Stories of Tie Up Games

In response to popular demand (from at least two residents here), I am starting a re-post of this story from the old group, The Land of Snowden: Summer (Tie-Up) School, itself a sequel from an ever earlier Land of Snowden tale from the old site, The Family Feud. A hot summer day and some frayed nerves turns into a very big game which eventually consumes the whole of Valleyview Estates, with Snowdenites of all ages drawn into the fun!

Also, bear in mind (especially those reading the new Bind of My Own Making tale with Charity and her gang), in the Snowden timeline, this story is eight years ago. Thus, the Charity and Jillian and Clinton and Colton who are eighteen in the BOMOM tale are only ten here. I hope that's not a problem!

The thing is, when I looked at the old thing, it was, well, truly awful with book-saidisms and extra ellipses, so I've begun editing it to make it a little less awfully written. And since the thing runs 279 pages even without the final chapter I never wrote, this could take some time. We're starting in early spring, and it might be a couple more of them before it's done! Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this new old tale, starting with...
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The Land of Snowden: Summer (Tie-Up) School
by Mister Mistoffelees

1 Summer Breezes

The icy winters in Snowden tend historically to alternate with scorching summers, and this blistering-hot July was no exception. The Fourth was the starting-point for a string of murderously-hot days, even in the marginally cooler reaches of Valleyview Estates, and any means of relief from the heat was fair game. Fortunately, many of the homes on Valleyview were equipped with more than mere air-conditioning to help keep their denizens cool.

The O’Hara sisters, wheatstraw-blonde Hannah and raven-tressed Margaret—known to one and all as Maggie—were the latest recipients of such help, and although they had remonstrated with the lady of the house—Hannah’s mother and Maggie’s stepmom Anne Thomson O’Hara—that she and her husband—Maggie’s father and Hannah’s stepdad Tony O’Hara—had waited until Hannah and Maggie were almost out of the house for Snowden State University before finally getting the in-ground pool installed, they were making good use of the time they had with the brand-new, sparkling pool. Both had spent leisurely hours that blistering-hot July day in the refreshing water; now they reclined in state on brand-new chaises longues on the adjoining deck letting the sun dry their long, slender, lissome forms. Hannah’s somewhat easier-tanning frame was slightly dressed in a sky-blue bikini of somewhat more modest cut than Hannah herself would have bought, evidence enough that the suit had been bought by her mom, a fact which rankled almost-nineteen-year-old Hannah but did not stop her from wearing it; just-eighteen Maggie, for her part, lounged in a daringly skimpy silky-black bikini which she had made meticulously certain neither her dad not her stepmom knew she owned. Both had set aside their glasses—both disdained contact lenses, preferring their glasses as improbable badges of pride in their intelligence. A pride which had recently been rather badly flicked by one of their two guests currently bobbing and giggling in the pool.

Presently that guest, who had had the unmitigated gall that past May to graduate as the Darius Allen valedictorian ahead of both Hannah and Maggie, took one last bob under the glittering surface of the water, then drew her ripe, hourglass-shaped frame up the steps built into the shallow end of the pool, grabbing a towel and patting her shoulder-length dark-brunette locks for a moment before draping it over her shoulders, partially concealing a royal-blue bikini top whose modest cut was mitigated in its effect by the ripe, generous bosom which it strained to contain. She slipped her small feet into a pair of flip-flops at the edge of the pool and strolled toward her drink, on a table under a wide parasol. “Tell you what, guys,” said Tricia Dwight with a grin as she downed a long cool draught of ice water, “how about we ditch the house on Schaefer Street and just live here? I’m sure your mom and dad won’t have a problem with that, would they Hannah?”

Hannah giggled. “Mom had my suitcases packed forty-five minutes after commencement!”

“And Dad had mine packed two weeks before commencement!” said Maggie. “Think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“Yes!” said the fourth girl, piping up with a bright smile, bobbing at her shoulder-depth somewhat near the shallow end of the pool. She took a quick bob under the surface, then bounced back up with her long, fiery-red tresses glistening wet, flicking them out of her eyes with a small pink hand, then curling over to float on her back a few languid moments, displaying a pastel-pink bikini which almost perfectly matched the natural hue of the pale-pink flesh which adorned her petite frame, and whose somewhat daring cut was as adventurous a choice for her as Maggie’s had been. Had Ted Parker—who, caught in a maelstrom of mid-life crisis, with dramatic suddenness had absented himself from his family’s life a month previously—known his eldest daughter Krysten was currently floating in the O’Hara family pool in such a suit, he would have dragged her home and paddled her behind, all eighteen-year-old-high-school-graduate of her though she was. “They want the pool all to themselves!” Something four languid, giggling, barely-dressed soon-to-be Snowden State Snoops had no intention of yielding at that moment.
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Other Valleyview pools were being put to good use at the same moment. Only a house away, on the same side of Valleyview Drive, a longer-established pool was currently hosting its own guests—three young ladies, one for each of the three daughters currently putting the pool to its intended use.

The youngest of the guests, whose dozen-year-old, slim olive-toned frame strikingly set off the snowy white of her very first bikini—a gift from a mother rather rueful that her daughter had grown enough to do justice to a bikini—had had a trip of only two houses to get to the house from her own pool-less home. In normal circumstances, Aisha al-Fashir would have accompanied her mum, noted Egyptologist Barbara al-Fashir, to the Valley of the Kings to do further research on the Egyptian royal lineage, which Aisha had in the past year—at nearly tragic cost—discovered she was in fact part of, but Mum was deep in the drafting of her third book, Slaying the Goddess—Thutmose III and the Roots of Modern Propaganda, which kept both her and her only child back home in Snowden. Which Aisha hardly minded for once, since the emoluments of this summer now included a boyfriend; and while small, mousy Tucker Logan was hardly considered much of a catch by most of the girls of the soon-to-be seventh grade at Snowden Middle School, Aisha was still dizzily in love with her bespectacled little swain. I wish he could be here today, she mused to herself as she floated lazily along an edge of the pool, occasionally flicking small sprays of water at her hostess, classmate Lisbeth Morgan, whose sun-yellow two-piece suit well matched the golden–blonde tresses which floated around her face as she floated beside her friend, her slender limbs splayed casually around her as she floated along.

The second-eldest of the guests was the only one actually swimming in the swimming pool, long slow backstrokes which pulled her petite, diminutive frame along the opposite side of the pool from Aisha and Lizzie. Her short, rich brown locks clung close to a round, fair face as she swam under the vivid green eyes of her hostess. A hostess which smiled at the way the rich pink one-piece suit with a back low-cut enough to give its owner a bit of pause clung to that small trim body. Cora Peabody caught a glimpse of that hostess—and girlfriend—Leslie Morgan gazing down at her from the chaise beside the pool and smiled. The suit had been a gift from Leslie to Cora; pink, Leslie swore, was Cora Lee’s best color, and Leslie knew Cora well enough to know that her beloved Cora would be badly embarrassed in a two-piece. But the daringly low back was still pleasing to Leslie, and therefore to Cora as well, despite any discomfort it might cause her. The green eyes of Leslie Morgan drank in the lithe, pink-suited form, settling herself more deeply in her chaise and adjusting her suit, such as it was. The black bikini top swelled to contain a bosom generous enough to be the envy of most of the girls—and the delight of the vast majority of the boys—of the incoming freshman class of Darius Allen High School, but was matched not with a conventional bikini bottom but with a pair of baggy black shorts which allowed generous room for ripening hips and rear and reached well down soft, fair thighs. The green eyes of Leslie Morgan, prospective Darius Allen High junior, perfectly matched her current hair color—an iridescent neon green peppered with streaks of sky-blue which had been the latest of her outrageous new choices in hair color. The past months had seen a startling change in Leslie; she who had, as a blonde, been a shy, timid bookworm, had begun to discover herself with a vengeance, finding a circle of friends among the local emo/goth/scene crowd who didn’t disdain her for her intellect nor looked askance at her for her near-tragic suicide attempt of the previous summer nor even evinced issues with her bisexuality, and in response Leslie had embraced their style in her own extravagantly quiet way. She was still the bookworm, still timid around strangers, but with her own unique style, which allowed her to tweak at her mother’s nerves. Especially with the series of outrageous dye jobs she had perpetrated on her now shoulder-length-cut, fluffy-banged tresses; first electric-blue, then pink, then purple, now vivid green.

