Taylor Lowell skipped ahead of her mom and scampered down the stairs to the basement.

'I just know it's gonna be full crazy things like in Scooby Doo,' laughed the eleven year old girl over her shoulder at her mother. 'Skeletons and bats and weird things - maybe treasure and loot!'

'Slow down,' called Patsy Lowell after daughter. 'You'd run a mile if there was even a mouse down there.'

Taylor stopped, hand reaching for the door handle to the basement. 'A mouse? You didn't say that there'd be, you know...' The child gulped. Skeletons and bats were one thing but rodents were quite another.

Patsy caught her daughter up, grinning at her. 'You should see the look on your face, honey. Actually, Aunt Marianne kept her house pretty clean when she was alive: I doubt if there's anything to scare you in there.'

'But you'll go ahead of me, right?'

'Sure,' said Patsy, pushing the door open and going in first. Taylor followed, looking round anxiously.

'It isn't like the cartoons.' The girl sounded disappointed at what she saw. No cobwebs, no suits of armor - and definitely no treasure chests. Just a few boxes illuminated by the sunlight through a small window at the far end. 'Um, it's just a room with some old boxes.'

'Of course it is. That's what most basements are. What did you expect?'

Taylor shrugged. She'd thought helping to clear this place would reveal some fabulous collection of gold coins or an old jewel handled dagger. Even a small bag of smuggled diamonds would have been good. But no one would put anything valuable in some old cardboard boxes.

'Why are we doing this?' asked the girl, dispirited. She opened the lid of a box near her and looked in. All she could see was a neatly folded blanket, clean but faded with age. She had begun to think her Saturday would have been better spent doing something else. Anything else.

'I told you,' said Patsy as she opened an old box, waving away the dust she disturbed. 'My aunt's old house has to be sold and I said we'd help tidy it up.'

'So why can't this aunt Trisha do it?' The girl lifted the corner of the old blanket, suddenly worried there might be a rat hiding under it. There was only another old blanket.

'She isn't your aunt,' said Patsy, lifting out an old, bulbless table-lamp from the box she had open. 'Trisha is my cousin, my aunt Marianne's daughter. Not your aunt at all. She's in Japan on business right now. Won't be back for a few weeks.'

'So, she can do this when she gets home, right?'

'Not easily. Her job means she has to fly all over the world.'

'Then it can wait. Don't see why we're doing it.'

Patsy put down the lamp beside her and frowned at her daughter in a motherly way. 'You know why we're doing it, honey. I explained it to you. After the funeral there was the will and cousin Trisha was left the house. But Trisha doesn't want it: she has her own place across town. That means the house had to be sold. She was going to do it but was asked to go to Tokyo. As she has no one else and we're family, here we are.'

'She should have stayed,' grumbled Taylor, kicking at a small red rubber ball on the floor. She caught it properly and the ball flew across the basement and bounced off the far wall. 'Cool,' said Taylor, feeling better she might amuse herself with the ball instead of opening all the boxes.

'You're not helping,' said her mother gravely. 'You're here to help, not play. The sooner we get it done the sooner we can go.'

Taylor nodded reluctantly. Further down the box, below the blankets, there a piece of yellowing paper.

Briefly, Taylor's hopes grew. But it was just a torn piece of newspaper, reporting a high school graduation from years ago. She glanced at the picture, the smiling face beaming back at her - a younger version of the picture she'd seen of this Trisha, in a frame on her aunt's living room wall.

'Is this her?' A pointless question as the woman wouldn't have kept it for any other reason that her daughter.

'Who?' said Taylor's mom, peering at the piece of paper her daughter was holding up. 'Oh yeah, that's her. You've never actually met her, have you?'

Taylor shook her head and returned the yellowing paper to the box. She was disappointed it wasn't a treasure map at all. Still, there might be some treasure further down so she dug deeper.

More papers, more blankets.

Taylor felt bored already. She looked at her mother, pulling more old items of the box she had open. A couple of picture frames, a small and very chipped vase, a folded sheet worn thin by repeated washings. It was, the child concluded, going to be the same in them all.

The small ball had rolled back towards her feet. 'Hey, that's weird,' said the girl picking it up and holding the red rubber ball towards the light.

'I said you should be working, not playing with that ball,' said Patsy with a sigh as she pulled out an old toaster out of her box.

'No, it's got a hole right through it. See?' The girl held it towards her mother.

'Maybe it belonged to aunt's old dog, Betsy. She had toys like that.'

For some reason Taylor shook her head. It didn't look like a ball a dog would chew and when she held it up to her ear and shook it, there was no tinkling bell as pet toys sometimes had. Anyway, there were no teeth marks on the ball. Betsy, she recalled of what little she knew about her aunt's dog, chewed everything.

The hole through the smooth, small ball was strange. Not circular, but more of a slit. But definitely a hole of some sort.

'Can I keep this?' Taylor asked.

'Guess so. Wouldn't get much at a garage sale.' Taylor's mom was lifting more unwanted stuff out of her box, surrounding herself with things that were neither new enough to be useful or old enough to be interesting.

'Can I look in another box, mom?' Taylor shoved the strange rubber ball in her pocket. There's only blankets in this one. Oh, and a few old newspapers.'

Mrs Lowell nodded and her daughter promptly trotted over to a large box on the far side of the basement. She was optimistic there had to be something good in this place.

There were more old papers, on top of a box. Not cardboard, but wood. 'Cool,' exclaimed the girl. 'I think I've found treasure.'

Patsy, untangling a length of black flex from yet another table-lamp, didn't look up from what she was doing.

'It's locked,' announced Taylor. 'Which is promising for valuables.'

The mother grunted. 'Honey, from what I've seen so far there is nothing valuable down here.'

'Uh... maybe. So how do I get this open?' Taylor dragged the wooden box out and examined the lock.

'You don't. That's probably personal.'

'Which means?'

'That Trisha should open it up, though I expect it's just family stuff. Letters and photographs and stuff like -'

The crash startled Patsy. She shot a look at her daughter, standing looking sheepish. The wood box was at the girl's feet, the lid obviously jolted loose and half open.

'Uh, sorry mom. I tried to lift it out but it was kinda heavy. Just, um, slipped from my hands.'

Patsy groaned, wiping the back of her hand over her forehead like she was going to get one of her headaches. 'I told you before we came, Taylor, that we had to be careful. These aren't our things.'

'I know, mom, I know.' The girl squatted down to peer inside the box. 'But now it's open I ought to take a look and...' Taylor trailed off and gave a sharp intake of breath.

'What is it?' Patsy could see her daughter holding something. A photo of some sort. Several photos in fact.

Taylor Lowell didn't reply. She was just staring at what was in her hand, eyes wide.

'Honey, I asked what've you got there?'

Taylor looked up, her face flushed. 'Mom... they're photos. Of a girl... but she's naked and, um, all tied up.'

---

Patsy had tried to insist her daughter shouldn't look at them, but Taylor was both obstinate and right: she had pointed out she'd already seen some of them so why shouldn't she see the rest?

Patsy conceded reluctantly.

Taylor stared over her mom's shoulder as the woman went through the fifty one monochrome photographs in the box. They were all of the same girl. Someone who looked a little like Trisha when she was younger - probably no older than Taylor was now.

The child was naked or as good as naked in them all. In some pictures the child had a pair of pants on, or a long vest that barely covered her bottom. Yet in every picture the girl was tied up in some way.

