tried to support her with her shoulder. "Cynthia!" That's what the blonde called her. So, she was the Charrington's daughter. She remembered the name from her conversation at the Inn.

She glanced at the girl. Mud was drying on her cheeks around the gag that the blonde had viciously reinserted. Her eyes were vacant. Nancy could imagine how the dirt and leaves must taste. A damp wind blew at their backs, and she could see the outline of the leather sheath beneath her cape, where it constrained her arms. As they walked, the cape would flap open briefly, revealing the length of her boots. Although Nancy's vision was impaired when she looked into the distance, the sheerness of the stockings allowed her to see objects close by. She could see the tight lacing on Cynthia's boots and the light reflecting off the polished leather as it flashed in and out from under her cape.

The heels were spiked and ridiculously high, pitching Cynthia's body forward as they walked. She marveled that Cynthia had managed to run in them without using her arms for balance. She felt sympathy for the girl; her arms must hurt laced in that leather monstrosity. She couldn't wait to meet the designer. What had she walked, or rather jogged, into? And Cynthia's parents were prisoners, too?

She began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Her arms and shoulders started to ache. The gag was unbearable, and due to it, her nose had begun to run. She tested her bonds, but the blonde was an expert. What a mess, she thought. She awkwardly turned to glare at their tormentor. One of the dogs growled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here, Red. Turn around".

Damm that bitch! Her turn will come.

Somehow, the blonde knew precisely how to get under her skin by using a nickname she had hated all her life. She tallied another one against the blonde as she wheeled back.

From what she could see through the blonde's pantyhose and sunglasses. They appeared to be coming to a clearing. She had surreptitiously bent her head several times to try to dislodge the sunglasses. Unfortunately, the ski mask was even tighter around her head, which was larger than Cynthia's, and it tenaciously held them on her head like a vise. With their mouths packed so full, both girls were having difficulty breathing, and their labored pantings exhaled a slight fog of their own around their heads.

Suddenly, Nancy felt gravel beneath her feet, and they stumbled upon a driveway. hmm

"Okay. Halt!" The blonde closed in behind them.

They stopped gratefully. It had been a fast pace. The dogs surrounded them and sprawled at their feet. One let out a loud yawn and rested his head on his paw, warily eyeing Nancy. Keeping one eye on the dog, Nancy nervously tilted her head back to peer through the pantyhose for a better view. From what she could tell, they were standing on a driveway leading to the mansion, still obscured by the trees. As she looked to her left, away from the house and downhill, she could see the high locked gate Cynthia had mentioned. Between the bars of the gate, in the distance, she suddenly recognized the fuzzy outline of the town postman pedaling toward them. She grew tense with hope and anticipation. She knew him; she'd passed him jogging every day.

"Damm, he's late," muttered the blonde. "Well, I half expected this." Then, surprising them with her sudden cheerfulness, she said.

"Not to worry, that's why you cuties are all done up." She faced them nose to nose. "And if there's so much as a peep!" She looked down at the dogs. Seeing the girls had gotten the message, she turned and sauntered down the driveway toward the postman.

Totally frustrated, Nancy watched the blonde collect the mail, tucking it into the book she carried. In disbelief, she watched the blonde glance up at them from a distance and smile and exchange cheerful banter with the old man as if to further humiliate them in their helplessness. The postman, enjoying the attention, leaned on his bike and laughed.

Damm her again, playing little games with us, thought Nancy. She tried to move, but the slightest twitch would unsettle the dogs, causing them to bare their teeth. Their snarling scared the hell out of her. She looked to the girl for help, but saw nothing there. She had been acting strangely. Cynthia's eyes were still blank, as if her mind had clicked off as soon as she had been regagged and taken one last look at Nancy. Seeing her would-be rescuer as helpless as she was, she hadn't looked Nancy's way since. It was as if the reinsertion of the gag had been some light switch.

In panic, she saw the postman starting to leave. The blonde was returning up the driveway, in sudden desperation. Nancy sucked in air through her stuffed nose and screamed. It wasn't a good scream. She knew it. but it was the best she could do. She just hadn't been able to get enough air in her lungs. All that came out past the gag was a low humming sound accompanied by what sounded to her like air slowly leaking from a tire. She knew the old man hadn't heard a thing. But the dogs did, suddenly on all fours, a quizzical expression in their eyes as they stared up at her. One started to growl, and the rest took up the chorus.

