Blue Secretariat (F/F)

[AlexUSA3]

Jenny & Kendra 1: Blue Secretariat
Monday, May 16, 2016

Let me tell you about a story that I assure you is 100% fiction. Definitely didn’t happen with me and my cousin. It’s purely fantasy, a scenario I wish happened. Yes, it’s only in my pipedreams I get to capture my cousin. How shall I tell this? Past tense is best when it’s purely fictional and fake, but present tense is more immersive. You know what? Let’s go for past tense because this is totally made up and allows me to inject more fantastical thoughts and observations from such a ridiculous scenario. If it did happen then it will feel more real to you when I add in my thoughts. But of course it didn’t. Let’s go to the garage at my parents’ house.

I was working on Blue Secretariat, my prized blue 1998 Ford Mustang GT. When I turned 16, it was in sorry shape. Dad said he would give me the car and pay for the updates on one condition: I had to do it all myself or with the only help being ordered gruntwork. He could paint a part for me, but I had to install it and tell him how to paint it. That much is true. I swear. Fiction time.

I had just popped open the hood for a tuneup and an oil change when my cousin Kenny Penny K. walked up to the house. That’s short Kendra Penelope Kristensen. See? And I’m Jenny Danny K. See? I’m Jenny Danielle Kristensen. Jenny Danny K. and Kenny Penny K. Get it? Hmm? Oh, come on! We’re cousins and love each other!

“Hi, Jenny. Watcha doing to Blue Secretariat?” Kendra got off her bicycle with her clarinet case.
“Getting ready for a tuneup and an oil change,” I smiled at one of the greatest joys of my life.
“Aww, cuz. I love how you’re such a sentimentalist,” she playfully punched me in the arm.
“What makes you say that?” I asked her in return and looked into her eyes.
“The way you’ve never ceased to love me despite all my mistakes,” she smiled.
“I love how you suddenly get soft and squishy when you’re alone with me or your housemates,” I had a cheesy grin on my face, “Want to give me a hand with this work?”

We look so much alike it isn’t funny. Both of us have blonde-brown hair; we’re both dreadfully short; and we’re both skinny and athletic. She’s already playfully antagonizing me, wearing her bright blue trainers and a bright blue bandana headband with a yellow tank, yellow crew socks, and a black canvas sneakers. Yes, Kendra had to tell me because I can’t tell you from my own memories of this day. I’m blue-yellow colorblind, and I usually can tell by context, like there is never a bright yellow sky at high noon on a clear day. But this outfit? Help me!

I’m dressed in a similar style with a camouflage kerchief bandana and matching old camouflage bandana wristbands, bandanas I used to wear and only used for TUG toys and, in this case, as a form of padding against the metal. I even had a camouflage sports bra—because it was hot that day—black gym shorts, camouflage knee socks (because why not?), and black canvas sneakers. I had my hair in a braid—like I usually did—held by a black scrunchie, and Kenny had her hair in her preferred smooth, controlled bun. She was a funny girl then and still is one.

I’m a smart girl in one regard. I’d gotten so good at this that I could do a tune-up and change the oil with only rubber gloves for protection. It eliminates a lot of hand washing. I’m not afraid of getting grubby, but I’ve stood with the nail brush for 10-15 minutes after using bare hands under the hood. That's why I wore gloves. But Kendra decided to start teasing me about them.

“Awww, Jenny, are you afraid of getting a little grease on your fingers?” Kenny teased me.
“No,” I slid under Blue Secretariat to loosen the oil filter, “it saves me time washing up after.”
“Aren't you good enough to not get dirty?” she peered at me through the gaps in the engine.
“Kendra Penelope Kristensen,” I paused for a moment, “There's a package of zipties over there.”
“Oh, sure, like I can't twist you into a pretzel at will,” she laughed and rolled her eyes.
“No, you can't,” I winked at her from below, “Prison alone doesn't make you stronger than me.”
“Yeah, but where's the duct tape to make sure I really have fun?” she was pushing for TUGs.

She's a bondage model and a gym monkey who once spent six months in prison because she got caught with a bag of cocaine on her. I’m on the track and cross country teams and just finished my sophomore year of engineering college. That plus the nearly 2 inch difference in our heights gave me confidence that I could take her down. As if I hadn't done it several times in the past.