There were eight pictures of the child sat on a chair, either with her legs tied together or apart, arms hauled over the chair back or round the sides. In several of these the girl was gagged with either tape or a ball thing on a strap. There were three pictures of the child kneeling, grinning at the camera in one, gagged in two others. Different gags, different angles.

Five pictures showed her standing by the wall, hands over her head and tied to a ring - four naked but one had her in a short top that had ridden up to reveal her young sex, emphasized by the way her ankles had been tied to a bar that kept her little thin legs wide apart. In three she was gagged, in the other two smiling at the camera.

There were two pictures of her stood, back to the camera with hands tied high up her back and showing several marks across her cheeks. There were eight pictures of the girl undressing, half going from fully clothed in a button front dress, through to vest and pants and then to being completely naked in the fourth and then the fifth showing her gagged with a ball on a strap and the sixth, seventh and eighth showed the kid gradually swathed in ropes so in the last one she was virtually covered.

Five were close up shots, portraits mostly, that showed the child wearing different types of gags: a scarf in her mouth, tape over her lips, two with different sized balls and one with what looked like a ring set between her teeth - the last three all held in place by a strap round her head.

There was a waist up shot of the young girl just blindfolded, arms behind her but obvious marks across her flat chest.

In a further four pictures the girl was fully clothed but was wearing what looked like thin chains at her wrists and ankles - in one the chain had been looped round her neck. Again, in some she was gagged, the rest not.

A similar effect was in three more pictures, except that here the girl was chained and naked and gagged in all of them.

There were eleven photos of the naked girl tied in various positions: three bending over (her small hairless slit all too obvious), two squatting with thighs bound to her calfs so she couldn't stand up (and legs wide apart), four in what an embarrassed Patsy described as a hogtie - again with legs apart and the last two with the child sat facing the camera, legs spread wide by a bar between her ankles.

She was gagged in all of them, mostly with a ball gag.

The last picture was a child as if she was at a birthday party, in a pretty dress, bent forward as if blowing out the candles. But what set this apart from most photos of this type was that she had a collar - like a dog's collar - round her neck and a figure of a woman behind her was holding what was a dog's leash, the leather taut from the girl leaning forward. On the cake was a decorated shape of what looked like a girl tied to a chair. There were twelve candles.

'Wow. Trisha sure showed herself off a lot,' said Taylor when they reached the end of the pile.

'We don't know it was Trisha,' said Patsy firmly but without real conviction. 'It looked like her but it could be anyone.'

'No way. They're her and they were taken down here.'

'I'm not sure that -' began the mother but stopped when Taylor leapt over to one wall and pointed to a mark, a shadow of what looked like a ring and paint scraped away.

'That could anything.'

'Not with this.' The girl produced the strange ball from her pocket. 'See, it's got this funny hole, for the strap. It's one of those gag things.'

'Ball gag,' said Patsy quietly, not sure she wanted her daughter to know she knew what it was. But yes, it did match. 'Okay,' continued Patsy. 'So it was her, but maybe it was some crazy game. Just a one off.'

'Mom!' protested Taylor. 'Those photos were all taken at different times. She had different clothes on, her hair was different in some, there were different things round her. And (at this Taylor blushed a little ) she's um, getting, you know, titties in some of them.'

Patsy glared at her daughter but mentally conceded her daughter was right: the pictures showed a changing, growing girl. Even if they had been taken at the rate of one a week it was almost a whole year of Trisha's life. 'Oh well, it was quite a find but they're not ours.' The woman began to put them away in the box.

'No mom, we should keep them!'

'What?' Patsy stared at her daughter.

Taylor blushed. 'I bet Trisha doesn't want them and we could... you know...'

'Could what?'

'Um, keep them in case we wanted to look at them again.' Taylor had her eyes downcast, her voice small.

'Taylor Annette Lowell, what on earth do you think you are saying?'

The child had colored up but was adamant. 'She'll know, if the box is open. She'll know that we must have seen them. Anyway, if we don't take them, someone else might.'

Patsy knew her daughter was right, even if she wanted to argue no one but Trisha would see them. Maybe Trisha would not even think her two volunteers had opened the box. But then, maybe she would know: it occurred to the woman that there was a flaw in her daughter's argument. 'Have you thought what she'd say to us when there aren't any photographs in the box, or aren't you going to leave that here?'

'Us, not me. We saw them all.' Taylor wrinkled her nose. 'But maybe she thinks her mom threw them all out years ago.'

'You think it was her mother who took these?'

'Sure, who else would it be? I mean, aunt Marianne was a cop.'

Patsy shook her head. 'How did you make that leap of logic?'

Taylor wasn't sure. 'Well, she must have had some idea about prisoners and things. Handcuffs. Cops have handcuffs.'

'There were no handcuffs in these pictures. Lots of rope, some chains, but no cuffs.'

'Can I check them again, just to make sure?' asked Taylor, looking hopeful. 'Puh-lease, mommy?

'No! They go back in the box. No arguing. Now let's get this way, things tidied up and leave it as it is. Understood?'

'Understood,' said Taylor, crestfallen.

'And we don't mention these photos again or to anyone else, understood?'

Taylor nodded, looking even more unhappy.

---

Taylor heard it was going to be nearly three weeks for Trisha to get back home and claim the stuff. The two boxes of things from her mom's basement that hadn't made the garage sale were stacked in the Lowell's garage, all taped up. Including the cardboard box with the wood box inside it, the lid fastened by a catch if not by the broken lock.

Several times Taylor sneaked in and stared at the two boxes, unsure which one had the box of photos in. She had thought she might cut the tape and find the photos, maybe just take them out for another look. Or perhaps slip a few out and keep them. She was sure Trisha, if she ever opened the box (and the photos were taken at least twenty years ago) wouldn't remember what should be there or not.

One morning, after her father had gone to work Taylor had asked her mom what would happen to the boxes if Trisha didn't want them. Her mom frowned at her and said they would be burned and anything left would go straight in the garbage.

That, Taylor understood with a sinking heart, included the precious photos.

The girl wanted to argue that if Trisha didn't want the pictures then they should keep them, but she had been forbidden to mention them again. All she could do was dream about them.

And dream about them she did. More a case of daydreaming, but more than she expected to.

In the time before Trisha got home Taylor spent a lot of time thinking about what she'd seen. In a casual way she asked her friend Sondra if she'd ever heard of people being tied up.

Sure, said Sondra. Her brother had got into real trouble because their mom and dad had caught him with some magazine that had pictures of women tied up in it. But no, she hadn't actually seen it and of course she didn't know where you got them from.

Anyway, said Sondra, it's only creeps and perverts who like that kind of thing. According to her, her brother Billy was a real creep.

Taylor was in a fog. Was she a pervert for wanting to look at the photos again? She got worried, thinking maybe she'd get some strange disease from looking at them. Or she'd damaged herself and couldn't have kids when she was older, especially as she had rubbed her little cunny as she lay in bed thinking about them.

But her friend Nina had said everyone rubs their cunny at sometime and she'd been doing it for ages, especially when she looked at her favorite boy band posters.

Nina however was, when Taylor mentioned it, sure it was against the law to want to see women tied up.

On the other hand, Taylor didn't think it was weird or illegal. She noticed on a couple cop shows and old movies that women were kidnapped and sometimes tied up. Not tied up in lots or ropes and naked like Trisha was in the pictures but the actresses were still bound.

