All Tied Up

She moved quickly now, straight for the sea-chest to retrieve the spreader bar and the vibrator -- which was already attached to the extension pole. She slid the plug through the hole in the spreader bar, then inserted the pole, making sure it was securely seated. Then she set the vibrator for medium and plugged it into the electric timer.

She stood up and closed her eyes. "Slow down," she whispered. "There's plenty of time." And with her eyes still closed, she took three long, slow breaths. When she opened them again she felt a strange calmness seeping through her veins, a calmness where just moments before there'd been nervousness, anxiety, anticipation. Then, as a small smile cracked her lips, she got back to business.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion now, and it seemed to take forever for her to get into position under the eye-bolt, fasten the spreader bar to her left ankle, and then spread her legs wide and fasten it to her right. Then, with her legs spread forcibly wide, she bent over precariously, loosened the extension pole and slid the vibrator up. When it reached her pussy, she straightened as much as she could, even stretching slightly onto her tiptoes, and slipped it deep inside her. Then she tightened the extension pole and let a low, hungry groan slip from her throat.

Almost done, she thought. But now came the delicate part.

She took one more look around the room -- her last look until after the ice melted in a couple of hours -- and nodded her approval. She reached out and unwrapped the ice-lock wrist cuffs, tossing aside the towel and positioning the cuffs at the edge of the TV tray. Then she slid the ball gag to a position a few inches behind the cuffs. Finally, she picked up the hood, straightened it out, slid it over her head and fastened it securely in place. Now, effectively, she was blind.

She lifted the ball-gag carefully from the tray, then stretched the band around her head and positioned the ball in her mouth. And then she reached for the cuffs, positioning the steel bracelet around her left wrist and snapping it closed. Then, with a little less grace, she repeated the process on her right wrist.

She tried pulling her arms apart, but the ice-lock held firm, just like they always had before. She tried to pull the bracelets open, but they were locked tight, the key sitting innocently in the envelope on the tray. Then she raised herself carefully onto her tiptoes and, as if she could actually see, looked upwards and lifted her arms, feeling for the hinged eye-bolt hanging from the beam.

Finally, she positioned the ice-lock as high in her fingers as she could and slipped it through the hinge, the metallic snapping sound confirming that, for the next few hours, Penny Harris was a prisoner of her own dark desires.

No sooner had the hinge snapped shut on the eye-bolt, trapping the ice-lock within its loop, than a shudder of panic shot through Penny's body, and the fear that she'd forgotten something very important flashed through her mind. She tried to calm herself, tried to convince herself that everything was okay, that she'd done everything she needed to do. And then she went through her checklist.

She'd verified that both doors were locked and the garage door was down when she got home from her walk. She'd made sure that the oven and stove were off and the thermostat was set at the correct temperature. The key to the steel bracelets on the hand-cuffs was in the envelope on the TV tray. She'd even made certain to limit her intake of fluids and use the toilet.

As she went through her checklist, noting that each item had been properly dealt with, the panic began to subside, transforming instead to a strange mixture of excitement, anticipation, fear . . ., and lust -- just like it always had before. And it wasn't long before the lust part began to take center stage.

She squirmed atop the vibrator, working her hips forward, then back, trying to scratch an itch that was growing stronger by the minute, wondering why she'd set the timer for twenty minutes instead of ten. How much longer, she wondered. How long would she have to wait until . . .

'What was that?'

Penny instantly stopped all movement, twisting her head towards the basements stairs, straining with all her might to pick up the sound she was certain she'd heard. Then she heard it again, and this time there could be no denying the sound of the front door closing, nor of the footsteps moving into the foyer.

An absolute panic struck Penny as she jerked at her restraints. She strained onto her tiptoes, trying to push the chain high enough, trying to slip the hinge open. But it was no use; David had done his job well. Once ensnared, only the slow march of time -- or the hands of another person -- could free her. And suddenly, all sorts of evil, wicked pictures flashed through her mind. But as bad as she thought it was, a moment later it got worse.

