backpackers awoke at the crack of dawn.
Actually, it was Jordan who unzipped the zipped-together
sleeping bags she'd shared with Leda, stretched, took a swig
from her water-bottle, grabbed her toiletry kit, stepped into
her camp moccasins, and left camp for the designated latrine
area. She dug a small "cathole," emptied her bladder, then
filled in the hole and marked it with an "X" of two crossed
sticks. Next, she passed back through camp, grabbed a
washcloth from her pack, and headed directly for the
stream. She splashed her face, gave herself a sponge-bath
with the washcloth, then returned to camp and began preparing
Leda slept in, meaning she remained in the tent, nestled in the
joined sleeping bags. Actually, she was awake, but her
crossed wrists were tied together behind her back with
coyote-brown parachute cord and her ankles similarly
bound. So, she was more-or-less stuck. She was also
naked (of course), like her despicable captor and fellow camper.
Leda tugged on her wrist-bonds and heaved an exasperated
sigh. The least she could've done is untie me, the
naked prisoner silently groused. Actually, that's not
true. The literal least she could have
done is not untie me... which she did... or
didn't. Guess I'll have to do it myself.
Jordan smiled but otherwise ignored the flurry of squirming and
sleeping bag impeded flailing inside the tent as Leda twisted
and wiggled and somehow managed to pull off the old
passing-the-hands-under-the-butt trick. Her hands now in
front, Leda sat up in the rumpled, open sleeping bags, picked
apart the knot securing her wrist-bonds with her teeth, then
leaned forward and untied her ankles.
Jordan continued smiling and started preparing breakfast.
Naked (like Jordan), Leda stepped into her mocassins, sullenly
said nothing to her fellow camper, then stomped away
from camp for her morning tinkle. She returned to
camp (still ignoring Jordan), then made her way to the creek for
a sponge bath of her own. The light chain joining her
nipple-shackles was still in place, so it shook and swayed as
she made her naked way through the forest, stretching her arms
Breakfast was coffee, oatmeal with raisins and a touch of brown
sugar, and reconstituted dried fruit. Meal over, the
campers dressed, struck camp, and prepared to resume their trek
to the summit.
Jordan donned the same boots, socks, panties, bra, brown
t-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and chambray work-shirt as
yesterday. The clothes were dirty, of course, but they
were backpacking. It went with the program.
Leda donned her boots, socks, sports mini-kilt (in All-Ireland
Tartan), and moss-green shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the
tails tied in front to reveal her flat-tummy and pierced
bellybutton. At Jordan's insistence, her sports bra
remained stuffed in her borrowed backpack, as did her
panties/mouth-stuffing. Today Leda's shirt was completely
unbuttoned, so she was showing maximum cleavage, including the
complete exposure of the inner slopes of her breasts and most of
the chain linking her nipple-stirrups. The grey, black,
and white bandana "scarf" was back, loosely tied around her neck
and ready to resume cleave-gag duty if she decided to resume
being a surly pack-pony.
And speaking of packs, Leda's was back on her shoulders, the
hip-belt and sternum-straps buckles secured, the straps
tightened, and Jordan had just finished securing the padded
wrist-straps/cuffs that enforced Leda's grip on the hand-grips
at the base of the pack-frame. Leda noticed that Jordan
hadn't tied a parachute-cord leash around the chain joining her
nipples, like yesterday. So, she thought, today
I'm a free-range pack-pony? She watched as
her Sadistic Abductor shrugged into her own backpack.
The dirt around the campsite was a tad scuffed and the ground
cover slightly trampled, but otherwise everything was exactly as
they'd found it. They were ready to hit the trail.
Jordan gestured to the semi-overgrown track leading up the
mountain (meaning hill). "Why don't you break
trail today?" the grinning kidnapper suggested (ordered).
"And if I don't want to?" Leda huffed.
Jordan's grin became a full-blown smile. "I'll cut a
switch and use it on your legs, for encouragement."
Leda glowered at her beautiful, smiling, evil drover.
