Pinky:
It was in the middle of winter, and a snow-storm howled outside, trying to do as much damage as possible, to anything or anyone being dumb enough to be outside.
Rosalie, or Pinky to her friends, sat curled up in the corner of her sofa, hugging a pink cushion, dressed in pink silk pyjamas, and an ankle-long, very pink, very fluffy dressing gown, with a pink, silk belt holding it together around her waist. She had her favourite pink, fluffy slippers on. The sofa she was sitting in had bright, pink upholstery. In short, she loved everything pink and fluffy; the pinker and fluffier the better.
She had an opened 2 litre bottle of soda, another big bottle stood on the floor beside the sofa; a huge packet of crisps and an equally large packet of pea-nuts lay opened on the table in front of her. She was watching a really sad film, and had plenty more of those stacked up beside the DVD-player. Occasionally, she would dry a tear or two from her eye using her pink handkerchief.
Suddenly, there was a hard knock on the door.
“I wonder; who it is?” she thought. She looked through the peep-hole, and saw a man standing outside. He was wearing long over-coat, and shoes, both more suited for the warmer weather in the summer.
Pinky quickly opened the door and invited him in.
“How do you do?” she politely and formally greeted the stranger. “My name is Pinky.”
“I’m very well; thank you for asking; if a bit cold. And you?” he answered, just as formal and polite. His voice was dark and smooth as silk. They shook hands, and she invited him inside to warm up.
She curled up again in the same corner of the sofa as before, and restarted the film, and he sat down in the other.
He looked around the room, where just about everything was one shade of pink or another.
“You know,” he said, looking around, “I must say you do have an appropriate name.”
“My real name is Rosalie, though hardly anyone calls me that. Except my mother, when she’s mad at me. And my boss of course, but as he’s such an old fart, I usually don’t pay any particular attention to anything he’s saying!”
They both burst out laughing.
“And your husband,” her guest asked, “what does he call you?”
She held up her left hand, showing him she had no wedding-ring. “Single, and liking it!” she proudly stated.
“A-ha, I see!” the man said, raising an eyebrow. “Mind if I take a look around?” he asked, as he got to his feet.
“No, not at all; please go right ahead!” Pinky said.
That might be an odd thing to tell someone, whom you’ve just met, but she felt she could trust him.
She tried to concentrate on the film, as she heard him wander through the house, opening and closing doors.
Suddenly, she felt her arms being grabbed from behind. Before she could do anything about it, they were snugly tied together. The stranger stepped in front of her, bent down, and calmly started tying her ankles together.
“What are you doing? Why are you tying me up like this?” she asked, horrified yet intrigued, all at the same time.
“What I’m doing? Isn’t that kind of obvious? I’m making you my prisoner, of course. Well, for the moment, at least.”
OK; so I’m your prisoner; fine. That still doesn’t explain why, and for how long?” she said, now more irritated than anything.
He held up one finger: “Question number one: For how long? The answer is: until I leave, or get bored, whichever comes first. He held up another finger: “Question number two: Why? The answer to that one is: Because, from what I’ve seen in this house I know you, apparently, like being tied up. Am I wrong?”
“You really have been snooping around, haven’t you? No, you’re obviously not wrong, but I like doing it when I feel like it and am alone.” Pinky growled. “I suppose you’re gonna gag me too?”
He looked at her, amused. “No. Not unless you want me to, that is.”
“Good” she snarled, “because I don’t!”
“OK! Fine; we’ll just sit here, watch some movies, drink soda, and eat whatever snacks you’ve got then, shall we?” he sighed. “But I will have to gag you before I leave. Just so you know.”
And he did. After having watched two movies, during which he had helped her consume a large quantity of soda, crisps and peanuts, and had eaten and drunk a fair amount himself, he got up put a handkerchief in her mouth, tied a scarf around her head and went for the door.
As he put his hand on the door-handle he turned around and thanked her for a lovely evening, to which she answered with a muted growl.
Lisa
Lisa lay in her huge bed with side-rails and bars at the foot and head end, making it look like a hospital bed on steroids. She was fast asleep. She was dressed in a pretty, grey, fleece footie pyjama, with lambs, clouds and rainbows all over it.
Suddenly a hand was clamped down on her mouth, waking her up. When she looked up, she saw a man standing over her, pressing a finger against his lips.
“Shh,” he breathed, “don’t say a word, please!”
