by Jeff Sinclair
Illustrations by Tarsis
Originally Published in Bondage Life No. 40, May 1990
Transcribed by guardian46wStory Codes: M/ff, bondage, romance, cons, twins, sex, toys, roleplay, cuffs, leather, chains, gag, caged, enslave, X
The captive looked around the basement for the thousandth time and jerked her ankles against their steel cuffs. The chain jingled, but the anchoring ring bolt held firm, again. She sighed and leaned back against the bars, swallowing saliva behind her drilled gag. The leather collar on her neck, riveted shut, not buckled, moved as her throat bobbed. Its chain gleamed, locked around one of the bars to keep her leaning against them as she sat on the floor of her cage. She knew she'd ticked her sister off this morning, that was why she was rather more helpless than usual. She wasn't usually gagged all day, and she practically never had to wear the leather strait jacket with the tight, wicked crotch strap. Nor was she usually required to spend her days in her cage. Nights, yes, if her captors chose not to play with her, but not days.
She squirmed, jerking the arms strapped behind her against the anchoring crotch strap, and the leather strip pulled deeply into her wet, swollen petals. It felt nice, but not the same as having someone to play with, especially not with the strap's metal ring. She hated that ring (when she didn't think she loved it) because it fitted exactly around her clitoris. Her sister's hobby was leather-work, and she'd made that thin, thong-like strap just for her. There was no way in the world to apply it directly to her clitoris!
She went limp, listening to the creak of the suspending chain as her cage swung a yard off the floor. Had she been just a tad foolish to express an honest opinion of her sister's new hat? Maybe. And maybe her sister had bought it because of what she'd think of it? That would be just like her, the captive thought happily. It was just the kind of sneaky little trap she loved to have set for her, and, to be fair, she'd set a few traps in her time. Yet, she still wondered sometimes if the card game had been rigged or if she would have agreed to the stakes if she'd really understood them, but only sometimes. The rest of the time she knew she certainly would have!
They were fiercely devoted to each other, part of the "us against the world" mentality of twins, Patricia thought. She supposed it started with the realization that their practical-joker father had selected their names with malice aforethought. Didn't every Irish joke involve a couple of Irishmen named "Pat" and "Mike"? Which was why she never called Michele anything but "Michele" and Michele never called her anything but "Patricia" or "Trish".
They hadn't taken long to discover boys, but the discovery did nothing to weaken their interest in binding one another. If anything, it made it stronger! Boys were wonderful, but so was rope, and neither of them had been quite daring enough to admit her passion for bondage to a man. It remained something just for them: a sisterly game too risky to admit to anyone else.
"Oh, come on, Trish!" Michelle's eyes sparkled as she argued. "We used to do it all the time! Jordan'll never guess I'm not you."
"Of course I do," Michele agreed. "So do I, silly! I love good blues trumpet as much as you do. Besides, you owe me a favor."
"That's your last word?"
"Too bad," Michele murmured, and a warning rang in Patricia's brain. She knew that tone! She sprang up, but too late! Michele had prepared before she even tried to talk her into switching places!
*Michele! Oh, you bitch!" Patricia squealed, but her laughter betrayed her. "Don't you dare! You, ohhhhhhh!" She broke off, gasping, as Michele gripped her long hair. She kicked at her twin, bent forward by Michelle's tight hold, but she knew it was useless. They played this game too often, and each knew all the other's tricks. In fact, it might well have been Michele in the handcuffs if it had occurred to Patricia first!
She knew she'd lost, but self-respect and a certain degree of outrage required that she fight on. She did, but within minutes, Michele had buckled a leather belt about her waist and padlocked her handcuffs to its back, followed by leg irons and a shiny, ring-studded leather collar. Then she stood back and grinned as Patricia thrashed so enthusiastically her breasts popped out of her flimsy bra. Michele giggled and leaned over her, sucking her twin's nipples wetly until Patricia crooned despite herself.
Patricia shook her head furiously, eyes sparkling with mingled wrath and laughter, and a growing core of lust. She wiggled some more, with predictable lack of effect, and Michele laughed sunnily before she turned away to examine the gown Patricia had purchased for the evening. She slithered out of her denims and plaid shirt and slipped into the gown. It fit her perfectly, too, the bitch! If Patricia hadn't done exactly the same thing to Michele on occasion she would have been ready to contemplate fratricide as Michele twirled before the mirror.
"Nighty-night, Sis!" she giggled. "See you sometime late tonight, or early tomorrow morning!" And the door closed behind her.
It was past 10:00 when a thought occurred to her. Michele had planned this ambush well, but she might have been just a mite over-confident. No doubt she'd taken her keys with her on her stolen date, but Patricia had matching keys, since they used the same restraints, and, hers were still in the jewelry box in the bottom drawer of her dresser! If she squirmed over to get at them, could she be free and waiting when Michele checked up on her before taking Jordan to bed? Her eyes glowed at the thought of capturing her twin and taking over the seduction Michele would have begun by then. But first she had to get the damned keys!