While Leslie’s outrageous styles irritated her younger sister Lisbeth, they did not at all displease her elder sister Lana. Despite a lifetime of sisterly tormenting, Lana had come to see herself as Leslie’s defender against their parents—and since Leslie’s proclivities (which Lana had known all along) had come to the fore, against their kid sister Lisbeth as well. While Lizzie considered Leslie to be a humiliating ruination of her social aspirations, Lana was both relieved and quietly proud of the way Leslie was asserting herself. Perhaps Lizzie was disgusted by Leslie’s obvious infatuation with Cora, but Lana was simply happy to see her troubled sister Leslie happy. Which allowed Lana to concentrate on her own guest, sitting beside her near the low-set diving board flicking their feet in the water. While Lana’s own daringly-cut two-piece was a brilliant emerald green to match her eyes, her guest’s substantially more modest one-piece suit was a fiery red to match the fiery red locks bobbed closely around her freckled face. Lana could tell that Chelsea Parker, the latest guest to arrive, was bearing news that was not altogether pleasant—unpleasant news from the newly-broken Parker household was common lately—and finally nerved herself to ask about the most likely topic of that news. “Your mom okay? Problems with the baby?” The infant conceived during their wild autumn tie-up-game extravaganza was mere days away from being due—which was the least of Diane Parker’s problems at that moment.

Chelsea sighed ruefully. “Well, good news and bad news. The good news is that the baby’s perfectly healthy and Mom’s okay too. No problems there.”

“And the bad news?”

Chelsea smirked. “Turns out my baby brother’s name is going to be Virginia.” She chuckled mirthlessly at Lana’s puzzled expression. “As in my baby brother has turned out to be my baby sister instead. Mom waited until yesterday to let the doctor tell her the baby’s sex.”

“Well,” said Lana airily, catching a glance at Leslie smiling at Cora, “you know, Chell, baby sisters aren’t all that bad!” Something Chelsea seemed to find very doubtful.
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The neighbor across the street, Lana and Chelsea’s classmate Felicity Mabrey, in a suit which involved a pirate-striped bare-midriff tank-top-styled upper piece and track-shorts-styled bottom, found baby sisters to be much less palatable at that particular moment than did Lana Morgan. “Oh, come on, Jerkface! Can’t you and your slobby little friends ever pick up after yourselves?” She had spent much of the afternoon picking up the mess her youngest sister Charity was leaving around the Mabrey family in-ground pool; empty drink cups, abandoned towels, scattered flip-flop slippers, candy wrappers…

Charity Mabrey—the aforementioned “Jerkface” to her two elder sisters—paid Lissy heed only long enough to reply with a haughtily stuck-out tongue between bobs in the shallow portion of the pool, enjoying the freedom of the white polka-dotted turquoise one-piece suit which robed her slim, freckled frame, tall for her ten years. Her companion in bobbing, however, was more apologetic.

“Sorry, Felicity,” came a sweetly contrite, naturally cheerful voice from that companion, smiling at her hostess as was her wont. Meredith Howland was a plump young lass of an age with Charity—ten years old and heading into the Snowden Elementary fifth grade—distinctly shorter than her friend, with a chubby round face and shoulders even more heavily freckled—if such was even possible—than her hostess, friend, and classmate Charity’s and a ruddy complexion which well complemented the bright strawberry-blonde tresses hanging in a low off-center ponytail somewhat below and behind her right ear and hanging wet over her right shoulder. Her white two-piece suit with its horizontal pink stripes was an unfortunate fashion choice for chubby Merri—the nickname everyone had always used to address the child all her life, a nickname which perfectly suited her sweetly outgoing personality—but she paid the incongruity of her swimsuit no mind as she frolicked with one of her two best friends in the world.

“She didn’t mean you, Merri,” the other of Merri Howland’s two best friends said with a sardonic little grin from behind the book she was perusing in her parasol-shaded chaise, to an amiable shrug from Merri and a comic smirk from Charity. Even in the merciful shade, the sunlight was powerful enough to render the lenses of the narrow, fashionable eyeglasses perched on the girl’s small nose their deepest shade of gray, giving the young girl’s wide, fair face a certain diva-ish quality she found quite pleasant; Jillian Burton, the owner of the pretty face with its well-shaded brown eyes, as well as the fair-complexioned, trim frame which came with the face and its long, silky-straight brown tresses beginning to streak with sun-showered natural highlights, had discovered over the past spring that she rather enjoyed presenting herself as a pretty young starlet as much as she had previously enjoyed presenting herself as the young scholar that her natural and prodigious intellect naturally made her. The brand-new swimsuit, a bright-teal two-piece suit she had begged her mother to buy for her, seemed to play into the young-starlet image she was so carefully building for herself. But starlet-wannabe as she was, her natural tastes and proclivities would not be denied, as the thick hardcover copy of Twilight residing at that moment in her lap would testify. No matter how well Jill Burton managed to present her trim young ten-year-old self as a budding young cutie, she was and always would be a bookworm at heart. “She meant Charity.” Her bestie, yet academic rival Charity.

“Yeah, mostly,” said Felicity, brushing back behind her ear a stray lock of her short-bobbed raven-black hair—of a shade identical to that of her two younger sisters—hiding mostly beneath a red bandanna she had tied over her crown, as usual the only color in her presentation. “At least if I could get any help around here!” With Dad at work and Mom in the middle of summer office hours at the university, Felicity Mabrey once again found herself the lady of the house.

“But you’re doing so well!” called the third sister, tall gangly Serenity, from the shallow end of the well-used Mabrey pool, sitting on the bottom but still and all quite tall enough for her face and shoulders—indeed most of her torso—to rest above the waterline, revealing the upper half of her modestly-cut navy-blue one-piece suit. Unlike most of the more modest choices in swimwear being displayed at the three pools that day, though, the modest suit was very much its wearer’s choice; swimsuits, Serenity asserted sourly and frequently, simply accentuated her three most frustrating figure flaws—the long coltish legs she often referred to acidly as “a couple of sticks,” the small derriere atop the slender legs, and a chest that remained maddeningly flat even as she headed into the final weeks before the start of high school. No wonder she often wondered whether her boyfriend Joey Housely needed glasses.

