by Van ©2015
		Chapter 10

Kennedy squirmed and struggled, but Skylar's bondage held.  None of the rope bands shifted, not even a little, and there were no knots within the severely limited range of her groping fingers.  Staring at her bound feet, she noted the rope in question was braided nylon, something like a quarter-inch in diameter, and was dyed in a variety of forest colors: brown, rust, olive-green, dark-tan, black etc.  And it had a mottled appearance, like it was tie-dyed rather than woven in a regular pattern.

She was sitting cross-legged in the dirt, and there were tree roots under her naked butt and thighs, but they were small, a slight irritation more than a source of torment.  She could have rolled onto her side, but very much doubted that position would be more comfortable.  As time passed, her back began complaining about the rope-enforced crunch, but there was nothing she could do about it.

More time passed.

Kennedy listened for cars and trucks.  The road wasn't that far away, but all she heard was a distant, periodic hum as vehicles passed.  However, after several minutes she discovered she had company.  Tiny songbirds were flitting from branch to branch, overhead.  From her awkward position she couldn't make out any details, but they appeared to be mostly gray, with black caps and flashes of white.  They twittered and flitted through the canopy, and unless it was her imagination, they seemed to be checking her out.  Not surprising, the naked, bound, and gagged prisoner thought.  It probably isn't every day they see a tied-up human.  It might be more common closer to the Castle, when Lena plays with Viv, but not way the hell out here.

Suddenly, the little birds gave startled tweets and were gone.  A few seconds later, Kennedy found herself gazing at Skylar's moccasins and camouflaged pant legs.  She lifted her chin, looked up, and confirmed that the rest of her latest captor had also returned.  The Native American beauty's woodcraft was impressive.  Kennedy had heard nothing.  One second she was alone, not counting the little birds, and the next second Skylar had appeared.

Kennedy watched as Skylar eased a rucksack off her back and set it on the ground.  That was followed by a hunting rifle, which she carefully leaned against the rucksack with the barrel well off the ground.  Kennedy surmised Skylar had dropped her gear earlier, when she crossed Kennedy's trail and decided to pursue, and now she'd retrieved it.  The rucksack was brown canvas, weathered and worn, but in good repair  The rifle's sling was brown, braided leather decorated with a few tassels and beads.

Without a word, Skylar untied the rope tethering Kennedy to the overhead branch, then released her from the crunch, untied her crossed ankles, and helped her naked, bound, and gagged captive to her Hobbit Slipper-clad feet.  She then looped one end of the rope around Kennedy's neck and tied a non-compacting knot.

Kennedy watched Skylar don her rucksack and sling her rifle, unsure what she should do, how she should behave.  Should she mumble garbled complaints through her gag?  Stamp her slipper-clad feet?  She decided to do nothing but stand and watch, and she watched with great interest as, with practiced ease, Skylar reached back to a side-pocket of the rucksack with her left hand and pulled out a small canteen.

With the coiled end of Kennedy's leash-rope looped through her right arm, Skylar stepped behind Kennedy, untied and loosened her cleave-gag, plucked the wad of cloth from her mouth, then held the canteen for her to drink.

And drink Kennedy did, gulping repeatedly and swallowing about a cup of cool water.  Then, the canteen was gone.  Kennedy licked her lips.  "Thank y—ummf!"  The rag was back in her mouth and the cleave-gag was tightening at the nape of her neck.  "Nrrrrm!"  This time she did stamp her feet, but was ignored.

Kennedy continued complaining as Skylar stepped off.  The leash snapped taut—"Urrrk!—and she stumbled in her captor's wake.  She had no idea where Skylar was taking her.  She assumed it would be back to Castle Vidler, but that didn't seem to be the direction they were taking, not that Kennedy had a solid lock on their bearings.  Maybe she's cutting over to a nearby trail, Kennedy reasoned.

It was mid-afternoon, possibly a little later, and Kennedy's Hobbit Slipper-clad feet were not happy, and neither was the rest of her.

The ropes didn't help.  She was tired of being tied up.  Ditto with the gag.  And it was too hot.  It wasn't actually hot hot, not burning desert hot, but if a giant outdoor thermostat was available, Kennedy would have dialed it back a few degrees.  What she really needed was a break, a chance to rest her aching feet.  That, and maybe a little more water from Skylar's canteen.

