Rebecca starts to bolt, but she hears a snap and the next thing she knows, her ankles are forced together by a coil of rope. Caught off guard by the sudden contraction, Rebecca loses her balance and tips over, the statue flying out of her hands. Another snap and another coil of rope twists her hands behind her back and binds them together.
"So," Mrs. Mallory picks up the statue and returns to it's spot on the fireplace, then grabs Rebecca by the shirt and forces her to a standing position, "you thought that could steal from me that easily, huh?"
"P-P-Please," stutters Rebecca, "I had no choice, it was the only way the book club would let me in."
"Au contraire my dear, you did have a choice to say no," corrects Mrs. Mallory, "but I assume you know why it was my budoir out of all the others?"
"It's because of the rumors that you are a witch," says Rebecca, then adds, "I never believed them."
Mrs. Mallory smirks, "oh really." She makes a fist, extends an index finger, and slashes the air. Rebecca winces, then hears a tearing sound, then feels a draft. Looking down to see her in nothing but her red bra and underwear and her shirt and shorts in shreds, she gasps and tries to cover herself, only to remember that she's bound. Mrs. Mallory then snaps her fingers twice, freeing Rebecca's ankles and encasing them in black enamel. "Still don't believe?"
"I believe, I believe," shrieks Rebecca, now half baked and no way of running. "You proved your point, now can you let me go?!" *snap* "Mmmmph!"
"But that's just it, my dear, I haven't proved my point. You still need to be taught a lesson," sneers Mrs. Mallory, having conjured up a third coil of rope to gag Rebecca. "Now what to do?"
"I could let you go as is, but marked as my property." Rebecca blushes at the thought of returning home half-baked.
"But just look at that belly." Rebecca had been hyperventilating, forcing her belly in and out. The witch produces a scimitar and levels it at the poor girl's exposed midriff. Rebecca sucks in her belly with a muffled whimper. "I could keep you here, all trussed up with your tummy to torture, tease, and tickle whenever I want to. All the while you cater to my every whim as my belly slave."
"Or I could tickle you, then let you go."
Mrs. Mallory thought hard, then decided...
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