Especially compared (as Serenity often did) to her companion sitting beside her. Abbie Dwight, diminutive as she was—barely five feet tall—had been growing into a very comely young lady, with a bosom and waist and hips and bottom perfectly shaped and proportioned to send most virile young men into ecstasies at the mere sight of her. But the firm, strong arms and legs which adorned that frame were proof that their owner was a formidable young woman, the possessor of a black belt in taekwondo and a student of various other martial arts such as kendo, shinkendo, and iaido, all of which she excelled at. She excelled at other things too. “And Serenity’s busy entertaining her guest!” said Abbie in that preternaturally-high little piccolo of a voice which was perhaps her most striking attribute, giving her bestie Serenity a bright laugh which lit Serenity’s fair, freckled face with its gray-green eyes and a mane of raven-black hair which she had allowed over the past months to grow well below her shoulders—

“Yeah, laugh now, metalmouth!” said Felicity, stopping Serenity’s nascent laugh. Her most recent cross to bear about her appearance was the braces she now had to wear on her teeth, which had the effect when combined with her other perceived flaws of persuading Serenity that she was now positively ugly. While Serenity bridled angrily, Abbie swished her long russet-brown tresses over her shoulder and prepared to defend her bestie.

“At least she’s not dressed like Jack Sparrow!” which earned another smile from her bestie. “Nice comeback, Lissy!” she said at Felicity’s stuck-out tongue. Yeah, she sighed to herself as she lounged in the cool water and the blistering heat, today is going to be that boring.
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Lana and Chelsea were dipping themselves in the deep end of the pool as the sun reached its meridian, Chelsea still quietly kvetching at getting a baby sister instead of a baby brother. Lisbeth was hiding beneath another parasol while dousing herself in more sunblock; Aisha, for her part, lounged beside her friend downing a bottle of water practically with one draught. Cora lay in a chaise adjacent to Leslie’s, the fingers of her left hand gently entwined with the fingers of Leslie’s right hand, her deep, soulful brown eyes lightly shut. So too were Leslie’s green eyes, but much more firmly shut. The heat and the slowness of the day had lulled green-eyed green-haired Leslie quite to sleep. But not quite a quiet sleep.

“I’m totally helpless, Cora,” she purred in a somnolent undertone. “Your helpless prisoner…” Cora, sitting next to her sleeping girlfriend, gasped and blushed at Leslie’s words—oh, she smiled with pink cheeks, last fall, when… She glanced around her; Lana and Chelsea were still bobbing languidly in the pool, and it seemed that Lizzie and Aisha, under their nearby parasol umbrella, were utterly oblivious to Leslie’s cooing sleep-talk. “Oh, Madame X,” Leslie purred in her dream, “how long will that be? What is my ransom anyhow?” Even a languid, waking Cora giggled at the memory of that delightful game she had played with Leslie that interesting night. “How will my family ever be able to pay?” Sweet dreams, Leslie—

“Oh—my—God!” Lizzie’s blustery voice interjected, Lizzie herself standing above her sister with her hands on her hips, her face a wide-eyed mask of disgust. Behind Lizzie’s shoulder, Aisha stood with her hands over her mouth, struggling mightily to suppress a gale of laughter—“She’s talking in her sleep! About that night! Eeeeeeewwww!”

Aisha spluttered between her fingers, her big dark eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “You sound like you didn’t enjoy it, Lisbeth!”

“You weren’t the one tied up by fake burglars all night!” said Lizzie, her voice still filled with distaste as Cora tried to blink her vision into focus. Uh-oh…

Not surprisingly, Lizzie’s outburst instantly had gotten Lana’s and Chelsea’s attention. It was Lana who went ahead and asked what was going on. “Freakshow Leslie’s sleep-talking about playing tie-up with Cora!” Not a good name to use in front of Lana.

“Call her Freakshow again and you’re going to be sorry, you little jerk!” said Lana, fairly levitating from the pool in her truculence. By then, Leslie had awoken from her dream and quickly pieced together what had happened—she must have been talking in her sleep again! Something she had been prone to ever since her abduction by the Crowells now almost three years ago. (author note: Read The Snowden Snoops: Ransom, Revelation, and Redemption for details) Now, she lay with red cheeks and welling eyes as her sisters fought yet another battle about her. Lana (while never yet disclaiming her right to tease Leslie) had become her most vociferous defender; Lizzie, while reconciling herself somewhat to the reality of Leslie’s inconvenient (to Lizzie’s social aspirations, at least) sexuality, had found in Leslie’s swerve into emo/goth/scene-dom more fuel for her disdain for her sister. Especially since Leslie had discovered a taste for unique hair colors.

“Yeah? Make me be sorry, bitch!” Sixth grade had been a year for Lisbeth to pick up a new attitude that was distinctly disrespectful of anyone not named Lisbeth Morgan, not to mention some very salty additions to her vocabulary.

And an attitude which had Lana instantly red-faced with anger as she stormed toward her sneering sister—“You just shut your face, Lizzie!”—and finally, a Lizzie clued in that Lana was serious broke and ran into the house with Lana in hot pursuit—

Just as Lizzie’s other guest for the afternoon pool party arrived from around the side of the house. She was Lizzie and Aisha’s classmate, but much taller than either girl—already well over 5-6 and not yet in seventh grade—slim and willowy in build, with shockingly light, silky-fine long light-blonde tresses pulled back behind her ears with a narrow white-cloth headband, revealing a small blue-eyed pixie face. The tall slim frame was draped in a robin’s-egg blue spaghetti-strapped top which was but light concealment for her modest, budding bosom, and fell quite short of her navel—whether from choice or the fact that the girl had a tendency to grow out of her clothes at a practically visible rate was uncertain—while her snowy-white short-shorts let her long coltish legs shod in flip-flop sandals soak up the sunshine into the beginnings of an attractive tan. Even in her sandals, she towered over everyone else, even the older Chelsea—“So what’s up?” said the girl in a bright voice that somehow seemed smaller than her tall, rangy self should carry as strolled toward her friend Aisha, still standing aghast at the drama which had played out in front of her.

Aisha shrugged, rolling her eyes at Lizzie’s ridiculous behavior. “Just Lizzie being difficult again, Taylor. I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from Sammy Hartman!” A pool-less Valleyview neighbor who just happened to be Taylor Jensen’s current crush.

Taylor deposited her beach towel on the back of a convenient chair. “No pool there! Besides, Skyler”—Sammy’s elder sister—“was acting like a jerk, and I didn’t want to put up with her.” She reached up and stretched her long lanky arms over her head with a yawn, then brushed a stray lock of hair back over her ear—

“Oh!” cried Aisha, spluttering, a sudden grin creasing her olive-complexioned face—“And I think I know just how she was acting like a jerk, Taylor! Or was it Sammy being the jerk?”

“What do you mean?” asked Taylor, her voice feigning innocence while her fair face went suddenly, guiltily scarlet—she quickly snatched up the beach towel—“I don’t know what you’re t”—

Aisha giggled, snatching away the towel and seizing one of Taylor’s long thin wrists. Displaying, with a sly giggle, the distinct pink stripe still visible across it—“This! I think,” said Aisha, “that you were late getting here because you were a little—ahem!—tied up at the Hartmans’ place! Weren’t you?” Taylor stammered—blushed with a gaping-wide mouth—

“It was Devan’s fault!” Taylor finally answered with a voice full of bluster, frantically trying to hide her marked wrists, referring to her elder sister Devan Jensen, three years older than her kid sister Taylor and an incoming sophomore at Darius Allen High. “She and Skyler teamed up on me! I was just sitting there talking to Sammy on their back deck, and they sneaked up behind me and grabbed me! I didn’t hardly stand a chance!”

Leslie, recovered from her contretemps with Lizzie, grinned up at Taylor. “And of course Sammy didn’t exactly come to the rescue, did he?” She liked Lizzie’s friends much more than she actually liked Lisbeth herself.

