“GOOD AFTERNOON, LADIES,” began Sarah Nilsson, speaking with the measured tone of the career politician she wanted to be. The light chit-chat amongst the Student Council representatives subdued into silence, as a dozen pairs of eyes focused on the Council President,

       “We have one issue and only one issue today: the pool.” The handful of girls who hadn’t been giving Sarah their full attention immediately did so. “I have just been informed by Headmaster McGregor that, effective May 15, 2009, the school’s pool will be closed due to financial difficulties.”

       “What?” demanded one of the girls, expressing the astonishment felt by the entire Council. “They can’t close it! That pool’s the life and blood of this St. Alban’s.”

       “I already mentioned that to Mr. McGregor, and he was quite adamant on the point,” restated Sarah, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. “He says that, unless the School can raise...” she paused for a moment to consult her agenda, “$7,200 by June 30, they’re going to have the close the pool for the 2009-2010 academic year.”

       “Seven thousand dollars?” repeated the same astonished girl.

       “Unfortunately. It seems like one of the chlorine filters broke down and needs to be replaced, that’s a big part of it, but it’s mostly just the upkeep..

       “We have to get that money,” declared one of the Council’s members, a statement quickly supported by a handful of voices. Sarah privately agreed, but didn’t really want to encourage this. The St. Alban the Martyr’s School for Girls had the top swimming team in South Carolina, and their swimmers consistently grabbed medals in every competition in the state. It would be a great loss...

       “Ladies, may I remind you,” spoke Sarah, raising her voice to subdue the half-dozen fundraising ideas that had already sprung up, “that, since 2005, no school fundraising event has raised more than $2,000.”

       “What about that dinner back in December,” protested one of the girls. “Didn’t that raise like $12,000?”

       “Yes, but that was only hosted here. It was fundraising for UNICEF, and most of the cash came from people not related to the school at all. We’ll be hard-pressed to find that much cash from inside our community.”

       Ten seconds later, Sarah took her seat at the front of Room 211, the energized conversations of intelligent girls on a mission. Well, Sarah silently mused, at least I can say ‘I told you so’.

*

       Déjà’s hands broke the surface of the water with the eloquence of a swan, her arms and legs moving harmoniously together to almost effortlessly propel her through the indoor pool. Fifteen seconds later she was at the end of the lane, placing one dripping hand on the white tiled floor of the deck, floating effortlessly in the water.

       “Oh, you make it look so easy,” complained Kalie, although they Déjà knew it was a compliment and not a complaint coming from Kalie.

       “You’re putting too much effort into it,” chided Déjà, pushing off the wall so she bobbed in the water a few feet away from Kalie. “You have to make yourself hydrodynamic, just slip through the water, like you’re barely there.”

       “Ah, you’re such a Buddhist,” retorted Kalie. Déjà smiled, as Kalie’s jest was, in fact, fact.

       “It’s going to be a shame when it’s gone,” mused Déjà, staring down the fifty meters to the opposite wall.

       “It’s not going to be gone, really,” corrected Kalie. “I mean, it’ll still be right here, we just won’t be able to use it.”

       “Kalie, all good things-“

       “-must come to an end, yeah, I know,” finished Kalie. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

       “Of course not,” said Kalie, drifting back to the wall. She planted both hands on the tiling and managed to somehow exit the pool gracefully, something Kalie had never managed to do. Déjà was wearing a one-piece jet-black swimsuit and a matching black cap, letting the water stream down her long, bare legs. Her skin was slightly olive in complexion, a result of mixed French and Lebanese heritages, while her face always reflected the passive serenity of someone totally at ease with the world.

       “Thanks,” said Kalie, as Déjà bent over and offered a hand, pulling Kalie out of the water without any visible effort. Kalie wore a dark-red one-piece swimsuit and let her short brown hair out of her swim cap.

       Déjà peeled off her swim cap once the two were inside the unusually vacant changing room, letting her waist-length black hair down in something straight of a shampoo commercial.

       “Is it that attitude of kind of not caring that makes everything look so natural with you?” asked Kalie, peeling out of her swimsuit and wrapping her body with a thin white towel.

       “Not at all,” answered Déjà, smiling ever-so-slightly in a way that seemed to illuminate her perfectly positioned facial features. “Otherwise slackers would be Olympians.”

       “Not just that,” protested Kalie, “I mean, you don’t have to do anything, you just kind of are, and you still have boys falling all over you.”

       “I think that’s something of a exaggeration,” lied Déjà, politely. She turned away from Kalie, facing the wall to further towel herself off, inadvertently revealing her perfectly arched back, tight butt cheeks, long and lithe thighs. “And you have more of a following then you like to believe.”

       “Me?”

       “Oh, yes. The cute, cheery but somewhat self-conscious girl? You make everyone happy in a kind of, what’s the Japanese word... kawaii, that’s it. I mean, sure, you’re not as likely to pick-up the sexaholic jocks, but a lot of smarter guys really like someone with a little character.”

       Kalie blushed a little, and pretended to be drying her face.

       “Do you think they’ll still use these change rooms next year?”

       “Why not? They’re a lot nicer than the ones next to the gym, and it’s not a huge expense to keep them open anyways.”

       “It’ll be a kind of painful reminder,” sighed Kalie. Déjà bit her bottom lip softly as she finished towelling off. Well, she thought, it can’t hurt.

       “It’s not over yet, anyways. Not for certain,” said Déjà, breaking the half-minute silence that had formed as she thought. “Sarah’s trying to organize a whole bunch of activities in late May, you could give her a hand with that.”

       “Yeah, a Renaissance Faire,” practically muttered Kalie. “We need, what, seven thousand dollars? I’m no account, but there’s no way we’re raising that much money.”

       Déjà wanted to contradict her, although she’d done the math in her head herself. People just wouldn’t pay that much for that stuff.

       “Do you know Jasmine Nabi?”

       “The Indian girl in your grade?”