"Oh. shit!" thought Nancy. Cynthia had come to life and was looking over at her with a wild look in her eyes.

The blonde heard the dogs and hurried toward them, shouting, "Down. down!" The dogs quieted, and the blonde stared suspiciously at Nancy. "What'd you do to upset them. Red?" All Nancy could do was stare back, tears forming in her eyes, as she watched over the blonde's shoulder the postman as he wobbily disappeared from view.

The blonde was seething. "Well, young ladies, just for that, I have a surprise for both of you." Her eyes searched along the driveway, and she picked up a stout limb that had blown down from the storm the night before.

"Shall we continue?" Shc nudged Nancy in the ribs with the limb and they turned and walked up the driveway toward the house, its gabled roofs coming into view above the trees. Then the third-story windows appeared, the glass orange, reflecting the low winter sun: the rainspouts glinting, still wet from the previous night's storm.

Nancy was overcome by the size of the place. "Oh, that old place," Mrs. Andrews had said. That certainly had been an understatement. She wistfully remembered last night when she had been in bed listening to the cold rain pelt the Inn's windows. Soon, they would miss her for breakfast. They had to! She glanced at Cynthia who had fallen somewhat behind, having a terrible time in her heels, stumbling and slipping on the loose gravel. She looked over at the blonde and the tree limb she carried. As soon as they reached the stand of trees concealing them from the main gate, the blonde turned on Nancy, forcing her to an abrupt stop. Cynthia banged into her from behind.

"Stay right there," the blonde snapped. Then she grinned. Nancy didn't like the grin. The blonde knelt beside the biggest dog and released his collar. Nancy looked over at Cynthia, puzzled. The girl was wailing into her gag, her eyes pleading with the blonde. Ignoring her, the blonde approached Nancy and quickly fastened the collar around her neck. The collar smelled of dog and was clammy. It forced Nancy's chin up, and she glared into the blonde's eyes as she daintily removed the sunglasses from around Nancy's head and deposited them in her coat pocket. Nancy's world became a little brighter. The blonde slipped behind her and she could feel her leather fingers fumble with her wrists. Suddenly, her hands were released and uselessly fell to her sides, her upper arms still held by the blonde's coat belt. A tingling pain shot up her arms. Kneeling in front of her, the blonde formed a loop around Nancy's legs below her knees by passing the end of the leash through its handle. Nancy helplessly watched as she pulled hard, knocking her knees together and locking her thighs. With several turns around the leash between her knees, she cinched the leash, almost pulling Nancy over. Holding the remaining shortened end of the leash by its clasp, she stood up and pushed Nancy's head down until she locked it around the ring on the dog collar. Nancy struggled to raise her head, but the leash grew taut and held. She found herself forced into a bent-over position, staring at the gravel. She threw her head back angrily, jerking at the leash and stumbling sideways. The blonde bent down into her limited view and hissed. "When I say not a peep. I mean not a PEEP!" Then, straightening up, she slapped Nancy's rear, startling her. "Fortunately for you, the old goat recognized you. You and your jogging suit." The dogs hadn't scared her as much as that statement. In her awkward position, she felt very vulnerable.

The blonde turned to Cynthia. "You do remember how to assume the position?"

Nancy turned her head as much as the dog collar allowed and saw the teary face of Cynthia as she gingerly bent over as much as her thigh boots would allow without falling. The cowling of her cape fell forward, concealing her face.

"Shall we continue?" the blonde said.

An ominous whistling sound filled the air, followed by a loud "whack!" Nancy saw Cynthia pitch forward, almost losing her balance from the force of the blow. Another whistling sound came, and Nancy didn't have to guess who was next. "Whack!" A searing pain shot through her buttocks. The thin nylon material of her jogging pants offered little protection as she lurched forward in a crablike fashion to escape the pain. Her head jerked up from the force of the blow, but it was held tight by the leash.

"You just wait, bitch!" Nancy was mad again: tears streamed down her face, not as much from the pain, which was bad enough, but from the rage and humiliation she felt. They continued the rest of the way to the mansion, each receiving her turn at bat, until Nancy almost hit her head on the mansion's front door. Through her watery eyes, she stared at the massive carved door and heard the blonde throw away her improvised paddle. She felt the leash and collar being removed and straightened up, awkwardly rubbing her rear. She was furious about the treatment she had received, as if they were naughty schoolgirls or cattle being driven home.

