Author’s Note
Holiday twenty years on! This is a revised edition of the story posted in
Jeb’s site last year (2000). It was published originally in two parts in Bondage
Life, Volume 1, No. 4, 1979, pp. 51-54, and Volume 1, No, 5, 1979, p. 53.
Expect another Mignon and Meg story some way
down the track. HOLIDAY by Brian Sands
Mignon decided to drive to the beach house a week ahead of her friends so
that she could work in solitude polishing up the mystery novel, Dark Towers,
that she had almost completed. The breath of fresh salty air was such a change
from the stuffy office that she parked for awhile at a curve in the road
overlooking the sparkling bay. There was no movement to be seen in the cluster
of holiday houses below. She scarcely noticed the large black sedan that passed
her, and when she turned back to her car she did not see it draw up behind one
of the more distant houses below, almost obscured by bushes. It was already late afternoon and the sun was setting as her car descended
the last hill before entering the almost deserted resort. Mignon glimpsed a
light shining dully from one house away to her left, but paid it no attention.
It was mid-week, Monday, and the off-season. There were perhaps others taking
advantage of the solitude as was she. Maybe she would introduce herself to her
neighbour in the morning. Mignon did not immediately change into more comfortable clothes. After
dumping her suitcase on the bed, she merely threw it open and walked back into
the living room where she poured herself a drink. She then flung her jacket
over the arm of one of the rather old-fashioned straight-backed wooden chairs,
and settled down into a well-padded armchair, manuscript in lap, blue pencil in
hand. She still wore her smart day clothes. Hidden or semi-hidden were sheer
brown seamed stockings and suspender belt, high-heels, sheer black panties and
bra. For public view she wore a clinging velvet knee-length skirt that matched
her hose, a blue silk blouse, and a large pink scarf of soie de chine
knotted loosely around her neck so that part of it fell wispily across her
shoulders. Mignon enjoyed dressing well, but to please herself and not others.
She liked the hiss of silk against silk, silk against nylon, skin against
satin. So did her heroine in the novel, who in one of the climactic scenes wore a
loose fitting shirt-dress with long sleeves, a billowing skirt and wide black
belt. The color of the dress was blue, of course, one of Mignon’s favorite
colors. But Mignon was wrestling with a plot problem. By the second-last chapter,
her heroine had discovered the dastardly plan to poison the old lady after
swindling her out of her fortune. But in her attempt to escape through a
ground-floor window from the lonely old house on the cliffs, she had been
captured by the evil husband and wife team. Now Mignon’s heroine lay on the
floor of the attic securely gagged and bound, unable to warn the old woman,
unable to free herself of her bonds. How did the girl feel? What were her
thoughts as she struggled against the unbreakable ropes that held her, and
languished under the thrust of the gag? Somehow Mignon did not think she was
getting the mood right. Impatiently she scored over three of the lines on the
page. Mignon was interrupted in the flow of her thoughts by a light knock at the
front door. When she opened it, the light from her living room revealed a
pleasant-faced woman, probably in her early forties. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ said the woman diffidently. ‘I was taking an
evening stroll and when I saw your light I thought I should be a little
neighbourly. We seem to be the only people staying here this week. My name’s
Meg.’ ‘I’m Mignon,’ said Mignon wearily. ‘Come on in and have a coffee. I was
working, but I seem to have reached an impasse. I could do with a break.’ Mignon prepared some freshly ground coffee, and as they drank she explained
in answer to the woman’s question that she was a writer for a romance and
mystery publishing house. ‘I’ve nearly finished my second book, but the end doesn’t seem to be working
out right. You see, I’ve got my heroine in the classic predicament for a
thriller, all trussed up in the attic, but I can’t seem to get into her
feelings. I’ve never been tied up, although I can imagine what it might be
like.’ And she showed Meg the page she had been working on. ‘I don’t suppose
you’ve done any writing yourself?’ ‘No,’ answered Meg slowly, ‘but I have a suggestion. Why don’t you get
someone tie you up for awhile, then you’ll know what it’s like at first hand.’ ‘Oh, I’ve thought of that,’ said Mignon, ‘but the only close friend I can
trust is away on vacation herself for a couple of weeks. We often collaborated
on story ideas together.’ ‘Well, if there’s no real difficulty, I’d be glad to help. That is if you
think you can trust me. I can’t very well be a thief or a kidnapper,’ Meg added
laughing. ‘No,’ agreed Mignon, ‘I’m hardly kidnap material with my bank balance.’ She
paused. It was an intriguing invitation. ‘Okay. Let’s do it!’ ‘Fine,’ said the woman, ‘ I don’t suppose there’s any rope around here?’ Mignon rose from her armchair and searched through the cupboards. ‘There are
a few pieces of sash cord here. Will they do?’ She held the lengths up for
inspection. ‘They’ll do fine,’ said Meg. The older woman - Mignon was in her early
thirties - crossed to Mignon, took the cords from her hand, and tested their
strength speculatively. ‘How do you have your heroine in the book?’ ‘Oh, hands and feet, and some rope around her body to hold her arms,’
replied Mignon. ‘Good. Well for a start how about if you lie down here on this soft rug and
I’ll tie your hands and feet?’ Mignon obeyed Meg’s suggestion. As she lay on her face she pretended to be
unconscious like the heroine in the story, chloroformed, her arms and hands
completely limp and relaxed. Meg drew her wrists together behind her and
twisted the thin sash cord several times around in a tight double knot. She
then wound the remaining ends of the cord between the girl’s wrists neatly
cinching the snug bindings. The circlets of cord allowed very little play and
Mignon could move her fingers and wrists only slightly. Next her ankles were
neatly fastened together and cinched in the same way. Meg stood back and regarded her prisoner. Mignon lifted her head wearily,
tossing her long, wavy hair out of her eyes. ‘How does it feel?’ asked Meg. ‘Circulation okay?’ ‘It feels ... funny. And a little scary. The ropes are so tight.’ ‘Well, in real life being tied up isn’t meant to be fun,’ said Meg lightly.