And speaking of Skylar, she was showing no sign of tiring or slowing down.  She kept hiking and hiking, gliding along silently on her moccasins with Kennedy stumbling in her wake at the end of the rope leash.  It would all be very Last of the Mohicans if Skylar wasn't dressed in modern camouflage and Kennedy wasn't naked, instead of in a ripped, soiled, and ridiculous 18th century dress.  That would have really been hot... temperature-wise, not stylistically.

Kennedy was more and more convinced they weren't taking anything like a direct route back to the Castle.  The woods were the same mature stands of trees interspersed with pocket meadows or clumps of secondary growth to break the monotony, but the direction was off.  Either that or Kennedy's internal sun-compass was out of whack, which wasn't a complete impossibility.  Anyway, Kennedy was nearing the end of her tether—pun not intended—and was seriously considering throwing a frazzled tantrum.

Then, they arrived at their apparent destination.

For the last several minutes they'd been hiking through climax forest, tall trees without much undergrowth.  Then, up ahead, Kennedy heard water gurgling and splashing.  They came to a small stream, no more than a couple of feet at its widest, running through a more-or-less linear mass of rounded rocks and small boulders.  And off to the side, a few yards from the talking water, was a campsite.  It was only a small fire pit and a lean-to made by stretching a camouflage tarp from a horizontal pole lashed between two conveniently spaced trees.  Under the lean-to was a weather-tight, olive-drab trunk or packing case and a bedroll, a loosely rolled sleeping bag atop an unrolled foam pad.

Skylar tied the end of Kennedy's leash to a tree branch near the stream, then continued on to the lean-to, where she shrugged out of her knapsack and slung her rifle from the stub of a broken branch on one of the shelter's supporting trees.

Kennedy gazed at the running water, then heaved a sigh of longing.  So near, so far, yadda-yadda-yadda.  She returned her gaze to Skylar... and her eyes widened.

Skylar was pulling her tank-top over her head, revealing even more of her smooth, brown, athletic, but very feminine physique, as well as a black sports-bra.  She tossed the tank-top onto the foam pad, kicked off her moccasins, then unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, and peeled them down her legs.  This revealed a pair of black, very French-cut bikini-panties, as well as a long pair of legs that complemented the rest of her incredible body.  And then, she removed the bra, peeled down and stepped free of the panties, and tossed them onto the pad.

Kennedy blinked and continued to stare.  I like her hair, she thought.  Skylar had what was probably best described as a shaggy page-boy, a short cut that framed her face and was well-off her shoulders.  It wasn't traditional—not that Kennedy was an expert in Native American hairstyles—but it looked good, in the ginger captive's humble (naked, bound, and gagged) opinion.

Skylar had boobs, about the size and shape as Kennedy's, only brown, like the rest of her, as opposed to freckled.  She also had a slender waist, full hips, a well-sculpted abdomen, and firm, smooth thighs.  At least, Kennedy assumed they were firm and smooth.  They certainly looked firm and smooth.  Also a black, dense, curly pubic bush.  Kennedy's latest captor was very easy on the eyes, especially in her birthday suit.

Nude and apparently untroubled by the bare ground under her now bare feet, Skylar strolled past Kennedy and stepped into the stream.  She gracefully sat in the water, which came up to her waist, then cupped her hands and started splashing and ladling the clear and no doubt refreshingly cool water over her head, shoulders, and upper body.

Kennedy heaved a sad sigh and settled to the ground, sitting in the dirt on her bare butt with her legs crossed and her back and bound arms against a tree trunk.  It isn't fair.  If anyone in the campsite needed a bath, it was Gingerella.

Skylar continued ladling water over her body, pausing now and then to slide her hands across her brown skin.

It isn't fair, Kennedy pouted.

Kennedy had closed her eyes, just for a moment, to let them rest—"Urrk?"—then snapped awake.  Skylar was looming and dripping over her.  The nude, smiling beauty knelt and plucked Kennedy's Hobbit Slippers from her feet, then stood, released her leash from the tree branch, and led her to the stream... make that into the stream.  A delicate shiver shook the naked captive's body as Skylar sat back down, taking Kennedy with her.  Then, Skylar cupped her hands and began ladling water over Kennedy's head.

The water was cool and refreshing, as Kennedy had hoped.  Soon, she was drenched and dripping from head to toe, including her rope bonds, cloth gag, and now somewhat darker red curls.  She would have thanked her captor for the bath, but her sopping gag was still effective.  All she managed was a contented, gagged sigh.  "Mmmf."  Then, her blue eyes popped wide and she shivered, again.