"Mom?" There was no mistaking her daughter's voice as it echoed through the house; a voice that left Penny wishing the unexpected guest had been anyone else. Even a murderer or rapist would have been preferable. And as she heard the footsteps moving through the upstairs hallway, tears began to sneak out the corners of her eyes, and she once again began yanking on the chains.

A few moments passed before Penny heard the inevitable sound of the basement door swinging open.

"Mom, are you down there?"

Penny stood as still as a statue, hoping against hope that her daughter . . . But then she heard the unmistakable sound of shoes descending the stairs, and she knew her worst fears were about to be realized. And when the footsteps stopped on the bottom landing, Penny knew that her daughter was standing there, staring directly at her.

"What the hell?" Michelle gasped as she took in the absolute last thing on earth she'd ever expected to see. And for several seconds she just stood there, staring at the bound, gagged and blindfolded naked woman; knowing even with the hood and ball-gag distorting her appearance, that the woman was her mother.

When she finally regained enough composure to function, she began easing into the room. "Mom," she said almost in a whisper. "Are you alright?" But even as she asked the question, her eyes were quickly taking in the scene.

Her first thought was the obvious one; who'd done this to her and where were they now? Not upstairs, she'd already looked up there, and not here either. That left the back room, so she eased over to the door, opened it and looked inside. When she saw nothing, she returned her attention to her mother.

She looked closely at each of the instruments of bondage, and recognized them all -- the spreader bar, the vibrator, the hood, the ball-gag, the wrist cuffs, and the ice-lock.

"Oh, my God," she said as she recognized the ice-lock for what it was. "You did this to yourself." And she stood there in shock, staring at her mother in disbelief. That's when she noticed the black sea-chest sitting beside the coffee table.

She made her way to the chest, dropped to her knee and began rummaging inside. The more she rummaged, the more a different side of her mother began to emerge, a side she'd never before imagined. It was, however, a side very similar to one she herself had, and proof beyond doubt that the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.

As she continued looking through the chest she began to wonder. Whose was it? It was a big chest, not exactly portable. And since she and her brother had only been away at school for a month, it was unlikely Mom had taken a lover. Not after twenty long, celibate years. That meant the chest had quite likely been in the house for a while, hidden. That meant . . .

"Dad!" she said out loud, referring to a man of whom she had absolutely no memory. And behind her, bound, gagged and hanging from the ceiling, her mother's body went rigid.

A smile appeared on Michelle's face, and it was growing bigger by the second. She pulled a flogger from the box, rolling the handle between her hands as her mind began to work. She held her position for several seconds, thinking, before finally setting the flogger back in the sea-chest, rising to her feet and sliding behind her mother. Then she stepped forward so her front was nearly touching her mother's backside and began whispering in her ear.

"It's Dad's chest, isn't it?"

For a moment Penny did nothing, standing as still as a statue, except statues don't normally shake. Finally she nodded her head -- yes.

"Was he your Master?"

Again, a moment passed before her head began to move up and down in short, uneasy movements.

"I thought so." Michelle paused, allowing the moment to linger, even drag, before finally continuing. "Do you want me to let you go?"

This time Penny let out a soft, almost weeping moan, before again nodding her head slowly, her embarrassment obvious.

But instead of setting her free, her daughter surprised her. "Are you sure?" she whispered, pressing herself against her backside and running her fingertips lightly up her sides. "I can help you, if you'd like. I really don't mind."

A shiver shot through Penny at her daughter's words, and her body again went rigid as she shook her head violently from side to side -- no!

To Penny, the minute or so that had passed since her daughter first set foot in the basement had been a living hell, a hell that somehow seemed to last much longer than the clock could actually measure. First there'd been those several seconds of dead silence. She'd expected that. But after the initial shock had worn off, Michelle seemed to move about the room with an air of confidence. Penny hadn't expected that. Nor had she expected her daughter to tease her like she was, or press up against her, or run her fingers lightly up her naked sides.

