Robin was in
a bad way... by which she meant a good way... by which
she didn't know what she meant. She was having
difficulty making sense of what had happened to her, as well as
what was still happening to her. Had her
experiment in what was it like to be a prisoner gone horribly
wrong, taken an unexpected turn, exceeded all expectations, or
all of the above? She had a lot to think about, but found
she was... distracted.
Robin was naked and spreadeagled on her back with padded medical
restraint-style cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Broad,
thick, taut straps stretched across her chest (above her
breasts), her waist, and her thighs. Worse yet,
nipple-clamps with attached pill-type vibrators pinched her
nipples and were attached to a thin, taut, vertical steel cable
that stretched up to the rafters, across her horse-stall-prison,
then down to a hand-cranked winch. A similar
cable-to-winch arrangement supported a vertically dangling,
wand-style vibrator resting atop her mons venus.
All three vibrators, the two pills and the wand, were plugged
into a custom built mini-computer inside a make-up style
carrying case, and had been intermittently and independently
buzzing and stimulating her helpless body for... a long
time. It felt like an eternity, but somewhere in Robin's
overtaxed brain she was able to estimate she'd been undergoing
her current Exquisite Torture for... two hours? More than
two hours. Maybe even three! (Or maybe less.)
Oh-by-the-way, Robin was gagged. A ball-gag plugged her
mouth and a stretched, taut, well-adhered strip of Elastoplast
tape covered the ball-gag and most of her lower face.
Robin's shivering, wiggling, helpless body was flushed,
and her skin, already oiled from Miriam's massage, now doubly
glistened with a patina of sweat. It was...
horrible! (As well as wonderful.)
Orgasms? Yes, Robin had experienced many orgasms
since being abandoned to her ordeal. Many orgasms,
but she wasn't keeping a formal count. As previously
mentioned, Robin was... distracted.
Robin had formed the opinion that the computer program
independently regulating the timing, duration, and intensity of
the three vibrators was highly effective. It repeatedly
teased her with short, randomly timed vibratory sessions
involving one or more of the insidious trio... followed by
welcome rest periods of unpredictable duration... and
interrupted by longer, more complicated bouts of slowly building
"torment," also of unpredictable timing and
duration. Robin assumed Miriam's late husband (or whoever
had done the actual coding) had refined and improved the program
in question by trial and error, using Miriam as a test
subject. In any case, the damn thing was quite
efficient at extracting orgasms from a helpless
damsel. That was for sure.
However, during some of the extended sessions, after Robin had
already fulfilled the programmer's intent (meaning had already
achieved organism), the stimulative subroutine of the code
failed to properly time out! That is, there were times she
would cum like the proverbial bunny, but oblivious to her
ecstasy the vibrators just kept on going! That meant the over-stimulation
of her now hyper-sensitive nipples and pussy, and that
proved to be what she could only call torture of a particularly
insidious, cruel, invigoratingly, and delightful nature... at
least for now.
And speaking of Miriam, the author of her predicament was
nowhere to be seen! The least she could do is drop by
every now to see how I'm doing, Robin thought. It
would give me a chance to show her how tragic and pathetic
I've become, and to beg for mercy with my sad, puppy dog eyes
and convince her to let me go. It would also allow
her Cruel Torturer to gloat, of course, but that couldn't be
helped, and anything would be a welcome change from
staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the vibrators
Once again, the wand had started buzzing atop her flushed,
glistening, very sensitive pussy. Was it another
teasing mini-session, or the start of the next orgasmic maxi-session?
Robin shivered in her bonds and tried to think about anything
other than the too-much-of-a-good-thing that was happening
to her boobs and pussy. Unfortunately, some erotic stimuli
are too pesky and persistent to ignore.
Suddenly—Finally!—Robin heard the sound of one of the
barn doors opening. She could only assume her Cruel
Torturer was returning. Now's my chance!
Robin marshaled her acting skills. Fortunately, at the moment,
Robin didn't have to be a Master Thespian to pretend she was
flushed, sweaty, over-stimulated, helpless, pathetic, and more
than ready for the experiment to end. In fact, it required
zero acting talent and/or skill on her part.
The bolt securing the horse stall door slid back—snick!—and
the door opened.
"Oh, darling!" Miriam chuckled as she breezed into the horse
stall, returning to the scene of her Crime Against
Robin locked eyes with her captor. Exhausted, sweaty,
helpless body—check! Sad, puppy dog eyes—check!