Skylar was using her hands to scrub the dirt from Kennedy's body, and she was taking her time, sliding her fingers and palms across every square inch of freckled skin not hidden by rope.  Shoulders, tummy, breasts—she paid special attention to Kennedy's breasts—thighs, feet... Skylar took her time, getting her prisoner as squeaky clean as she could without soap.  Kennedy cooperated as best she could.  Skylar had chosen a section of stream bed where the rounded rocks and pebbles were reasonably kind, even to a non-stoic tenderfoot like Kennedy, and Skylar was supporting, even embracing Kennedy's bound body as she caressed and cleaned her captive.

Skylar loosened the cleaving cloth and plucked the sopping wad of cloth from Kennedy's mouth, then cupped her hands so the prisoner could drink.  "Thank you," Kennedy sighed.

Skylar didn't answer, but took advantage of the cleave-gag's absence to scrub Kennedy's face.  The narrowly folded cleave-gag cloth remained around the captive's neck, now a wet bandana.

"Are you taking me back to the Castle?" Kennedy asked.  She watched as Skylar thoroughly rinsed the stuffing-cloth in the water, then spread it over a nearby boulder to dry.  "I wouldn't have gotten anybody in trouble.  I just wanted to, uh, escape for a while."

Skylar's lips curled in a wry smile.  "You were gonna find a bar?  Maybe walk back to the Castle after a few?"

"No," Kennedy sighed.  "I mean... I don't know."  Kennedy was surprised to realize she really didn't know exactly what she'd intended to do once she reached Beacon Hill, assuming Beacon Hill was, in fact, the nearest town.  She'd concentrated on getting out, not what she'd do once she was out.  "I... I don't want to get anybody in trouble."

Skylar's reply was to place the cleave-gag back in Kennedy's mouth, cinch it tight, then restore the knot under her wet curls.  Without stuffing the gag was less effective, but the message was clear.  Skylar Smoke wasn't interested in conversation.  She lifted Kennedy's right foot from the water and examined it for blisters.  Finding none, she began a deep but gentle massage with her strong fingers.

Kennedy lay back in the water and sighed through her tight cleave-gag.  Skylar was good.  She knew what to do with her hands.  Kennedy's left foot was also examined and massaged.  Then, Skylar pulled Kennedy into a tight embrace from behind.  Kennedy squirmed and wiggled her wet, freckled body against Skylar's brown, equally wet body.  She could feel Skylar's breasts pressing against her bound hands, and her captor's right hand was sliding through her crotch, apparently making sure her pussy was very clean.  At the same time, Skylar's left hand was cupping Kennedy's left breast... and it was squeezing.

Kennedy shivered in Skylar's embrace.  The water splashed around their bodies as Skylar's hands continued to slide and knead the ginger captive's pussy and breast.  "Mrrrrf."  It was a gagged moan, not a complaint.  The massage—meaning lovemaking—continued and continued... and then stopped.

"Urrf?"  Skylar had stood up, taking Kennedy with her.  She planted the prisoner's bare feet on a flat rock beside the stream, then tied the end of her leash to another convenient tree branch.  Needless to say, Kennedy's skin and her bonds were dripping wet.  Water streamed down her freckled form and pooled at her feet.  Her bonds were saturated, but the nylon rope was unaffected.  The strands and knots neither swelled nor loosened.

Meanwhile, Skylar strolled to the lean-to, opened the trunk, produced a brown towel, and began drying her body and hair.

I guess I get to drip dry, Kennedy thought, watching the thirsty terrycloth glide over Skylar's brown skin.  Credit where credit's due.  She's gorgeous.  The bath had been nice, as had the clean, clear water Skylar had allowed her to drink.  The ropes and gag still sucked, but the bath had been nice.  Under the dappled shade of the trees, Kennedy was a little chilly.  The water had begun to evaporate.  It's a relative thing, more a matter of not being too hot than being too cold, she decided, if that makes any sense.

Skylar finished toweling her hair, ran her fingers through her still damp, raven-black locks to straighten them out, then hung the towel from the same horizontal pole supporting the lean-to tarp.  She then stepped into her moccasins, reached back into the locker, and pulled out a steel cook-pot with a lid and two pouches of freeze-dried food.  The distance was too great for Kennedy to read the labels on the pouches.

Kennedy's stomach grumbled.  Dinner?

Nude but for her moccasins, Skylar carried the pot and pouches to the fire pit, then strolled away into the woods.

Where the hell is she going? Kennedy wondered.  She watched as, some distance from the camp, Skylar reached up and pulled a dead branch from a tree, then took several more steps and pulled down a second branch.  Oh.  Firewood.  Of course.