It was an exhausting journey, and she had to pause often, panting and slick with sweat in the darkened bedroom. Friction scrubbed her panties down her thighs, baring the silk of her crotch and the furrow of her bottom, and she almost gave up once or twice; she probably would have, but for the blissful thought of revenge! Yet in the end she managed to squirm up on her now-bare bottom while her hands wrestled with the drawer behind her.
A soft, tinkling music box tune played as it came open, and her fingers fumbled delicately in the dark. They ought to be right... here? Her brows rose in surprise as she found an empty hollow in the velvet, and her hands moved more rapidly, clumsy in their haste, as she pawed through the other slots. Nothing. Nothing! That, rotten, under handed, good-for-nothing twin hadn't bothered to take the box; she'd only taken the keys!
Patricia had miscalculated about the keys, but Michele had been just a tad absent-minded. She hadn't anchored Patricia's leash to the floor, but she thought she had, and because of that, she "knew" Patricia was safely locked away in her own closet, which made her bed the perfect place to consummate (she rather liked that verb) her victory by making love to Jordan. She and Patricia were both noisy lovers, and knowing Patricia could hear every wanton sound she made would give Michele a double thrill.
Michelle's eyes flew wide open as she heard him gasp. She could hardly blame him, not with Patricia's puss peeping out between her thighs, dark and glistening with a wet film of bondage-induced lust! But the game had taken a radically unanticipated turn, and Michelle's cheeks flamed as her captive twin roused sleepily to peer back over her shoulder.
Michelle's hand rose to her lips and she swallowed, trying to think, but her thoughts slithered like tires on ice, and nothing came to her. How could it? Never in a million years had she planned on anything like this! She wanted it all to go away, but it didn't. Instead...
"Nope. This has to be Trish," he finally declared. "I thought you were a little distracted tonight, dear." He smiled lazily at Michele. "Like when you didn't seem to remember anything about last week. So," he folded his arms and eyed her brightly. "You ambushed Trish and took her place, eh? Just how much of her place did you plan on taking, Michele? Hmmmmmmm?" He glanced meaningfully at the empty bed.
"I see," he murmured, turning to stroll idly about the dimly lit room. He opened the closet and peered at the neatly arranged restraints hanging on the walls. "Goodness me!" he chuckled. "What a collection!" He reached in and stroked a coil of rope, then turned an amused eye back to Michele.
"Weelllllll..." Michele wiggled uncomfortably, then nodded.
Michele stared into his brown eyes in shock. He couldn't mean it. The game had been one thing when it was proceeding according to plan, but now? She started to shake her head, and he laughed.
She automatically tried to pull back, but his strong hand only yanked her closer, and she suddenly realized that he hadn't just touched the coil of rope in the closet, he'd taken it out!
"Yes!" he laughed, and then he whipped her arms behind her.
It was happening too fast! She'd never planned to play bondage games with anyone but Patricia! And yet... and yet her struggles lacked the urgency of true panic and the confusion boiling in her brain was hazed with a familiar, sparkling excitement! She twisted and fought, but he was much stronger and he dragged her towards the bed. She panted as she squirmed, but somehow it was impossible to protest after that first breathless wail.
But it was obvious from Michelle's muted squeals and gasping near-giggles that he had a knack for capturing girls without terrifying them! Her struggles never abated, but Patricia recognized exactly the same struggles Michele showed her, only stronger and fiercer because Jordan was strong enough she could fight as hard as she wanted without possibly escaping! It was impossible, but Michele actually seemed to be enjoying it!
On the other hand, she decided with a groan of pleasure as fingers pierced and stroked her cunningly, who the hell cared what she'd planned?!
The twins' lives were transformed that night. Patricia had already suspected that she loved Jordan, but her thirst for bondage play had held her back. What she and Michele shared was too important to live without, but she hadn't dared tell Jordan about it. That problem no longer remained, but a new one replaced it, for Michele had squealed her way through no less than four bound orgasms for him! She was just as bondage-minded as Patricia, and she wasn't about to let him escape. Besides, he'd captured her first, and that gave her a kind of seniority, even if Patricia had dated him for six months!
"Now," he said, his stern air slightly impaired by twinkling eyes, "we've had enough of this. You two should be ashamed!"
"Trish, you know I love you," he said softly, and she shot Michele a triumphant glance. Michele glowered back, then looked up sharply as he went on. "On the other hand, I think I love Michele, too. Arrrr," he rolled his eyes in frank, humorous lust, "I'd be insane to want to give either of you up! My God! It's like stereo sex!" His amused honesty was disarming, and both girls stared up at him with warm eyes as he chuckled softly.