“He stood there and took pictures!” cried Taylor, just as Aisha, Leslie, and Cora noticed a matching set of ligature marks fading on Taylor’s ankles. Even Chelsea wandered over with a big grin on her face.

Chelsea snickered as she drank in Taylor’s blushing face. “Oh my God! I remember helping Krysten babysit those freaks! I spent the whole time tied up on the living room floor!”

“And what about Krysten?” asked Leslie with a smile.

Chelsea smirked. “She got loose and wouldn’t untie me! She walked them to the playground and left me there tied up!” Her tale met with chortles of laughter, even from Taylor and Aisha, who remembered well the mystery that grew from that trip to the playground. “So welcome to the club, Taylor! Nobody’s safe around the Hartmans!”

But as evidenced by the commotion at the door, safety was illusory at the Morgans’ too; as Chelsea regaled her friends with stories of Skyler and Sammy Hartman, a slender blonde figure was bodily thrown onto the pool deck from inside the house. Her arms were pinioned behind her back, and a thick wooly towel was tied through her mouth—the girl wriggled her bound wrists and mewled animatedly—Aisha shrieked upon recognizing the hands-tied girl as Lizzie—“Lizzie! Who did this to”—

“That would be me!” said Lana, striding onto the pool deck and seizing Lizzie’s arms. “I’m so sick of Lizzie and her smart mouth! Nobody calls me a bitch and gets away with it, especially Lizzie Potty-Mouth here! I’m her big sister, and damn it, I’m going to have some respect if I have to beat it out of her!” Lizzie still glared angrily at Lana, but the understanding that her hands were tied behind her back and her mouth stopped left her sullenly uncertain, suspecting that she was fairly at Lana’s mercy without help from her friends. Who all seemed to be standing around enjoying the scene.

Just as a circle of grinning friends, neighbors, and sisters seemed to be closing in on a Lizzie unable to free her hands and nervously aware of the pool nearby, a phone on a deckside table suddenly caroled out merrily—Chelsea, recognizing the tune as her message tone, skipped over and checked her message—“Hey guys! Look what Krys just sent me!” She held up her phone with its generous screen—

“Who sent you that?” cried Taylor, blushing vividly at her gang as they devoured a picture of her lying on the Hartman living-room floor with her hands tied behind her back and her ankles also tightly tied. But in not nearly as much distress as her tale to them had suggested.

Chelsea snickered. “Skyler forwarded it Maggie O’Hara, and Krysten just sent it here!” She cast an amused grin at red-faced Taylor. “Yeah, you can tell you just hated Skyler and Devan ganging up on you!” Even Lizzie seemed to be giggling beneath her towel-gag. But before Taylor could concoct a suitable reply, a sudden cry—

“Girls!”—and seven young ladies gasped—

Yes a true classic I definitely have been patiently waiting to see here.

I remember this one. It was epic in scope Please continue with it once it's all back up.

Jay, it'll be a lot of work to edit, but I'm up to the second chapter!

Mask, be patient. It'll take a long while to get the whole thing edited and reposted.

To that end, a few new characters appear, and at least one of our girls gets "Buested!" Read and enjoy!
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2 Busted!

The image of Taylor Jensen in a skimpy top, skimpy shorts, and not-so-skimpy ropes—clothesline, actually, to be precise—had made its way around Valleyview Estates. At least to a couple pool parties whose guests even then were giggling at the tall blonde.

Abbie Dwight was snorting gales of laughter into her hands as her gathered friends gazed at the image on Felicity’s phone. Serenity too found Taylor’s obvious enjoyment of her predicament hilarious, even if it did cut a little to close to the bone of her own nature. “Wishing it was you with Joey?” asked Abbie, snickering at her friend, precisely reading ‘Ren’s thoughts. Which certain of the guests assembled at the Mabrey pool found odd.

“What do you mean?” asked Merri innocently, still wringing out her low-hanging ponytail. Charity suppressed a giggle and a wry riposte at her middle sister—

“I think she means that Taylor actually liked that!” said Jill, somewhat dismayed but also oddly intrigued. “Look at the smile on her face!” Taylor had always had a winning smile. “And you like it too, don’t you Serenity?” and Jill cast a wry glance at Serenity. “What Abbie was sayin’!” Serenity gaped and blushed—“You like it both ways, don’t you?” Which made Serenity’s eyes start out of her head—

“What!”—

“Well,” said Jill with her best worldly smile, “that one night when we were sleeping over here before we went to find that dog-fighting ring in the old school, it looked like you had a good time tying us up! That time you said you were going to make us practice getting captured by bad guys! Well, at least you had fun until you got in trouble with your mom!” Not a good memory for Serenity; Charity’s talent for crying on cue—and setting off Merri into real crying as a result—got them discovered by Dr. Mabrey and Serenity grounded for a week, which Serenity still remembered clearly.

“I keep tellin’ her,” said Charity, teasing her sister with mock-patience, “if she wants a big wet sloppy smooch from her boyfriend Joey she ought to tie him up instead of letting him tie her up!”

“Do you mind, Abbie!” cried Serenity, scolding an Abbie who burst out into peals of laughter at Charity’s words, suspecting what had really set off Abbie’s laughter “Anyway,” she continued in a valiant effort to change the subject from her own proclivities, “Taylor’s supposed to be going over to Leslie’s place today. Think we ought to go see if she made it there?”

Merri suddenly burst out with a giggle, which turned heads toward her. “Maybe she hopped!” She shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

Felicity grinned. “Maybe she did! Anyway, Chelsea’s over there with Lana, so why don’t we drop over and find out?” To general giggles of agreement, Felicity turned off the picture and called up her address book—
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Taylor—or at least her picture—was also making a big hit at the O’Hara pool. “You should have seen her!” an ash-blonde young lady of fourteen was saying, her budding shape revealed by a skimpy medium-blue two-piece suit and matching flip-flop sandals. She giggled as she related the story to the four assembled Snoops, showing the pictures in their full original glory on the phone’s generous screen. “‘Sammy! You ain’t really taking my picture, are you!’ she was saying, even with the flash going off!” said Skyler Hartman, chortling so that she was hardly intelligible.

“I keep telling you, Taylor’s as dumb as a box of rocks!” said a lean, trim young lady of light-blonde tresses identical in hue and texture to Taylor’s. Devan Jensen was, like her younger sister, tall and willowy, but even at almost-sixteen was hardly taller than Taylor. Mom was practically six feet tall, and both Jensen daughters got their height honestly. Devan adjusted her hastily thrown-on dazzling-white, deceptively skimpy one-piece suit and shook her head with another derisive laugh at the picture. “The only way she keeps up in school is ‘cause Aisha al-Fashir practically does her homework for her!”

“Well, she must do all of it, ‘cause Taylor’s still in the top section this year!” a lean young man with scruffy ash-blond hair in baggy gray swim trunks said in an attempt to defend the absent Taylor.