She also found a piece in a magazine of her mom's where the agony aunt was telling some woman that sex games in the bedroom - things like bondage - were fine between consenting adults.

Taylor thought Trisha had looked consenting most of the time. In any event, she looked the word bondage up in the dictionary and started to discover a whole world with names and descriptions, taking her from bondage to bound and gagged and punished and whipping and more. She felt strange reading it. Even these dry descriptions were making her feel excited, giving her a warm glow in her cunny.

The twelve year old rubbed herself a lot, even reading the dictionary.

She had heard someone say there was lots of sex on the internet but she wasn't allowed to use the computer for surfing unless strictly supervised. She had tried to distract her mom and dad and slip "bondage" into the search engine but there was some parental block on it. Taylor was left frustrated, yet convinced there was more to to this than just a few old photos and dictionary definitions.

She knew she would have to learn more.

---

Two weeks and five days after the pictures had been discovered, Taylor's world fell apart.

She got home from school one day and took her usual detour into the garage to look at the boxes, having more or less made up her mind that she would have to risk opening the boxes and get to some of the pictures. Especially the ones with young Trisha sat or bent over, legs wide apart.

They interested her the most for some reason.

Taylor was fairly sure she wasn't a lesbian, the way the dictionary had defined women who had sexual urges for other females. But she was in no doubt the pictures excited her and she would, she planned, only take five or six. Or maybe seven or eight. Possibly twelve or so. Then she could seal up the box with some old tape she had found.

But there were boxes. She didn't know which one had the photos in. Still, she could look in them all.

Taylor crept into the garage full of determination but stopped cold. The girl stared, horrified and speechless: the boxes were gone.

'Mom!' Taylor ran back into the house. 'The boxes have gone!'

'I know,' said Patsy with one eyebrow raised. 'Why do you care?'

'The photos... I mean they've...' Taylor was floundering, face red. 'It's just... they could have been stolen. I mean, um... not for me, but... Trisha wouldn't want anyone to see... you know.'

'No, I don't know,' said the woman patiently. But I do know Trisha is back from Tokyo and she stopped by to see what was left from the basement and garage sale.'

Taylor gulped. 'You didn't tell her about the pictures I found, did you?'

'We found.' The woman paused. 'No, I didn't tell her. She can discover them for herself. But I did suggest that as there was nothing of any value, she could take them to the city dump.'

Taylor blushed some more. 'She'll find the box.'

'So, it's her stuff. Or she might just drive to the dump and trash the lot. It is on her way to her place.' Patsy regarded her daughter. 'Listen honey, whatever you think they weren't yours. Forget about them and let Trisha get rid of them, okay?'

The girl nodded, but was far from forgetting them.

Alone in her room, once her tears had dried, Taylor thought about what she needed to do.

First of all, it would be to get Trisha's address.

---

It was risky, lying to her mom about going to the mall on Saturday morning with Sondra and some other girls, but she was determined to see Trisha.

The woman lived not far from the Lowell home and after persuading her father that she really, really didn't need a ride to the mall she made her way to Trisha's house by bus.

There was no reply when Taylor knocked on Trisha's door. There was also no car in the driveway. Despair set in: Taylor was convinced she'd never get to know, or find out what Trisha knew about the photos. The girl wasn't quite sure how she'd find out, but she had to try.

She sat on the steps in front of the door, wondering what to do.

'Hi,' said a woman's voice. Taylor looked up, suddenly hopeful that it was Trisha, returned from her shopping expedition or whatever.

It wasn't Trisha. It was a woman, a neighbor probably.

Taylor had never met her mom's cousin, but she figured she would be about mom's age - around thirty five. Yet this woman was way older. Probably in her fifties, she guessed. It couldn't be Trisha. Plus she didn't have any shopping with her.

'Oh, hi,' said Taylor. 'I was just looking for... um, Trisha. Trisha Laws. She's my mom's cousin. She lives here, right?'

'That's right. She's a guest of mine.'

'Your guest?' Taylor felt confused. She'd thought that Trisha had her own place.

The woman was smiling. 'Oh I can see you think that's strange,' she chuckled. 'But I've known Trisha years and as her job takes her away from home a lot it makes sense for her to lodge with me.'

'Oh, I see.' Taylor didn't really see, but she said it anyway.

'She isn't here now, anyway,' continued the woman. 'She had to fly out this morning to Buenos Aires. I just got back from taking her to the airport. She's gone to do a job for a couple of weeks in South America.'

Taylor nodded - she liked geography and prided herself on knowing where most big cities were. But she felt sad - this was getting to look impossible.

'You look kinda disappointed, honey.' The woman was studying the girl sat on the step.

'It's just that, well, I wanted to talk to her about something. Family stuff.'

'You say Trisha's your mom's cousin?'

'Yeah. My mom's aunt is - um, was - Marianne Laws. I helped Mom tidy -' she stopped herself, worried she'd go too far. She stood, brushing her jeans down, though the step wasn't dirty.

A small smile was on the older woman's face. She looked younger than fifty when she smiled. Taylor didn't think old women could be good looking but this woman was, she concluded. Smart, hair in place and no gray. 'You're Patsy's daughter,' she said.

'You know my Mom?'

'Not personally, but Trisha said her cousin was helping tidy things up. I was going to do it but I was away all week myself.'

Taylor nodded, feeling herself color up a little. If this woman had done it, she might have found the pictures. 'We sold most of the stuff at a garage sale,' said the girl suddenly. 'But not all of it. Trisha took some away.'

'Oh those old boxes,' laughed the woman easily. 'They're all in my garage. I have to take it to the city dump later.'

'You can't!' Taylor suddenly yelped as if she'd been stung.

'Why not?' The old woman was still smiling, but it was more of a curiosity smile.

'Um, nothing.' Taylor blushed.

'No, something,' said the woman, eyes twinkling. 'Is there something you want in there?'

'No... I mean yes.' She had an idea, suddenly. 'Old papers. It's a class project. Um, recent history. There's a load of old papers in there.'

'Hmm, yes there are,' said the woman slowly.

'Y-you looked?' Taylor tried to sound casual, but wasn't.

'Of course. They take up space so I was wondering what was in them.' A brief pause. 'Naturally.'

The girl looked as if she both wanted to leave but wanted to stay. But leaving meant getting past the woman, who stood in the center of the path.

'You don't have to go right now, do you?' asked the woman. 'You can come in and have a soda. Stay and chat to me.'

Taylor shrugged. The woman seemed okay but then you never knew. 'I have to go,' said the girl. She put her hand in her pocket, to check she still had the strange rubber ball. She carried it everywhere with her, like a talisman. Sometimes she held it when she rubbed her cunny, or put it in her mouth when she needed both hands to play with herself.

In a weird way, Taylor liked it in her mouth because of the way her turned her orgasmic noises into deep, satisfied grunts.

The woman knew none of this, but was regarding the girl carefully, as if reading her mind. of course, she couldn't but it made Taylor shiver. 'Shall I call your mom - Patsy - and tell her you're on your way home?' the woman asked. 'Or should I give you a ride over? Then I can thank her for what she's done.'

'Oh that won't be necessary, Mrs, um...'

'Bridges. Mrs Bridges,' smiled the woman.

'Mrs Bridges,' repeated Taylor, stepping forward. She was past the woman in a moment.

'The old papers. You wanted them for school. Going to go without them?'