       “Yeah. In the past she’s had some... unconventional ideas. Effective, though. And I think she’s taken something of a personal interest in this.”

       “I’ll try to find her on Facebook or something tonight.”

       “Good idea. Just be... careful. Jasmine has a somewhat uncanny insight into what people want, and she’s very good at manipulating what people think they want.”

*

       Sarah didn’t particularly like Jasmine, although she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it. Maybe it was because she always played her sex appeal around boys, although Sarah knew the term slut didn’t really apply to her. Watching Jasmine give a slightly inviting smile to a group of boys from another school, Sarah reminded herself that this girl was one of the academically smartest girl in the grade, and when it came to social interactions, well, she was like a master puppeteer.

       “Hi Sarah,” greeted Jasmine, flashing a row of white teeth at her. “Mind if I take a minute of your time?”

       “You sure you’re not busy?” asked Sarah, gesturing slightly with her head at the gaggle of track-and-field jocks staring at Jasmine’s tight ass. She was, of course, wearing a too-small pair of running shorts that barely covered her cheeks, along with a tight-fitting white T-shirt. Jasmine winked at Sarah, then bent straight over, pretending to tie her shoelaces. One of the boys actually whistled at her.

       Sarah would have found the catcall crude, had Jasmine not been looking for it. Jasmine was a year her junior and a first-generation immigrant from India, and she had the rich, dark brown skin of someone from the Subcontinent. She had dark black hair and let it drop just below her shoulders, while flashing her devilish emerald-green eyes at any teen boy who came her way.

       “Hey, I’m Chris, from S.C. Washington High,” said one of the jocks, who had strolled up behind Jasmine and stood a solid two heads taller than her, muscled biceps drawn across his chest.

       “Hi, I’m Jasmine,” said Jasmine, giving a smile that caused Sarah’s stomach to tighten. Christ, she’s playing with them. Jasmine extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

       “Uh, likewise,” said Chris, awkwardly grabbing her entire hand and shaking it a little.

       “And I’m way out of your league.”

       Without a second word, Jasmine spun around and began walking away, hips rolling effortlessly, her hair swishing side-to-side with each step. Sarah gave the guys a look that said sorry, then jogged to catch up with Jasmine.

       “Was that really necessary?”

       “You tell me. What would have happened if I’d said ‘go away’?”

       “They would have kept pestering you,” said Sarah, after a pause.

       “Ah-huh. You want these guys to go away, you have to really puncture their egos. Only way.”

       “Um, okay,” agreed Sarah. She realized that Jasmine had a direction, and that they were heading to another side of the field, where another busload of boys was beginning to unload. “You wanted to talk?”

       “Of course,” said Jasmine, shaking her head. “Now, nobody wants to the see the pool go.”

       “Of course not.”

       “And me least of all. I want to help you with your Renaissance Faire idea. That’s the one you’re sticking with, right?”

       “Yeah, those have gotten the most money in the past. What do you want to help with. I mean, we could use jugglers, magicians, stage fighters, or you could help with sets or costumes-“

       “Theme,” interjected Jasmine, coming to a dead stop a few hundred meters away from the yellow school bus she seemed to have been walking towards.

       “Uh, I think we already got that figured out,” said Sarah, her hand automatically rubbing the back of her neck.

       “Yep. You took Grade 11 Accounting, didn’t you? Best-case scenario, how much can we raise?”

       “I haven’t really had the chance-“

       “How much?” demanded Jasmine. Sarah sighed.

       “$2,190,” she practically whispered.

       “And that’s the best case? So we’re expected to make, what, a little more than a thousand?”

       “Less than that.”

       “Alright,” said Jasmine, tapping Sarah on the shoulder. Sarah just realized she’d been staring at the grass. “Work through the problem. Why aren’t we making more money?”

       “We can’t get enough people to come,” answered Sarah, stating the obvious.

       “Right. Let’s face it, we’re likely only to get family members and maybe a few people from the community. And they’re not likely to just dump their wallets.”

       “I suppose you have some brilliant plan on how to expand our demographic?” answered Sarah, a little harsher than she’d have liked. Then she saw the devilish grin creep onto Jasmine’s face and knew that’s exactly what she’d wanted to here.

       “Quite frankly, what are we? You, me, are whole school?”

       “SAM Girls?” guessed Sarah, using the common term used to describe girls from St. Anthony the Martyr’s School for Girls.

       “More broadly?”

       ‘Women?”

       “Exactly! Young, attractive, teenage girls. And there’re four all-male schools within spitting distance of Campus.” Jasmine resumed walking towards the school bus at a brisk pace.

       “What, you propose we term this into some kind of a sex show?”

       “Do I look like a prostitute to you?” asked Jasmine, rhetorically. Ten minutes ago Sarah would have answered yes, then remembered Christopher, probably still nursing his ego. “You may not be aware of it, but Renaissance Fairs are one of the best examples of social events where sex can be exploited in a socially acceptable manner.”

       “Yeah, because guys are just drooling over bonnets,” retorted Sarah, dripping with sarcasm.

       “In a manner of speaking. There’s more than enough material in the time setting.”

       “What do you mean?”

       Jasmine stopped at a school desk which had been brought out to the field by one of the schools, covered with various pieces of paper showing which activities were occurring where at what times. Somebody had thought to use duct tape to plaster some of the sheets to the desk to keep them from being blown away in the wind, and the roll of silvery tape was seated right atop the desk.

       “See those four boys over there,” said Jasmine, gesturing with a tilt of her head to a handful of track-and-field athletes who were all chatting amongst themselves, pretending not to notice the two girls. Jasmine hopped up on the desk and let her feet dangle in the air.

       “They’re from St. Peter’s, maybe ten minute’s drive to the north of here. They’re a little more restrained than Chris and his friends.”

       “I’ve noticed.”

       Jasmine picked up the roll of duct tape, then found the edge, letting her nails slip underneath it. She yanked a strip maybe seven inches from the roll, which parted from the remaining tape with duct tape’s unique sound. Careful not to get the strip tangled in itself, Jasmine tore it off, then held it under her nose.

