by Van ©2018
		Chapter 7

The 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 coffee.

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 and yawning.

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 wood.

Robin awoke 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 bed.

"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.

"Arrrrrgh!"

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 over.

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.

The guest 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 sweeties."

"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."

"Massage?"

Miriam patted the gleaming brown leather.  "Hop up, dear."

"Massage?"

"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," she whispered.

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," Miriam purred.

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 Leda lovers?"

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 you kidding?"

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 my pleasure."

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.  "Mrrrrf!"

"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 scissors.

"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.

"Mrrrf?"

"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 extension cord.

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 the cables.

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 to stretch.

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 grip.

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 you agree?"

Eyes wide, Robin rather frantically nodded her gagged head.  "Nrrr!"

"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 happen.

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?  Surely not.

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 table.

My research protocols are definitely exceeding their initial parameters, Robin decided.