"Come now, Mother," Michelle continued in a soft voice, breaking Penny's reverie. "I can see how much you want it. I can only imagine how hard it's been for you without Dad all these years. Let me help you." And then she pressed herself even closer, moving her mouth immediately next to her ear. "Please," she whispered in a throaty voice. And then she slid her hands around her mother's sides, up to her breasts and began to caress them.

For Penny, embarrassment and shame, which had only recently supplanted fear, were now giving way to confusion. She didn't understand why Michelle was toying with her like this, nor did she know why her body was reacting the way it was. She should be disgusted; both with herself for her shameful display, and with her daughter for teasing her. But when she tried to protest, instead of a rigid stance and a firm grunt of defiance, a mumbled groan that sounded more lustful than firm escaped her lips, even as she was arching her chest and rolling her hips.

'What's wrong with you!' Penny screamed silently as her daughter's finger-tips moved to her nipples, twirling them, squeezing them. Yet even though her mind knew that what was happening was wrong, even sinful, her body -- a body that had been celibate for two decades -- didn't seem to care. All it knew was that someone other than herself was touching her and it felt good -- real good. And another lustful groan escaped her lips as she continued pressing her naked breasts into her daughter's hands. That's when she realized that not only was her mind losing the battle with her body, it wasn't even putting up much of a fight.

Michelle, meanwhile, was keeping her hands busy on her mother's breasts, squeezing, caressing, twirling their nipples, even as she was rubbing herself against her backside. She could see the change in her mother's demeanor clearly, see the signs of protest and resistance slowly giving way to acceptance, even encouragement. She knew then that she had her, that with only the smallest amount of urging she could take her in any fashion she wanted. After all, they were much alike, her and her mother, more so than she'd ever dreamed. She knew exactly which buttons she needed to press. And with that, she slid her right hand off her breast and began easing it down her stomach.

The groan that muffled its way through the ball-gag when her finger slid across her clit sounded eerily similar to the sound a cow in desperate need of milking might make; deep, long and guttural. And as she worked that button carefully, her left hand still fondling her breasts, she could sense that her mother's surrender was nearly complete.

She could feel the excitement continuing to build in the captive woman as she squirmed and moaned in her arms. And then, even as she was squeezing hard on her breast, the vibrator sprang to life.

An ear shattering sound filled the air as the body in her arms went suddenly tense, and Michelle knew a massive orgasm was tearing through her mother's loins. But she didn't relent, instead keeping up the attack on her clit, even as the vibrator was continuing to pummel her cunt, and as the orgasm kept reverberating through the helpless, ensnared body.

Several long seconds passed before Michelle finally withdrew her hand, stepped around front of her mother and switched off the vibrator. One final shudder shot through Penny's body, then she slumped forward with exhaustion.

"I was wondering when that would come on," Michelle said, stroking the side of her mother's neck. But her mother just stood there, gasping for breath through the ball-gag.

Penny had no idea how long she stood there, struggling to recover from what was without a doubt the most massive orgasm she'd ever experienced, still not quite believing it'd come at the hands of her daughter. When she finally collected her wits, she stood up straighter and listened.

"I'm right here," came a voice from a few feet away. "Just looking through your toys some more."

Penny moaned softly and shook her head slowly from side to side. But it was a weak protest. She knew it, and more importantly, her daughter knew it.

Several seconds passed before Michelle's voice once again filled her ears. "Here," she said triumphantly. Then Penny heard her rising to her feet and moving towards her. A moment later a flash of pain struck her right nipple, an instant after that, her left.

Penny watched her mother's body go tense as the nipple clamps bit down on her nipples. But she didn't remove the clamps, choosing instead to step closer and again trail her finger-tips up and down her sides. "Is this how it was with Dad?"

Another moan. And when she slid her hands around to her mom's ass, her head rolled helplessly from side to side.

And then the sound of the front door swinging open once again filled the air, and Penny's body again went instantly rigid as her unseeing eyes turned towards her daughter.

"It's okay," Michelle tried to reassure her. "It's only Michael." But when Penny heard her son's name, she was anything but reassured.

She shook her head from one side to the other, desperately trying to tell her daughter no.