'Uh, um... no.' Taylor stopped and looked back at the woman. Mrs Bridges was smiling at her.

'I'd have hated you to have come all this way and not got what you were looking for.'

Taylor felt her cheeks grow hot. 'Maybe it doesn't matter. They were only some old newspapers.'

'Even so... By the way, what is it you keep playing with in your pocket?'

The girl colored up some more and pulled her hand out as if to prove she wasn't doing anything. A little too quickly: the ball flew out on to the lawn next to the path. Taylor started for it but Mrs Bridges, for an old woman, moved smartly and picked it up first. She examined it between her long fingers, turning it over.

'Interesting,' said the woman. 'You know what this is?'

'Um... a dog's toy. Betsy, the dog had it.'

Mrs Bridges laughed. 'Not quite. It's from a ball gag. You know what that is?'

Taylor shrugged, face suddenly bright red. Of course she knew, from what little she could find out. But other people knowing it made her feel uncomfortable.

'Come into the house,' said the woman pleasantly, handing the rubber ball back to the girl. 'You can see what you're looking for in there.'

---

The box on the table was just like the one Taylor had discovered - and had broken. But this one wasn't damaged. Mrs Bridges used a small key, taken from a chain hanging round her neck, to open it.

Taylor, heart in her mouth, watched the woman take out a pile of photographs and place them carefully in front of the girl. 'These,' she said slowly, 'are the ones you didn't find at Marianne's.'

The topmost image was Trisha, standing with arms bound to her side. She wasn't naked and looked younger, but was still smiling. A black and white photograph, as they all had been in Marianne's basement.

'It's her,' said Taylor staring at it.

'Her? Oh, Trisha. Of course it is: all my pictures are of her.'

'Your pictures?' The girl shot a wide eyed look at the woman.

'I took them. You see that was my hobby, photography. Black and white photography, not color, I must add. Trisha was an excellent model. But her mom! Marianne kept out of a lot of them but here, you can see her mother's shadow down in the corner. She liked to be there though she wasn't keen to get herself into them. She was there, but mostly out of camera view.'

'She was in the birthday cake picture,' said Taylor, suddenly realizing that there had to be someone else behind the camera for that shot. Taylor had assumed Marianne was the photographer.

'Oh yes, I remember - she took some persuading. Marianne wasn't too keen to be involved.'

The girl stared at the woman and then back at the photograph. Trisha looked about nine or ten in the picture.

'That was the first one I took,' said Mrs Bridges with a note of pride in her voice as she indicated the topmost picture - the one with little Trisha with her arms bound to her side as if she was standing to attention.

'How old was she?' Taylor asked suddenly.

'When this was taken? Oh, almost ten.'

Taylor gulped, her heart beating hard. 'Then... the picture with the birthday cake I saw had twelve candles on it. That means she was being tied up for photographs for, um, more'n two years.'

'Four actually,' smiled Mrs Bridges. 'We didn't stop until she was 14.'

'We?'

'I didn't so this on my own. Marianne asked me to do it, so we did it together. We only stopped when Trisha's mom thought she had enough pictures.'

Taylor blinked at the numbers. There were probably around two hundred pictures, even if it was just one a week. 'Enough pictures? Enough for what?' She asked.

'Marianne liked them. I had known her for years. She liked girls tied up. When Trisha agreed to it, we started taking the pictures. In her home. Mostly Trisha liked it.'

'Mostly?' Taylor remembered the marks on the girl in some photos, like she had been hit with something.

The old woman shook her head. 'Sometimes she was a little obstinate, so we had to, well, let's say persuade her.'

'You whipped her!' Taylor wasn't sure how the idea popped into her head, but it was obvious.

'I prefer persuaded.'

The girl felt a stirring in her, a strange feeling of intrigue and excitement. Like when she was rubbing her cunny at night, thinking about Trisha tied up. But why hadn't she thought or understood that the little girl had been whipped?

Taylor trembled. 'B-but she wasn't crying in the pictures, was she?'

Mrs Bridges shook her head. 'We waited until her tears had dried. But the marks sort of lasted a little longer.'

Taylor's heart was beating, her mind racing, her stomach in a knot. She knew, if she was sensible, she should get up and go right then and there. Tying a girl up was strangely exciting but whipping her was... The girl felt hot and uncomfortable, wriggling in her seat at the table.

She didn't move. Taylor wanted to see more pictures, hear more about what they did to the child. 'Can I see more of the pictures please?'

Mrs Bridges shook her head. 'No, Taylor. I don't think that would be a good idea.'

'But I found the others! I've seen what you did to her.'

'Taylor, there are pictures in here that aren't like the ones you saw,' the woman said gently, gathering the pictures up. 'They were in her house. Others were taken elsewhere.'

'Where?'

Mrs Bridges took an intake breath as if she was about to say something, but stopped herself. The pictures went back in the box. Just for a split second Taylor saw a huge pile of pictures in the box. Far more than in the basement box, far more than had been out on the table.

Hundreds of pictures.

'You can't stop me looking at them,' said Taylor, desperately.

'I can,' said Mrs Bridges, turning the key. 'And I have.'

Taylor took a deep breath, panic in her she was being denied. 'Okay. I'll do it.'

'Do what, my dear?'

'I'll be like Trisha. Y-you can take pictures of me like that. All tied up and stuff. Uh, naked, if you want.'

Mrs Bridges looked at the girl sat opposite her. 'That wouldn't be a good idea,' she said drily. She stood and started to move the box away.

'Mrs Bridges, wait! Look - mmmmth!' In one move Taylor had the rubber ball out of her pocket and wedged it into her mouth. She hooked her top up to her throat to reveal the two small bee-stings mounds of her budding bust and immediately put her arms behind the chair back as if she was tied like that, shoulders back. 'Lktthh tthhth!' She said. Like this!

Mrs Bridges paused, another slow smile on her face. 'So, my dear, you think you would make a good child bondage model?'

'Yttthh plttthh,' grunted Taylor through her makeshift gag, hauling her shoulders further back.

'Very well, let's test your resolve shall we?' The woman put the box back on the table. She didn't open it but Taylor thought they were making some progress.

The woman continued: 'If you think you like being tied up and silenced we can test it here and now. You can sit there for one hour and don't move from that position.' The woman's sunny demeanor had changed subtly. She looked darker, bigger. More in control. 'If you break position for a moment you go home right away.' Mrs Bridges' voice had a cold edge to it. 'Remember, you aren't tied like that but you have to stay. No matter what, understood?'

Taylor, not entirely sure why she was going along with this apart from an overwhelming desire to see all the photographs of Trisha, managed to nod.

'Good,' said the old woman. She patted the box as if contained a great treasure. 'Who knows what your reward will be?'

---

In the next sixty minutes Taylor found her position hard. It had been easy to say (gag permitting) that she wanted to be a child bondage model and even thought she could remain like this as if she was bound, but the reality soon made itself felt.

A painful reality.

First, her arms and shoulders began to ache with their enforced position. The chair back was smooth but hard and sharp enough to press into her arms in the relatively tender underside. At first she gripped her hands together to stop them slipping and relieving the pressure but increasingly she began to wring them to try and alleviate the growing discomfort.

The chair was a simple affair and probably wasn't designed for a child sitting still for so long. It didn't take long for the hard seat to make her butt start to feel sore, her legs ache too - especially where the seat edge pressed into the back of her knees.