"I realize it sounds a little weird," he said. "But it ought to work."
"People might frown on it," he agreed, straight-faced. "So, why don't I marry one of you? Then the other can visit... a lot. Wouldn't that work?"
"Patricia," he said simply, and Patricia looked up with a brilliant smile and Michele gasped in indignation, but neither seemed to feel it was a strange way to propose! Jordon shook his head desparingly. "Stop gloating, Trish!" he commanded. "And I don't want to hear a word out of you, Michele!" Four rebellious gray eyes met his for a moment, then fell. "Better. Now, Trish is the logical choice. Everyone knows we've been dating for over six months, it'd look mighty strange if I 'dumped' her for you, Michele. And anyway," he admitted. "I love you both, but I loved Patricia first. So she really does have seniority, don't you agree, Michele?"
"I agree," she said, and all three of them burst out laughing as the absurdity of the situation struck them. The twins were naked and bound, kneeling before the man who'd bound them, and they were debating which of them would marry him! It was insane!
"Of course I agree," Michele said, more softly when the laughter died. "And, I'm sorry I've been so bitchy, Trish."
"And," Jordan said, portentously. "I'm sorry both of you were so bitchy!" They gasped and glared at him in unison, only to giggle at the laughing love in his eyes. "And since the hatchet has been amicably buried," he went on. "you two should finish making up, with a little help from me. Allow me," he gave them a mocking little bow, "to demonstrate!"
It was a lovely wedding. Everyone said so, and most of the guests remarked how lovely the bride and her maid-of-honor were. Some commented on the bride's tiny, graceful strides, but they failed to note the truly unusual features of her trousseau. After all, her long gown hid the leather cuffs on her trim ankles and the two-foot leather strap that joined them, and her long sleeves hid the wrist cuffs which awaited only a padlock to join them after the reception. And, of course, the high, demure neck of her gown hid the leather collar on her slender throat. But most remarkably of all, had the guests but known, the maid-of-honor wore matching items under her gown, and she had an airline ticket which, by the strangest turn of fate, would take her to the very site the bride and groom had chosen for their honeymoon!
But true. And Jordan's and Trish's (and Michelle's) honeymoon was one of the most wanton and erotic in history.
It was marvelous how well it all worked out. Patricia loved being Mrs. Jordan Ellis and she was achingly happy. She had been afraid it wouldn't work as well as it sounded in theory, but she'd been wrong. Marriage did nothing to close Michele out, instead, Jordan's love for her twin grew even stronger, without lessening his love for her. Indeed, he loved them equally even when they were bound side by side and gasping in his bed.
Jordon took it in good part, for he was perfectly willing to give his lovers equal time. Bondage was best shared, and though he was delighted to have two willing captives, he was equally cheerful when Michele managed to capture him. Once or twice she cajoled Patricia into helping her, but she preferred to grab her twin first and then run the greater risk of tackling Jordan on her own. It was chancy, but the rewards of victory were sweet. And on the numerous occasions when she failed, the forfeit Jordan (and sometimes Patricia) extracted was equally sweet.
All in all, it was an ideal relationship. Not one the rest of the world would accept, perhaps, but perfect for them. And then, two years after the wedding, Jordan was promoted.
But his announcement surprised them, and they turned their heads to watch him as they spun slowly on their rope. It wasn't easy with the backs of their collars padlocked together, but they'd had lots of practice by now.
Matching squeals of delight answered him, and his captives squirmed deliciously against each other, eyes glowing with pride in their man. But his grin faded as he picked up his wine glass and sipped slowly.
The twins were definitely anxious now, and more distressed than Jordan had ever seen them. Their anxiety touched him, for Patricia was just as upset as Michele, the clearest possible proof of their mutual love.
"Yes, indeed," he murmured. "I may have just the answer. But first," the vibrator clicked on, and his prisoners whimpered as it keened. "There's the little matter of your punishment, my dears."
Much later, two properly chastened twins sat across a card table from one another. They'd lost their flimsy teddies, and their dusky ivory skins glowed with the aftermath of long, sweet loving. Their ankles were chained to ring bolts under their chairs (there were lots of ring bolts hidden in the most unexpected places in the Ellis household), and their wrists were handcuffed in front of them.
"Heads," he said, pointing at Patricia, then pointed at Michele, "Tails," he said, and flipped the coin. "Tails it is," he announced, and Michele's eyes laughed at Patricia with momentary victory as he removed her gag first. He paused for a long, sweet kiss, but his wife had no complaints, her kiss was just as sweet and prolonged. Then he sat down and toyed with the deck of cards while they regarded him expectantly.
"As I see it, the problem is how to keep anyone from thinking I'm wickedly cavorting with two women, especially two sisters!" He rolled his eyes piously and his lovers giggled. "Okay. One solution, which I don't think any of us want, would be to figure we've had two good years and call it a day, but Trish and I would miss you too much, Michele. Wouldn't we Trish?"