"You would." She turned (in a huff) and stomped up the
trail. Jordan followed close behind. The trail in
question was more of a game trail than an actual hiking trail,
but Leda already knew the way, it wasn't that overgrown,
and Jordan wouldn't let her take a wrong turn—hopefully without
"encouragement" in the form of stinging snaps on her calves
and the backs of her thighs with a long, thin wand of green
| Chapter 7
with slightly sore shoulders. She was still naked, of
course, her arms still folded behind her back, and her
upper-body elaborately box-tied with hemp rope from her waist to
the shoulders in question. Her ankles remained hobbled
about eight inches apart with more rope, a ball-gag was still
strapped in her mouth, and the curious and intriguing cable and
steel collar was still padlocked around her neck and its
attached chain still tethered her to the wall of the tower
guestroom. Oh-by-the-way, the air in the bedroom was stifling.
Obviously, Miriam had told the truth when she said she'd turned
up the heat. As a result, Robin was glowing, meaning her
skin glistened with a patina of sweat.
Miserable and sore, Robin languidly rolled and writhed on the
bed, totally helpless. She was ready for the experiment to
be over. She was more than ready for the
experiment to be over. She wasn't in pain, but her various
limbs and joints were letting her know that they were long overdue
for a good stretch.
Suddenly—Finally!—Robin heard feet climbing the stairs...
followed by a key turning the deadbolt lock... followed by the
bedroom door opening. It was Miriam, of course, the usual
maternal smile gracing her beautiful, mature face. She was
wearing yet another of her pretty, stylish, but only
semi-expensive print dresses.
"Good morning, Cupcake," Miriam chuckled as she strolled to the
"Mrrrm!" Robin replied. She was both returning the
greeting and requesting immediate release from her bonds.
Apparently, Miriam understood. She leaned over the bed and
untied Robin's ankle-hobble, then rolled her onto her stomach
and began the rather involved process of untying the
box-tie. This took a while... but eventually Robin was
rope-free. That left the ball-gag and collar. Miriam
rolled her house-guest (and captive) over and onto her back,
produced the key on its long chain from down her cleavage, and
unlocked the wire collar.
Robin's only remaining bondage was the ball-gag still plugging
her mouth. She watched as Miriam closed and re-locked the
collar, then set it down on a corner of the bed.
"Why don't you take a nice shower, then meet me in the kitchen
for breakfast," Miriam suggested (ordered), then leaned close,
gave Robin a warm kiss on her gleaming forehead, then stood and
strolled to the bedroom door. "And then, we can talk."
"Mrrrf," Robin agreed as her hostess (captor) crossed the
threshold and descended the stairs. Robin then rolled her
eyes, belatedly realizing she was still gagged. She
reached behind her head, parted her tousled, slightly dirty,
slightly sweaty hair, unbuckled the ball-gag strap, and pulled
the horrible rubber sphere from her mouth. By this time
Miriam was long gone, or by the sound of it was no longer on the
stairs. Robin stood and gazed down at the bed and its
tangle of hemp rope and cord, steel collar and chain, ball-gag
(with its glistening rubber sphere), and wet spot where she'd
drooled onto the blue-gray linen cover during the night.
She worked her jaw and licked her lips, then executed a
long-overdue full-body stretch, going up on her toes and
reaching for the ceiling.
Well, Robin thought, coming down off her toes and rolling
her still slightly sore shoulders, that happened.
She was glad the experiment was over. Maybe there would be
another, or maybe not, but she was glad that at least for the
moment she was no longer bound, gagged, and chained to the
bed. She walked to the chest of drawers where she'd stowed
the clothing she'd brought with her to Cedar Wind Farm,
intending to select an outfit and place it on the bed for when
she returned from the shower; however—"What the hell?"—the
drawer was empty. All the drawers were empty.
Robin padded to the closet... and found the door locked!
She belatedly noticed the keyhole under the doorknob. It
was then that Robin remembered Miriam's casual remark that all
her things were now "in storage." She really did
pack up my stuff and lock it away? Robin had assumed
the assertion had been hyperbole, a teasing remark meant to
further set the stage for last night's experiment, but...
She rattled the doorknob one last time, then took a step back,
frowned, and blushed. Apparently, the experiment wasn't
Robin was still a prisoner, a prisoner of her naked
embarrassment. "Miriam!" she whined in a quiet whisper,
then turned and stomped towards the bedroom door. I'm
naked, Robin thought, but only a prisoner of
embarrassment if I choose to be—and I
don't! Also, her bladder needed emptying and she really
needed that shower.