Even the ball she had in her mouth began to bother her jaw. Worse, drool soon began to fall from her open lips and dripped on to her exposed chest. In minutes a shiny river of cooling saliva ran down her chest and belly to the waistband of her jeans. She felt it grow damp and then wet.

The clock on the wall clunked its way, agonizingly slowly, towards the sixty minute mark.

Every so often Mrs Bridges walked round the child to make sure she hadn't moved. Once, she even startled Taylor by grabbing her thin arms and pushing her shoulder blades together as if to indicate she had to keep her shoulders back. No matter what it took.

Taylor groaned into her voluntary gag, tears in her eyes at the pain of her new position. But she was determined to prove she could do this and hung on, elbows straight and hands clasped tight.

'Still comfortable, dear?' cooed Mrs Bridges in Taylor's ear on one examination.

The girl nodded, her face screwed up against the pain of keeping herself there.

'It's real tough isn't it, Taylor?' The old woman smiled at the girl. 'Trisha found it tough too, until she got used to it. But then, she didn't have a choice. But she did have some help.'

Taylor looked at the woman hopefully. There were, she could see from the clock, still twenty minutes to go she really would welcome some assistance. She was keen to succeed but didn't know if she could keep this up on her own.

'You want that help too, Taylor? No matter what?'

The girl nodded and tried to say yes please into her ball gag.

'Okay,' smiled the woman, holding up a length of rope. 'Let's get started.'

Taylor's eyes bulged and she gave a croak of dismay, but to her credit she didn't break position. She didn't break position either as the woman carefully wound rope round the child's upper arms and chest, pinning to the chair back.

More rope, round Taylor's slim wrists and across her lap, ensured she wouldn't be getting up on her own.

A last length or rope round her knees and down under the chair seat and then to her ankles, tied together, would ensure that the girl couldn't kick her legs too much.

'Comfy?' smirked the woman at the child. 'Oh, probably not, but that was how we started out with Trisha. Of course she didn't have choice. She was just tied her one day and left.'

Taylor made a mmphng sound but was careful not to dislodge the ball between her teeth.

'Only fifteen minutes to go,' said the woman, turning to leave. 'Oh, mustn't forget. You might want to tell me when the hour is up. But maybe I don't want you to tell me.' She produced a self adhesive plaster from her pocket, peeled it ready and without warning stuck the tape firmly over Taylor's jaw, sealing in the ball.

'Hmmmph unnth!' shrieked Taylor at this unexpected turn. This wasn't part of the plan, she tried to protest. 'Let me go!' she mewled into her gag, helplessly. The girl struggled against the ropes, ignoring the pain in her arms and shoulders and legs. But she couldn't move.

Mrs Bridges took no notice of the girl's efforts to get free and stepped out of the room.

---

It was well past the alloted hour when the old woman came back. She was carrying several hanks of rope and something that looked ominously like a proper ball gag with a real strap and buckle arrangement.

Taylor's heart sank: this was for her, she knew.

She had no strength to struggle now and sat, half slumped against her ropes. For the past half hour she had been struggling with the ropes but had given up. This woman clearly knew how to tie a girl up.

'Oh my,' laughed Mrs Bridges, looking at the clock. 'I'm late getting you unfastened. Why didn't you call me dear and tell me the time?'

The bound girl frowned at the woman.

'Now, we have to make sure you get used to being tied.' The woman was sorting out the ropes on the table, though Taylor couldn't keep her eyes off the wicked looking ball gag. Red rubber ball and black strap. the ball was just like the one she had voluntarily popped into her own mouth but it looked a little larger. The black leather strap looked way too efficient.

Surely she couldn't be tied up like... well, like Trisha was, could she? And really, really silenced?

Lamely Taylor tried to struggle with her ropes again. 'My mom will be missing me,' she yelped in to her gag, knowing that it wouldn't make sense. 'You have to stop this and let me go.'

'Excuse me dear, talking with your mouth full?' The old woman chuckled and continued sorting out the rope.

Taylor glared at her. 'I don't care about the stupid pictures,' she shouted.

'You know, dear, they say children should be seen and not heard. Well, I can assure you this larger gag,' she indicated the device on the table in front of the girl, 'will keep you nice and silent. Especially if I add a thick leather hood and tie you up in the basement.' She raised an eyebrow as if the choice was Taylor's.

The girl stopped struggling and nodded meekly.

'Good! I'm so pleased you can see sense, Taylor. It really does help us all.' The woman had the ropes sorted out but she put them down. 'In a few minutes I will tie you up in what they call a hogtie. I'll do it here on the table.' She patted the table top as if it wasn't clear what she meant. 'You'll be on your tummy, hands tied to your ankles and of course gagged. To make sure you don't fall off you'll be tied to the table with lots of rope. It will take me a good few minutes to get you in position and bound and re-gagged. Naturally, I would appreciate your cooperation, though I am stronger than you despite my years and I will win a struggle.'

The girl gave the woman a dirty look but didn't indicate she wouldn't cooperate.

'However I did promise you a treat earlier and your reward for helping me get you tied up again will be you can see some of the pictures of Trisha. Once you are in position and nicely silenced I will lay out some pictures for you to look at, in front of you. Now, just to make sure you help me, I will lay out twelve pictures for you to enjoy. But, for every time I think you are resisting or fighting I will take one away. Understood?'

Taylor nodded. It was better than nothing.

'You have to be ready for anything when you are in bondage,' said the woman. 'Remember that.'

Taylor nodded.

The woman looked pleased and started untying the girl's aching arms and legs and then finally peeled off the tape and allowed a shaky Taylor to removed the ball from her mouth.

'One more thing dear, I don't want you to talk so although there isn't a gag you have to remain quiet. If you do say something, I will take one picture away. That would in my book be like struggling to stop me tying you up.'

Again Taylor reluctantly signaled she understood.

'You might want to use the bathroom before we start,' said Mrs Bridges in a motherly fashion. 'Just go along and do whatever you need my dear. It's down the hallway on the left, and then come back. But to stop you thinking I'm soft and stupid, not only are the doors locked but I want you to take off your clothes now and go naked.'

The girl stared at the woman, mouth open in shock. But, she told herself almost at once, that Trisha was naked. It was what had been done before, Taylor understood. She sighed and peeled off her top and shucked off her jeans and pants. Her shoes and socks came off too and she remembered to put them tidily on one side.

Taylor blushed a little at the way the woman looking at her. Not leeringly, but as if weighing up the best way to tie the girl. How good she'd look hogtied. She hurried out into the hallway.

The bathroom was neat and clean and cool. Either that or Taylor was shivering with apprehension and fear. She also was horrified that the door to the bathroom was locked back and wouldn't close: anyone coming past would see her on the toilet. But then, who was there in the house other than her and Mrs Bridges?

Unless, of course, there was a Mr Bridges...

Taylor shuddered tried not to think about it and sat, facing the open door, with her legs as closed as much as she dare for peeing. As she perched on the toilet and felt both scared and excited, a vague idea occurring to her that this was some cleverly constructed game, a web she had been drawn into. But why? She had never met this Trisha, didn't know about this Mrs Bridges until almost two hours ago.

She wished she had told her mom what she was doing, what she was planning. She would have been in trouble but not like this: not about to tied up in a kitchen, miles from home by a woman she didn't know.

But a woman with lots of photographs of Trisha. Taylor felt a surge of pleasure at the thought. If she was good she might see a lot more of them. Especially the ones when the naked and bound girl was younger.