‘Now, how was your heroine gagged?’ ‘Oh, she had a long scarf tied between her teeth. ‘ ‘And do you have a long scarf?’ ‘Yes, in my bag. I haven’t unpacked it yet.’ Meg crossed the floor to the bedroom and returned a few moments later
carrying a pink chiffon scarf five feet by two feet and a large plain white
scarf of heavy silk. ‘These will do nicely my dear, keep you good and quiet.’ She rolled Mignon onto her back and propped her up against the heavy sofa.
The young woman watched while Meg spread out the chiffon scarf on a table. The
older woman then folded the white silk scarf into a wad and rolled it up in the
center of the chiffon length. In answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg
said, ‘This is a little trick I saw on TV a couple of nights ago. It works
really well, I’ll make it very tight, for realism, but it shouldn’t hurt too
much. Open wide.’ Mignon opened her mouth and tilted her head back as Meg reached the scarf
and wad over her face. Neatly the chiffon-wrapped roll was wedged not just
between Mignon’s teeth but inside her mouth so that it pressed down on her
tongue. The ends of the long scarf were then drawn around to the back of her
neck and a single knot tied. Carefully Meg tightened the scarf so that it
pressed into the soft corners of Mignon’s mouth and her cheeks before doubling
the knot. That done, she wound one end around and between the helpless girl’s
jaws followed by the other end in the opposite direction. These ends were tied
in a tight double knot at the back of her neck like the first. Meg walked into
the bedroom again and fetched another large square silk scarf, blue this time,
which she folded into a rectangle then over several times the same direction
till the bandage was about three inches wide. This was now bound tightly over
the prisoner’s cheeks, lips and jaws. ‘Extra muffling,’ commented Meg with a giggle. Mignon found that with the packing between her teeth and filling her mouth
she was scarcely able to move her jaws. She lifted her head and shook it from
side to side, experimenting to see whether the gag could be loosened in any
way. She started to say something, and with a shock realised how effectively
silenced she had become. Her helplessness caused panic to rise in her throat
but she fought it down. I’ve let myself in for this, she thought, so there’s
nothing for it but to see it through. It was a matter of pride too. Mignon did
not want Meg to see that she was becoming frightened. ‘I think you’re pretty secure now,’ said Meg. ‘However, to get the
reconstruction of your story right we have to rope your arms to your body too.’
Meg referred to Mignon’s manuscript. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said to herself.
Indeed Mignon was now a thoroughly mute witness to the proceedings. ‘There’s no
more rope here so I’d better look for some back at my place. While I’m out you
can fantasize yourself into the story. See whether you can loosen anything. Of
course, when I come back I’ll tighten it.’ And she went out, carefully closing
the door so that she did not lock herself out of the cottage. Left alone, the panic began to return. Mignon felt hot and stifled and her
breasts heaved with the effort to breathe through the silk imprisoning her
mouth. Shaking her head had no effect in loosening the bandage which clung
smoothly and taut around the planes of her face. Neither did bending her chin
in towards her throat help in any way to slip the gag, as she had seen it done in
the movies. And pushing with her tongue was to no avail. Eventually she learnt
to breathe through her nose and the strain in her chest was lessened. Breathing
became easier. It was clear that she could do nothing about the gag. Could she loosen the
bindings at her wrists? Again Mignon fought back her growing panic. If she
wrenched and twisted against the cords she would only make the knots tighter
and even more escape-proof. Instead, Mignon searched slowly and methodically
with her fingers. But they fluttered uselessly in empty air. The knots had been
tied cunningly close, in between her wrists and above the cinching well out of
reach of her questing fingers. Neither were there loose ends. All the cord’s
length had been used. The cords were fastened so finally tight that she was
quite unable to twist her wrists about to gain any kind of purchase on the
elusive knots. It was no use, and after twenty minutes of futile effort Mignon
sank back with a sigh against the large sofa. Her ankles were just as firmly tied,
as a few movements of her legs proved, so there was no means of freeing her
legs and walking to the kitchen for a knife or something with which to cut the
ropes. All the same, maybe she could wriggle across there and find something
sharp on which to saw the bonds. Though she was bound hand and foot, Mignon
still had considerable freedom of movement. She had managed to work her way awkwardly halfway across the living room
floor towards the kitchen, propped up on her arms and shifting her legs in
caterpillar-like movements, when Mignon heard footsteps outside. It was Meg
returning. When the older woman entered the room carrying several coils of
clothesline over her arm she saw immediately what Mignon had been trying to do.
What she saw was a very attractive smartly dressed young woman with tousled
golden-russet hair, face strained and flushed, eyes large and a little feverish
from the tightness of the gag, tan coloured skirt riding clingingly along her
thighs. The disappointment in Mignon’s eyes was all too apparent and Meg
laughed. ‘It looks like I got back just in time. You were going somewhere?