       “Love the smell of duct tape, don’t you?” said Jasmine, closing her eyes and breathing in the aroma.

       “I guess,” replied Sarah, not that she’d given it any thought, ever.

       “Alright, now watch.” Jasmine pressed the strip of tape across her mouth, letting her hands role across the surface of the tape to make sure it was pressed firmly onto her skin. She glanced briefly at Sarah, who could’ve sworn she was smiling, and then hopped of the bench towards the boys. They were definitely looking at her now.

       Sarah pretended to be walking in a different direction, but ended up circling around so she was within earshot. The four boys had formed a semi-circle around Jasmine, who had clasped her hands behind her back and bounced up on her tip-toes. One of the boys pulled the strip of duct tape halfway open, leaving her mouth free, but the strip dangling in the air, still attached to her cheek.

       “Just a little fun,” Jasmine was saying. “You guys like my kind of fun?”

       “Definitely,” said one of the boys, who had produced a digital camera and snapped a photo of Jasmine.

       “You want to take it a little farther?” asked Jasmine, suggestively. Her hands were still clasped behind her back, and she glanced at each boy in turn, getting a nod of approval. “Alright, how about this, for ten dollars, you boys can tape my feet together and my hand behind my back.”

       Within a heartbeat two five-dollar bills had been produced, and one of the boys had sprinted to retrieve the roll of tape. Jasmine smiled as she took the two fives and slipped them down the front of her shorts. Jasmine than obediently turned pressed her wrists together behind her back, palms facing outwards, which were promptly encircled with tape, while she brought her feet together so they could be properly bound. One of the boys than pressed the strip of tape across her mouth again, and added a few more layers.

       Jasmine hopped around randomly for a few minutes, letting hands stroke her body, face and hair while she pretended to be annoyed, futilely hopping away and letting them chase her down. Sarah swore she was enjoying this. Then one of the boys seemed to take notice of the tall Scandinavian girl on the sidelines.

       “You too?” he asked, gesturing to the roll of duct tape. Jasmine made a loud mmmfffh sound straight out any damsel-in-distress piece, and one of the boys peeled back her tape gag, causing her to give an exaggerated wince.

       “Ten dollars only gets the gag with her,” interjected Jasmine. It’s ten more if you want to do her hands and feet.” The boys considered it for a moment, but then came to Sarah with two ten-dollar bills in hand. Someone had resealed Jasmine’s gag, so she just gestured with her eyebrows in a way that said go along with it.

       Sarah sighed and took the two tens, stuffing them in the back of her shorts in a way a fraction as erotic as Jasmine. Her face conveyed no emotion as three strips of silver duct tape were plastered from cheek to cheek, obediently placed her wrists behind her back and her feet together, letting to duct tape bind her limbs. Jasmine than hopped over to her and began hopping around, and Sarah, with an inward sigh, began a half-hearted struggle to escape.

       The boys cheered as Jasmine struggled on the grass, kicking out with her legs or rolling onto her stomach and trying to pull her wrists apart. The digital camera resurfaced, snapping photographs of the two taped girls before the sound of a whistle sent them jogging off, leaving the two girls tied and gagged.

       Sarah gave a monosyllabic grunt which Jasmine interpreted as a sarcastic great. Hopping to her feet, Jasmine waddled so she and Sarah were back to back, then proceeded to unravel the tape binding Sarah’s hands together. Sarah quickly peeled off the gag – a little too fast, perhaps, wincing in pain – before freeing her legs.

       Jasmine was not seated on the grass, staring up at her expectantly, her deep green eyes giving a look one might expect from a puppy. Sarah sighed softly and peeled the tape gag back a little, leaving it tangling as had the boys.

       “Now, how much money do we have?” asked Jasmine, smugly.

       “Thirty dollars,” answered Sarah, unimpressed.

       “Exactly! We are two girls, that lasted five minutes in told. That’s over $7 a minute on something completely improvised.” Sarah paused for a second. That was good math.

       “So let me guess, you want to have every girl in the school bound and gagged and felt-up by every horny boy in a ten-block radius?”

       “Please,” protested Jasmine, pulling herself to her feet. I went to extreme ends because I needed to make a dramatic point. “But, I suppose, in principal, yes. There’re a whole bunch of kinky things that you could pass off as part of the Renaissance experience. We get more diversified activities, more girls, a longer period of time.. no problem.”

       “And you think this could actually work?” asked Sarah, although even know she was feeling her personal protests subside. She stared at the few feet of duct tape now crumpled on the grass.

       “Do the math, Sarah. Give me a handful of technically-minded girls and I’ll have everything you need this time next week.” The two girls stared face-to-face for a few seconds, the tape gag still attached to Jasmine’s right cheek.

       “Fine. One week. I’ll e-mail you a list of girls I think will work well with you. I want to see everything you have next Wednesday.”

       “You won’t be disappointed,” promised Jasmine. She then turned around, showing off her wrists still bound behind her back.

       “You can hobble back,” said Sarah, a grin coming over her face despite herself. She pressed the tape gag back over Jasmine’s astonished mouth before jogging off across the field.

*

       “So what is so pressing you want to show me,” demanded Sarah, as the two girls, still in their gym outfits, walked into the school’s computer lab. Jasmine logged on, opened Mozilla Firefox, and ran a quick Google search.

       “BIEL?” asked Sarah, as Jasmine logged onto a forum of some sort.

       “Bondage in Everyday Life. It’s what you and I just did back at the Field.” She spent about ten seconds scrolling and clicking. “And there we are.”

       Jasmine indicated with her cursor to a JPEG image of the two of them, bound hand and foot, tape gagged on the field.

       “But that was taken less than four hours ago,” said Sarah, incredulously.

       “It has a surprisingly strong following. People who like seeing cute girls tied up in circumstances that don’t seem as... artificial as mainstream bondage.”