“Ooh, sticking up for your sweetie, Sammy?” said Skyler, mocking her kid brother, driving Sammy to bridle indignantly. The fact that Sammy was the lone young man surrounded by a half-dozen attractive young women didn’t faze him; his mental focus was on the one particular attractive young woman who was at that moment at the Mabreys’ house. “Well, she’s over at Lissy Mabrey’s, so why don’t you go pay her a visit?” Sammy found the idea charming—more pretty girls, less one obnoxious sister.
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The collective breath of the gathered Morgans and guests—except perhaps a Lizzie who welcomed the sharply irate rejoinder which had interrupted them—was caught up guiltily as a woman in her late thirties, with a silky mane of golden-blonde hair which swished down her back as she strode purposefully onto the pool deck from inside the house, interrupted the festivities. Lainie Morgan—the Morgan family matriarch and the mother of Lana, Leslie, and Lizzie—had seemed, as Hope Mabrey liked to borrow from Erma Bombeck, to have carried her babies in a shopping bag for nine months; any trace evidence of her three pregnancies had merely contributed to a delicious Jayne Mansfield-esque hourglass shape which her thirty-seven years bore with twenty-years-younger grace. Her tight white polo shirt and short khaki shorts accentuated her still-nubile charms, but her still-charming face was severe and scolding as she parted the gathered daughters and guests on her way to a still bound-and-gagged Lizzie—

“What is this all about?” asked Lainie in a tone which well masked her native honeyed drawl as she glowered over a Lizzie thankful for Mom’s intervention. “Who is responsible for this—this—this!” Lizzie plastered more lachrymose helplessness on her face in order to deepen the indictment.

“I did!” said Lana, irritably and promptly. “Lizzie was calling Leslie ‘Freakshow’ again, and I had enough of it! She called me a bitch and I shut her up for it!” Which steered Lainie’s ire in an entirely new direction.

“Is this true?” Lizzie’s faux-lachrymose expression began to veer into shocked indignation—“Did you call Leslie Erin that awful name again?” Lizzie hesitated—“I’ll ask Cora Lee, Lisbeth Ann! She’ll tell me the truth and you know it!” Nothing had more mollified Lainie to her daughter Leslie’s same-sex romance with Cora than the simple, quietly polite, honest nature of Cora herself, and Lainie had practically adopted Cora as one of her own. She knew Cora Lee would not lie.

And so did Lizzie. She glared at Cora, then Leslie, decided that phony lachrymose innocence wouldn’t cut it this time—“Shmm mzz mm fwwk!” she yelled through her towel-gag—“Wmmk mmt rr! Gwnn hmrr!”

“Then you know what?” said Lainie with a dangerously calm smile. “I think that you’ve earned that gag, Lisbeth Ann! As far as I’m concerned, you can keep it in your filthy little mouth all day until you can explain yourself to your father!” And the shocked expression on Lizzie’s face was entirely genuine this time. “Which means you can just have your hands tied like that all day too, so you can’t take out that gag!” She stepped back a bit, took in all the girls with her severe gaze. “You heard me, girls. She’s not to have her hands untied or her gag out at all today! Do you understand me?” All the girls nodded their understanding, not without more than a few sly grins at a wide-eyed, stunned Lizzie as Lana’s phone rang out its ringtone.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The Housely home, as beautiful as it was, had no pool. Only three teenaged boys—two residents, one guest—who were scheming to get invited to one.

“I’m dying here!” the eldest, Jimmy Housely, panted as he lay stretched on the sofa in nothing but a baggy pair of shorts under the nearest outlet of the house’s central air, which was distinctly overmatched by the blistering heat outside. “What do you say we just crash a pool?”

“And not be allowed to visit again,” said the guest—Jaden Ross—wheezing as he lay stretched on the floor nearby, in nothing but loose swim trunks he had put on in the forlorn hope of getting invited to a pool. Whichever one Abbie was at would be sufficient. “I was hoping Abbie would call!”

“She’s hiding,” the third young man—Joey Housely—said with a yawn from his heat-induced fatigue. His pair of trunks was distinctly skimpier than either Jimmy’s or Jaden’s, fortunately for him since he was the farthest from a source of cool air. “Now that her sister lives up here, she tries to hide out whenever she doesn’t want to sit her nephews and nieces. If she sees you going somewhere, her sister will know where you’re going and call her!”

“Geez,” said Jimmy, “that chick is richer than all our families combined! Why doesn’t she just hire somebody and leave Abbie be? What does she do all the time anyway? All she does is write books!” And movie scripts, among other things.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One of which was to whine about her weight. Once again, Abigail Dwight Giles was staring at herself in the master-bedroom mirror of her new home—the former Henshaw home, one up from the Housely place, which had lain empty for some years before Abby Giles bought the place with straight-up cash—in nothing but her underwear, grimacing self-piteously at her reflection.

“Look at this!” she whimpered, lifting an arm and waving it. The flesh beneath her raised bicep trembled imperceptibly—“I could use my arm fat to fan myself!” In the master bedroom’s bathroom, its door open so that he could see out to his bride at her mirror, Abigail’s husband Aaron Giles snickered silently and shook his head while he dried himself from his shower. His lanky, lean frame, at twenty-seven of an age with his dismayed bride, showed scant traces of a rather sedentary lifestyle encouraged by his lab-work at MediChem Labs, income which as munificent as it was seemed little more than lunch money compared to the millions Abby was making from her writing. He dried his dark-blond hair while sighing at Mrs. Giles’ latest bout of self-torture… “Oh my God!” she wailed, pinching at her waist just above her matronly white-cotton briefs, “look at this! ‘Can you pinch an inch,’ they ask! I can pinch a foot!”

“Not a foot!” Aaron tried to assuage Abby’s regularly-scheduled dismay. It seemed to him that the fact that he’d helped her make three babies already—an attempt at a fourth was what had them in the master bedroom in their current state of undress at that time of day—would be sufficient to convince Abby that he still found her deliciously desirable no matter the warped image she had of herself. “That’s only three inches tops!” Which he knew was the exactly wrong thing to say—just after he said it, like always.

“I am so fat!” she wailed, not with a wry edge to the self-accusation but with genuine consternation as she ran her hands through chin-length ash-blonde locks trimmed against the summer heat much shorter than she was used to wearing her hair. “I’m just a fat little blob!” A term she had once heard her little sister Tricia use on herself, now adopted to describe Abby herself.

“You’re not fat!” Aaron dismissed tenderly, stealing up behind her and wrapping his long arms around her. His long fingers stole up toward her plump, bra-clad bosom—

Abby pouted, not reassured by her husband’s touch, “Yes I am! I don’t even have any business trying to have another baby! I’ll probably die of a heart attack before it even makes it to school age!” She allowed herself to settle back into Aaron’s arms for a long moment—“You better go,” she mewled, “you’ll be late.” She remained at her self-pitying post at the mirror as Aaron finished dressing and left for the lab, reassuring her that he would be home soon for another try at making that baby.

Abby felt her eyes welling piteously as she stared at her reflection. He loves me so much…so much he won’t admit that I’m fat, a fat little blob of mommy that’s no more desirable than an old pig! I’m just a big old sow, and—

Her depressing reverie was rudely interrupted by a pair of rolled-up footie socks bounced saucily off her head—“Okay, baby sister!” a sharp, teasing woman’s voice rejoined, “pity-party time’s over! Time to put on your big girl panties and grow up about yourself!”—and Abby turned to see standing in the door a diminutive woman, at 5-5 only a scant inch taller than Abby herself. She was a fair-toned woman of slender build, with long silky black hair cascading down her back, clad in a white tank top and shorts which seemed cool and comfortable. The the long flowing tresses framed a finely-drawn Asian face with big, brilliant black eyes lighting a sly giaconda smile.

Abby whimpered. “Big-girl panties? More like huge-girl panties! We’re lucky I didn’t break the bed, Annie!”