Well, these,’ and she held up the ropes in her hands, ‘will dash your hopes for
you, me proud beauty.’ Meg was entering into the part too. ‘At least this is something of a game,’ Mignon thought wryly, ‘I’d hate it
to be the real thing.’ Meg consulted Mignon’s manuscript. ‘You don’t say in detail how your heroine
Robyn has her arms tied, so I’ll improvise.’ With that, Meg knelt down behind Mignon and set to work tying the girl’s
arms above the elbows. Mignon was very fit and supple and it was possible
without a great deal of effort to fasten her elbows firmly together. This was
done, using all of one length of cord. Meg next wound a second length around
Mignon’s body just below her breasts three times. She knotted it securely and
passed the ends in a crisscross between Mignon’s breasts, and made two more
windings around the young woman’s shoulders and upper chest. Her prisoner’s
arms were now almost immobile, except for her forearms which still had a little
room to move. It was an easy matter to deprive the girl of even this small freedom. Meg
cut a shorter length of cord, fastened a couple of twitches around Mignon’s
forearms just above where her wrists were bound, and passed the ends of the
cord about her waist. This was wound twice and the knot secured in the small of
Mignon’s back. The final touch was to tie Mignon’s legs together with several
lengths of cord turned around them just above her knees and cinched. Mignon was
now utterly helpless. Meg carefully inspected the young woman’s bonds and the gag, testing for any
looseness, then she straightened up in satisfaction. ‘I’d better get back to
finish my own unpacking. You’re breathing safely enough through your gag for me
to leave you awhile, and this way you can really feel what you’ve made your
heroine go through.’ As she moved to leave, Mignon started convulsively in her
bindings, lost balance and toppled helplessly onto her side. Meg turned at the
door and smiled, ‘I don’t think you’ll be moving about much. Do a bit of
languishing. I’ll be back.’ It was improbable that she heard even a snatch of
the thin throaty squeal of anguish which was all the sound Mignon could make. Now that she was alone again, and rendered more thoroughly helpless, Mignon
fought back tears which threatened to plunge her over the brink into hysteria.
No matter how hard she tried, she could not move her arms. The gag seemed to
muffle her more with each passing minute and she had to force herself to
breathe steadily through her nose. Then the dam burst. She twisted and fought
frantically to escape, rolling from side to side, tossing her head, her cheeks
wet with tears. She whimpered, making faint muffled sounds only she could hear,
for they were so soft that no-one in any other part of the cottage, let alone
on the paths outside, would hear them. Gagged as she was, it was impossible for Mignon to keep struggling in this
way, and exhaustion came quickly. She passed out for a few seconds. When she
came to, she felt a little calmer but her body was trembling with shock and
nervous exhaustion. She lifted her head and moaned, then let her head fall back
to the soft carpet. Her fingers and arms tingled from the constrictions at her
elbows and wrists. Fortunately, Mignon was tied so tightly that she could cause
herself little harm in her struggles, aside from some rawness in her wrists. Slowly she began to think from the point of view of her fictional heroine
Robyn, lying bound and gagged in an attic for several hours before being packed
in a wicker basket and spirited away from the mansion should the old lady
become suspicious and search the rooms for her. She had then been kept tied to
a large heavy chair in an old cottage on the edge of the moors until rescued by
the hero. Without the advent of the hero she would not have gotten free. Is
this going to happen to me? thought Mignon. Is Meg going to read the rest of
the chapter and then re-enact it? Mignon listened apprehensively, and it was
with a stir of excitement that she heard Meg’s footsteps coming up the path.
Strange. Why was she looking forward to this possibility? The first thing Meg did when she re-entered the room was to inspect Mignon’s
gag and her bonds. Appearing satisfied, she settled herself comfortably in the
armchair and picked up the manuscript. Ignoring the younger woman’s struggles
and stifled sounds, she began reading. After a couple of minutes Mignon settled
back dejectedly against the sofa, her head lowered in subjection, waiting for
Meg’s next move, half dreading, half excited as to what it might be. Meg began to enjoy the story and became thoroughly absorbed in it. For
almost an hour she browsed through the earlier chapters, picking up the main
plot elements with amused cluckings of her tongue. When she reached the chapter
detailing the capture and imprisonment of the heroine, she put the manuscript
down a moment and looked at the trussed girl huddled a few feet away. ‘You
really are a good writer. I’ll bet you could put down really well the way
you’re feeling now.’ While Mignon heaved and wriggled uncomfortably in bonds which were beginning
to distress her already aching limbs, Meg began reading aloud parts of the
story. It was written in the first person. That was their plan. I must get help. Quickly I
ran to the old library, switched on the small desk lamp, and by its light began
to wrestle with the window which looked out onto the garden. It seemed hours
before the frame gave. Far too slowly, and with a squeal which I imagined must
be heard throughout the house, it opened until there was room enough to climb
through. I alighted in the soft soil and grass, a place overgrown with weeds
and with the pungent scent of dead things in the still night. The large single
gate beckoned and gratefully I stumbled towards it. Then, as I pulled
frantically at the latch a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness
so suddenly that I was totally unprepared for what happened next. A hand holding a thick soft cloth clamped over my
face, covering my mouth and nose and preventing any outcry, even if there had
been anyone to hear. It tasted sickly and foolishly I took a deep, strangled
breath. Too late, everything began to recede until there was darkness and a
falling ... I came to slowly, and it was some time before I remembered what had
happened. I was lying on something soft, smelling of must, an old mattress?