Kennedy's body continued to dry... as did her tousled ginger curls... as did her nylon rope bonds... as did her tight, cheek-bulging cleave-gag.

Dinner was "Beef Stroganoff," and Kennedy thought it was surprisingly good.  Not just good for freeze-dried backpacking food, but actually good.  Hiking most of the day without lunch may have had something to do with it.  They ate from the pot, or rather, Skylar fed Kennedy and herself from the pot.

As for dinner conversation, they enjoyed a far ranging and in depth discussion of world politics, the cinema, their favorite books, and had a sing-along of Taylor Swift's Greatest Hits—NOT!

In not so many words, Skylar made it clear that Kennedy should keep the chattering at or near zero if she wanted to eat something other than gag.  Kennedy refrained from smalltalk, accepted spoonfuls of stroganoff as they were presented, then chewed and swallowed.  Skylar had also prepared some sort of tea.  Half of it was collected herbs and half dried tealeaves, and Kennedy accepted sips of the resulting brew from a common cup.  It was as good as the stroganoff, in her naked, bound, and weary opinion.

Skylar hadn't dressed for dinner, not counting her moccasins, and Kennedy was equally nude, not counting her rope bonds or the jaunty gag-bandana around her neck.  Kennedy had to admit, Skylar looked very beautiful in the rapidly dwindling daylight, and as time passed, by the light from the flickering fire.  As for Kennedy, she was sure her ginger curls were a tousled mess.

So, they finished the shared dinner, Kennedy watched Skylar clean her cooking pot in the stream, learning in the process that you could accomplish the task with clean sand, free-flowing water, and no soap, if the inside of the pot isn't scorched and you aren't too fussy about the appearance of the outside bottom or sides.

Then, Skylar and her captive guest retired to the lean-to, snuggled into the sleeping bag, and drifted off to sleep—NOT!

Actually, all of that happened—but in between climbing into the bag and drifting off to sleep—Skylar treated naked, helplessly bound Kennedy to her version of the Kama Suthra's Greatest Hits.  Yes, it was yet another night of orgasm after orgasm for poor Gingerella, and the Ojibwe huntress was just as skilled as Vivienne in the art of nookie.  Anyway, that night the naked, strong, maid-of-the-forest rang Kennedy's chimes... repeatedly... a lot.

Kennedy and Vivienne, that was one thing: slave-girls offering mutual commiseration with the gift of pleasure. It was all very romantic and dramatic, or maybe melodramatic.

Skylar and Kennedy—that was different.  Their relationship was that of predator and prey.  Or not.  There had been some eating involved (not counting the stroganoff) but Kennedy wasn't feeling anything like Skylar's victim.  Was Skylar stoic?  Yes.  A bully?  No.  Kennedy couldn't think of Skylar as a bully.  Was Skylar in charge?  Hell yes.

Skylar was also on top, most of the time.  They were both on top of the unzipped and spread open sleeping bag, and most of the time Kennedy was pinned on her back and bound arms with Skylar kissing her face, licking her nipples, or teasing her pussy with her lips and tongue.  Sometimes they were face to face, and sometimes face to pussy, but Skylar was always on top.  She was also inexhaustible.  Kennedy was far from passive, and despite her tiredness, got in a few licks of her own, but mostly Gingerella was the instrument and Skylar was the musician.

Morning arrived with Skylar not on top, but embracing Kennedy from the side, and they were both inside the sleeping bag.  Kennedy didn't remember a formal end to the previous night's festivities, but obviously at some point Skylar had zipped them up and drifted off to sleep.  Kennedy greeted the dawn refreshed (meaning only a little sore in various and sundry places) and ready for whatever came next (maybe).

"Morning, Skylar," Kennedy sighed as she sat up and awkwardly kicked her feet free of the sleeping bag.  "I don't suppose I could talk you into untying me, please?"  She watched as Skylar stood, stepped into her moccasins, uncapped her canteen, and took a swig of water.  Kennedy licked her lips in anticipation as Skylar held the canteen for her to drink.  "Thanks," she sighed as Skylar restored the cap.  "Also, I think we should talk about what's happening at the Castle.  Now, I don't want to get anyone in trouble, like I said yesterday, but—Mrrrf!"

Skylar had stuffed the wadded cloth from yesterday into Kennedy's unprepared and now outraged mouth and was retying the bandana still around her neck as a cleave-gag.  "You talk too much," Skylar muttered, then strolled to the fire pit and restarted the fire, expertly deploying tinder and kindling over the banked coals of yesterday's fire and blowing flames to life.