       “Christ, this network has over 20,000 registered users!”

       “Yep.”

       “Alright,” said Sarah, clearing their history and closing the program, “you’ve made your point.”

*

       Room B31 was not a room most of the girls of St. Alban’s typically visited. In fact, most went through their entire academic careers without setting foot in it. The expansive, subterranean room had once been the primary maintenance office of the school’s janitorial services, before a hydro leak had forced them to move to another workshop some years back. Still packed to the brim with everything from handsaws to electric cables, B31 was now the laboratory for the evil geniuses of the school. Though few and far between, more than one unusual piece of ‘art’ had come out of those doors.

       For the first time in recent memory, however, B31 was abuzz with energy. Nine girls wearing earmuffs, safety glasses and work gloves flew about the room with hammers, buzz saws, drills, nail guns and cold saws. Sarah was given a pair of earmuffs and safety glasses by a girl she didn’t recognize, and was surprised by how expansive the room was. The smell of sawdust filled her nostrils and she tried not to step on anything as she searched for Jasmine.

       She was, of course, in the back of B31, where Jasmine was personally inspecting a newly-completed pillory. Her neck and wrists were pinned between to pieces of wood, which were in turn locked together with a heavy padlock.  Unlike the fake pillories that seemed to dot every amusement park and history site, once the padlock was shut on this, there was no way the occupant was getting out. Which, in this case, was Jasmine.

       “Ah, Sarah, how nice of my benefactor to drop by on us.”

       “Nice to see you’ve put these girls to work.”

       “Oh, yes,” smiled Jasmine. “This is the prototype of our new pillory design.”

       “New? Looks pretty standard to me.” Jasmine let out an exasperated sigh, as if she’d had this conversation a dozen times before.

       “Look at my feet.”

       Sure enough, Jasmine’s ankles were attached to a long, metal pole by two leather straps, belted tightly.

       “The pole’s collapsible, you see,” said Jasmine, and one of the carpentry girls crouched down, placing her hands on the cold, steel pole. “All you have to do is twist,” the girl did so, “and you can extend wider or narrower, then just twist again to lock it back into place.”

       The girl did so, and Jasmine went from standing shoulder-width apart to standing practically spread-eagle, standing on her tip-toes so she could lean forward in the pillory.

       “Hopefully, you’ve managed to come up with more than a pair of collapsible fetters over the past week.”

       “Please. We started this Tuesday afternoon.” Jasmine slapped the wood of the pillory twice with the palm of her hand, and her assistant quickly unlocked her and unstrapped her ankles. Jasmine stepped out of the pillory a second later.

       “As you can see, we’ve got most of everything done, with multiple copies of everything we can produce in a hurry.”

       “You haven’t run into any technical snags?”

       “Oh, sure. But you picked good girls, Sarah, and they learn fast. More than a few have already volunteered for the big day.” Jasmine paused. “You’ve been keeping up your end, haven’t you?”

       “Of course,” replied Sarah, somewhat offended. “We’ve got the entire Field booked for May 28, that’s the Thursday before most high schools start exams. I’ve been calling staff in other schools, and so far we’ve got four boys’ school confirming they’ll give their students the afternoon off for the event.”

       “That leaves us with three more weeks that I’d anticipated,” said Jasmine, almost shocked. “Think of all the stuff we’ll be able to produce.” Sarah nodded vaguely in agreement. “Alright, that brings us to the only problem left than – volunteers.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “Well, if I were to estimate how many thematic attractions we can produce in the next four weeks, based off of current trends, we’ll need at least seventy girls at any given moment to keep everything occupied.”

       “Seventy? That’s practically my entire grade!”

       “Well, we’re just recruiting from your grade,” corrected Jasmine. “We’ll pull candidates from Grades 9 through 12, although I don’t think we’re going to be understaffed.”

       “Really?”

       “We want our pool, Sarah. I think you do, too. So you’re going to run the most effective advertising campaign this school has ever seen. Once you’ve got that done, you’ll hit up every local media outlet you can find, to make sure everyone knows about this. With a few promotional photos, of course. Ooh, care to try our latest gag?” asked Jasmine, spotting one of her assistants walking by with a handful of leather.

       “Not particularly,” retorted Sarah, although she knew it was too late. The girl came up behind her, and Sarah felt a piece of leather pulled tight across her mouth.

       “It’s a nice muzzle gag, meant to evoke the image of a tightly muzzled horse.”

       “I’m flattered,” managed to mumble Sarah, before two leather buckles were fastened behind her head. Two more straps were pulled over her nose, between her eyes and over her head, while two more slipped beneath her chin, completely preventing her from opening her jaw.

       “I post a picture of you in that on the Internet, and a thousand people will see it by nightfall.” Jasmine began undoing the buckles keeping the straps tight around Sarah’s head.

       “Fine, I’ll start the recruiting. I’ll find some people and have them here Monday with costumes, we’ll use that stuff for initial advertising.”

       “Perfect,” declared Jasmine, clasping her hands together and grinning devilishly.

*

       “Remind me how you managed to talk me into this again,” muttered Déjà, lacing up her waist cincher. “This is practically a corset.”

       “Oh, come on, you look beautiful and you know it,” replied Kalie, who was in turn lacing her leather shoes.

       “Kalie, it’s not that that I’m worried about. It’s about what Jasmine has been doing down in Room B31.”

       “B31? I remember them closing that back when I was in, like, Grade 3. God, we used to sneak in their all the time during Recess.”

       “Apparently, Jasmine has some girls creating her own personal dungeon, or something to that effect.”

       “She’s just a little over-enthusiastic in the set decoration,” answered Kalie, although she didn’t believe herself. Déjà took a crimson red head scarf and wrapped it around her head in a bonnet, although her long black hair still flowed out from the back.

       “And come on, stop dressing so conservatively,” chided Kalie, gentling pushing her friend’s shoulder. “Be comfortable with your body, that’s what you’ve always told me.”