Annie Miyazaki—by her dad Dave Miyazaki’s marriage to Abby’s mom Nancy Dwight, Abby’s one-year-elder stepsister—snorted as she stalked into the bedroom. “Today’s subject,” the young brand-new Snowden State foreign-languages associate professor said with a chuckle as she fairly dove into her “baby sister’s” chest of drawers, “is warped body image! Small woman in chronic pregnancy complete with post-partum depression sees herself as fat! Trust me, I’ve seen real fat, and you’re not it!” She tossed a selection of clothes fairly at Abby’s head—

Abby dithered as he picked up the sleeveless white blouse and white linen shorts Annie—real name Aniko Miyazaki, but everyone who knew her called her Annie—had flung at her. “I can’t wear this!

Annie stared long and hard at Abby. “You know,” her voice filled with dangerous irony, “I don’t need to put up with the attitude, baby sister! If you’re going to sit there and whine again, I’m going to give you a real attitude adjustment! And since I just finished putting my nieces and nephew down for their afternoon naps, I’ve got plenty of time to give it to you!” And her hand emerged from the dresser with a few extra items. Items which made her “baby sister’s” eyes goggle.

Ah nothing like a verbal accosting between siblings by marriage obviously, one hopes, resulting in one spanked in bondage.

As for Lania she is right anyone who uses language like that should be gagged well. And certain characters I rp as would do more then gag and tie up Taylor but "really" make her squirm in long punishment.

Well, Jay, we'll see what goes down with Abigail and Taylor! Speaking of...
****************************************

3 Attitude Adjustments, Part the First

Lana took the call from Felicity while the rest of her little pool party listened in. “…sure, I’d like that, Lissy, but I have to ask my mom, and she’s…” She smiled at her mother, still standing in the sliding glass doors from the basement. “Lissy Mabrey and her sisters want to come over. ‘Ren has Abbie Dwight with her, and Charity has Jill Burton and Merri Howland. That okay?”

Lainie thought for a moment. She knew nothing about Charity’s young friends, but also knew that Charity generally was a very good girl, and of course her niece Abbie was always good for Leslie—“Sure. Sounds like it might be fun!” Lana eagerly passed the good news to Felicity.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Hannah and Maggie saw the gaggle of girls emerge into the Mabrey side yard to head for the Morgan house—“Where are you guys going?” Maggie called. Upon receipt of Lissy’s answer, Maggie too dialed up the Morgans. Lainie decided she liked the idea of hosting all the local girls in one great-big pool party.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“W-what are you doing?” cried Abby, more at the items in Annie’s hands than at Annie herself.

Annie grinned nefariously. “Well, you need an attitude adjustment, and I’m here to give it to you. Now, you can be a good baby sister and let me do this, or I can pull rank on you! Not to mention a little bit of martial arts!” Such as her third-dan black belt.

“Are you crazy?” asked Abby, edging herself toward the bedroom door and wondering whether insanity ran in the Miyazaki family.

Annie sighed mockingly. “How soon they forget! Remember what we did in the sorority when one of the sisters started needing an attitude adjustment?” Abby gulped, remembering too well—“Well, we can’t quite borrow the Temple of Light at the chapter house, but your bed will work just as well. The Rite of Correction works just as well horizontally as vertically. And remember, I was your pledge mistress, Sister Abigail!” Abby gulped. Okay, so she is crazy!—and she edged a little closer to the door—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The quickest of the Mabrey sisters was undoubtedly Charity, who simply picked up her towel, sunglasses, and sunblock and scampered to the Morgan house with Merri and Jill in tow. Felicity and Serenity—along with their guests Chelsea and Abbie—at least took the time to slip into shorts.

Charity’s cell call alerted Serenity, “Hey Weirdo! You guys just have to get over here! You won’t believe it!” Which spurred the foursome to hurry their preparations, reaching the Morgan driveway just as the six from the O’Hara house also arrived. They pattered their way down around the Morgan house—emerged onto the pool deck—
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“They’re all going down to the Mabreys’ place,” said Jimmy, reporting from the big picture window. “Every chick from Valleyview, I’d bet!” Since that number included Serenity and Abbie, Joey and Jaden were very interested.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“No, I’m not fat!” cried Abby lamentably as she backed away from a bedroom door which Annie had beaten her to. From all the way across the room, no less!—“I’m just so slow I waddle!”

“Just goes to show you, you shouldn’t sass your big sister!” Annie began to close on her stepsister. “Now, Sister Abigail, march your little butt right over to that bed and lie down!”

“Annie, aren’t we too old to be doing this?”

“Once a sister, always a sister!”

“But the babies!”—

“Monitor is right here,” said Annie, lifting the small receiver from the waistband of her shorts and placing it on Aaron’s dresser. And still Abby hesitated—“Do you want me to call the rest of our baby sisters to help? You know I’ll do it!” Which humiliating thought finally propelled Abby back to her tousled bed.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Lizzie!” cried Abbie at the sight of gagged, hands-tied Lizzie sitting irately in a folding chair, surrounded by a chortling ring of Valleyview girls. “Why’s she tied up like that?” Lainie quickly explained.

Serenity grinned slyly at the conclusion of Mrs. Morgan’s explanation for Lisbeth’s plight. “Well, if that’s supposed to be punishment, it isn’t really very much!” She noted Mrs. Morgan’s quizzical expression—“I mean, nothing but a towel for a gag and her hands tied. That’s not very much punishment for that kind of attitude!”

“So, do you have any suggestions, ‘Ren?” asked Lana, quickly getting the drift of her young neighbor’s thoughts.

“I’m not sure I want to see this!” and Lainie fairly giggled, hurrying back inside while Serenity—along with the rest of the gathered partiers—grinned evilly at the relatively helpless Lizzie.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“On your front, Sister Abigail!” said Annie to Abby, who complied with a queasy smirk on her face, placing herself face-down on her bed after smoothing the ruffled sheets. “Good!” The bed was a richly-carved wooden four-poster, which made matters simple. “Arms out! Reach up to the bedposts!”

“This is crazy!” Abby whimpered, but still complied. Annie quickly seized the nearest wrist and wrapped a couple tight coils of pantyhose around it, then stretched the hand up toward the post. A few turns of the stretchy hosiery later, Abby’s left hand was securely tied to the headboard. “I hope those aren’t my good pantyhose, Annie!”

“According to you, you’re too fat to dress anyhow, so what’s the loss? And you can’t tell me you can’t afford to replace them anyway!” Now, it was Abby’s right wrist’s turn to be bound up in a pair of pantyhose and secured to the opposite side of the headboard. “Okay, that’ll hold you for a minute!” Annie grinned at her good work, then turned for the door—

“You’re just leaving me here?”

“Only for a second! I’m going to check on the babies, and grab a few other supplies. Just enjoy yourself until I’m back!” Leaving Abby to twist her bound wrists and try to wriggle herself into a more comfortable position on her bed.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Leslie and Lana led their guests in a quick raid of their bedrooms and Dad’s garage. When the girls reassembled, they carried a virtual arsenal of rope, clothesline, scarves, socks, bandannas, hose and tights, various types of tape, bathrobe and other kinds of belts, even a few old electrical cords.

Charity, Merri, and Jill had been detailed to keep watch over their prisoner Lizzie while the rest of the girls dug up their various treasures, and the three youngest of the partiers goggled at the bounty of ligatures before them. “We’re using all that on Lizzie?” Merri, rather nonplussed by the whole affair in the first place, asked uneasily—

“It is kind of much,” said Lana. “We could do up Lizzie like a mummy and still have stuff left over!” Which idea—being mummified by her alleged friends—seemed rather to terrify Lizzie, who glanced at the pool-deck gate as if weighing her ability to get through it in her present semi-helpless state. “And since you’re sitting there thinking about running, little potty-mouth, that’s the first thing we’re taking care of!” And in a trice, Lana had tied Lizzie’s well-tanned legs at the ankles and knees with clean white clothesline. “Okay, what next?” Leslie spoke up with a suggestion.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

All Abby had succeeded in doing was to pull herself up a little closer to the headboard. Her wrists were still tied tightly to the far posts of the headboard when Annie arrived—bearing plenty of clothesline and tape.