The funniest thing about Kendra is her insistence she doesn't like bondage. She's right. She only loves—not likes—TUGs, especially when I’m her playmate. She likes the people and the things involved. It's not the restraint she likes; it's being restrained or restraining others. People! She's a tiny softy who cares about the people and sees the game as the way to interact with the people whom she loves and who happen to love these crazy tie-up games like me and our friends do.

“Well, Miss Camouflage Gangsta Princess, what up?” Kendra asked as I slid out from under my car, “You roarin’ for some action, a little time torqued up in the corner?”
“No,” I calmly sat up and took off my gloves before playing wheeling over to the toolbox where I had the zipties and duct tape for car repair stuff, “I’m just putting a smart mouth in her place.”
“What’s this?” she watched and effortlessly caught the ziptie I tossed to her, “A dare?” and then a childish, mischievous grin grew on her face, “Awww, the rope bunny wants me to kidnap her!”
“Nope,” I was strangely calm and not my usual bouncy self, “We’re wrestling for the win.”

So we wrestled. Kendra was strong. She’s even stronger, 9 years later, now that she has 4 kids and—I suspect—is expecting her fifth. She’s strong enough to handle it all, but eventually she’ll find herself too overwhelmed to do modeling any longer. Those daily mandatory gym routines I know she had to do in prison made her a powerful little girl. Perhaps I’d overestimated her after all? We were going back and forth, but she undoubtedly had prepared specifically for this.

“That’ll hold you!” I proudly said, tightening a zip above her elbows to go with her wrist bond.
“Jenny Danielle Kristensen,” she gasped and looked around with wide eyes, “What happened?!”
“I…,” I got closer to her ear and barely whispered, “won…,” I paused, “and… you… lost.”
“Oh, no, Jenny!” she yowled when I sat on her back, pulled off her sneakers and socks, ziptied her ankles, and turned around to face the little lover of foot elements, “Don’t you dare do that!”
“You want it, Kenny. You know you do,” I pushed her socks against her nose, “Now open your mouth nice wide,” I then pinched her nose shut, “It’s just a matter of when, not if, you open.”
“Gmmmph!” Kendra knew she had no choice, and she accepted her disgusting yet scrumptious gag as it filled every crevice of her mouth because she even wore the perfect-sized socks for the inevitable reality of one of us being gagged with socks she likely wore on a 10K or to the gym.

I grabbed a roll of black electrical tape instead of duct tape, and I wrapped her head 4 times as a cleave gag and 6 times as a standard wrapped tape gag. She groaned and squirmed, but her eyes had a very different story to tell. In her eyes were joy and love; in her body language was desire, passion, and resistance. Oh, what a dichotomy you are, Kendra Penelope Kristensen! My sweet older cousin, I have loved you for so long and never will stop!

Now it was time to ziptie my cousin to ensure she was not only trapped but also that the binding was overkill so she enjoyed every last bit as much as I would—maybe more—and in even the same manner. I mean really going overkill. I put three zips on her arms between her elbows and her wrists. I put 10 more on her legs on top of the ones on her ankles—5 more on her lower legs and 5 on her thighs. I zipped her big toes together. Since I hadn’t any large enough zips out here in the garage, I used more of the black electrical tape to bind her arms to her trunk on either side of her boobs and at her waist. She was going nowhere, and I quietly placed her in an empty bin in the corner of the garage (I didn’t put the lid on!) so that she could get away so easily.

“Mmmmmmm!” those socks shut Kendra up really well, but she loved every second of it.
“I bet those are just deeeeeeeelicious!” I patted her on the head, “I’m glad you like them,” I then went over and got a clean pair of gloves, “Don’t worry. I’m here with Blue Secretariat.”

Oh, how Kenny and I have been there for each other over the years! My dad’s not just Transport Driver for the local prison system; he suffered the agonizing heartbreak of transporting Kendra to the Mudville Juvie after her arrest. Of course, I’d already had the pain of seeing the police enter class to arrest her. And what started it all? That clarinet she brought with her, the one that stood in the corner right now. I supported her and visited her; Dad made sure I could do that. He both accompanied me on my visits and even got a circumvention in the rules so I could visit Kendra by myself despite rules requiring visitors be accompanied by a legal adult.

“Oh, quit yammering so much, Kenny!” I teased her while she squealed in the bin.