The blonde, on the other hand, had become quite solicitous toward her, ignoring the daggers from her eyes as she carefully pulled off the ski mask and, after some struggle, removed the pantyhose. The gag remained, but at least she could breathe easier. She blinked her eyes, inhaled the brisk air, and leaned her head back in relief.

"There! Isn't that much better?" The blonde ruefully looked at her pantyhose as she stuffed them in her pocket. "One of my best pairs! Oh well."

The sudden change in the blonde's demeanor unnerved Nancy. With her fingers, the blonde combed back a few stray locks of Nancy's auburn hair. Then, pulling a lacy handkerchief from her coat pocket and noting the surprise in Nancy's eyes, she said in amusement, "You really didn't think I was going to get my hanky all wet and gooey, did you? Better your socks than my hanky." The blonde was full of surprises. Still smiling, she turned to Cynthia, lowered her cowling, and untied the scarf from around her face. She wet the tip of her handkerchief with her tongue and scrubbed away the dried mud on Cynthia's face. Opening her book, careful not to spill the mail, she produced a comb that she used as a bookmark and gently combed her hair. Cynthia, her eyes downcast, was still weepy from her ordeal.

The blonde then turned her attention to Nancy and, almost cooing, proceeded to comb out the strands tangled by the pantyhose and ski mask. Nancy couldn't believe it. The blonde was actually humming a tune to herself. She busily gave them one last inspection, straightened Cynthia's cape, placed the comb back in her book, raised the ornate brass knocker, and let it fall.

For Nancy, it seemed like ages before the door swung open to reveal a large black-and-white tiled hallway, adorned with paintings, gilt mirrors, and draping tapestries on oak walls. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light failing to penetrate the darkness of the hall. On the floor, occasional oriental rugs and antique tables reflected in the mirrors as they retreated down the long hall into shadow. If Nancy hadn't been gagged, she would have let out a whistle.

The blonde shoved her inside. Only when the heavy door shut behind her did she notice the distinguished-looking butler standing beside them. Shc stared up at him in shock. The butler was gagged with the same type of gag Cynthia wore. His eyes indicated he was as amazed as she was. Then he looked at Cynthia. From the looks exchanged it wasn't difficult for Nancy to identify him. He was Brian Charrington. Cynthia's father, terribly miscast as a butler. From his carriage and demeanor she knew he was not in the habit of waiting on others, rather the other way around. Startled, Nancy noticed his hands. Beneath the sleeves of his waistcoat protruded heavy black leather mittens without thumbs. They resembled stuffed ping pong paddles. He awkwardly closed the door and as he raised his arms to receive the blonde's coat she nonchalantly tossed him, she could see the mitten gloves continued up his sleeves and somehow locked his arms preventing him from bending his elbows.

"Where are the others. Brian baby?"

The former head of the house glowered at the blonde and then, in embarrassment, looked at Cynthia. He stared at Nancy, trying to communicate his apology as if it were all his fault. There were questions in his eyes, but none that Nancy could answer.

The blonde, her back to him, continued her question. "Still having breakfast?" She turned and looked up at him.

In frustration, he nodded as best he could, and Nancy saw the wide leather collar locked around his neck holding his head upright. If he tried to see from side to side, he was forced to turn his body to do so.

Weirder and weirder, thought Nancy. She couldn't release her eyes from his leather encased hands and arms locked straight out supporting the blonde's coat like some Frankenstein's monster.

She suddenly remembered when she was a teenager playfully boxing with her brother while wearing his boxing gloves and how helpless she had felt until he removed them. She knew there was no way he could reach the gag or free his arms.

The blonde dismissed him, and with one last confused glance at them, he turned and left. Nancy knew he was wearing thigh boots the moment he took his first step. They must have been much stiffer than Cynthia's, or he wasn't used to high heels because he lurched down the hallway, further adding to the monster image. Nancy noticed beneath his pant leg that the heels were not stiletto heels like Cynthia's, but they were high nonetheless. Something told Nancy from the unnatural rigidity of his posture that he was laced or strapped into some kind of body brace beneath his butler's clothes.

Welcome to Alice in Wonderland, she thought. But she wasn't Alice. The pain in her arms and jaws reminded her of that.

"Down on the floor, Red," the blonde said sweetly.