Taylor hurried back from the bathroom, aware of a portrait on the wall of a young woman - maybe fifteen. A normal portrait, in color, of a girl smiling, dressed in a plain blue dress with a white lace collar. Not tied up, not gagged. It looked a lot like Trisha but in a way it wasn't.

There was something oddly familiar about the smile, the eyes. Taylor stared, shivered and went back into the kitchen.

Mrs Bridges had already tied some ropes to the table legs and smiled at the girl as she entered. 'How do like going to the bathroom with the door open?'

It was an odd question and Taylor, taken aback, opened her mouth to say it was weird and crazy but stopped herself in time. It was a trap: she was supposed to forget that she had agreed that a picture would be removed every time she spoke. An error like that and she'd be down to eleven. Or ten, if there was another question.

The girl confined herself to a shrug, which made the woman smile more. 'You know, dear, every time you go to the bathroom here the door will be open. And when you take a bath.'

A look of sheer astonishment spread over Taylor's face. Every time? Taking a bath? Was this woman planning to keep her here?

She was tempted to break her silence and demand what the woman meant but she was aware of the trap. Still, it was worrying. Anyway, she didn't have to come back. After the hogtie and seeing the pictures she would get dressed and go. She wouldn't ever come back. Without prompting, Taylor climbed on the table, face down and put her hands behind her.

Mrs Bridges moved the child down a little towards the lower end, to make room for the pictures, she said. then she began tying the pre-teen up. Tightly and efficiently.

Taylor groaned to herself as ropes went round her wrists, her upper arms, round her chest and then into what was like a bra arrangement. She soon discovered that this was to help hold her legs up to her wrists. Although her ankles were bound crossed and hauled up to meet her bound wrists, more rope was used to keep them connected to her shoulder-cum-bra harness. Then to her surprise the large ball gag was pushed without warning into her mouth, buckled tight and with more rope attached to the back of it and to her ankles her head was forced back and up.

The girl could feel the cool air on her lightly aired slit and exposed ass. With her legs so open Taylor felt immensely vulnerable. For a moment she felt the old woman's fingers run just round the top of her thighs, less than inch from her open pussy. She gulped into her gag and shivered, but the hand left at once.

A warning? A threat? Or a promise?

'I'm not a lesbian', Taylor told herself grimly. But like this, she had no choice.

Being tied in this position was interesting, Taylor decided. her arms and shoulders and legs still hurt but not as much. She pondered if Trisha was bound like this a lot, if there were plenty of photos of her in this position.

She also pondered how long this would be for. An hour or much longer this time? It was getting to lunch time and she was hungry. Would Mrs Bridges give her something to eat when she undid the ropes?

To Taylor's surprise Mrs Brides gave the exposed inside part of her right thigh a sharp, painful slap. Another warning or promise?

'You're ready for the pictures know,' said the woman. 'All eleven of them.'

Eleven? Taylor gurgled her annoyance into her gag. She cooperated, she hadn't spoken, she hadn't struggled when she was tied. What the hell did she mean, only eleven.

'Eleven because you flinched when I put my hand at the top of your legs. Near your little pussy but not touching it,' said Mrs Bridges as if she might have been cross. 'I told you earlier, you have to be ready for anything and you weren't.'

The woman was right. The hogtied girl grunted an apology, but equally felt dismayed that this was more serious than she had feared.

Eleven pictures were duly laid out in front of Taylor. It wasn't easy looking down with her head tied back like it was, but she managed. The photos were in monochrome but perfectly clear, showing Trisha in various stages of stringent bondage. In most a younger Trisha was naked (and in one tied naked exactly like Taylor was, on a table top) and in all of them she was gagged in some way.

In at least two of the pictures she looked scared and in another she was crying - her small face crumpled up above a simple cleave gag - but Taylor couldn't see why.

But intriguingly three of the photographs - all showing a naked nine or ten year old - had been taken outdoors, in a lush mature garden. Taylor wondered if the garden was overlooked, whether other people had seen the bound girl.

To Taylor's surprise her exposed cunny began to twitch as if contracting and expanding. The way it did when she started to rub it, thinking of Trisha tied up. She wriggled as best she could, hoping that something might stimulate her or at least rub up against her damp slit.

She was aware Mrs Bridges was watching her, almost laughing at the girl's pathetic attempts to get some release from her mounting frustration. In a way Taylor didn't care: she just wanted to feel herself, feel her cunny pulse with pleasure. She snorted into her gag as she wriggled, her eyes on the pictures in front of her.

The girl's eyes were particularly on one which showed a naked Trisha lying on a bed, on her back with her little arms stretched out tied at the side and, more dramatically, her feet bound back to the bed-head so her legs were splayed and her two holes exposed. A sort of whip - a riding crop Taylor would later learn - was on the bed and a single bruised welt on the child's spread legs. No more than an inch from her little cunny and asshole.

Trisha looked as if she had been crying but - head propped up on a couple of pillows - was bravely trying to smile at the camera, as if she had been promised something good providing she cooperated.

With just the right amount of light and shade, the picture was powerful and perfectly composed. It was, although Taylor didn't understand the concept entirely, beautifully erotic. But the hogtied girl knew what she liked and was desperate to satisfy her growing urge to play with herself. To make herself cum.

'You look as if you want help,' said Mrs Bridges, reaching forward and moving the one photograph a touch nearer Taylor, as if she understood this was the image that most excited the bound girl. 'You want me to help you?'

Taylor vaguely understood what that help might be. She nodded as best she could with her gag strap holding her head back the way it was, and grunted what she hoped would be interpreted as a "yes please."

It didn't surprise the girl entirely what the help was. Mrs Bridges gently snaked her hand past the girl's bound wrists and placed her fingers lightly on Taylor's slit - and this time the tied child didn't flinch much at all. The woman's fingers began at once to caress and stroke, easing the tip of her middle finger into the lips of the cunny, as if looking for something.

She found it of course almost at once: the small raised clit that once touched made Taylor squirm in eagerness and snort in excitement.

Mrs Bridges concentrated on the twelve-year old's center of sexual delight, rubbing her finger in a small circular motion. She chuckled to herself, enjoying the tremors of the child's arousal and the view of her trembling, tied and very naked body.

Taylor shuddered in delight as she stared at the holes-exposed picture among all the others. As Mrs Bridges administered to her wet pussy and engorged clit the girl's eyes flickered from one image to the other, but always came back to Trisha on her back on the bed. Taylor was all too aware that a tidal wave of sheer pleasure was washing against a rapidly dissolving dam of her fears, but she didn't care any more. The girl focused on the one image and felt the dam give way.

Taylor screamed as her first real, deep, soul-embracing orgasm tore through her in a flood of unknown, unbelievable sensations.

Above and behind her, Mrs Bridges smiled as she recognized the muffled and urgent sounds from the gagged child. The girl had cum while thinking about bondage and her life wouldn't be the same again.

---

'I have to go now,' said Taylor, reluctantly. She stood, dressed and composed in the old woman's kitchen, staring at the closed box on the table. The locked box.

There was no sign of the ropes and gags, no evidence she had been bound and silenced. No indication she had been given the biggest thrill of her young life. She was just a girl in a woman's house - a girl about to go home.

'You know where the bus stops, don't you?' asked Mrs Bridges.

