Bound Ankles

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A late summer breeze rustled the leaves of the trees in Jan’s garden, stirred the grass restlessly, and teased the bare skin of the girl bound to one of those trees. Donna was her name, a healthy young lass of eighteen summers, a wonderful figure that both men and women lusted after, and a face that radiated sweetness and innocence. Donna was also the full time slavegirl and captive of a girl only a little older than herself, her Aunt Janet. And she loved it, being, by nature, a very submissive female much given to love of tight cords binding her body, chains holding her prisoner, and an occasional whipping. Just to keep her in her place and provide a tonic that wakes up the whole system.

That day the twins had been kind to Donna—none of their usual painfully tight, contorted bondage. For that lazy California afternoon, as summer slid quietly into autumn, they had simply bound her hands crossed behind the tree trunk, crossed and tightly knotted but not too uncomfortable, and left the leg irons shackled on her ankles. She could stand, even move her legs a bit, or sit down, although regaining her feet proved difficult but not impossible.

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