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Velma gave a muffled sigh and stared at the door. She should be used to it by now day after day of being kept bound and gagged, and to her shame for much of the time she was, but from time-to-time, like now. “Mnnnnnnnnh! Nuuuh, luuut eeeee ghhhhh!” she screamed through her ever present ball gag and yanked at the chain securing her wrists to the wall. She stamped her feet up and down, they were shackled together like her wrists meaning she could only shuffle about the house, she almost forgotten what it was like to take a stride. She fell to her knees and pulled against the chain with all her might, When she was done with that she turned to the ball gag. “Nnnn, guuuu!” She tugged at the straps which held the ball tightly behind her teeth, trying to work her fingers under them to get some leverage and pull the ball out. She reached behind her head, tugging and twisting the padlock that kept the gag in place, sure it was made of some high strength steel. With a final frustrated scream she stopped and sat there with her head in her hands. It wasn’t like she was gagged all of the time. When he was here she would spend hours ungagged, but if she so much as uttered a word it would get locked back in place. It was like she was living under Rule of Saint Benedict, but with no choice in the matter. In some ways this was better than when she was in the restraint room, it was only for a night but it was spent in an agonising ball-tie. When he freed her in the morning she was too weak to resist being rebound and brought here, to wherever here was. She was bound all of the time, in one way or another.

Patterns were important, not only in clue solving but also in escape. There was a kind of routine to her existence, when he was out she was chained and locked in her bedroom cell. She had spent so much time here that she had worked out how to drink from the tap while gagged, very messy but it made things much more bearable. Generally when her captor was here he would bring her into the same room as him, but she would always be bound in one way or another. Sometimes shackles allowed her more freedom of movement, other times she was bound tightly with rope and could barely move, when she wasn’t tied to a chair, table or some other immobile object that was. But that was it, that was the only pattern. Aside from that he had not communicated anything, not directly, he never stopped her reading anything, he even provided her with reading material. It was almost like he was teasing her with something, but what?

She pulled herself up and sat dejectedly on the toilet, she had many of her best ideas sitting on the loo. It would drive Daphne to distraction waiting for Velma waiting to finished just one more page of the book that she was reading. Velma hung her head at the thought of Daphne, he was probably with her now. Velma assumed that when he was here Daphne would be in that straitjacket, chained by her ankles to the wall with just a worn mattress to lie on. With a gag locked in her mouth. At least she had a proper bed, with a real pillow, and she could pull the covers over herself when she slept. Plus she had regular clothes to wear, not some fetish bondage outfit thing that had been forced on Daphne. True her bra had gone missing but it would have been a devil to take on and off with bound hands. She looked up at the bookcase again, one small book stood out to her. She squinted, could it be? She got to her feet and shuffled over, she’d been looking for this book for years. It was a clue, a clue to a mystery she’d been intrigued in since childhood. She’d tried to persuade the gang to follow this up but without the book to provide any information they had refused. But here it was, a small leather-bound book printed centuries ago, a book which there were only third of fourth hand copies. But here is was, an original copy. Spellbound she shuffled back to her bed and sat down to read.

Description
Based on :thumb774654263:

Velma gave a muffled sigh and stared at the door. She should be used to it by now day after day of being kept bound and gagged, and to her shame for much of the time she was, but from time-to-time, like now. “Mnnnnnnnnh! Nuuuh, luuut eeeee ghhhhh!” she screamed through her ever present ball gag and yanked at the chain securing her wrists to the wall. She stamped her feet up and down, they were shackled together like her wrists meaning she could only shuffle about the house, she almost forgotten what it was like to take a stride. She fell to her knees and pulled against the chain with all her might, When she was done with that she turned to the ball gag. “Nnnn, guuuu!” She tugged at the straps which held the ball tightly behind her teeth, trying to work her fingers under them to get some leverage and pull the ball out. She reached behind her head, tugging and twisting the padlock that kept the gag in place, sure it was made of some high strength steel. With a final frustrated scream she stopped and sat there with her head in her hands. It wasn’t like she was gagged all of the time. When he was here she would spend hours ungagged, but if she so much as uttered a word it would get locked back in place. It was like she was living under Rule of Saint Benedict, but with no choice in the matter. In some ways this was better than when she was in the restraint room, it was only for a night but it was spent in an agonising ball-tie. When he freed her in the morning she was too weak to resist being rebound and brought here, to wherever here was. She was bound all of the time, in one way or another.

Patterns were important, not only in clue solving but also in escape. There was a kind of routine to her existence, when he was out she was chained and locked in her bedroom cell. She had spent so much time here that she had worked out how to drink from the tap while gagged, very messy but it made things much more bearable. Generally when her captor was here he would bring her into the same room as him, but she would always be bound in one way or another. Sometimes shackles allowed her more freedom of movement, other times she was bound tightly with rope and could barely move, when she wasn’t tied to a chair, table or some other immobile object that was. But that was it, that was the only pattern. Aside from that he had not communicated anything, not directly, he never stopped her reading anything, he even provided her with reading material. It was almost like he was teasing her with something, but what?

She pulled herself up and sat dejectedly on the toilet, she had many of her best ideas sitting on the loo. It would drive Daphne to distraction waiting for Velma waiting to finished just one more page of the book that she was reading. Velma hung her head at the thought of Daphne, he was probably with her now. Velma assumed that when he was here Daphne would be in that straitjacket, chained by her ankles to the wall with just a worn mattress to lie on. With a gag locked in her mouth. At least she had a proper bed, with a real pillow, and she could pull the covers over herself when she slept. Plus she had regular clothes to wear, not some fetish bondage outfit thing that had been forced on Daphne. True her bra had gone missing but it would have been a devil to take on and off with bound hands. She looked up at the bookcase again, one small book stood out to her. She squinted, could it be? She got to her feet and shuffled over, she’d been looking for this book for years. It was a clue, a clue to a mystery she’d been intrigued in since childhood. She’d tried to persuade the gang to follow this up but without the book to provide any information they had refused. But here it was, a small leather-bound book printed centuries ago, a book which there were only third of fourth hand copies. But here is was, an original copy. Spellbound she shuffled back to her bed and sat down to read.