'Uh, sure.' Taylor felt a twinge of regret that the woman hadn't offered to give her a ride over - not because she disliked public transport but because she wanted the woman to talk to her about Trisha and what was done to her years ago.

The girl made a reluctant move to the door but stopped. 'Mrs Bridges, may I come back and, um, see more pictures?'

The old woman, folding some towels, smiled but shook her head. 'No, my dear.'

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. 'But why not? You can tie me up. I'll be good, I promise. I'll do what you say. Please!'

'Taylor,' sighed the woman, putting down the last of her towels. 'What we did was fun but it's the past. Those photographs belong to something that's gone. Trisha's gone. We have to look to the future, all of us.'

The girl felt herself shaking, feeling desperate but equally puzzled by the woman's statement. What did Mrs Bridges mean, Trisha's gone? 'But she'll be back soon!' exclaimed Taylor. 'We can ask Trisha, when she's home. She wouldn't mind, would she?'

'Trisha's gone. The box is locked. Now you better hurry on home. Your mom will be worried.'

'My mom?' Taylor had clean forgotten about her, about where she was supposed to be. A new panic filled the child: what if one of Taylor's friends had called and wanted to know where the girl was. Taylor's mother would say something like: "She's at the mall, of course, with her friends." But then it would come out that she wasn't there, that she'd lied. Maybe even stuff about the photos and Mrs Bridges would have to be dragged out and then she'd be grounded for a month. Taylor gulped. She had to hurry home.

The girl turned on her heel and ran to the bus stop, without looking back.

---

It was on the journey to her house that Taylor suddenly remembered she hadn't picked up the small red ball - the gag ball she found at Marianne's - after the bondage session.

She swiftly checked her pockets but it wasn't there.

Taylor felt wretched, tears in her yes. She had lost the ball - a ball that had gone in Trisha's mouth when the child was tied up - and lost the chance to see more pictures of her bound and gagged and punished. Sat on the bus slumped against the window she felt utterly alone, sure no one in the world would understand how she felt. No one would ever understand what she needed.

But she had this: no one was sat near her and she dropped her hand between her open legs and pressed the crotch of jeans against herself, against her little cunt. Small, circular rubbing motions - just with her hand but the rest of her still as if she was merely staring out of the window - gave her a small glow of pleasure.

Tonight she make herself cum while remembering the images of Trisha, she decided. She'd also think about being tied up herself, made helpless and vulnerable.

For all her disappointments Taylor felt more than a little better.

---

Patsy Lowell looked up when her daughter came into the house. 'Hi honey, good time with your friends?'

'Oh yeah. Uh, the usual.' Taylor tried not to blush at lying and busied herself, back to her mom, as she got a drink for herself from the fridge. Hoping that her color would normalize by the time she turned round.

'I was talking to Mrs Schwab earlier,' said Patsy casually.

Oh jeez, thought Taylor: Paula Schwab's damn talkative mother. She was bound to say something about what her daughter was doing, about what Taylor was doing today. This was where it all came out.

'She said that Paula's sick,' the mother wasn't looking at Taylor as she said it and the girl felt a wave of relief. Whenever the woman thought her daughter was lying she looked intently at her. Exposing her.

'Yeah, I heard that,' Taylor lied. 'Pity she couldn't come along but... well, she can be a drag.'

'Really?' The mother looked at her child. 'I thought you liked her?'

'Oh, you know. I mean, um, with the others. I like her but Dani and Kerry don't seem...' she trailed off, knowing that she was soon going to be digging herself deeper into a hole.

'You all got on so well at Dani's party. I'm real surprised,' said Patsy.

Taylor shrugged, unsure about the look on her mom's face. It wasn't the "I-know-you're-lying-look" but it was something else. Like she was studying her daughter. Almost as if she suspected something.

'I have homework to do,' said Taylor, sliding away.

'You can put that empty glass down,' said Patsy with a small grin. 'Or you want to take it upstairs with you?'

Taylor colored up as she realized she had started to leave with a drained glass in her hand. 'Oh, um, guess I'm being stupid.' She put it down and was halfway through the door, when Patsy called after her.

'Oh honey, you forgot this.'

Taylor turned and saw her mother was holding up a small red rubber ball. A ball with a narrow, vertical hole through it.

The room swam.

---

'You okay now honey?' Taylor's mom was bending over her daughter, stroking her hair.

'Uh, mom...' began the child drowsily, eyes opening and blinking against the light.

'Hush. You fainted, that's all. Gave me a shock.'

A shock? It came back to Taylor that she'd had the real shock - the ball her mom was holding. The gag ball she'd lost at Mrs Bridges. 'Mom, how did...' the girl started but trailed it off. She couldn't begin to understand.

'Just take it easy,' said Patsy.

'I have to get up,' said Taylor, trying to move. To her astonishment she couldn't. Something was stopping her, something tightly gripping her outspread arms and legs.

It took a full second for the girl to realize she was tied down, arms and legs fastened to the corners of her bed. It took another full second to realize she was naked.

It took a third full second to understand her mother was grinning down at her.

'Mom - I can't move!' Taylor started to struggle but her mother put her hand on her daughter's naked chest.

'Hush, stay calm. Fighting this won't help,' soothed Patsy. 'It really is for the best.'

'Wha-?'

'You like this kind of thing, honey. Mrs Bridges told me. But before we discuss anything I think you should rest. Quietly.' The woman had the gag ball in her hand and a piece of tape. Silver duct tape. As Taylor opened her mouth to object the ball went in between the girl's teeth and the piece of tape as smoothed immediately over her lips and jaw.

'Mmmmth!' cried Taylor in astonishment. 'Nnnth!'

'Oh honey, I have no idea what you are trying to say,' said Patsy, standing up and straightening her skirt. 'But I think you should stay right here, not holler or anything, and just think about things. Okay?'

'Ytthh ktth uhhth hmmth!' Taylor's voice was urgent but it was no clearer to the woman what her daughter wanted. But then, it didn't really matter now what Taylor wanted. With a wave and a smile Patsy left the girl on her bed, naked and legs stretched apart, tied down and gagged.

Just like Trisha, before the child's legs were hauled up to the bed-head and her two holes exposed.

---

Taylor dozed fitfully. She had no idea how long she lay there, feeling the air on her open sex and butt, feeling her body stretched wide. The light changed in the room, suggesting it was well into the afternoon but from where she lay the girl couldn't see a clock.

She heard noises from downstairs, voices. Some neighbor probably, calling in for a chat or to borrow something. Taylor thought about screaming into her gag to attract attention but she didn't. After all, wasn't this what she wanted at Mrs Bridges? Well, maybe not like this, but so she could get to see some more pictures.

But this wasn't at Mrs Bridges. It was in her own home, tied up by her own mother.

She had thought, as she lay helpless, of how her mom got the gag ball from the old woman's house. How did she know about the old woman? Then she thought that Trisha would have told her mom where she lived, explained she was a lodger at the woman's house.

But that left the gag ball getting here, before she arrived home herself. Of course, either Mrs Bridges had brought it over or her mom had a call and went to fetch it. But what was so important about the ball?

Taylor sighed and tested her bonds. They weren't going to give way, she knew. She wriggled but knew she couldn't even play with herself, bring herself to an orgasm hopefully.

With a chill, Taylor understood she had been bound like this precisely because she wasn't meant to finger her little pussy or rub her clit. She wasn't meant to get pleasure from her bondage.