“The kids are all sleeping like angels,” said Annie as she sauntered into the room with her treasure. “Now, time to take care of those little footsies!”

‘I’m already tied up, Annie!” Abby instinctively crossed her ankles defensively—

“As of right now, that’s Sister Aniko to you, Sister Abigail! Your little Rite of Correction is just about to start, as soon as I get your feet tied!”

“Annie, come on, you don’t”—only to have her protest interrupted with a quick sharp smack across her defenseless, white-cotton-clad bottom—Abby yelped from the quick smack—

“Sister Aniko, Sister Abigail! Now obey your pledge mistress and spread your feet! Or would you rather I spank your silly little butt some more?” Which got Abby to quickly stretch her bare feet toward the posts at the foot of the bed. “Better!” and Annie seized Abby’s left ankle. “And do you have something to say to your pledge mistress?”

“An—Sister Aniko, I…I…this is silly!” Abby half-giggled. “This isn’t”—only to be stopped by a pair of quick sharp swats to her derriere—“Okay! All right! ‘Sister Aniko,’” Abby spieled as the memory of the old response came back to her, “‘I apologize to you for my errors, and to all my sisters, past, present, and yet to come, and promise in the spirit of our protectress and inspiration Pallas Athena to avoid any such error in the future.’ There, I apologized, Annie, and—ouch!” she cried as a trio of smacks to her bottom echoed in the bedroom—“I’m sorry, Sister Aniko! Now will you please stop spanking my butt?”

Annie sniggered, wrapping Abby’s left ankle up in clothesline and stretching it toward the nearest bedpost, “Oh, Sister Abigail, we haven’t even started! You’re not all the way in the Temple of Correction yet, you know! So maybe you better stop with the attitude and get with the program, Sister Abigail!” Sullenly, Abby allowed Annie to tie her ankles to the two lower bedposts.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Mm hmmt oo, Wzzwmm!” Lizzie yelled through her gag as Leslie followed up on her suggestion, taking a length of clothesline and tying Lizzie’s elbows close together behind her back.

“Oh be quiet, Lizzie!” said Leslie, her good humor returning with each coil of cord around Lizzie’s elbows. “Anyway, you’re always complaining that your boobs aren’t big enough, and having your elbows tied like this fixes that! So just shut up and quit complaining!” Lizzie, already uncomfortable in her bonds, glared angrily at the giggling gaggle of girls around her—“So who’s next?”—and Merri raised her hand.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Annie snickered over an Abby stringently tied into a prone spreadeagle on her own bed. “Now we’re ready for the Rite of Correction!” Then she noticed—“Oh! except for one thing!” Abby groaned, her hope that Annie would forget dashed.

Annie quickly pulled a pair of rolled-up white socks from Abby’s drawer along with a bright red bandanna—“Not quite the exact way we enforced ‘the silence of Pallas Athena’s temple’, Sister Abigail, but in a pinch it’ll do.” She leaned over Abby’s head. “Open wide, errant little sister!” she chided. Abby smirked—“Lighten up, Sister Abigail, and think about our baby sister Trish going through this same thing! She’s a legacy, and she already told me before that she was going to pledge this fall! The silence of Pallas Athena’s temple would really suit her sometimes, wouldn’t it, don’t you think?” Abby had to agree as she let Annie gag her.

Marvelous.

Jay, thanks. I wish I knew how anyone else felt about this thing, if they're even reading!

Anyhow, Chapter Four here, and more attitude adjustments.
****************************************

4 Attitude Adjustments, Part the Second

Leslie giggled as Merri folded over a bandanna into a long strip and wrapped it over Lizzie’s eyes. “Are you sure you’ve never played tie-up?”

“Nope,” said Merri, mildly as was her usual wont as she knotted the bandanna behind Lizzie’s head, sealing off her vision. “I just thought she wouldn’t be so mad if she couldn’t see what we’re doin’ to her.” Fortunately for Merri, she couldn’t decipher the shriek Lizzie screeched through her towel-gag at that sentiment.

“Any more volunteers?” Lana asked the gathered partiers.

“I remember last fall how she so enjoyed her hogtie!” said Aisha with a merry splutter, prodding a giggle from Lana and an angry squeal from Lizzie. In moments Lizzie had been hauled down onto the deck, face-first on a mercifully laid-out beach towel, and secured tightly into an ankles-to-elbows hogtie by Lana.

“What’s this stuff about last fall?” Taylor asked Aisha innocently while Lizzie was having her hogtie finished up. Which provoked smiles, blushes, and giggles from all who had been part of that wild night. “…so,” Taylor peeped as Aisha finished telling her friend and classmate about that wild, fun, fractious night, “you guys really spent all night tying each other up? And you liked it?”

Her big sister Devan snorted. “Oh, don’t act so innocent, Taylor! It wasn’t fifteen minutes ago you were making eyes at Sammy while we tied you up!” Which made Sammy blush, and Taylor blush harder.

“If you want, Taylor,” said Merri, “there’s plenty of rope here, so they could tie you up again if you want ‘em to!” Which left Taylor’s fair face a vivid scarlet—

And a wide smile on Lana’s face. “You know,” she said beneath a sly wink, casting a quick glance inside to check if Mom was listening, “that kind of gives me an idea!”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Abby lay stretched out in a taut prone spreadeagle, clad in nothing but bra and panties, thoroughly gagged with a pair of her own socks and her own bandanna, watching Annie sort through a pile of odd items she had brought to the bedroom. Annie’s fingers picked through the pile—and Abby’s eyes widened in distinct trepidation—

“I didn’t see any sorority paddles downstairs,” said with a naughty grin on her face, “but lucky for me you and Aaron got the large industrial-size paint stirrer! I’m sort of betting you regret repainting the living room now, don’t you Sister Abigail?” The stirrer in question was a good foot-and-a-half long, thick blue plastic with oval holes down its length above the handle. And Abby knew just why Annie had brought it.

“Nnnph!” Abby knew just what was coming.

Annie didn’t seem to care. “Sister Abigail,” she said with impressive gravity, “you have erred against the sisterhood and yourself by your lack of self-respect and your warped image of yourself. You have allowed your self-pity to blind you to your true beauty and worth, and have resisted the efforts of your sisters to set you back on your path to rediscovering your true self. Therefore, you will undergo the Rite of Correction as a reminder to you to avoid these errors in the future. As you have already required Correction three times, you will receive four strokes of the Wand of Discipline. Prepare yourself for your Correction, Sister Abigail.” Abby still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Taylor Jensen might not have been the most deserving student in Section 1, but she was clued-in enough to realize that she was the next candidate for tying. And while Merri had indeed guessed at the fact that Taylor had enjoyed the game at Sammy and Skyler’s, the idea of being tied up in front of most of her friends and her big sister was not appealing, so she edged toward the deck gate into the side yard, measuring whether she could make good a quick escape on her long, nimble legs—

“And just where do you think you’re going, Taylor Ann?” said Devan with a huge grin from the direction of the deck gate, having guessed perfectly what her little sister intended to do. “You weren’t trying to get away from us, were you?”