Pathetic gagged whine—"Mrrrrr!"—check! Commence
weak, seductive squirming!
"Oh, the heart melts," Miriam chuckled, then set about
dismantling the hanging vibrators. This took a while, but
to Robin it was most welcome—right up to the second Miriam's
strong and no longer oily fingers reached for the left
nipple-clamp. "There's something you should know about
these things," Miriam said to the prisoner-on-the-table, then
released the clamp.
"MRRRM!" Robin flinched in her bonds and actually
crossed her eyes! Ow! It had stung like a
bee! Releasing the damn clamp had stung like a bee!
"They hurt worse coming off than going on," Miriam continued,
Okay, Robin thought, it wasn't a bee sting, exactly,
but it hurt! Miriam removed the right nipple-clamp,
and this time Robin was able to restrain herself (so to speak),
but she did register a huffy complaint—"Mrrrf!"—and transitioned
from well-gagged begging to a well-gagged pout. I
suppose they had to come off some time, she
admitted to herself. She was referring to the
nipple-clamps, of course.
Still smiling, Miriam leaned close, held her hair back with her
hands, and planted a delicate kiss on Robin's flushed
nipples. First the left... and then the right.
"There," Miriam purred, smiling at Robin, "all better."
Continuing her beautiful smile (which Robin found to be both
gloating and infuriating), she finished dismantling the
vibrators, cables, and pulley assemblies. The wand-style
vibrator had come away without any fanfare or difficulty,
(except for the weak little good-bye thrill that
rippled through Robin's pussy when the weight of the head lifted
off her mons). Miriam then unplugged the vibrator
wires and power cord, closed the lid to the make-up case
computer, coiled the wires, and folded the stepladder.
"I'll be back after I put all of this away," Miriam reassured
the naked, sweaty, spreadeagled, strapped down, and gagged
Robin, then turned and left the horse stall.
"Mrf?" Robin craned her neck and watched Miriam depart,
then heaved a gagged sigh, relaxed, and stared up at the
ceiling. The cables and pulleys were gone, but she could
just make out the eye-hooks screwed into the bottom of the
rafters, now that she knew where to look.
Robin sighed again. Miriam had been gone for a while.
Finally, Miriam returned, and she was carrying a pair of shining
steel objects in her hands. "Sorry, Cupcake," she
purred. "I had to rummage through two storerooms before I
found these things."
was craning her neck (of course) but Miriam was already too
close for her to make out what her Evil Captor was
carrying. She could tell that Miriam had leaned one of the
two steel objects against the side of the table, and now she was
depositing the second object at the base of the table between
her splayed and ankle-cuffed feet. Robin lifted her gagged
head and could now see that it was a pair of stainless steel
shackles connected by about twelve inches of stout chain!
"Nrrr!" Robin complained, for two reasons: (1.) Enough was
enough! And... (2.) She wanted the current experiment to
be over! Okay, the two reasons were one,
but she was tired, badly in need of another shower (or even
better, a long, hot, soaking bath), followed by a nice long
nap. That said, she didn't resist when Miriam unbuckled
and released her left ankle-cuff, fit one of the steel shackles
around her left ankle, and secured it by means of a long steel
screw driven home with a battery-powered mini-driver she'd
produced from... somewhere. Robin didn't resist either
when Miriam freed her right ankle and immediately clamped and
secured it in the right shackle. Granted, Robin's thighs
(and the rest of her) were still strapped down, but she could at
least have tried to kick and squirm and present Miriam
with moving targets... but she hadn't... or didn't... or
whatever. Maybe Robin was more exhausted than she'd
thought, but she knew that wasn't the only reason. She was
still curious, something she found to be quite remarkable.
Miriam's next move was to retrieve the stainless steel
whatever-it-was from wherever-she'd-put-it, and—"Mrrrpfh!"—clamp
a cold steel collar around Robin's neck. The object in
question was a steel collar with a pair or thick steel rods to
either side, each of which terminated in a steel
wrist-cuff! Everything was rigid and solidly welded and—"Click"—the
collar secured by means of a modified padlock that slid into a
slot in the base of the collar, just like the steel-cable-collar
back in her tower guestroom that she'd worn last night.
Miriam released Robin's left wrist and wrestled it to the left
steel cuff. And yes, this time Robin did fight!