       “Of course, Kalie,” replied Déjà, looking herself over in a body-length mirror. “I simply don’t want to distract any young, hormonal males from the path to Enlightenment.”

       “Are you mocking me?”

       “Not at all,” replied Déjà, in such a neutral tone that it was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “But it’s for the pool, so I suppose I’ll do it.”

       “Great!” shouted Jasmine, bursting into the Drama Studio. She was wearing the full SAM uniform – white blouse buttoned up to the collar, with Shamrock green tie, skirt and blazer, with polished black leather shoes and a matching belt tight around her waist. A small entourage of her assistants trailed in behind her, although they were wearing dusty jeans and work aprons.

       “Ah, greetings Jasmine,” replied Déjà smoothly. Kalie just raised her right hand in acknowledgement.

       “Oh, both of you in the same room? The Devas must be watching out for me,” said Jasmine, referring to a handful of her Hindu deities. Kalie noticed that some of Jasmine’s assistants were bringing in unrecognizable apparatuses into the room, and she instinctively took a step closer to Déjà.

       “Can we help you?” asked Déjà politely, in a tone that suggested they had better leave otherwise.

       “You already are.  Sarah managed to get some great deal with The Greensboro Daily News, but she has to have the ad ready in,” she glanced at a clock on the wall, “six-and-a-bit hours. And you’re the only girls in costume we can find.”

       “Glad we can be of assistance,” replied Déjà, unflappably calm as always. “I take it your bringing in a little more than a tripod.”

       “Oh, yeah, that,” said Jasmine, almost dismissively. “That’s the stuff we could easily transport on such short notice. Kalie strolled over to one of the devices and began running her finger down a long, piece of wood.

       “What is this?”

       “What? That?” asked Jasmine, looking around. “Those are a pair of stocks, Alyx is going to get the back frame set up in a moment.”

       A few seconds later, the stocks were fully assembled. Two blocks of wood were stacked atop one another to trap the occupant’s feet between them, secured with a small padlock, while small strings above the hole for each foot were used to tie the big toe and arch the foot back, making wiggling next to impossible. Behind the stocks was a large, triangle-shaped metal frame, with a pair of leather straps at the top.

       “Might as well start with this. Kalie, Déjà, either one of you want to volunteer?”

       “I think we’d like to know what we’re volunteering for first,” answered Déjà, for the two of them.

       “Please. As if I would ask anyone to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. Fine, if it puts you at ease.”

       Jasmine ran her fingers through her short black hair and brushed her shamrock green blazer to wipe off any obvious traces from Room B31. Satisfied, she sat down on the floor and stuck her feet out, which were promptly wedged between the two wooden blocks and locked in place. One of her assistants removed Jasmine’s shoes and socks, arching her feet back by tying a piece of string around each big toe. Jasmine’s legs were spread far apart, giving someone seated a clean view up her skirt, although Déjà figured that was probably intended.

       Jasmine’s back rested against the triangular frame, and she obediently  put her hands over her head. Each wrist was trapped in a tight leather strap, a lock placed on the buckle to make sure she couldn’t free herself.

       “A gag, ma’am?” asked one of Jasmine’s assistants.

       “Let’s go with a red cleave. Not the most traditional, but my uniform isn’t exactly in-character anyways.” The girl nodded, and quickly produced a short red piece of cloth, with was slipped behind Jasmine’s teeth and knotted tightly behind her head.

       “Alright, get the camera,” barked one of her assistants. We’ll take a frontal shot from ground level, looking up at Ms. Nadir.” Jasmine grinned through her cleave gag as she stared into the digital camera’s lenses in mock anger, the photo easily showing her black panties up her skirt.

       “There, satisfied?” asked Jasmine, as one of her aides un-gagged her. She stood up a few seconds later, her toes, ankles and wrists freed. “Completely comfortable, only takes a minute of your time, and you’re helping raise much-needed funds for the pool. And, of course, I’ll do anything you do.”

       Kalie glanced at Déjà, who had a perfect poker face.

       “Kalie, if you don’t want-“

       “-No, I will,” interjected Kalie. Déjà put a hand on her shoulder.

       “Here, I’ll go first, then I’ll tell you about it.”

       “Okay, don’t stop to sniff the roses,” muttered Jasmine. “Alright, we really want to show of Déjà’s perfect build here, so let’s set her up on a spreader bar with the horizontal Shrew’s fiddle. She’s already wearing a bonnet, so let’s just do another cleave gag, maybe add a stuff.”

       “You sound quite experienced in this subject,” said Déjà in an icy tone, as she obediently spread her legs. Her feet were belted into the collapsible pole, which then extended, spreading her feet far apart.

       “Déjà, I’m not selling my body on the street like some teenage prostitute. This is toying with the male psyche.”

       “Of course. Forgive me, I’m ill-experienced in the area.”

       “Well, everyone starts somewhere.”

       A metal collar was fastened and tightened around Déjà’s throat, the small padlock clearly visible in the front. From the collar, metal poles extended arm’s length to the sides, and Jasmine raised her arms to shoulder level, again allowing for her wrists to be tightly strapped to the pole. No locks, as it was impossible for her to actually undo her own belts. She was standing practically spread-eagle, her face seemingly blank but giving an unmistakable glare to the trained eye.

       “Open,” commanded one of Jasmine’s assistants, and Déjà obeyed. A white handkerchief was stuffed in her mouth, causing her cheeks to bulge out, while a piece of black cloth was then used to cleave gag her.

       “If only I could bottle that look,” lamented Jasmine, standing directly behind her photographer so Déjà’s glare was almost directly aimed at future readers. “See? Your fanbase just increased tenfold, which is probably the same amount our attendance rate just increased.”

       “Glad I could help,” replied Déjà, once the cleave gag was removed.

       “So, Kalie, how bout it?” asked Jasmine, turning to face the younger girl while Déjà was still being unstrapped. “One more photo and Sarah can make a nice collage.”