Bewildered, Nancy looked at the blonde and then down at the floor. Then, with a groan, she knelt on the cold tile.

"On your tummy."

Nancy glanced at her, groaned again, and flopped forward, her arms flailing out to cushion the impact as much as her elbow strap would allow. The blonde straddled her and with the leash, once again, tied her hands. Then, reaching behind her, she pulled Nancy's feet back, the heels of her jogging shoes touching the palms of her hands. With the remaining length of the leash, she wrapped Nancy into a hogtie. The blonde leaned and whispered in her ear, "I have to go fix up Missy here. She's been a naughty girl and I don't want you straying." A sudden hard slap on her already sore rump jolted Nancy, and the blonde stepped over her and escorted Cynthia down the hall.

Damm her! Nancy had an ant's view as she watched them disappear. She noticed the blonde without her concealing coat had a fat ass, and she had visions of her turn at bat. the blonde tied as she had been except Nancy would use a canoe paddle. Lots more leverage.

As soon as they were out of sight she went to work on her bondage with a vengeance. Alone in the hall, she tested the limits of her athletic body. Shc flopped wildy about, her back arched in desperation like some landlocked fish. fighting the bonds that held her. Rolling and grunting, she heaved and tossed herself from one side of the hall to the other. It was a fine performance. If she had been in a stadium there would have been cheers. The crowd would have leapt from their seats. "Come on. old girl, you can do it." But after some thirty minutes she hit up hard against a hall table. hurting her shoulders and reluctantly turned on her side, sweaty and spent. The cheers subsided. Even in rest, she tried to rub the gag against the tile floor and fought with her tongue to dislodge the socks. It was no use the blonde was good. Instead of loosening, she had only succeeded in tightening the bonds. The cold floor was chilling her through her sweatsoaked jogging suit. Her still zippered jacket had ridden up past her elbows. The tile floor was extremely hard and cold where her bare arms pressed. She closed her eyes and rested, sobbing in frustration. The stadium was empty.

A grandfather clock chimed in the distance, and she counted to ten. Had it only been two hours since she had first seen Cynthia? Damn, they must be missing her at the Inn by now. She had a great view of the floor and absently studied the scratches and scuff marks made by generations of Charringtons. She thought of ghosts and then came back to the present.

Yeah, what about Brian Charrington? she thought. she had been puzzled by his docile actions. Okay, so he's a little helpless, she admitted. Still, the heavy gloves he was laced into, to her way of thinking, could be adapted into great weapons. One roundhouse blow to the base of the blonde's neck when her back was turned would have sent her into next week. The four of them had been alone as far as she could tell. No way he could free Cynthia padlocked as she was, but with a few fumbled efforts, he could have pulled down her elbow strap, and she would have been FREE.

Then all the options she would have. Let's see — tie up the blonde, with pleasure — probably couldn't free the father or daughter right then, she suspected he was padlocked as well — okay -couldn't take them with her—slow her down — hide them — somewhere — in a closet perhaps, with the gagged and bound blonde — buy some time — then make a run for it — elude the dogs somehow — and then vault the gate. The gate was a snap — and then bring back the troops — or find a phone — just call the police — no, they might not believe her...think she was some sort of hysterical American tourist. Who would believe all the crap about leather sheaths. gags, thigh boots? No, the best thing to do was face them — run into the village and convince them somehow and....

Suddenly something jarred her train of thought. Cynthia had said her family were prisoners — her family — where the hell was Mrs. Charrington? That's what had kept Brian in linc....his wife....held prisoner, too, somewhere in the house. He couldn't risk anything till he knew everyone was safe. She knew he wasn't a coward; she remembered the deadly look he had given the blonde. That's what his eyes had questioned when he'd looked at Nancy. One more body to worry about. Maybe he had a plan and now she caught up. As surprised as he had not counted on dash-dash Dan! Who was holding them prisoner and for what purpose? Why the bizarre bondage? Who was the blonde? And what was going to happen to her?

"my goodness, it seems we have been traveling. You're almost half the distance a haul."

the blonde had returned in Nancy hadn't even heard her. She turned her head and looked up at the blonde, I mean, his eyes.

"Were you trying to follow me? How nice. Did you miss me?"

With the toe of her boot, she rested her foot on Nancy's shoulder and then, with a shove, threw her over onto her stomach and untied her legs.

"Stand up."

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