Then I remembered: the old lady and my attempt to run for help, the taste of
the chloroform. I had been recaptured. With an effort I tried to sit up, but there was no
response from my limbs. I was bound. Tight cord held my wrists together behind
my back and also secured my ankles together. There was a tightness around my
upper arms and chest where more rope had been wound. And I was gagged. A long piece of material, which
I found out later was my own satin scarf, had been wound several times between
my teeth and knotted tightly at the back of my neck. I choked and struggled
against it for awhile until I learnt to breathe through my nose and ease the
pressure on my aching lungs. In the process I found that I could make very
little noise, certainly none which could be heard outside the room. And so Meg continued. Mignon listened, enthralled by her own words, and with
her eyes closed visualized herself in that situation. It was not hard to do
considering she was herself thoroughly silenced and helpless. It was growing
late and Meg had almost finished the book. Surely her ordeal would be over
soon. Mignon had been sitting helpless for more than two hours. Meg pretended not to notice the thin squeals which were the only sounds
Mignon could make through the expertly tied gag, and when the manuscript had
been read she laid it down decisively on the low table and knelt beside her
prisoner. Without a word in answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg took
from Mignon’s shoulders the wispy pink silk scarf she wore and tightly bound it
over her eyes. Once again the helpless girl was left alone, but this time not
for long. Within a few minutes there was the sound of a car’s tyres softly
coming to rest outside the shack, and Mignon heard Meg’s re-entry. Quickly she
was picked up in Meg’s arms - the woman was amazingly strong - and carried
outside where she was bundled onto the back seat of the car and covered with a
blanket. Next followed about ten minutes of driving. Mignon rocked gently from side
to side with every corner the vehicle took. There was a kind of excitement in
the feeling. It was not too difficult to pretend that she was really being
kidnapped, and she strained deliciously at her bonds. Finally the car drew to a halt and Mignon was lifted out and carried
somewhere, into another cabin she guessed, for she heard the opening and
closing of a door. She was set down in a wooden chair and the bonds were
removed from her wrists and arms and from around her body. But her legs
remained tied, and the gag and blindfold stayed as they were. Mignon’s arms and
hands tingled with the return of circulation, and she was too weak to prevent
her wrists and forearms from being tied to the arm rests of the chair, even if
she had wanted them free. Ropes were passed around her body and waist, fastening
her upright against the straight tall back of the chair, and her ankles were
tied to one of the chair legs. She could not move her body at all. The
blindfold was then unfastened - a welcome relief - and again she was left
alone. The room was different and Mignon supposed it was Meg’s. She expected the
older woman to re-enter any moment, but Meg did not appear. However, Mignon did
not panic this time. She realized that Meg was indeed reconstructing the story,
so she could expect to be released soon by Meg playing the part of the hero. In
the meantime Mignon struggled and tested the bonds which held her to the chair
until she had to stop, exhausted too by the hours she had spent trussed in her
own cottage. When Meg returned, Mignon was feeling strangely relaxed, warm and very
feminine, her cheeks wet with tears. Meg’s face softened. She knelt beside the
helpless girl and took her bound face in her hands, gently caressing her hair
and temples. ‘Let’s call it a night over this play-acting, Sweetheart. I didn’t mean to
hurt you or frighten you. But you wanted the reality of all this?’ Mignon
nodded ruefully. ‘And once you’re tied up for real by a thief or a kidnapper,
the way you’ve described so well in your book, there’s no getting out of it. It
wouldn’t have been real if I went soft and let you go easily.’ Mignon nodded. Meg untied Mignon from the chair, but immediately re-tied her arms behind
her back with a chuckle at the girl’s surprised mmmph - Mignon was still neatly
gagged - and carried her back out to the car. Mignon breathed the fresh salt
evening air gratefully. She sat upright in the front seat of the car,
strapped-in with the seat belt, while Meg drove along a scenic track which she
explained to her silent companion was the circuitous tour she had taken her on
earlier when she lay blindfolded on the back seat. The two women’s beach houses
were in fact in adjoining blocks. Back at Mignon’s cottage, the younger woman was set down gently on the soft
rug and untied fully. Meg left the gag till last. Mignon did not attempt to
remove it, waiting instead for Meg to take the initiative because she had given
herself unquestioningly to the older woman for this escapade. Meg gave Mignon a
soothing massage with baby oil to take the stiffness out of her limbs, and
later over coffee the two women discussed the merits of Mignon’s story. ‘Was it worth while?’ asked Meg, ‘I mean, being tied up the way you were?’ The younger girl nodded. ‘I wanted desperately to be free in that first
hour, but it didn’t seem to be so important after that. I’m glad you’re
trustworthy. I don’t usually make mistakes with people and of course it’s not
everyone I’d allow to tie me up, especially for the first time. I imagine that
some really spiteful women would love to have me at their mercy. Now that I
know what it really feels like to be tied-up, I’ll make some changes to that
part of the story.’ ‘Could you stand more of it?’ asked Meg. ‘Yes, I think so. Did you have something in mind?’ ‘Tomorrow,’ said Meg thoughtfully. ‘Tomorrow ...’ * It was in fact a week later when, without knocking, Meg re-entered the
doorway of Mignon’s beach cottage. She wasted no time. Mignon, engrossed in the
paragraph she was crafting, was unaware of the other woman’s presence until she
felt her arms seized firmly and drawn behind her. She looked up with a start, a
cry rising to her lips, but when she saw Meg she relaxed and grinned. ‘I didn’t hear you come in, or I’d have started up the coffee.’ ‘I’ve other things on my mind, Mignon dear,’ said Meg. She had by now
snugged the younger woman’s arms well behind her back, unresisting, to nest her
hands together. ‘What’s this? Oh noo,’ cried Mignon, attempting to rise. ‘Keep still if you know what’s good for you,’ warned Meg. She wound a length of soft cotton cord about Mignon’s wrists as she spoke.
