z opened the door just as Molly got to it. "Welcome, Miss. I'm glad you could make it," the self-proclaimed slave woman said.
"I was glad to get your call, z," Molly responded, smiling. "You did offer to let me observe you being trained in housecleaning by that Mistress that you told me about last time. I'm curious to see how you both interact." She saw that z was dressed only in black underwear, consisting of a half bra, garter belt and stockings, and panties. The black outfit went well with the woman's flaming red hair, but Molly was surprised she had on any clothing at all, since the last time they'd met, z had been naked. Not knowing what to expect, or if they'd end up at some alley or something, Molly was wearing a simple T-shirt, panties, jeans, and a rather beat up pair of slip-ons.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss. She called and said she couldn't be here today, after all." Seeing Molly's look of disappointment, she grinned. "Don't worry, Miss. I plan to make your trip worth your while. Before we get started, though, I have one request."
"Oh? What's that?" Molly asked.
"Well Miss, I read the story you wrote about me, and I loved it -- every bit of it. You seemed to capture my thoughts and feeling quite well, and I thank you for that. But you spelled my name with a capital 'z' and not the lowercase 'z' which I use. It symbolizes how I feel about my status, Miss."
"Oh! I had no idea. The letter was only spoken, and I never saw it written down. I apologize. I'll be sure to get it right in any future stories, OK?"
"No need to apologize, Miss," z said, blushing. "You had no way of knowing, so it's really my fault for not informing you. Now that it's settled, please have a seat while I make a phone call."
Molly sat down as z went into the next room. From where she was sitting, she could see the woman run her finger on a folded newspaper, consulting it, as she picked up the phone and dialed. Molly couldn't hear what was being said, but z was smiling as she spoke, obviously pleased and looking forward to what was being discussed. Once everything was settled, z hung up and returned to her guest.
"Let me fetch us some refreshments while we wait, Miss. I have them already prepared, and we can chat for a bit." z took a couple of trips to the kitchen, first bringing forth a tray of sandwiches, cookies, chips, and cheese and crackers. Her second trip brought another tray with glasses, iced tea, lemonade, and a bucket of ice. She served Molly, and then herself. "Oh, yes. I'd better make certain the front door is unlocked," she murmured, mostly to herself. She checked it, and then sat in a chair as the two of them chatted. z answered more of Molly's questions about various things, but said nothing about what was about to happen, telling Molly she preferred it to be a surprise.
Molly was fine with that, since the suspense was rather exciting. What was also exciting was seeing z's nipples peeking out over the top of her half bra, bobbing up and down gently as z gesticulated when answering some question or other. z ate very little, but drank a couple of glasses of lemonade.
When the two women heard a car pulling close to the house, z told Molly, "Please don't be alarmed by anything that happens, Miss. I know and trust this person." She set down the glass she'd been drinking from, and sat back.
Molly barely had time to register what z had just said when the front door opened. A large man walked in, shut the door, and twisted the deadbolt closed. He uttered not a word as he strode over to where z was sitting. Grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, he threw her off her chair onto the floor in front of him as he dropped the sports-type duffel bag he was carrying.
Molly sat in shock as she watched the man grab a handful of z's magnificent hair to pull her to her knees, facing away from him. With a swift movement of both of his hands, he seized z's wrists, dragging them behind her back. Holding her wrists with one of his massive hands, he reached into the duffel bag and brought out a length of rope. With that rope he began tying z's wrists together.
"No! Please no!" z moaned. She struggled as the ropes tightened on her wrists. Molly was about to leap from her chair to try to intervene when she remembered z's cautioning about not being alarmed, so she stopped herself.
The man grabbed more rope out of his bag and skillfully tied an intricate weaving around his struggling captive's elbows. Slowly pulling on that rope, he drew z's elbows together behind her back. Molly stared, amazed at how limber the woman must be to make that possible.
"Please don't!" z pleaded. "Stop! Let me go! Help!" she whined and whimpered.