       “Déjà?” asked Kalie, looking to her quasi-mentor as she stepped out of the spreader bar.

       “I can’t make decisions for you, Kalie. It’s perfectly comfortable – physically, anyways – but if you don’t want to-“

       “What do you want me to do?” asked Kalie, before Déjà could finish her sentence.

       “That’s the attitude I like,” said Jasmine. “Alright, you’re going to demonstrate one of my personal inventions. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe, tested it myself half-a-dozen times.” Jasmine gestured to a T-shaped piece of wood being spread out on the floor. “To start, just lie down on that.”

       Kalie did so, spreading her arms to the tips of the T where, unsurprisingly, a belt was waiting at each end. Kalie’s wrists were quickly strapped down to the wood. Then, Kalie felt someone grab her ankles and pull them up over her head, causing her ankle-length skirt to ride all the way up to her hips, revealing her white panties. Kalie couldn’t see it, but here feet were being locked in stocks over her head, which were kept up in the air by a supporting frame only a few inches away from Kalie’s ass.

       “The inspiration for this actually came from a yoga position,” informed Jasmine, appearing crouched-over next to Kalie in the corner of her vision. “Your legs are almost completely vertical, exposing long, beautiful thighs and calves.” Kalie felt her shoes and socks being taken off.

       “The main idea for this, of course, is a mixture of bastinado and tickling. In this position, a buyer can tickle the soles of your feet, or very easily your thighs, sides or armpits. Furthermore, caning of the soles and thighs is very easy, and likely to be a major selling point.”

       Kalie saw a flash.

       “What, no gag?”

       “For this device, no, we believe that the verbal responses from the occupant are part of what draws people to these things in the first place.”

       “Well, we don’t want to detract from your busy schedule,” said Déjà, once Kalie was fully unbound.

       “Not at all. Can I count on you for twenty-eighth?”

       “The Thursday? Of course. Wouldn’t want to see all this effort go to waste.”

*

       Sarah jolted awake, yanked from some pleasant dream that she’d already forgotten, managing to blindly and clumsily silence her screaming alarm clock. She was wearing an oversized basketball jersey and a pair of white underwear, managing to make it down two flights of stairs and into the shower, where a burst of cold water snapped her awake.

       This was the day. She’d have to call Jasmine, make sure she had all her ‘equipment’ in position by 1 PM. Once everything was running smoothly, Sarah had no illusions that they’d want her to ‘volunteer’. And, of course, there was no way she could refuse. Anything. She was their Leader, and the Leader, after all, was expected to be able to do anything their subordinate could.

       Sarah stepped out of the shower, dried off, combed her long, flowing blonde hair and carefully scrubbed her face. She quickly dressed, packed her backpack, and was out the door without stopping for breakfast.

*

       Déjà was already awake when Sarah’s alarm clock went off. She was perched on a chair on the balcony of their apartment, meditating in the lotus position, thinking of absolutely nothing.

       The sound of her neighbour’s alarm clock told her it was time to start thinking, and with a tinge of resentment she uncrossed her legs and began preparing for the day ahead.

       Déjà stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, staring at her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. Her skin was tinted olive, a little Arabian flavour. Jasmine had promised that she’d bring in dozens just from the awe-struck schoolboys who perpetually trailed behind her. Déjà knew she was probably right.

       Am I getting cold feet she asked herself. She didn’t feel nervous, but then again, maybe her brain was just disguising it. She didn’t feel the same sense of attachment to the pool as the rest of her school seemed to, although she knew she had something of an obligation. And after all, she couldn’t leave Kalie stranded, could she?

*

       Kalie shot upright like an electric current had just run through her as her alarm clock screamed to life, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins until a few seconds after she slammed it silent. She stumbled into the bathroom and near-blindly spun the taps.

       Do I really have to do this Kalie wondered, shampooing her hair. I mean, how much of a difference will I actually make? Of course she was nervous, it felt like there was something coiling up in her stomach that would really prefer her to just take the afternoon off. Then she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a nearby towel.

       It was a SAM Seal towel, the kind the entire Team had gotten two years back. Back when they’d been practising in a pool that was now drained and dry. If you don’t do this Kalie thought, you don’t really want the pool.

       And with a newfound resolve she towelled off, dried her hair, put on her uniform and hurried to school.

*

       Jasmine, of course, was already awake when Sarah, Déjà and Kalie were going about their morning routines. She’d moved a sleeping mat into Room B31 weeks ago, and had spent more than one night on the uneven cement floor. Not tonight. Tonight, the workshop had been abuzz as her assistants raced to finish the lingering devices. Jasmine had been out for maybe three or four hours that night, but excitement kept her energized.

       Today was the day. The day that every one of her devices would be in use, simultaneously. She felt a sense of pride well up in her chest. She had personally tested every device, even the duplicates – every pillory, every head harness, fastened every collar around her neck and bound her wrists behind her back with every pair of shackles.

       Nothing was going to go wrong this day.

*

       By noon that day, the Field was busier than it had been in recent memory, and that was before any of the crowds had shown up. Sarah had effectively drafted a few dozen students to help Jasmine and her assistants transport all her equipment from B31 down to the Field, and then set it up according to some layout Jasmine had written up. Meanwhile, a handful of tents and tarps had been set up for costume change rooms and a few of Jasmine’s unspecified reasons.

       It was a clear day – not a cloud in the sky – comfortable enough to walk around in a T-shirt and shorts without feeling the slightest chill. Wearing a the costume of a generic Renaissance woman with a bonnet and front-lacing cincher, Sarah hurried from place to place like a bee looking for flowers. By 12:30 crowds were already showing up on the outskirts of the field.

       Jugglers, magicians, food sellers and, of course, donation boxes. Everything was in place. At 12:47 Sarah officially opened the St. Anthony the Martyr’s Renaissance Faire, and the crowds started pouring in.