In a few seconds, they were tightly bound together and Meg was fastening the
last knots. With a start of realisation, Mignon found that her hands were palm
to palm. ‘You’re impossible, Meg. You know it’s hopeless to stretch my fingers for these
knots.’ Meg chuckled. ‘Ever heard of ligotage?’’ Mignon looked down at the older woman as she knelt to wrap her trim ankles
half a dozen times with another piece of cord before cinching it between and
tying it off. When Meg straightened up from her task, Mignon shifted in her
chair and tested the cords at her wrists and ankles. ‘This is getting out of hand ...!’ ‘... literally. You never spoke a truer word. Bound hand and foot, one of
the great cliches of melodrama,’ Meg interrupted cheerfully. ‘I’ve been
watching a documentary about the Norman Conquest in England, 1066 and all that.
And for some reason the image drifted into my mind. Perhaps it’s the French
influence in conjunction with your sweet name. You shan’t get away, you know,
my lovely. You are in my clutches. Nya-ha-ha-haa.’ Meg’s evil cackle put Mignon into such hysterics of laughter that she almost
fell from her chair. As a safety measure, Meg lowered her prisoner gently to
the floor and stood looking down at her fondly. Mignon shook the hair out of
her eyes and smiled ruefully back at her friend. ‘This is all very well, Meg. And I do know what ligotage means. So
how do you expect me to write, or at least proof read, in this condition?’ ‘I don’t. You’re a pretty kitten, and I’m going to have you for dinner,’
replied Meg with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘There’s one more thing before I go.’ Meg walked to the small dining room dresser, opened one of its drawers and
took out a handful of snowy white table napkins. Most of these she placed on
Mignon’s dining table. But she chose one, shook it out - it was a large square
of fine linen - and folded it into a triangle. From a triangle the napkin
became a rolled tube, and in the tube a knot was tied at the centre. Meg
advanced towards Mignon. ‘Oh no. No! Not that. Not a gag. Please, prithee please, don’t gag me. I’ll
be as quiet as a church mouse, I promise,’ Mignon cried, hamming it up as
outrageously as Meg had done. ‘I think you’re mixing your historic periods, Cutie, drawled Meg. ‘Prithee
indeed, an old sixteenth-century expression! And why should a mouse in church
be quieter than any other mouse. Mice don’t have religious experiences, as far
as we know. But I’ll be sure that you will now be very quiet.’ Hmm, I must look up those words in the dictionary, thought Mignon, ever the
researcher. Her stray thought fled as Meg firmly inserted the smooth linen knot
between her lips and bound the rest of the napkin at the back under her long
auburn-gold hair. The soft material filled the front of Mignon’s mouth behind
her teeth and prevented any further conversation of a two-way nature. ‘Now that I have you where I want you, I’ll inspect the dinner that is
shortly to be brought over. I’m going to celebrate my birthday and a new job.
So, sit tight, ha-ha, till I come back.’ With those words, Meg left the cottage. By now the evening shadows were lengthening fast and it would soon be dark.
Mignon, who had been sitting, rolled onto her side and lay in the middle of the
living-room floor. She was glad that she wore comfortable black tights,
flat-soled shoes (flatties), and a form-hugging patterned blouse. Although the
blouse had sleeves, Mignon was relieved that Meg had not tied her arms as well.
Her wrist bonds were tight, though she thought that if she wanted to badly
enough she could slip her hands free though they were tied palm to palm. But
Mignon did not want to escape. Instead she closed her eyes and fantasized that she was one of her own
fictional heroines, captured, bound hand and foot and gagged, and awaiting her
fate. She had finished the short novel she had been working on the week before.
It was really a novella in its length. And already Mignon was tapping into new
ideas for another romantic thriller. Perhaps it could revolve around the search
for a missing diamond. That should provide enough of a plot, and a raison
d’etre for her heroine - perhaps more than one heroine - to fall into
danger, be captured and bound several times, and to get free by a combination
of her own resourcefulness and the assistance of allies. Yes. Some evildoers
might show better qualities as the story progressed chapter by chapter. Some
might even be rehabilitated by the end of the novel. But not all. There had to
be an arch-villain, and a horrible henchman. What would be a fitting name for a
dastardly henchman? She tried to remember odd names that she had seen as a girl
when reading comics, like those of Betty and Veronica. Snidely, was that a
character in one of those high school or college cartoon comics? Mignon’s sleepy stream of consciousness was broken by the sound of Meg’s
feet on the front steps and the opening of the door. When Mignon looked up she
saw Meg bustling into the small kitchen, burdened by a large casserole dish in
hands protected by round fluffy mittens. The older woman had changed into a
long skirt of pink diaphanous cheesecloth and an Indian blouse of light blue
silk. A patterned silk scarf was tied across her brow as a headband. Her
costume was indicative of a one-time hippy past. A tantalising aroma assailed
Mignon’s senses and the young woman began drooling uncontrollably into her gag,
which soon became heavy and itchy at the corners of her mouth. Meg looked down at her with an amused smile. ‘I see it’s already enticing
your taste buds. It’s a bouillabaisse, from an old French recipe handed down by
my great-aunt. She was a remarkable woman, a wonderful cook and skilled in the
arts of origami and savate. But I should take the gag and these ropes off so
you can appreciate the food better.’ Meg suited actions to words and in less than two minutes Mignon was sitting
at the table opposite her friend. She had freshened up in the bathroom and was
now ravenous. They ate in companionable silence as the sunset spread a red glow
above the western ocean. When their meal was over, they did the chore of washing up and put the
plates and utensils away. Mignon poured after-dinner drinks. Port seemed
appropriate as they were by the sea. While Mignon finished tidying around the
dinner table, Meg stood and watched the last glow of the now hidden sun recede,
pursuing the star below the horizon. ‘That’s strange,’ said Meg suddenly. ‘Come over here Kitten.’ ‘What is it?’ asked Mignon, walking to Meg’s side, a wiping cloth still in
her hand. ‘Down there, at the other end of the bay. There are lights and some sort of
activity going on. I didn't know the cottages in that part of the resort had
anyone staying in them.’ ‘Probably fishermen. I believe they visit these bay resorts in the
off-season.’ ‘But I’m surprised I haven’t noticed until now. Anyway, to change the
subject, tell me all about the plans for your next novel and I’ll talk about my
new job.’ Mignon and Meg made themselves comfortable in the armchairs that were part of
the younger woman’s office and, cradling their drinks in their hands, discussed
various topics animatedly for the next two hours. Meg was about to rise and
call it a night when there came an unexpected knock at the front door. ‘Whoever can it be at this time of night?’ asked Mignon. Her anxiety communicated itself to Meg, who checked the whereabouts of the
phone and made sure the security chain was in place on the door before
switching on the lights to the porch. ‘Who is it?’ she called. ‘Sorry to trouble you,’ replied a man’s voice, muffled by the door between
them, ‘but there’s been a small accident and I have no phone to dial emergency.