“Actually, I sort of was.” Taylor nervously watched the rest of the girls slowly closing in on her. “I’ve already been tied up today!”

“And you can’t go a second time?” said Skyler, edging beside her friend Devan to help cut off Taylor’s retreat. The rest of the girls continued to close in on a fidgeting Taylor. “Look at Sammy over there!” Skyler giggled, pointing out a goggling Sammy standing sidewise at the edge of the pool. Yeah, little brother, I know you’re enjoying this! “You wouldn’t want to deprive him of the chance to take more pictures of you all tied up and cute, would you?”

“I get the feeling it ain’t exactly going to be my choice.” Then an idea—“Can I at least get into my bathing suit? It’s kind of hot today, you know!” Devan, Skyler, and Sammy shared a glance—

“Well, all right,” said Lana, “but if you’re not out here in five minutes we’re coming in after you! Just look at Lizzie if you don’t think I mean it!” Which provoked a gulp down Taylor’s throat as she picked her way into the house.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ouch—ouch—ouch—ouch!—

Four swift, hard strokes of the paddle later, and Abby’s generous bottom crackled with the sting of Annie’s sisterly spanking. Rite of Correction indeed.

“Well, we don’t have a Temple of Light here, Sister Abigail, so you can just stay there for a while!” Annie reached to pull down Abby’s gag long enough for the traditional reply.

“You’re not untying me?” Which was most certainly not the traditional reply to the Rite of Correction.

“After the Rite comes the therapy, Sister Abigail! Now, say your part, Sister!”

Abby swallowed a long breath. “I thank my sisters for my correction, and pledge to honor all my sisters past, present, and yet to come, by striving in the future to avoid my error with all my heart and all my will.” Abby was surprised not only at how easily the response came back to her, but at how oddly fun the experience had been, a little trip back into her teens and earliest twenties, a reminder of what sometimes felt like a far-away youth. “Now, will you please untmmph!” Abby nearly choked as Annie replaced her gag—

“Don’t want to wake up the babies, Abby!” and the dropping of their ostentatious sorority titles suggested that what Annie next had in mind was definitely not the usual Gamma Kappa Epsilon routine. “Now, since you’re so conveniently helpless at the moment…” And Annie flexed her fingers with an ominous grin.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Lainie was lounging in the basement lounge beside Leslie’s basement bedroom, enjoying the cool shade therein while keeping an idle eye on the shenanigans outside. That boy Sammy Hartman must feel like he’s in heaven with all those pretty girls around! Then tall, slim Taylor edged inside, her face scarlet—“You look a little embarrassed, Taylor honey!” Lainie called genially. “Changing into your suit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mom!” Lana called, peeking in from the outside door. “Make sure she only takes five minutes! And don’t let her sneak—I meant it, Taylor!” as Lana spied Taylor at the bathroom door. “Hurry up!”

“Lana, what are you up to?” asked Lainie, noting Lana’s avid, naughty grin—

“Just ask Lizzie! We decided she needs a playmate!”

Lainie’s eyes goggled—“Lana Kay Morgan! Do you mean to tell me that”—

“It’s okay, Mrs. Morgan,” said Taylor with her famously cute little smirk on her pixie face, finally showing Mrs. Morgan her still-marked wrists. “It’s not the first time today, see, and…”

Lainie smiled slyly, noting Sammy gazing inside. “Oh, I see! So you’re being Samuel’s pretty little damsel-in-distress today?” Taylor nodded sheepishly. “And here I thought today would be dull!” She winked at Lana—“It’s all right, Lana. I won’t let Sammy’s prisoner escape!” She glanced at the now-closed bathroom door, wondering just how red Taylor’s face was at that moment.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Nnnnph!” Abby writhed against her bonds as Annie settled beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed—“Pmmz!” But Annie was unmoved, grinning as she dug a finger into Abby’s defenseless side—Abby shrieked—

“Ooh, still as ticklish as I remember! Now let’s see, just where all were you ticklish at?” Abby quailed and whimpered, knowing full well the answer to that question.
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Taylor emerged from the bathroom in only three minutes—a little eager, are we Taylor Ann, Lainie observed wryly to herself—in a cute little sky-blue two-piece which matched the color of Taylor’s sky-blue eyes. Taylor actually preferred one-piece suits, but her build made it hard to find one which actually fit her well.

And the thongs of the red flip-flop sandals on her feet perfectly matched the vivid red blush on Taylor’s fair-complexioned face. “It’s all right, Taylor honey,” said Lainie. “Your secret’s safe with us. Just be careful about the water. And don’t forget your sunblock, honey!” And gnawing her lip, Taylor edged back onto the pool deck—and, Lainie saw, immediately disappeared among the other girls—and Sammy too.
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Even Abby, in the midst of her squealing, shrieking agony, had to admit to herself that the gag was very useful. Had she not been well and truly gagged, she not only would have awakened Penny, Ella, and Aidenn, she probably would have woken the dead. “Nnn! Stmmp!” but still Annie’s fingers dug deeply into Abby’s sensitive sides, her ribs, even the bare soles of her feet…

Annie, detecting a wheeze in Abby’s tortured laughter, took a pause, sitting herself again on the side of the bed and gazing merrily down on her captive stepsister and friend. “Bet you haven’t laughed like that for a while, right Abby?” Since Abby at that moment was still trying to retrieve her breath, Annie didn’t really expect an answer, just kept on talking. “Admit it, you need the break. The novel, the movie script, and the move all at once. I told you it was too much, but you just had to be the overachiever again, didn’t you?” She could tell from Abby’s smirk that she was—as usual, Annie would readily say—correct on that point. “Plus three babies and working on a fourth during all of that! No wonder you haven’t conceived yet—you’re stressed out! So just consider this my contribution to getting my fourth niece or nephew from you!” She saw that Abby was breathing easier again. “So, are you ready for the next round?” Abby shook her head—“That’s rhetorical, by the way,” and she flexed her fingers yet again. “Let’s see where else you’re ticklish! Let’s see—are your knees ticklish?” Yep, that’s ticklish too! she noted with a smile as Abby bucked against the mischievous fingertips teasing the backs of her knees. “Hmm, where else might you be ticklish?” This could really be fun!
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Jill smirked as Skyler raised her camera toward a Taylor Jensen who had just had her hands tied behind her back, palm-to-palm to accentuate her assets for Sammy. “Are we done already?”

“No,” said Skyler as she clicked off a set of snaps. “It’s going to be a photo set. ‘The Terrible Tying of Taylor,’ I’m going to call it. Pictures for each thing we add to her. So what’s next?”
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Lainie, straightening up her living room, saw three young men gazing longingly in the general direction of her pool. Three fine young boys, all very handsome, and I’m sure they know the girls are here! Jimmy Housely—I wish Leslie wouldn’t try to juggle him along with Cora Lee, but he’s not a bad young man. Joey Housely—I’m sure he’d love to be with Serenity, and there are enough people to keep them from misbehaving. And Jaden Ross! Not quite Jimmy’s masculinity, but Jaden is such a sweet young man, and very cute in a pretty sort of way—no wonder that niece of mine Abbie adores him so much! Well, I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm…

“Boys!” she called as she emerged through her front door, “You poor boys look like you’re dying from the heat! Tell you what—the girls are playing around the pool, and I’m sure they’d be glad to have you!” No need to twist their arms, she smiled as the three boys fairly raced each other to the Morgan house.

Okay I'll admit it. I'm replying to give your Snowden muses fuel for more stories not just you.