*

       “Hey! Kalie! Let’s go, we’ve got you booked!” One of Jasmine’s assistants had apparently spotted her, and Kalie turned to face her. “Christ, come on, time to enjoy the sites later. Crowds will be reaching your empty post any minute now.”

       Kalie hurried to keep up with her handler as the two reached a pair of stocks and A-frame nearly identical to what had bound Jasmine during their photo shoot all those days ago.  Kalie hurriedly sat down and pulled the hem of her skirt so her feet could be spread and locked in the stocks. Her shoes and socks were quickly discarded, her hands buckled and locked in tight leather straps above her head. Then the assistant made a quick knot with a length of cloth and cleave gagged her, the knot forcing her mouth open a little.

       “Kalie?” came the strained voice of Déjà. Déjà was seated directly beside Kalie, although she was wearing a scarlet red bonnet, which had kept Kalie from recognizing her. Déjà too was cleave gagged with a piece of black cloth, although she could still speak a little. “Are you okay?”

       “Mm-hm,” murmured Kalie, nodding slightly as she did so. She couldn’t help staring at Déjà who, even bound and gagged, managed to give off a sense of eloquence. As the crowds of teenage boys appeared around corners in packs of five or ten, Déjà kept her chin up, her face betraying no emotion as she stared at the onlookers.

       “Ah, these two women have been found guilty of slandering their husbands and disobeying his commands,” introduced one of Jasmine’s assistants, poorly imitating an Old English accent. “They are to be tickled and caned by their fellow village folk for this heinous crime. They will be in the stocks until 2 in the afternoon. Just two dollars buys you a minute of tickling or ten strokes of the cane.”

       Kalie let out a muffled expression of shock as the assistant revealed two long, thin, wooden canes on small stool in front both the stocks. Kalie glanced over at Déjà, whose face was as unreadable as ever. A glass jar was placed in front of Déjà and her, and quickly lines began to form.

       Alright thought Kalie how bad can this be?

       “A minute of tickling,” ordered a well-muscled boy Kalie figured was about seventeen, dropping two one dollars bills in her jar.

       “One minute, starting, now!” declared the assistant, glancing at a watch on her wrist.

       The boy wasted no time with her feet, instead sitting on Kalie’s lap facing her, and let his fingers begin flying over Kalie’s sides. She immediately began shaking in laughter, but Jasmine’s frame was solid. She barely do little more than shake her head as he played up her sides and onto her armpits, which she couldn’t move at all. Kalie’s laughs were muffled by the cloth stuffed in her mouth, but there was no masking her laughter as his fingers relentlessly flew over her.

       “Time!” shouted the assistant, either a minute or an hour later, Kalie couldn’t tell. The boy reluctantly got off her, Kalie’s laughs still subsiding under the gag, tears of laughter beginning to form in her eyes. The boy quickly jogged to the back of the line.

       “I’ll cane her,” said the next boy, and the lingering laughter died down completely. Well, Kalie thought, the tickling wasn’t so bad.

       “Ten strokes. Make it quick, she’s a hot commodity,” ordered the assistant. The boy grinned and picked up the long, wooden cane. He and Kalie locked eyes, Kalie’s apprehension clearly visible.

       “One!” The wooden cane seemed to whiz through the air effortlessly before landing horizontally across both of her soles. Kalie winced, although didn’t verbalize any pain. Ow.

       “Two.” The cane again howled through the air before striking her soles. This time Kalie let out a muffled yelp of pain.

       “Three. Four. Five.” The cane struck, retreated, and struck again. Kalie felt the soles of her fight catch fire, giving out increasingly violent yelps of pain with every stroke. She’d never even been spanked as a child.

       “Six. Seven. Eight.” Kalie was crying as the cane flew back and forth, her cries for help muffled by the thick cloth puffing her cheeks out.

       “Nine. Ten.” Tears were rolling down Kalie’s cheeks when the rod struck her for the last time. Her head rolled back and she stared up at the skies. She saw her caner disappear to the back of the line.

       Kalie moaned through her gag. This was going to be a long shift.

*

       At 2:01 PM, the assistant finally undid the straps binding Déjà’s hands over her head and unlocked her stocks, pushing her behind a tarp that was separating the crowds from the staff. Déjà struggled to put one foot in front of the other, her feet redder than she’d thought possible from, what? She tried to do the math, although her head was abuzz. Four hundred and sixty canings? It was only the odd one out who tickled her, a welcome sensory distraction.

       Once behind the blue tarp, Déjà realized she still had her gag on. Funny, she’d gotten used to the feel of it. She untied the black cloth and let it fall to the grass, then promptly sat down beside it. She pulled one foot atop the opposite knee in the half-lotus position and began nursing the swollen soles.

       She didn’t even notice Kalie until she collapsed beside her, her feet possibly even redder than Déjà’s. Kalie’s face was red with tears from hundreds of cane strokes interrupted by the occasional tickler. Déjà knew her own face was still soaked from the tears she hadn’t been able to hold back.

       “I’d ask ‘are you okay’, although that seems like a stupid question,” began Déjà, wondering if it was possible to cheer Kalie up at this point. Kalie managed to let out a small, short laugh.

       “I raised... I raised $430,” said Kalie, a note of pride in her voice. Déjà wondered how she was doing her math, than remembered that canings typically took little more than fifteen seconds, compared to a full minute of tickling.

       “$430? That’s more than I got!”

       “Really?”

       “Yep.” It was true, too. “Guess you have more appeal after all.”

       Kalie gave another short laugh, than glanced at her feet, swollen lines from where the cane had fallen clearly visible.

       “I guess Jasmine was right,” said Kalie, after a half-minute’s silence. “The two of us must’ve raised over $700 in a little more than an hour. With all the other girls doing this...”

       “Speaking of Jasmine,” said Déjà, uncrossing her legs, “why don’t we go find the little devil and see if she practices what she preaches.”

*

       Jasmine, in fact, was not hard to find at all. In fact, she wanted to be found by just about everyone.