I’m alone,’ he added. Meg looked questioningly at Mignon. ‘It sounds reasonable,’ said Mignon, who
was kind-hearted. It would explain why he’s come here so late at night.’ Mignon
walked to the door and turned the handle. It opened only as far as the chain
allowed. A man stood in the circle of radiance thrown by the porch light. He looked
ordinary in a dark business suit with black shiny shoes. He appeared to be in
early middle age and his straight dark hair was showing signs of thinning on
top. ‘I guess you can use our phone,’ said Mignon cheerfully. ‘Come in and have a
coffee as well.’ There were two of them and only one of him, Mignon reasoned,
so she felt confident about the stranger. Muttering thanks profusely, and saying something about his name being Ted,
the businessman walked to the phone and began punching out numbers. Mignon
busied herself in the kitchen. When she walked back into the main room, however, Mignon stood frozen to the
spot at the sight that met her eyes. The first thing she noticed was that Meg
was standing very still, almost like a statue. The second thing she saw was
that the dark-haired man no longer held the phone. He was instead holding a
small but lethal looking automatic pistol. He was also standing to one side of
the room so that his view commanded the front windows near where Meg stood and
the kitchen where Mignon had just been. ‘You two, stand nice and still,’ he ordered in a sibilant voice. Mignon
obeyed. She started to say something but the man looked warningly at her and
motioned with his pistol for her to remain silent. They stood in that tableau for what must have been a minute. Mignon could
hear the steady ticking of the kitchen clock behind her. Then there was a
scraping sound outside. The man, Ted, nodded to Mignon. ‘Open it,’ he ordered
tersely, indicating the door. Like an automaton, Mignon complied, and a second
man stepped into the room. He too wore a dark business suit. His face was
tanned and his long brown hair was fastened into a queue at the back. ‘Let me introduce my colleague,’ said Ted with feigned politeness. ‘You may
call him Ligo. Neither my name or his are our real names.’ ‘Wh-what do you want?’ asked Mignon, regaining her voice. ‘We don’t want anything,’ Ted replied. ‘We are taking precautionary measures
for the safe completion of our scheme. Fortunately you two women are the only
persons in this resort apart from us. That is of course unfortunate for you. We
cannot hide in a crowd because there is none. So the other extreme has to
apply. We must be the only persons here, for the next couple of days.’ ‘What do you intend to do with us?’ asked Meg with a hint of defiance in her
voice. Then to Mignon she said, ‘I think I know who these guys are.’ She
addressed the men again. ‘You’re the gang responsible for that security van
robbery two days ago. The papers said two people were involved.’ ‘Smart thinking, Toots. I guess it doesn’t matter if you know that much. It
will explain what we have to do next. Turn around, both of you ... Ligo, find
some rope. Holiday cottages often have something used for packing ... No, don’t
move or say another word ... You found some? Good. Right, ladies, arms behind
your backs.’ ‘Do as he says,’ Meg whispered urgently to Mignon. ‘These guys mean
business. They shot and wounded one of the guards during the robbery ... Ouch!
You don’t have to make it so tight!’ ‘Afraid I do,’ said Ted in Meg’s ear. ‘Open your fingers. We’ll have no
Houdini tricks here. Ligo, make sure your little lady relaxes her hands too,
and tie them palm to palm like I’m doing with this one, or back to back, it’s
all the same.’ Mignon gasped as Ligo tied a piece of cord tightly around her wrists. It was
the same piece with which Meg had bound her earlier. Mignon had tossed it and
her ankle bonds into the nearest cupboard. Now her captor seemed to be doing
something with the ends of the cord, looping them between her hands in some
way. When they tightened, causing her to straighten her back and gasp a second
time, her wrists were cinched firmly together back to back. Meg’s hands were
bound palm to palm. ‘Do their elbows too,’ muttered Ted. ‘That’s it. Not comfortable but it has
to be done.’ Meg and Mignon were turned like marionettes so that they faced their
captors. Looking at her friend’s arms trussed tightly into the small of her back,
like her own, Mignon felt very helpless and, paradoxically, alone and afraid even
in Meg’s company. Meg turned to Mignon and winked reassuringly then she faced
the two men. ‘You’ve tied us up, so that means you’re not going to hurt us. If you had
wanted us unconscious, or dead, you would have done it already.’ ‘That’s the picture. You got it first time, lady,’ said Ted. ‘But what are you going to do with us?’ asked Mignon. ‘You can’t keep
us as hostages forever.’ ‘That’s right, and we don’t plan to.’ ‘You’ll keep us on ice till you’re ready to skip the state,’ said Meg
astutely. Ted nodded. So did Ligo who seemed to be the strong silent type.