Robin heaved an exasperated sigh and started down the stairs.
|| Chapter 7
bathroom was almost the same as the last time Robin
visited. Her toiletry kit was there, including her
toothbrush, travel-size tube of toothpaste, brush and comb set,
travel-size bottle of body-wash, and limited cosmetics.
Also present was Leda's folding blow-dryer, the one she used for
travel and shared with her BFF if they went somewhere
together. Her roomie's toiletry kit was gone, as expected,
presently making its way up Mysterious Mountain with its owner,
but Leda had left the dryer. It would be useless on the
trail. Yes, everything was as expected; however, the only
linens present in the entire bathroom were a single washcloth
and exactly two hand towels.
Robin frowned, again. Very funny, Miriam, she
silently fumed. After her shower, Robin could use the hand
towels to dry herself, including making a start on drying her
hair, but neither of the roughly 16" x 24" terrycloth rectangles
were big enough to wrap around her naked body to preserve her
modesty, not even close. Miriam wants me to
be naked, the pouting nudist
realized. This wasn't exactly a revelation, seeing as how
Robin's hostess had already sequestered all of her clothing, but
it was further confirmation.
Still simmering with Righteous Indignation (and ignoring the
smile threatening to curl her lips at the thought of Miriam's
villainous prank), Robin emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth,
then took a long, hot shower, getting her sweaty and sore body
thoroughly clean. She used the bar of guest soap and
washcloth her Despicable Kidnapper had so thoughtfully provided,
rather than dipping into her travel supplies. As expected,
the hand towels proved up to the task of drying her body and
hair and the blow-dryer completed the job. Naked, clean,
and refreshed, her long brown curls loose about her shoulders
and framing her pouting face, Robin left the bathroom and padded
through the house to the kitchen.
"There you are," Miriam said with a bright smile, and hit the
"BREW" button on her one-cup coffeemaker. "I see your
rope-marks have almost faded. Let me see your
wrists." She lifted Robin's hands and gave the wrists in
question a close inspection. "Yes..." She planted a
kiss on Robin's left palm, then her right palm, then dropped her
hands. "All better."
By this time the mug on the coffee-maker's platform was full of
steaming hot coffee. Blushing (despite herself) Robin took
a step to the side, picked up the mug, and took a careful
sip. Her instinct was to respond with the traditional
clever but unoriginal "Bite me!" but her supposed captor and
author of her nude condition was Miriam, not Leda. Robin
kept her silence and continued enjoying the coffee.
Breakfast was bacon, toast, and eggs to order, and Robin enjoyed
every bite. This time she handled the cleanup, letting her
Evil Kidnapper enjoy the final sips of her coffee at the
table. Robin's back was to her hostess, but she was
absolutely sure Miriam was grinning and ogling her naked butt...
and naked everything else. Her cheeks blushed (meaning the
cheeks on her face). Cleanup accomplished, Robin resumed
her seat at the table and sipped the last of her coffee.
"Alright then, dear," Miriam said with a smile, "I know just
what you need. Let's go to the barn."
"What I need is some clothes," Robin suggested
(begged), favoring Miriam with her best Wounded Pout.
"Prisoners should be naked," Miriam chuckled.
"The experiment's over," Robin countered.
"Is it?" Miriam purred. "Don't make me summon my Savage
Attack Dogs to keep you in line."
Robin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You have 'Savage Attack
Dogs?'" (She used air quotes for emphasis.) "Where
have you been hiding them? Do they get along with the
wolfhounds, 'cause they're a bunch of slobbering
"True," Miriam chuckled, "but grant me a little poetic license
or we'll never get anywhere with your research program."
Robin sighed, then gave a little shrug.
"Adorable," Miriam chuckled as she took Robin's hand, stood,
pulled her naked guest/prisoner to her feet, then led her
through the kitchen door, across the deck, down the steps to the
lawn, and towards the barn. Apparently, the Savage Attack
Dogs were busy elsewhere.
The interior of the barn was unchanged from yesterday afternoon,
with the single exception that the long rope Miriam had tossed
over a rafter and used to almost dangle Robin in the center of
the large, open space was gone. Robin assumed it had been
coiled and returned to the storage trunk still off to one side.