She nodded, and he cuffed her wrists to either end of the head-board, using only one hand, the other still clamped tightly over her mouth.
“I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth now,” he whispered, “but I still don’t want you to make a sound. Do you understand?”
Again, Lisa nodded, and he removed his hand. As soon as she felt the hand being taken away, she filled her lungs, as if to scream. But instead she, in a trembling voice, whispered as he cuffed her ankles to the foot end of the bed; making her lay there, spread-eagle:
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Which part of ‘don’t make a sound’ did you have difficulty understanding?” he growled. “I didn’t want to gag you, because you were on your back, but you give me no choice. Now, open up, as a good little girl!” Amazingly, she did as he told her, and he scrunched up a handkerchief and put it in her mouth, and tied a scarf, which he conveniently found on a stool next to the bed, around her head to hold it in place. She managed to give him a smile through the gag, saying she would be all right, whatever he decided to do.
He sat down on the side of the bed, put his hand low on her belly, and started moving it around and around. She started moaning and squirming. He looked at her, asking if she liked it.
She nodded, but to her amazement/disappointment he stopped. Instead, he started asking her questions about her life. They were simple ones, and she only had to nod or shake her head to answer them, you know like; have you lived here long? (Nod), are you married (headshake), are you cold? Do you want me to put a blanket over you? Both of which were answered with a headshake.
After a while, he stood up and went over to her closet. He opened the double-doors and peeked in.
Over his shoulder, he commented:” You do have a lot of those pyjamas. In fact, it seems to be the only piece of clothing in here! Is it some kind of fetish (headshake, accompanied by angry grunts), or is it simply because you like them?” She nodded.
“It’s not a fetish? Good, because I didn’t picture you as one having such a fetish. Well then, don’t you have any other clothes?” he asked. She nodded and looked towards another closet, at the other end of the room.
He went over and opened the doors. Inside were rows and rows of dresses in every colour, and design, known to mankind. He took out a red one, with white fur trim and a lot of petticoats, and said: “This one looks nice! It’s a shame I can’t see you wear it. It would look really good on you, if you were tied up.” He went over to her bed, kissed her on her forehead, said: ”Good night!”, and left, turning off the lights as he closed the door, leaving her staring into the darkness, unable to go back to sleep.
Lara
Lara did some much needed vacuuming around the house. She was dressed in her favourite red, velvet dress, with a lot of petticoats, and ending halfway between her knees and feet. It had long sleeves and white, thick fur trims around the cuffs, the bottom of the skirt and the neck. It had an oversized hood, which was fur-trimmed, as well.
She also wore a pair of plain white, woolly pantyhose and, as she was indoors, a pair of red, plastic sandals.
All of a sudden, she thought she heard a crashing sound coming from the study, as if someone had thrown a stone through the beautiful old stain-glass window.
She turned the vacuum-cleaner off and went to investigate.
For some reason, the lights in the study didn’t work, so she started turning around, to go and check the fuses, to see if anyone of them had blown.
A hand was clamped over her mouth from behind, she was dragged to a chair, her hands forced together behind the back of the chair, and tied together. Then her waist was tied to it. The burglar, using one of her own scarves, blindfolded her before stepping in front of her to tie her feet together, and to a cross-bar beneath the chair. Lastly, her mouth was tightly packed with tissues and a handkerchief and another scarf was tied around her head to keep the package in place. Then, she was left alone, while whoever the intruder was loudly rummaged around in the study and the rest of the house.
The banging and scraping noises eventually stopped. Lara, who by now was breathing quite heavily after having frantically been trying to get free, stopped what she was doing and listened. What was he doing? She couldn’t tell, just by listening. She hated the fact she was so tightly blindfolded, and had no way of getting rid of it!
The first clue, as to what he was doing, came in the form of very light taps against her sides, which then moved up to her rib-area, and then down to her sides again. She soon started squirming, and protesting through the gag, but the torture went on, mercilessly, for quite a while, before she heard him thank her for a nice afternoon.
Then she heard the door close, as he left.
“What do you think? Which scenario would you like to experience?” Dick asked his fiancé, Anita. “Will it be number one, two or three, or maybe all three? It’s all up to you. I’ve got the stuff, whichever you choose!”
She again looked through the papers, and then nodded and said:
“Mm, I like all of them. Yes, let’s go through them, one at a time.”
“OK!” Dick cheerfully said. “I’ll have everything ready for this Friday!”