I guess I’ll go through it in order. First my big brother died from leukemia when I was 3 and she was 4. I miss my brother so much that I’m crying while telling you as much now 25+ years later. Then, when Kendra was 13, her youngest sibling and only brother died, from a brain tumor. Oh, how Kenny cried. Dang. Even Martin’s been gone for almost 20 years. You must realize we’re from a massive family of Danish immigrants. Like, Kendra’s my second cousin, not a first cousin. And sadly there’s this gene that predisposed many of us to getting either brain tumors or leukemia. If you get to 30 without either of those, you’re probably in the clear. Sadly, even now in 2025, if you get leukemia, you die. We have buried many of the 40-something second cousins that we share (our fathers are double-cousins, which helps) and even been pallbearers at funerals for many beloved faces that were cut down early. Dang, I’m getting off topic, but to close this in a smoother manner, the blessing is that we both knew many of our great-great-grandparents and speak fluent Danish, which is about to become relevant in a few moments.

The clarinet started it all though, as I said. Kendra and I, like a few other relations, were good at music. I play the violin and even play in school ensembles, and she played the clarinet in school. It all began with a misunderstanding, a tragic one at that. Kendra was transferred from the first clarinets to leading the second clarinets in the regional school orchestral unit where I played the violin. Kendra’s older sister led the violas. Her parents didn’t understand that Kendra had a promotion to leading a section, and they thought that it meant she was an inferior instrumentalist. Slowly but surely, it grew to being the lesser of the three daughters to being trash to being abused outright. Kendra packed up her clarinet and quit the orchestra and became a cokehead instead. I know she stole money from her siblings and parents to feed her addiction, and after her release to home arrest for 18 months it got way worse.

Kendra wasn’t missing family Christmas gatherings as a result of a refusal to come; one year her parents locked her in the closet, and the other they locked her in a dog crate. They’d chain her to her bed. They’d make her stand facing the wall for hours. It’s no wonder she begged her parole officer for early release or why she left her childhood home in the middle of the night. Yes, yes I am crying. Sorry, I’m off topic again because it hurts me to recall this, but I’m happy to say that she mended her relationships with her siblings and her parents well enough that she can trust her parents to be alone with the children. It was all misunderstandings and stress that they all took out on each other in the most horrible ways, and things are much better in 2025. Let’s see… this was in 2016… it was the previous Christmas that Kendra finally decided she wanted to play her clarinet again. How happy I am that she did, and she still beautifully plays it to this day! There, I brought all that rambling to a happy conclusion that sort of fits into the story!

“Gmmm mmmmm mmmmmmm!” Kendra kept up her incessant gag talk in the corner.
“What’s that?” I tightened the bolts to put back the spark plugs, “You want me to tickle you?”
“Nmmmmmm!” she shook her head in a way that I knew meant “You’d better, or else!”
“All right, Kenny Penny,” she mechanic’s ratchet clicked and clicked, “I’m almost done here.”
“Gmmmm mmmmmmm!” I saw it now; she was gag talking to force an overdose of toe cheese.
“Oh, Kendra, no one loves dirty sock gags more than you do,” I used a rag to wipe my sweat off.
“Mmmph!” I think she saw the sweaty rag and started having fantasies of going for a run, using a clean bandana to mop the sweat off, and then having her sweaty socks stuffed in her mouth with the bandana as the cleave gag holding them in her mouth, “MMMMMMMM!”
“Sheesh, Kendra, would you do me a big favor and shut up already?” I taunted her with a grin as I took a big glug from my bottle of Gatorade, “You want a ride in Blue Secretariat, too, right?”

I turned around and returned to my beloved blue 1998 Mustang GT’s engine. Kendra provided a beautiful background sound while helplessly struggling in the zipties and electrical tape that I so lovingly used to restrict her movements. There were five major sounds that were music to both my and her ears:

• Her gag talk
• Her kicking the bin
• Her sliding the bin on the floor
• My mechanic’s wrench clicking
• Oil glugging as it exited the bottle

It took me years to convince Kendra to become a Cool Girl. She knew what we were but not one bit about what we did with TUGs. I started on her from the day we formed the Club in 2010, but it wasn’t until the most recent Christmas (that is, 2015) that she relented. Thus, she was unusual, but not unique, in that she was a Cool Girl whose first experience with being bound and gagged was actually related to her modeling work! Now, she and many of her former prison friends both were Cool Girls and models. I had no interest in modeling, but she picked good friends.