Miriam led Robin to the first of the horse stalls on the right
wall and opened the chest-high door. Inside was... something.
Whatever it was, it was large, box-shaped, and covered by a
dust-cloth. Miriam folded back and removed the cloth,
revealing a long, narrow table padded with gleaming brown
leather. Also—Robin swallowed, nervously—dangling from the
table's sides were what she recognized as medical restraints:
padded cuffs and long, broad straps, all in brown leather.
They appeared to be adjustable. That is, there was a long
steel rail running along the periphery of the table and the
cuffs and straps were attached to clamps which ran along that
rail. It was all very clinical, totally out of place in a
normal barn, and somewhat sinister.
"Uh..." At a loss for words, Robin indicated the table
with a nervous gesture.
"I suspect you're a little sore from the first phase of your
experiment," Miriam said. "I'm going to give you what I
believe will be a much needed massage."
Miriam patted the gleaming brown leather. "Hop up, dear."
"On your tummy," Miriam chuckled, then winked. "Or else."
Robin heaved another sigh. "I know, you'll summon your
Savage Attack Dogs." She obeyed the orders of her captor
and would-be masseuse, hopped up onto the table, and rolled onto
her stomach. "What now? As if I don't already know."
Still smiling, Miriam buckled a padded cuff around Robin's right
wrist... then her left wrist... left ankle... and right
ankle. The naked captive was now face-down on the soft
padding in a loose spread-eagle.
Robin waited for Miriam to deploy and tighten the straps
dangling from the rail, but instead, her captor strolled to a
small cabinet mounted on the wall. She returned to the
table with a hand towel and a small plastic pump-bottle.
"What's that?" Robin demanded, tugging on her wrist bonds.
"Hush, Cupcake," Miriam chuckled, dispensed a dollop of the
bottle's contents on her hands, rubbed them together, then began
rubbing Robin's shoulders. "Just as I thought," she
purred. "You're very tense."
"No duh," Robin muttered, then shuddered and heaved a contented
sigh. The bottle contained massage lotion or oil or
whatever they called the stuff, and Miriam's hands felt very
good. Robin's muscles were tense, like the
rest of her.
"No duh?" Miriam chuckled.
"Sorry," Robin sighed, shivering and squirming under Miriam's
gliding, pressing, and kneading hands. "That feels good,"
Miriam's smile broadened. "My husband had this table made
for me," she explained, "so he could give me massages."
Robin's response was somewhere between an inarticulate murmur
and a relaxed purr.
Miriam continued her massage, working her way down Robin's body,
kneading her arms, back, gluteus maximi and related
anatomy, thighs, calves, and feet, replenishing the massage oil
on her hands as required. Obviously, she knew what she was
doing. Either the mature masseuse had formal training, or
she'd taken careful notes when she was the one naked, splayed on
the table, and on the receiving end.
After several long, pleasurable minutes... Miriam released
Robin's restraints, helped her roll over, then re-secured the
padded leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Robin was now on her
freshly oiled and massaged back and once again loosely
spreadeagled. And I let her do it! the
prisoner-of-the-table mused. She was thinking about the
bondage, of course. There was no question about letting
Miriam give her the massage. Massage was a good
thing. A very good thing. However, Robin
knew she could have jumped off the table as soon as the last
cuff was released and made a naked run for it... but she
hadn't. Go figure.
Meanwhile, Miriam had replenished the oil on her hands, stepped
to the foot of the table (and Robin's feet), and was smiling and
rubbing her hands together.
Robin tugged on her inescapable restraints, bit her lower lip,
and waited for her "ordeal" to continue... and then it
did. Miriam began with her feet, as expected... then
worked her way up Robin's legs, massaged either side of her
private parts (but not the parts, themselves), her stomach,
ribs, armpits, shoulders, neck, and then... her breasts.
It may have been Robin's imagination (at first), but Miriam
seemed to be paying special attention to her
breasts. Her nipples were pointing... meaning Robin's
nipples. (Miriam's nipples might also have been
pointing, but they were under her bra and pretty dress, so how
could Robin know?) Anyway, Robin's nipples were
pointing. It seemed like the polite thing for them to
do. They also tingled whenever Miriam's strong, talented,
oily fingers included them in the massage.