‘Okay,’ Meg squared her shoulders. ‘We’ll cooperate, not that we have much
choice. So please don’t be rough with us. Being tied up is daunting enough.
We’re ordinary women. You don’t have to use Japanese knots or anything.’ ‘We’ll keep that in mind. But there’s something else we have to do, and
that’s to keep you both quiet. You got any cloth or tape in this place?’ ‘There are dressmaking silks in the sewing box in the bedroom,’ Mignon
volunteered. ‘You’re going to gag us, aren’t you?’ ‘Yeah. Any objections?’ ‘Plenty,’ said Meg, ‘But go ahead. We can’t stop you.’ Ligo in the meantime had gone to Mignon’s bedroom. He moves quickly, Meg
noted, someone to be wary of. Ligo returned with a handful of colourful silk
pieces. Some were patterned. Others were gray or pink. The latter were of a
lighter and finer silk appropriate for lining a skirt or a dress. Ted took up a handful of the heavier patterned cloth. ‘Who’s first?’ he
asked with an ironic grin. ‘Do my friend first,’ said Meg. She turned to Mignon, ‘Take it easy, Kitten.
Let him tie it on. Don’t fight it. We’re not in a position for heroics. Just
try to breathe normally through your nose. That’s it,’ she added encouragingly
as Mignon reluctantly accepted the wad of material that Ted pressed into her
mouth. ‘Don’t push it in too far, Ted. She doesn’t have to choke.’ When the cloth was packed into Mignon’s sweet mouth between her teeth, Ted
folded a strip of the lighter material and inserted it between the young
woman’s jaws before passing the ends to the back of her neck and tying them
tightly. ‘Does it have to be so tight?’ asked Meg. Her brow was furrowed with concern
for Mignon who was breathing heavily in incipient panic. ‘Yeah,’ answered Ted. ‘We’re no benevolent society. You next.’ Meg opened her mouth and stood quietly while the wad was inserted and tied
in place with another strip of silk. She noticed that the band holding Mignon’s
gag in place was pink and her own was gray, although that made no difference to
the tightness of the bandaging. Both their mouths were now firmly coerced. Meg
was relieved to see that Mignon was not succumbing to panic but was instead
standing quietly and breathing deeply as she had been instructed. The younger woman
looked to the older woman, tears glistening in her eyes. Hold on, Kitten,
thought Meg. It can’t be all bad. Ted stuffed the remaining pieces of silk into his pocket and herded Meg and
Mignon towards the door. ‘Make sure the cottage is in darkness and locked,’ he
ordered Ligo, ‘like no-one was staying here.’ Mignon tried to back away as Ted opened the trunk of the car but Meg took
the opportunity to rub her shoulder against that of her friend. This calmed the
younger woman and Mignon gave no further resistance as first herself then Meg
were picked up and lowered into the gaping space. When the lid was closed with
a hollow thump, engulfing them in oppressive darkness, the two women lay still
together without struggling. Mignon whimpered faintly as the car began to move
but she grew quiet when Meg nuzzled her bound face against hers. The journey did not take long. It was shorter in fact than the jaunt under
quite different circumstances that Mignon had experienced at Meg’s hands two
weeks before. With a rapidity that left both women dazed, they were lifted out
of the trunk and walked through a heavy wooden door into a kind of cellar. This
beach cottage appeared to have a solid concrete base, not the blocked wooden
floor of Mignon’s cottage, and the walls in which they were now enclosed were
of thick stone. ‘This will be your home till we make a move,’ Ted explained to his by now
weary and disoriented prisoners. ‘It’s unlikely anyone will hear you through
these foundations but, like I said, we can’t take chances. Also, it’s a good
idea to stop you from talking to each other. The gags you’re wearing might be
worked out of your mouths if you tried hard enough, so I’ll take another step
that you won’t like.’ With those words, Ted pulled the remaining strips of heavy silk from his
pocket, folded them into broad bandages, covered each woman’s mouth, and jerked
the ties tight at the backs of their necks before doubling the knots. Mignon
saw Meg’s cheeks bulge out over the silk that was now taut around her face and
knew that her own face must look the same. ‘Take it easy,’ said Ted. ‘Follow your own advice,’ he added, addressing
Meg. ‘One thing more, then you’ll be left in peace, kind of.’ The man chuckled as he walked Meg to a square foundation column that stood
in the middle of the cellar. ‘Sit.’ He supported Meg to the sandy floor and
settled her with her back against the post. ‘Ligo, anchor the little one over against that wall.’ While Ligo the Silent worked on Mignon, Ted wound several lengths of rope
around Meg’s waist and the stonework. This rope was thick, rough and scratchy,
not like the cotton cords that bound the two women’s wrists. He then crossed
Meg’s ankles and tied them together with another piece of the heavy rope,
finishing it off by tying her legs together above the knees around her long
skirt. In the meantime, Ligo was doing the same with Mignon. He tied the young
woman’s ankles, then her knees, and a short length of rope was passed from her
bound wrists to a ring set in the wall behind her. Secured in this way, neither
woman could wriggle across to aid the other. Without another word, the two men left. The heavy door was shut fast.