“Mmmm mmmmmmm!” Kendra continued her delightful musical protests in the bin.
“Vil du have mig til at lægge en sneaker over din næse?” I warned her in crisp Danish.
“Gmmm mmm mmmmmm!” I had no idea what she was saying, and neither did she.
“Sagde du, ‘Ja tak, Jenny, og giver mig bind for øjnene med en af ​​de camo bandanaer,’” I knew it was all fun and love now, “eller misforstod jeg dig?” I continued to taunt her now with threats of sniffing one of her sneakers and blindfolding her with one of my camo bandana wristbands.
“Nmmm nnmmmmmm!” again, she shook her head to say “No,” while her eyes said, “Jenny, it’s so good to come here and be perfectly understood, loved, respected, admired, and embraced!” as if to invite me to proceed because she was a master of saying the opposite her true desires.
“Jeg elsker dig, Kendra Penelope Kristensen,” I took off a wristband and approached her.

She offered no resistance, almost floating and glowing while I blindfolded her with the bandana, a simple action that carried so much meaning for the girl in the brightly colored outfit that I was unable to discern (remember that colorblindness bit?). Kendra and I like tight knots, and I gave her blindfold a good, tight knot. I then laid her on her back in the bin and grabbed one of my big electric buffering brushes I use when I wax the car. Harmless at low speeds and perfect for that tickling I promised her before. I’ll get to putting the sneaker over her nose afterwards.

Oh, quit judging, it’s a professional quality machine with several settings, and I’m using a setting more comparable to an electric toothbrush. I would die if I so much as nicked her during a TUG! I was making her giggle with the best electrically-powered tickling device on the planet. It’s so hard to beat a machine that can tickle both feet at once, and Kendra couldn’t even resist me with her ankles trapped in my left armpit while my right arm pushed the brush against her soles.

“Guh huh huh huhhhhhhh!” she was getting a massive taste of yummy toe cheese now.
“Er de sokker... lækre?” I playfully teased her about the disgusting dainties in her mouth.
“NMMM! Huh huh huhhhhh!” she didn’t answer me and instead continued to laugh instead.
“Aw, fætter, har sok din tunge?” I knew that, of course, the socks had her tongue and still asked.
“Gmmmm! HMMMMMM!” she let out a squeal happier than any other I’d ever heard from her.
“Du kan virkelig godt lide de lynlåse!” and of course I teased her about the ziptie binding.
“GMM HMMMMMM!” she squealed so much I thought she’d explode from happiness.
“Dette vil lære dig,” I playfully remind her about her outfit, “Miss Blue Bandana, at bære blåt og gult for at besøge din fætter med tritanopia!” and I upped the speed of the brush to a higher, safe setting and order her to laugh even harder, “Du vil fnise, fordi jeg elsker dig!”

I don’t want to know what she or anyone else thinks about me unless they choose to tell me as an expression of their love. I know when Kendra fights me so much, it means she likes the tickling; if she were to go limp, it’d mean she’s either not having fun or at the point of exhaustion. When she walked in here wearing blue and yellow, she was playfully teasing me. When she taunted me about the gloves, she was setting me up for a TUG challenge; maybe she even lost on purpose! I knew that we were having fun, that she loved me, and that I loved her. No more was needed.

Right now, I was a Camouflage Gangsta Princess and she was a Bright Blue Gangsta Jewel to me and me alone. I’d only used that nickname in private because she was precious and something I clutched dearly out of a loving desire to protect her from further harm. Gangsta Jewel, I cannot put into words what you mean to me after all we’ve been through together. Right then, I showed my love by stuffing her dirty socks in her mouth and wrapping her head in black electrical tape, and I showed it even more by pausing the tickling, putting her stinky black sneaker over her poor nose, and wrapping more electrical tape around her head to hold it in place. Now each and every breath first had to go through an air filter! As if the zipties and tape binding her weren’t enough!

“Time for more tickling!” I turned the brush back on, “Come to me, Gangsta Jewel!”
“NMMMMMM!” sometimes, like right then, you can hear love in the gag talk, and I’d swear she even let out a quiet, “Ah uv ooh!” as best as she could before the brush made contact.

And the brush spun away once again, torturing my beloved Kendra’s feet. Second cousins? Pfft and pshaw! We’re like sisters, especially with that similar hair and the lack of stature. I’m all of 5’1”, and I’m nearly 2 inches taller than this ziptied and electrical taped bundle of love who was in a bin and being tormented by my trust buffing brush. Giggle, my love, giggle! Giggles filled the air at my command, but she was getting exhausted by the tickling, so I stopped the torment.