Robin closed her eyes and drifted in a soft cloud of...
arousal. (She decided "arousal" was as accurate a
description of her current mental state as anything else.)
Her body shivered, her nipples continued pointing (and
tingling), and her labia were flushed. (They also tingled,
even thought they'd been excluded from Miriam's tactile
attention). The massage continued.
"I confess I'm surprised you're taking all of this so well,"
Robin opened her eyes. "I have a choice?"
Miriam smiled. "The hypothetical prisoner of our
hypothetical kidnapper has no choice," she confirmed.
"Robin, on the other hand, the curious and adorable little
writer who is my pretend prisoner always has a choice."
Robin nodded. "Okay. Uh... I mean... thanks."
Miriam's hands were still moving. "May I ask you a
personal question, Robin?" she inquired.
Robin couldn't help but smile (as well as continue shivering and
tingling). "With me naked, spreadeagled on your massage
table, and your hands working over my boobs? Yes, you may
ask me a personal question."
"Silly girl," Miriam chuckled. Her hands continued
kneading and caressing the boobs in question. "Are you and
Robin's eyes popped wide and she tugged on her padded
bonds. "What? No!" She shivered, again, before
continuing. "We're friends. In fact, we're best
friends. But we're not lovers."
"I see," Miriam purred.
"No, really," Robin said.
"Is she shy?" Miriam asked.
Robin laughed (and shivered). "Leda? Shy? Are
Miriam chuckled. "So... you're the shy one."
It was an observation, not a question.
"Not shy, exactly." Robin tugged on her bonds,
again. "It's just... the subject has never come up, that's
all." She decided to omit the recent episodes of grabby
hands and shared showers that had occurred since the onset of
her literary research program, not 'cause she was trying to hide
anything, but because what was happening between Leda and
herself was... complicated. Robin was still sorting things
out. And there was no reason to make things even more
complicated by getting Miriam involved.
Miriam smiled... and continued her boob-massage. "I can
help you overcome your shyness, if you like," she offered.
Robin blinked in surprise and alarm (and tingling
arousal). "Huh? Uh... I mean... I wouldn't want to
put you to any trouble."
Miriam's smile broadened, and she finally stopped massaging
Robin's breasts (her tingling breasts). "No
trouble," she purred. "In fact," she added as she used the
hand towel to clean the excess oil from her hands, "it would be
Robin watched as Miriam went back to the wall cabinet and
returned with—"Gulp!"—a ball-gag!
"Miriam!" Robin whined. "Can we talk about this? Miriam!
Mrrrmpfh!" The ball was in her mouth and Miriam was
securing the strap's buckle at the nape of her neck, under her
hair. The strap was tight, tight enough to make her cheeks
bulge, and the rubber ball completely filled her mouth.
"We are talking about this," Miriam said as she
straightened and parted Robin's tousled hair. "Or rather,
we were." She turned, strolled to the cabinet, and
returned with a roll of Elastoplast tape and a pair of bandage
"Mrrrrmf!" Robin tugged on her bonds and tried to kick her
feet, but could do nothing to prevent her hostess from snipping
free a generous strip from the wide roll of off-white tape, then
use it to seal her already ball-gagged lips and tightly cover
most of her lower face! "Mrrrr!"
Miriam watched as Robin continued struggling... a disturbing
smile curling her beautiful lips... then worked her way around
the table, adjusting the straps of the wrist and ankle cuffs and
removing all slack. Robin's formerly loose spread-eagle
was now an unarguably businesslike
spread-eagle. Miriam then worked her way around the table,
again, this time deploying and tightening the wide, thick,
gleaming brown leather straps across Robin's chest, above her
glistening breasts... across her narrow, glistening waist... and
across her glistening thighs.
Robin found that she could barely move, no matter how hard she
tugged and squirmed. Her limbs were at full stretch and
the straps tight enough to slightly dimple her oiled
flesh! She paused in her futile struggles to pant through
her flaring nostrils, heave her strapped-down chest as best she
could, and glare at her smiling captor. It was
either glare in anger or stare in wide-eyed terror. She
decided to go with anger, although she suspected she wasn't
really carrying it off.