The voices were outside the bedroom door and Taylor's heart froze. Surely her mother hadn't brought a neighbor up here? Surely she wouldn't be crazy enough to show off her daughter's naked, bound body?

Surely this wasn't a nightmare?

The door opened, the voices light and happy. Patsy walked in with Mrs Bridges at her side. They were both in their underwear, holding hands.

Mrs Bridges was in an old fashioned black girdle and formal long line bra, Patsy in a white lace garter belt and matching plunge bra. They stood at the bottom of Taylor's bed, not letting go of each other, grinning down at the wide eyed spread wide girl.

'It's time, I think,' laughed Mrs Bridges, 'That we explained a few things to Taylor.'

'Or should we say the new Trisha?' chuckled Taylor's mother.

---

The camera was set up, the lights arranged round the bed. Taylor had her legs released by her mother but immediately tied above her head, spread as wide as before but now fastened to the bed-head. Just as Trisha had been tied in Taylor's favorite photo.

Mrs Bridges had produced a riding crop and laid it on the bed, close to the child's two exposed holes. Two pillows propped up Taylor's head so she could look down a little.

'Guess it's time for a few answers,' said Taylor's mom, easing the duct tape off her daughter's face and removing the small, wet rubber ball from the child's mouth.

'Uh, mom,' croaked Taylor, her jaw stiff from so much inaction.

'That's right honey, I am your mom.' the woman settled down next to her daughter and looked at Mrs Bridges. 'And that is a very special lady. I call her Joyce but you will call her Mrs Bridges. You will be seeing a great deal of her in the years ahead. Just as I did.'

'You? B-but...' Taylor knew she had a question but words failed her. Or rather, she had dozens of questions but didn't know which one should come first.

'Let me explain, said Joyce Bridges, sitting on the other side of the bound girl. 'First of all there isn't, indeed never was, a Trisha. No one lives with me.'

'No! I've seen the pictures. The photos in the basement and in Mrs -' Taylor stopped, her heart suddenly pounding. The pictures looked like family, the photo in the frame on Mrs Bridges wall was very familiar. 'It can't be!' Taylor, horrified, looked at her mother who was grinning down at her.

'Yes, it can be. I was Trisha. I'm surprised you didn't recognize me before but I guess I've changed. Hair different, a few more lines now. In case you are wondering, my aunt Marianne never had a daughter - which is why you never met her.'

'As she doesn't exist, she couldn't be flying to Buenos Aires, right?' The woman in the black underwear was also chuckling.

'She never called in to collect any boxes here,' continued Patsy. 'I took the photos out and got rid of the rest.'

'Y-you have those photos?'

'And more. Joyce has the bulk of them, but we like to reminisce, trade photos. When we're not busy.'

The older woman laughed. 'That's busy as in lesbian. Your mom and I have been lovers for quite a while.' As if to prove the point she leant over the bound girl's legs and pressed her lips to Patsy's. A long, lingering kiss.

When they broke, Taylor's mom resumed: 'Oh we weren't lovers until recently. You see, aunt Marianne liked to tie me up and got her friend Joyce to take the pictures. Hundreds of them.'

'Marianne and I were lovers,' sighed Joyce. 'But I was really surprised - and delighted - a couple of years ago when your mother got in touch with me and suggested we, well, thought about our future.'

'A future that included you, honey.' Patsy stroked her daughter's hair. 'I knew, as I'd enjoyed bondage so much, so should you. Either by force or consent, though I'd prefer the latter.'

'Mom, I can't!' Taylor suddenly felt terrified. 'I can't, you know, be what you are.'

'A lesbian?' Patsy laughed. 'No, you don't have to be, honey. No, you just have to be what I was: a small girl tied up and photographed.'

Taylor felt a wave of relief she didn't have to kiss the old woman. Or her mother. 'But why me?'

'I told you at my house,' said Mrs Bridges. 'Trisha, the girl in the photos, is the past. They're good but they are for me and your mom to enjoy. Not you. But you are the future: you don't need the old mono photos. I have color in the camera. A new era begins.'

'You're going to, um, photograph me? Like this?'

'Just like I was photographed,' smiled Patsy. 'You saw my photo, I understand. Lots of photos, lot of positions. Indoors, outdoors, in lots of places and poses. Lots of tight ropes and unyielding gags.'

Taylor felt a curious wave of pleasure and dread. Bound and gagged and more... She felt delightfully excited and more than a little afraid. 'Will I be whipped?'

'Trisha was,' said the older woman. 'So you will be spanked and stuff like that but mostly we want you tied up, chained up, strapped down, in cages and secured to all kinds of furniture. Restrained, every which way.'

The girl felt apprehensive. 'What about school?'

The two women laughed as one. 'Oh life will continue to be as normal as we can make it, most of the time,' said Patsy. 'I guess you'll want to keep this a secret, just as I did.' A pause. 'That's right, not even your father will know. He's out of town right now, playing golf. I guess most of our photo-bondage sessions will be at Joyce's. She has a wonderful basement with lots of bondage toys.'

Taylor thought about her father and her mother's sex life. She blushed. 'You and her... Joyce. Dad doesn't know?'

'I don't think so,' said the girl's mother. 'If he suspects, he doesn't say anything. He knows I have a friend called Mrs Bridges. A close friend, but who knows what he knows?'

'But its a lie!'

'What, like saying you're going to the mall?'

Taylor blushed.

'Enough talk. Time for your first photo,' said Mrs Bridges standing up. 'Then we'll take a few more before your mom and I will go to the main bedroom.'

Taylor opened her mouth to say "What, here, now?" but stopped herself. More importantly was: 'Will I have to be tied up while you, um, make love.'

'Of course,' said Patsy as she too stood. 'That was what Trisha had to do while Joyce and my aunt fucked. Oh don't look so surprised, honey. It's what we women do!' She picked up the riding crop and swished it. 'One stroke, to start with I think. Like me in your position.'

'No, mom!' cried Taylor. 'Please don't hurt me!'

'I will, sweetheart, but only because I love you and you love being tied up. I knew that when we set up the little trap for you, in aunt Marianne's basement - including faking that old newspaper cutting, by the way.'

'I understand my dear you reacted just right with the rubber ball from the gag,' said Mrs Bridges as she attended to the camera. 'Your mom said you were fascinated by the old photos. It was great how you did all that we hoped. Mind you, it helped she left my address lying around for you to find.' She chuckled. 'But the best traps are those where the victim thinks they're being just a little clever, right?'

Taylor gave a little nod. yes, she had thought she had been that little bit clever.

'I knew you'd be curious, honey,' said the child's mom. 'Desperate to see the pictures again. I showed you them all, remember, and that was your test. To see how positive you were, how you took the bait. Now, Joyce is right: enough talking. I'm going to gag you with your little ball and hit you once with the crop. Then the gag comes out and you smile at the camera. Your first photo.'

Taylor swallowed. 'Um, and if I don't smile?'

'Then I guess I don't finger you as a reward, like I did to Trisha all those years ago,' said Mrs Bridges as she went to turn on the lights. 'I remember she was really looking forward to that, being allowed to climax.'

Taylor gulped and nodded. Yes, it would be great to made to cum, tied like this. Like Trisha was. The ball went in the girl's mouth, the tape to hold it in.

Taylor braced herself for the one blow from the crop, from her mother's hand. It would be painful and she'd cry, but already she was looking forward to being fingered.

Yes, she would smile when the gag came off, she decided. After all she'd found her Treasure.