       Jasmine was wearing the near-identical costume of a generic Renaissance woman, although she was barefoot, and her head was uncovered, while a little more cleavage than normal was on display. Across her shoulders rested a long wooden pole, to which both her wrists were bound, the pole fastened to her neck by a leather collar, in a T-shape. Her feet, meanwhile, were shackled tightly together by a chain no more than four inches long, hobbling her as she walked. A large sign hung from her neck read HARLOT in large, crimson letters.

       A long, leather leash was attached to a G-ring on her collar, and one of her assistants was dragging her over the fields. Two more of her assistants strolled through the crowds with large buckets of bright red tomatoes for sale. Judging by the stains and splotches already dotting Jasmine’s face and clothes, it was a popular attraction.

       “Humiliate this harlot! One dollar a tomato, punish this prostitute!”

       Déjà and Kalie quickly caught up to the parade, still trying to walk entirely on their tip-toes to avoid touching their inflamed soles.

       “Christ, the things I’d do for a dollar,” murmured Kalie.

       “Actually, I think that’s Jasmine’s strategy,” said Déjà, pointing to a group of Jasmine’s classmates. “She’s not exactly the most popular girl, you know. And now she’s capitalizing on that.”

       A tomato whizzed through the air and hit Jasmine square in the face, squirting tomato juice all over her face. Jasmine, of course, couldn’t reach her face to wipe any of it away, so she just tried shaking her head side-to-side, with little effect. A second tomato hit her in the back of the head a few seconds later, ensuring washing her hair was going to be quite the ordeal.

       The parade appeared to be reaching an ending, and Jasmine was brought to a stationary pillory, possibly the same one she had been testing during Sarah’s inspection weeks prior. Her assistants quickly locked her neck and wrists in the pillory, although one of them proceeded to tie Jasmine’s hair back in a knot behind her head, and then tie her hair to the pillory itself, forcing her to look upright instead of at the ground.

       “Form a line in the rear to spank the harlot!” shouted one of the assistants. One of the girls grabbed Jasmine’s ankle-length skirt and pulled it down, exposing her bare ass. “Five dollars by fifteen strokes! Tomato throwers are still welcome in front!”

       Jasmine’s feet were placed in the collapsible stocks and spread far apart, giving everyone a clear view of her perfect ass.

       “Three strokes a dollar?” asked Déjà, a note of contempt in her voice. “That’s more than we got.”

       A tomato went flying through the air, hitting the wood between Jasmine’s head and right hand.

       “Hah! And you call yourself a man! Go home and grows some balls!” A second tomato was considerably more accurate, hitting her square in the forehead. Jasmine’s face was dripping with translucent tomato juice, although she still managed to give a taunting grin to whomever was pitching.

       “Ah!” shrieked Jasmine, as the first of her spankers hit her rear. Déjà noted a whole table of implements were laid out behind her – canes, rulers, paddles, straps. The current spanker was using a long belt, which hissed through the air before impacting on her butt cheeks. Jasmine had regained her self-control by the time the next tomato hit her in the face.

       “Nancy, do you have any more tomatoes?” asked one of Jasmine’s assistants, staring at an empty bucket.

       “This is my last one,” replied Nancy, selling it to one of the lined-up boys. They both watch as he wound up like a pitcher, only to miss wildly and hit her right in the knee. “Now I’m out.”

       “Shoot,” replied the first girl. “Alright, I think Christine’s holding a whole bunch back at her tent. I’ll go grab some.”

       The girl ran off, carrying two large, empty aluminum buckets. Déjà nodded to Kalie, and the two girls approached Jasmine, whose front half was briefly free.

       “You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself,” said Déjà, a smile creeping onto her face despite herself.

       “Mm.” Jasmine grimaced as the sound of something impacting her rear filled the air. “Maximum efficiency.” She paused to lick some tomato juice that had trickled over the bridge of her nose. “We out of tomatoes?”

       “Hey, what’s the hold-up?” demanded one of the men from the ever-growing line.

       “Guess so,” muttered Jasmine. Another loud smack. “Oh, that gives me an idea! Nancy – get these two girls set up for spankings in front.”

       “Can you give me a particularly compelling reason why?” asked Déjà, even as Nancy picked up two straps from behind Jasmine and brought them in front.

       “Because I am,” retorted Jasmine, grimacing in spite of the pain. Déjà glanced at Kalie, spotting the look of determination flaring up in the young girl’s eye.

       “Alright you two! Skirts down, bend over and grab your ankles. We don’t have any restraints on hand so just keep your heads tucked between your knees.”

       Déjà inwardly sighed, then let her fingers slide inside the rim of her skirt and pulled it down, so she was standing bare-assed in front of forty or so lined-up men. Kalie followed suit a few seconds later, catcalls sounding out from the line behind. Kalie bent over and grabbed her calves, looking enviously as Déjà reached down and grabbed her ankles without any apparent difficulties in flexibility. Two pairs of bare, smooth legs faced the crowd.

       “Five dollars for fifteen strokes! The harlot’s co-conspirators have been captured. Hurry not to teach them the meaning of discipline!”

       Déjà’s tongue curled up and touched her upper lip for a second.

       Déjà was hit first, a foot-long leather strap sourcing un-aerodynamically through the air before impacting her but cheeks, hard. Her eyelids squeezed together, although she verbalized no pain. A second later a second strap hit Kalie, who yelped in pain. Before long tears were streaming down both girls’ cheeks, as canes, rulers, straps and belts all left their mark on the girls’ rear ends.

       Jasmine stared down at them, tears coating her cheeks, too, although she didn’t seem to notice. Déjà glanced up, looking at Jasmine’s legs, spread for apart in the spreader-stocks, and resolved not to quit until she did.

[To be continued...]

[Note]

This work was authored by Lyn Me. This author is open to comments, critics, and requests. If you would like to request a story of yours be written out, e-mail me at lyn_me@live.com. For the record, I’m better at bondage than writing actual sex, although I’ll do my best to fulfil any requests sent my way.