"You're very beautiful like that, Cupcake," Miriam sighed.
"So very beautiful."
Robin weakly tugged on her wrist bonds but didn't reply, not
even with another well-gagged inquiry.
Miriam's smiling gaze was on Robin's still pointing
nipples. "Tell me, Robin," she purred, "have those pretty
little things ever felt the bite of nipple-clamps?"
Robin's eyes popped wide, again. "Mrrrrr!"
"I'll take that as a 'no,'" she chuckled, then turned and headed
for the stall door. "I'll be right back," she called back
over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold.
Robin resumed struggling, with the same lack of result. Nipple-clamps?
Miriam returned with a stepladder, then made another trip and
returned with a small folding table, a black leather case the
style, shape, and size of a makeup case, and a coiled electrical
Over the next few minutes Robin watched with great interest and
continued her ridiculously inadequate escape efforts as Miriam
used the ladder to deploy a pair of thin steel cables and
pulleys, snapping attached swing-gate clamps through small
eye-bolts screwed into the rafters, one directly over Robin's
breasts, and the other over her crotch. She that attached
a wand-style vibrator to the end of the cable dangling over her
crotch—"Mrrk!"—and a pair of nipple-clamps with attached
pill-size vibrators—"Nrrr!"—to the cable dangling over her
boobs! All three vibrators had long, thin, insulated
electrical wires that traveled up and over the rafter securing
Adjustments to the length of the cables ensued, accomplished by
means of a pair of small pawl-and-ratchet style hand cranked
winches mounted on the wall next to the cabinet. Soon, the
doorknob-size, business end of the wand was hovering directly
over Robin's pussy and the pill-clamps rested on her chest,
between her heaving breasts.
Miriam leaned close, lifted the left nipple-clamp, and opened
its ominously serrated jaws! "Be brave, Cupcake," she
purred, then pinched Robin's left nipple with her free hand,
carefully positioned the open jaws, and let them close on the
slightly stretched nubbin of flesh.
"MRRRRRF!" Robin screamed through her gag and went rigid in her
bonds... then blinked in puzzlement. The clamp hurt—or
rather it had, for an instant—but it wasn't nearly as bad as she
thought it would be. She continued blinking as Evil Miriam
captured and clamped her right nipple.
"Mrrrf!" This time her complaint wasn't nearly as
vigorous. The clamped nipples burned a little, but that
was all, and much to Robin's astonishment, the burn was fading
into the background. This was teasing torment, not agonizing
torture, as she'd always feared would be the case. That
was the main reason she'd never even thought about
playing with clamps or having her nipples pierced, like
Leda. I always thought she was brave and adventurous,
Robin thought, meaning Leda and her nipples. This
isn't that bad.
Robin revised her assessment when Miriam returned to the wall
and slowly cranked the nipples-to-pulley-to-wall winch, at first
rapidly, then one click of the ratchet at a time.
"Click-click-click-click... click... click... click..."
Miriam stopped when Robin's nipples and breasts just began
Robin refrained from tugging on her cuffs or otherwise testing
her bonds. Before, struggling had been limited and
futile. Now, it was also decidedly ill-advised. The
jaws of the clamps might be weak (or at least not cruelly
tight), but were more that strong enough to maintain a solid
Miriam shifted her attention (and her strong, still slightly
oily hands) to the wand-to-pulley-to-wall winch, lifted the
ratchet, and played out the cable until the full weight of the
wand (which wasn't all that great but was noticeable)
firmly rested on Robin's mons venus. She then
restored the ratchet and strolled to the "makeup case" resting
on the folding table. She unlatched and lifted the lid,
then, one at a time, plugged the three thin electrical wires
attached to the vibrators into the interior of the case.
Finally, she used the extension cord to plug the case itself
into a convenient power-socket down near the floor and under the
cabinet and winches.
Miriam strolled back to Robin, the restraints, and the
vibrators, and smiled down at her wide-eyed guest. "That
case is about thirty years old," she explained. "My
husband had it custom built." She began combing her
fingers through Robin's hair, straightening the long, flowing
curls until they fanned out above her head in a semi-tousled
fan. "It's a computer, and I believe he said the
mother-board was from an old Macintosh, or possibly an
Apple-IIGS. I'm not sure. Anyway, it's a specialized
mini-computer for running programs that turn the vibrators on
and off, among other things."