"Mrrrpfh!"  The emotional restraint of yesterday was a thing of the past.  Skylar Smoke was now a known commodity.  Kennedy stared daggers at the nude, athletic, dark-skinned beauty as she heated some water in a small pot, apparently preparing to brew some coffee, and Kennedy's visual knives were every bit as sharp as the ones she'd stared at Lena back at the Castle.  Unfortunately, they were also just as ineffective.  She watched as Skylar enjoyed a breakfast of coffee and some sort of trail-mix and/or energy bar, which she didn't share.

Skylar rigged a rope under the tarp so the unzipped sleeping bag could air out and yet be protected from any hypothetical rain, cleaned up the rest of the campsite, which didn't take much effort, then lifted Kennedy to her grumpy feet, ignored the steady stream of visual daggers, and retied the leash rope around the captive's neck.  She poured the contents of her canteen over the fire, making sure it was completely out, then refilled the canteen in the stream.  Next, she helped Kennedy into her borrowed Hobbit Slippers.  Finally, she dressed in her camouflaged pants and tank-top, donned her rucksack and slung her rifle, gave Kennedy's leash a tug, and they were off.

The early morning hike did nothing to improve Kennedy's mood.  She worked out the stiffness in her legs rather quickly, but her legs were drenched and chilled by the dew in the occasional stands of tall grass they encountered.  Also, her low opinion of Hobbit Slippers as hiking boots remained unchanged.

After about an hour they came to what was unmistakably a hiking trail, and Skylar stepped onto the clearly defined track without hesitation.  Kennedy followed, of course.  The leash left her no choice.

They continued hiking for a second hour.  And then, taking Kennedy completely by surprise, she found she was "home."

One moment they were surrounded by trees, the trail took a double turn through some tall bushes, then Kennedy found herself following Skylar out onto the mowed lawn with Castle Vidler looming before them.  Again, Skylar didn't even pause, but continued across the lawn to one of the Down Below side doors.

Kennedy realized this was her last chance to convince Skylar to listen to her pro-emancipation arguments.  Okay, it was her last chance to beg and whine before being handed over to The Evil Mistress Lena.  She pulled back on her leash and mewled through her gag.  "Nrrrpfh!"

Skylar's response was unsympathetic, to say the least.  With only the trace of a smile curling her lips, the Native American beauty reeled in Kennedy's leash, took a firm hold of the captive's ginger curls, and resumed walking towards the Castle.

"Mfff!"  Skylar's grip wasn't actually painful, but it was certainly effective.  Kennedy knew herself to be totally under control.  "Urrk!"  Also, she could do nothing to prevent her handler from forcing her to her knees on the grass near the side door, and then onto her side.  "M'mpfh!"  Nor could she prevent Skylar from seizing her ankles, crossing them, and using the leash-rope to lash then together and to her other bonds, crafting a tight, no nonsense hogtie.

Kennedy squirmed on the still slightly wet grass and watched Skylar take the three or four steps necessary to reach the door, then ease the rifle off her shoulder and shrug out of her knapsack.  She opened the flap and produced the folded rain-jacket Kennedy had "borrowed" from Lena and set it on the stoop, then secured the flap and donned the knapsack, slung the rifle, and rang the doorbell.  Then—without a glance back at Kennedy's helpless form—Skylar strolled back across the lawn and into the forest.  "Mrrrm?"

Seconds passed... then, the door opened and Lena appeared.  She was dressed in her usual sandals, jeans, and tank-top.  Today, the top was a very pretty shade of dusky rose and her blond hair was loose about her shoulders, framing her beautiful but none-too-happy face.

Kennedy rolled onto her side and stared at Lena.  She realized her heart was hammering and her breasts heaving as she panted through her nostrils and gag.  "Urrrk?"

Lena stared back for a few seconds.  Then, slowly shaking her head, stooped and retrieved her rain-jacket, unfolded it and shook it out, then reentered the house, taking the jacket with her, of course, and closing the door behind her.

Kennedy blinked at the door in surprise.  Seconds passed.  Kennedy listened to her heart hammering in her chest.

Finally, the door opened and Lena reappeared.  She stepped forward and knelt at Kennedy's side, released the hogtie, and untied the captive's ankles.  She then lifted Kennedy to her feet, coiled the leash-rope still tied around the returned fugitive's neck, took a firm grip on the ropes binding Kennedy's upper body, and led her towards the door.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Gingerella," Mistress sighed as they crossed the threshold and she closed the door behind them.