"It's okay," Michelle whispered, sliding her arms over her mother's back and and caressing her lightly. "I'll go talk to him." And a sound of relief escaped her mother's mouth as she nodded her head -- yes.

Before she left, Michelle stooped down and turned the vibrator on low, then pulled lightly on the nipple clamps. "Don't go anywhere," she teased. "I'm not through with you yet." And as she made her way to the stairs, another low, mournful moan reached her ears.

* *

At first, Penny stood quietly, straining to hear what was going on. But once Michelle reached the main floor, she shut the basement door. After that there were a few footsteps, then nothing.

After a minute or so, the pain from her nipples and the vibrations emanating from her pussy began to draw her attention back. She squirmed, trying to ease the pressure on her breasts, then gasped when the vibrator came into direct contact with that special spot.

She froze, remembering that not only her daughter, but now her son were upstairs. And if she wanted to avoid with him what she'd been unable to avoid with her, she needed to be quiet. But then the pain in her nipples came back, and like before, when she squirmed to try to lessen it, she once again hit that spot with the vibrator, this time causing a small spasm to shoot through her body.

Almost without realizing it, she found herself rolling her pussy atop the vibrator. She tried to remember to be quiet, tried to remember that her son was right upstairs, but found her thoughts drifting to her daughter and the wonderful things she'd done to her. Was it wrong, she found herself wondering, for a mother and daughter to do what they'd just done? And was it wrong for her to hope Michelle would get rid of Michael quickly and come back to her?

She heard a lustful moan, then jerked herself back to the present when she realized it'd come from her own throat. But a few seconds later she was once again squirming atop the vibrator, the pleasure it was providing combining with the pain from the nipple clamps to carry her dangerously near the edge.

That's when the basement door swung open and a single set of footsteps -- her daughter's footsteps -- began their descent.

"Did you miss me?" Michelle asked as she stepped around to her mother's back, then snuggled up against her.

To her surprise, Penny found her head nodding up and down before she'd even had a chance to think.

"Good," Michelle replied, sliding her hands across her tummy. "I'll take care of you for a few minutes, then Michael will join us."

"Unnnggghhhhh!" came the sudden, violent response, the head shaking firmly from side to side. But Michelle ignored the reaction, instead letting her fingertips trail lightly over her mother's body, even circling her nipples and pulling playfully on the clamps.

But the groan that followed was still a groan that said 'no,' even if it was a little less forceful than before.

"He only wants to watch, you know. He won't do anything you don't want him to."

Another groan, another shake of the head -- no! But Michelle kept pushing.

"You know he loves you." It took a minute, but then a weak nod signaled her answer.

"And he'd never do anything to hurt you?" Another weak nod.

Then Michelle slid her hand towards her clit, once again sliding her fingers over the love button and sending shivers throughout her mother's body. And as she continued to stroke her mother's fire, she whispered softly into her ear. "He'll be down shortly." This time, there was no groan of dissension, nor was their a shaking of the head, just a long, slow sigh of surrender.

Penny was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. Her nipples ached, her pussy was on fire and her head was ready to explode. How had she fallen so far, so quick? Was she really the slut her body was telling her she was? But then Michelle's fingers slid over her love button and her body screamed out in response --Yes! Yes! Yes!

But even as she neared the precipice yet again, her daughter withdrew her hands, knelt down behind her and turned off the vibrator. Then she rose and wrapped her arms around her.

"Not yet, Mother," she whispered. "We have to wait for Michael." This time, Penny's guttural protest had nothing to do with Michael, and everything to do with the orgasm her daughter had denied her. And for the next few minutes Michelle continued to embrace her mother, letting her hands caress her breasts, her hips grind against her buttocks and her fingers dance across her clit, keeping her on edge until that fateful moment when the basement door swung open and Michael began his descent.

Penny heard the sound clearly and had no doubts what it meant; her son was coming, he would see her like this, and he would watch his sister dominate, torment and tease her. Then he would watch her cum, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. But her thoughts were interrupted just as he was reaching the bottom step when Michelle's fingers slid across her clit. And another moan filled the air.