Padlocks rattled on the other side. Mignon and Meg were now bound and silent
captives in the darkest cellar of the endmost cottage of the most deserted
beach resort of that part of the coast. Mignon struggled against her bonds but with no visible result. The ropes and
the gag stayed in place. Meg was just as helpless. Her arms were cramped behind
her against the column and the knot securing the rope about her waist was out
of reach on the other side. The gags, which might have been worked loose, were
sealed under the additional silk wrappings. The two women’s experimental cries
for help produced only faint strangled grunts. With a sigh of frustration,
Mignon slid onto her side. It was a luxury denied to Meg who had to sit upright
against the pillar to which she was bound. The two women made silent eye contact across the room, mmphing faintly in
empathy with each other’s plight. Meg tried to communicate encouragement, even
a little hope, by nodding her head. But Mignon only shook her head sadly and
closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Less than a minute later, Mignon opened her eyes, startled by a scraping
sound. When she lifted her head and tried to identify where the sound was
coming from, she saw Meg rubbing the rope up and down against the square column
to which she was bound. It was difficult, and painful, for the rough coils were
tight about Meg’s waist and every time she moved, the rope was not only abraded
slowly against the edge of the column - which was Meg’s intention - it also
abraded Meg’s body through the fine silk she was wearing. Meg looked at Mignon and tried to say something through her gag, jerking her
head at the same time towards the wall behind Mignon. But her attempts at
speech were impossibly compromised. Indeed, the gags had the full effect their
captors intended, preventing them from talking to each other. All the silk
cloths did for both women was to stimulate drooling. But Mignon suddenly understood that Meg was trying to point out something
important about the wall behind her. She rolled onto her back as far as her
bound and anchored wrists allowed and looked at the blank stone. Then it came to
her. The iron ring to which the rope linked her hands was at floor level. It
might be possible to edge her body to the wall so that her back was against it.
And if she could reach the iron ring she might be able to undo the knot. Mignon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes a
moment later it was as though she had suddenly become blind. The small ceiling
globe had been switched off from somewhere in the house and Mignon and Meg were
now plunged into a frightening darkness unrelieved by any glimmer of external
light. It was night outside after all. Meg heard Mignon’s stifled cry of anguish. She herself felt suddenly hot and
her heart began to pound alarmingly. It must be the same for poor Kitten, she
thought. God, it has to be possible to do something about this. She continued
patiently rubbing the rope against the column’s edge. It was helpful to stay
occupied. The effort to saw through the rope holding her against the pillar
helped to take her mind off the frightening darkness. Meg did not know it, but
Mignon was coming to the same conclusion. Already her hands had sought for and
found the metal bolt and she was trying to pick open the large stiff knots with
her long fingernails. The hour that followed dragged slowly, punctuated by the occasional
straining of one or the other prisoner against her bonds. This is bound and
gagged for real, thought Mignon. She could not believe how different it felt
from her erotic adventures as Meg’s prisoner. She was shaking with delayed
shock, and sweat stung her eyes. The darkness kept her on the edge of hysteria.
But screaming and thrashing around would only hurt her, if she could move or
make sufficient sound at all gagged and bound like this. Meg told me that being
tied up for real wasn’t fun. Now I know for sure. Mignon let her head fall and
closed her eyes against the dark that surrounded her. Her fingers continued to
work on the unyielding knots that held her to the wall, but without much
success. The rope was frayed and oily and Ligo’s knots had become almost as
small and tight as the knots in fine hosiery, and just as resistant to questing
fingers. Meg’s thoughts dwelt on the question of how they would know those awful men
had gone. Their present attempts to get partially free would be stymied if
their captors came back to check on them. They would wind up being bound more
tightly in some other way where escape would be impossible. The situation
looked almost hopeless. But Meg could feel the rope around her waist beginning
to weaken just a little, and she renewed her efforts and even managed to grasp
the rope with one hand so that the sawing motion now had additional force. If this doesn’t work, all we can hope, said Meg to herself, is for the
cavalry to arrive. * In the end, it proved as simple as that. Mignon had given up working on the
recalcitrant knots. She was now too exhausted from the ordeal to realise fully
what was happened. Several hours after the event she woke in a warm hospital
bed amid a scent of flowers. Meg told her that after her own tears and
struggles - and when she had almost severed the last strands of the rope - she
heard distant muffled sounds. It was as though police sirens were wailing in a
busy city concourse, except that they were far away and muted by distance, and
by the thick walls of the imprisoning cellar. A moment of silence was followed
by what sounded like distant gunshots. A louder noise burst upon them as the
heavy wooden doors were battered in by a sledgehammer, and there was a confusing
kaleidoscope of blue uniforms, badges and a babble of voices. At that point Meg
herself had drifted into unconsciousness out of sheer relief and the aftershock
that came with it. ‘The FBI officer said that we must be the luckiest of hostage victims,’ Meg
explained. ‘You know how the banks sometimes salt their notes with invisible
dye so it will brand the hands of the thieves? Well this time they had a bug in
one of the bags, a bleeper they followed with a tracking device. It led them
here. And so they found us.’ ‘I’m glad,’ said Mignon wearily. ‘I couldn’t have handled that darkness and
silence much longer. I was really panicking. I didn’t know how terrifying it
could be if you were tied up by the wrong people.’ ‘And for the wrong reason,’ added Meg thoughtfully. ‘You know, Kitten, we
should work out strategies in case anything like this happens again.’ ‘Like what? Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.’ ‘Ah, but that old proverb is wrong. There are plenty of exceptions in
nature. And anyway, there are plenty more robbers out there. In this world how
do we know when one of us might not become a real damsel in distress again,
bound and gagged, in the hands of unscrupulous villains, like the characters
you create in your stories. ‘I guess we don’t,’ said Mignon with a sigh. ‘No,’ said Meg, ‘But I have an interesting idea. How about we practice being
tied up together, and work out ways of freeing each other.’ ‘But not this week, or even next week,’ cried Mignon firmly. ‘But never say never?’ Silently Mignon nodded in assent.
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