Ignoring her, the man pulled a long strip of cloth from his bag and placed it across z's lips, pulling it taut behind her head, forcing it past her lips, and creating a gag. Now her protests became inarticulate mumbles, as wide-eyed, she shook her head in a 'no' signal. Molly watched as the man hoisted her up onto his shoulder, and carried his bag and the squirming woman into the basement. Feeling a little reassured by the guy's familiarity with the layout of the house, she followed, descending the basement steps.
As Molly's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, she saw it had indeed been converted to a dungeon. z'd told her this, the time they'd spoken earlier, but now Molly was seeing it first hand. She was fascinated by the wooden structures like a frame, cross, and saw horse with their many places to secure ropes. Metal rings hung from the ceiling. A cabinet contained what looked like riding crops, floggers -- even a whip. And many drawers were present, whose contents Molly couldn't even hazard guesses about.
There was a mattress on the floor, and the silent man unceremoniously dumped z onto it, rolling her face down and straddling her legs, pinning them down. Pulling a longer piece of rope out of his bag, he tied it carefully to the rope that was binding z's wrists together. Once that had been accomplished, he hauled z up onto her feet next to the bed, under an iron ring secured into a ceiling joist. Reaching up, he threaded the rope through the ring, and pulled on it until z's wrists were dragged up, making her bend over. She was apparently protesting through the gag as her arms became almost vertical behind her back.
Molly saw a chair positioned where she'd have a good vantage point for observation, so she walked over and sat down. From there, she watched as z struggled and danced in her awkward bondage. She couldn't dance long, however. The man worked swiftly, first securing z's ankles together with a length of rope, and then using another to bind her knees together. Molly couldn't help but admire the skill with which he worked. When he'd finished, z was only able to wriggle her hands up high above her back, and make tiny hops on her toes, mumbling furiously.
Satisfied that z was now immobilized properly, the man turned his attention to Molly. For the first time since his arrival, he spoke as he approached her. "Hello. You must be Molly. z told me that you'd be observing today." He held out his hand in greeting. "My name is Sven, but most people call me Master Sven, or just plain Master." He had a winning smile as he said this.
Molly felt her heart flutter -- actually flutter -- as his warm, powerful hand enveloped hers. His grip was strong and controlled, but she assumed, given his muscularity, that it could be bone-crushing if necessary. They shook hands in greeting. Master Sven's gray eyes looked at her with an intensity that made her blush. She decided she had to say something. "Very nice to meet you. You have amazing skills at controlling her, I see. But she was saying things like 'no' and 'stop' but you didn't. I almost jumped up to try to come to her aid."
He laughed softly. "Yes, she was saying those things. But that's part of the game. She can struggle, and plead, and try to resist as much as she wants. That's part of what makes it exciting for her. But if she'd used her safeword -- which is the word 'cabbage' by the way -- I would have stopped immediately. That's why we have safewords in bondage. So the person has a way to communicate actual distress."
Molly's eyes widened. "Oh! I see! That makes perfect sense. But now she's gagged, and can't speak clearly. How can she do that now?"
"An excellent question. I can see you're as intelligent as z said," he stated, grinning. His flattery made Molly blush like a schoolgirl with her first crush, and her heart felt like it was jumping around inside her chest. Was he emitting some sort of pheromone? He went on to answer her. "When gagged, z can signal her safeword to me. It can either be having her nod her head vigorously in a 'yes' motion, or scream loudly into the gag three times in rapid succession, or both. My job is to be cognizant of such signals from her, when she's in my control."
They both looked at the woman in question. Her struggles had made her tits fully pop free from her bra. Those magnificent globes were now dangling and bobbing under her twisting torso. Her flame red hair was a little damp with sweat, and hanging down, obscuring her face. "Excuse me a moment," he said. Taking another bit of rope, he gathered up z's hair, tying a slip knot around it, and ran that rope to the one binding her elbows together. This swept her hair up out of the way, giving them a look at the expressions on z's face, which ranged from glaring anger at being trussed up, to ones pleading for release.