“Mmmmmmmmm!” Gangsta Jewel quietly squeaked and struggled when I let her legs down.
“I know you’ve had enough, my blindfolded beloved. Enjoy your socks,” I squeezed her cheeks.
“Gmmm mmmmm!” my cousin accepted this situation and began to struggle some more.
“Now to finish this oil change. I’ll be a few,” I said and got back on my mechanic’s creeper.

Then I have a mischievous idea. Me? Doing something mischievous is normal, but this was on a way different level for me. I closed the hood, lowered Blue Secretariat, and helped Kendra to stand up and got her hopping around with some playful spanks. Where did she go? Why on the rear bench under blankets, of course! It was time for a test to make sure the spark plugs were all in perfect shape and that I’d done everything correctly!

“Y’all comfy back there, Gangsta Jewel?” I asked my cousin as I revved the engine and dropped the clutch, “We’re going for a zip around town,” I pushed the button to close the garage.
“Hmmmmph?!” she pretended to be upset, but I heard a soft giggle under everything.
“Yeah, if you’re bad, I’ll go by the Juvie too!” only I could say that and live to tell about it.
“Mmm mmm mmmmmm!” she couldn’t get genuinely mad at me no matter how hard she tried.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I looked in the mirror, put on my sunglasses, adjusted my kerchief, put the car in gear, and pushed the gas down and enjoyed the ride and the background music too.

I might have been the Gangsta Princess in the CGC, but I was one with a secret riding about the little town of Mudville on this summer day. How many 20 year old girls anywhere in America at the moment were wearing a camouflage kerchief bandana and a sports bra while cruising around a small town in a 1998 Ford Mustang GT with someone bound and gagged on the rear bench? It is with pride I call her a Jewel. She knows it and loves it even if I’m the Club’s Princess. Every Princess or Queen, though, has a Jewel in her tiara. Kendra is such beautiful background music.

“How’s the toe cheese and foot gas?” I asked her at a red light as if daring someone to hear me.
“Mmmmmmmm!” she loudly responded for nothing except our private delight.
“I’m putting the windows down. Be quiet, or I’ll get a one-way ticket to the Shak!” I giggled as I pushed the buttons to let fresh air into Blue Secretariat, “Be a good girl,” I pat the dashboard.
“Awwwwww,” I heard that quiet, affectionate squeal reserved for me and her closest friends.
“That’s a nice, smooth ride,” I took a selfie before the light turned green, “Let’s go home.”

I pulled the car up to the garage door and pushed the button before pulling inside, parking Blue Secretariat, turning off the engine, waiting 10 seconds, and pushing the button to close the door. Only then do I help my bundle of love out. She was viciously ziptied, sucking on sweaty socks, breathing through a sneaker air filter, and blindfolded. I’d barely broken a sweat, but she was soaking wet from having the hardest part of all. I was just barely able to sling her across my shoulder and spank her (playfully but harshly, mind you!) while carrying her into the house.

I did what any Cool Girl would do if she had a cousin who was so perfectly matched like us. I gave her one of my outfits, cut off everything but the gag, blindfold and wrist bond, gave her the scissors and the things to take a shower, and left her in my bathroom by herself. I took pictures of her before I cut her free, though, so that our friends could see the joyful day we’d had via the Cool Girls’ Club private Facebook group. It wasn’t yet lunch time when she emerged.

“Shall we get lunch?” Kendra asked me before taking me by the arm and kissing my cheek.
“Gangsta Jewel, I love you so much. You and me and Blue Secretariat, all right?” I checked.
“Sounds good to me. Let people judge me for the zip marks,” she cackled loudly, “Let’s go.”
“Anything else to say?” I asked her with a sly grin on my face.
“Yeah,” she paused just a moment, “Jenny Danielle Kristensen, I love you so freaking much.”

More music to my ears. More music to my ears. On that note, the Gangsta Queen and Gangsta Jewel hopped into Blue Secretariat and set off to go conquer the world.

THE END

[Ovi1]

Great story Alex!
Thanks for posting it.

[AlexUSA3]

Great story Alex!
Thanks for posting it.

I'm glad someone enjoyed this one. It was really fun writing up this wild adventure for Jenny and her beloved cousin. Cars are such a big part of Jenny's life, and I wanted to get that love of automobiles reasonably worked into a story.