Robin locked eyes with her smiling captor (and hot old lady),
and tried not to pant. Even the limited chest-heaving
allowed by her bonds caused the nipple-clamps to loosen and
tighten, just a tad. The sensation was... unsettling.
"You see," Miriam continued, "there are provisions for two more
vibrators and eight separate channels for delivering electrical
shocks. The contacts go here... and here," she explained
as she gently pressed the left and right side of Robin's left
breast with her right index finger, on either side of the
nipple-pill-clamp and taut cable. "Also, here, and
here." This time she dimpled the sides of Robin's right
breast. "The other contacts are for a rather horrid anal
plug, for either side of the pussy, as well as the thighs and
the soles of the feet." She smiled sweetly. "I don't
think you're ready for electrical play, just yet. Don't
Eyes wide, Robin rather frantically nodded her gagged
"I thought not," Miriam chuckled, then gave Robin's tummy an
affectionate pat, turned, and strolled to the open case.
Robin lifted her head and watched Miriam flip a series of toggle
switches and turn a series of dials inside the case. She
couldn't actually see what her captor was doing, but the motions
of her fingers and hands and the resulting snaps and clicks
made it clear what was happening.
"There," Miriam said, returned to the table, and smiled down at
her captive. "I've set the vibrators for random timing,
duration, and intensity," she purred, then leaned close and
kissed Robin's ball- and tape-gagged lips. "Enjoy your
day, Cupcake," she purred, then strolled to the stall door,
swung it closed, threw its bolt with a loud, authoritative snick,
and walked away.
"Mrrrrk!" Robin complained. She heard one of the barn
doors close. Miriam was gone. She stared up at the
rafters (and the sinister cables, pulleys, and wires), and
shivered in her bonds. Her nipples burned. She
supposed she could call it a burn, but she couldn't even
remotely call it pain. Also, the weight of the sinister
wand was... there. She lifted her head and stared at the
sinister makeup case/computer, but couldn't see any flashing
lights, tiny LED screen displaying a slow countdown, or anything
else that indicated anything computational, vibratory, or
erotically stimulative was happening... or was about to
Robin's eyes popped wide, again. Did she just say
'Enjoy your DAY??' Also, in the back of her mind,
Robin had decided that she rather resented being repeatedly
referred to as 'Cupcake' by her
hostess/captor/torturer. It was cute, but juvenile.
And while she knew she could complain about it (when not
gagged), that would probably serve to cement the nickname even
more firmly in place. She could only hope Miriam would get
tired of "Cupcake" and decide on a less humiliating term of
affection. Mainly, Robin waited in dread for the vibrators
to start doing their thing. Is Miriam bluffing?
Suddenly—"Mrrr!"—the pussy-wand started vibrating! Robin
squirmed, tugged on her wrist-cuffs (punishing her clamped
nipples and stretched breasts in the process, just a little),
and flexed and kicked her feet. The reaction had been
instinctive, and she willed herself to stop moving. She
shivered as the dangling wand hummed and stimulated some of her
absolutely favorite nerve endings.
So, Robin decided, Miriam isn't bluffing!
Her best guess was that the wand was vibrating on "Medium," but
that was only a guess. At least the nipple-pills
aren't—"Nrrrf!" The computer program had chosen that
exact moment to add the steel-jawed devils to what was now a chorus
of quiet, nearly silent hums vibrating her pussy and
stretched nipples! She estimated (or hoped) the
nipple-pills were set on "Low." Whatever their respective
settings, the three vibrators were either rapidly varying their
power up and down over a narrow range, or whatever technology
was making them to do their thing was slightly out of phase,
adding a harmonic throb to the buzzing thrills
rippling through her nipples and private parts. It was...
irritating... and wonderful!
Robin shivered and weakly squirmed in her inescapable bonds and
waited for the "torment" to stop. Actually, the
buzzing horrors feel kinda good, Robin conceded, and she
knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to make the
horrors in question stop, nor could she escape from Miriam's
My research protocols are definitely exceeding their
initial parameters, Robin decided.
|| Chapter 7