"Fine," Jordan said. "We drop that notion right now. Well, number two, we could take Michele with us without telling anyone. No one in California knows about her, and we'd just never mention her. Of course," his eyes glinted wickedly. "For that to work, we'd have to keep her permanently locked up so the neighbors never notice I've got matching wives."
"That's horrible, Jordan!" Trish said. "We can't lock her up forever!"
"That's sweet of you, Michele," Jordan said softly. He touched her cheek gently, and she smiled, but she felt more than a little uncertain, despite her brave words. "On the other hand," he said. "You two really do look a little bit alike." He chuckled at their sudden indignation, for he knew how vain they were about their identical appearance. "In fact, it might be that we could pretend there was only one of you," he said slowly.
"Why not? You two could take turns being 'Mrs. Ellis' and the Prisoner of Zenda. You've always enjoyed fooling people that way anyhow, think of the challenge of doing it this way!"
*Might?" Patricia snorted. "Of course we could! Who'd ever suspect it, especially if they didn't already know there's two of us!"
"Oh?" It was Michele who broke the tense silence.
He paused to open the cards, and they watched breathlessly, as if the deck was the key to their fates. They were both superb players, and the three of them had engaged in many memorable contests. Jordan was better than either of them, but only slightly, and the twins were very evenly matched. They'd used the cards before as a means to decide who got bound by whom and for how long, and a sudden shiver of premonition ran through the sisters.
"If the prisoner behaves, she'll get an occasional weekend pass while the regular Mrs. Ellis goes into the dungeon, but if she's bad..." he shrugged, watching his lovers' eyes begin to blaze. They regarded each other challengingly, and if there was a sparkle of amusement in their eyes for the absurdity of his proposition, there was also a glow of determination.
"I take it you like the idea?" he teased, and their enthusiastic nods were his answer. "Good," he said, softly, and began to shuffle.
Still, it felt very strange afterward to realize that she had lost her "Mrs." title for a full year. She'd become used to being Mrs. Ellis, but now she wouldn't even exist as far as anyone in California would know!
The actual move went smoothly. Michele and Jordan traveled together, but Patricia flew to a different city and checked into a motel for a week while Jordan and her twin settled in. They they came for her one night.
It was the most incredible experience! It was even more exciting than the first time Jordan bound her while Michele watched! More exciting than the first time she and Michele made bound love under his eyes! It was frightening, a little, because of the immensity of her commitment, a whole year of captivity! She was only twenty-five, and a year felt like an eternity to her. But if it was scary, it was also the fulfillment of her every bondage fantasy. To be truly helpless, squirreled away in a hidden dungeon, with no one even missing her or trying to find her!
They lifted her out of the car in the garage and carried her silently into the basement. Then Michele whipped off her blindfold, and the girl renamed "Pet" looked around the basement which was to be her home.
And there were Michelle's leather-working tools, neatly laid out on a workbench beside a hand-made leather collar with a simple brass nameplate engraved with the single word "Pet". It had no buckle; it was punched to be riveted shut about her throat. Which, she thought dizzily, was only reasonable, since it wasn't coming off for a whole year.
She leaned back in his arms, strapped and confined, and her eyes glowed lovingly up into his. She was grateful for the warm, tender strength of his arms, but he was wrong. She couldn't change her mind. Not now. She was committed, and as she looked at Michele, no, it was time to start thinking of her as "Patricia", she saw the same awareness in her eyes. But there was a difference. "Pet's" eyes were melting, cored with eager fire but also resigned to her fate; her captors' eyes were bright with tender ruthlessness, a loving brightness which treasured her possession because she yielded herself so sweetly and willingly but meant to possess her. She leaned back in his arms, strapped and confined, and her eyes glowed lovingly up into his, nonetheless.
"Good," he said, and folded her forward over her twin's workbench so the collar could be riveted to her throat. She closed her eyes, trembling in the fearful, wanton enjoyment of her deepest dreams as the leather snugged tight, and a hot, wet excitement tingled in her womb and throbbing nipples.
And that was how one of the O'Connell girls moved to California with her husband while the other just moved away. No Californian ever suspected that not one but two lovely, sable-haired young women lived at the Ellis house, for Pet had been right; the idea was too absurd to suspect.
She also discovered that she was more wigglesome in her new and stricter captivity. She was far more inclined to tease, to provoke her captors for the sheer pleasure of finding out what they would do about it.
It was making her think, too, she decided, squirming once more to make her cage swing. Of course, her eyes gleamed happily at the direction of her thoughts, she might not be thinking exactly what her twin had intended. In fact, she was almost certain she wasn't, for her mind was on something which had become increasingly important as the months of her captivity passed and the end of her year rushed closer.