Unfortunately, with her body strapped to the massage table at
the chest, waist, and thighs and her right wrist still strapped
in its medical-cuff and unavailable to assist, she didn't stand
a chance, not against a smiling, attractive, and fit-for-her-age
Evil Captor like Miriam. Robin's right wrist was next—click!—and
that was that.
Robin lay on the table with her neck trapped in steel, her hands
about twelve inches to either side of her gagged head and also
trapped in steel, and her elbows permanently bent about
90°. Also, her nude, glistening body remained strapped to
the table and her ankles were now trapped in steel
shackles. Robin glared up at the author of her former and
current bondage, panting and squirming to the extent her bonds
allowed, and tried to convey her Righteous Indignation with her
big brown eyes. The problem was, Robin wasn't really angry—or was more cranky than angry—and knew she'd only fought the
change in bondage because it was the proverbial
right-thing-to-do. Prisoners fight for their freedom, she
was Miriam's prisoner, and so she fought. The shackles had
caught her by surprise, but she'd been ready for the
collar-and-cuffs thingie. It didn't do her any good, but
she'd been ready, and she'd fought.
Robin hadn't really meant anything by her impolite resistance,
and she hoped Miriam wasn't offended. She heaved a sigh,
then relaxed in her bonds. I really am exhausted,
Miriam smiled and ran the fingers of her left hand along the
steel rod rigidly joining Robin's right wrist-cuff to her
collar. "Yet another of my husband's toys," she
explained. "Many's the day I spent wearing this yoke and
languishing around the farm..." She shifted her fingers to
Robin's right breast and gave it a slow, gentle squeeze.
"Naked, my feet hobbled, as yours are now, and struggling to
carry out my chores. He enjoyed watching me." She
released Robin's breast and gave her tummy a gentle pat.
"And, truth be told, I enjoyed it when he watched me,
Robin lifted her gagged head and watched as Miriam released the
strap across her chest... followed by the strap across her
waist... and finally, the strap across her thighs. Robin
was now free, meaning was no longer confined to the table if she
so chose (and Miriam allowed). What did she call this
thing? Robin thought, meaning the steel device locked
around her wrists and neck. Oh yeah.
'Yoke.' That sounds right. I probably would have
said 'pillory,' but I'm pretty sure that's wrong.
Miriam continued smiling. "I remember when my husband and
I watched Secretary for the first time. Remember
Maggie Gyllenhaal's famous scene where she strolled around the
office padlocked in a leather and steel yoke, calmly
accomplishing her secretarial duties as best she could? As
soon as we got home from the theater Tom ordered the hardware
you're wearing now. The day it all arrived he 'made' me
change into a white cotton blouse, black pencil-skirt, black
pantyhose, and black high-heels. I got so tired that day,
teetering around on those heels, trying to fix coffee and cook
him his supper... but the after-dinner sex was fantastic!"
Robin blushed. Too much information!
She then forced a yelp through her compound-ball-and-tape-gag
when Miriam hooked her right index finger through the steel ring
dangling from the front of the yoke's collar and "helped" her
sit up on the table. The yoke was... terrible.
Robin decided it was terrible. And it wasn't like
she was into this stuff... or was starting to
get into this stuff. After all, she was exhausted and
tired and sweaty and wanted the experiment to end. She
kicked her feet, causing the chain connecting the shackles and
hobbling her ankles to rattle. Robin reflected that the
chain should also have clinked and clattered, but since the
table was padded, all the links could do was rattle.
Anyway, she decided the shackles also qualified as
terrible. Granted, the yoke wasn't as heavy as she'd
feared it might be, the chain connecting the shackles was more
generous than the rope hobble of recent memory, and the edges
and interiors of the collar, wrist cuffs, and shackles were all
smooth, polished, and didn't punish her skin (for now), but her
new steel ensemble was "terrible." Definitely "terrible."
Meanwhile, Miriam had produced a long steel chain from
somewhere. Robin had been too busy evaluating her terrible
new bonds to notice exactly where. Miriam used a small
padlock to attach one end of the chain to the steel ring
dangling from the front of the yoke's collar. The chain
was strong and relatively light, but easily up to the task of
controlling Robin, and this was proven when Miriam gave it a
firm tug and it snapped taut.
"Come," she purred, and continued pulling on the chain.
Robin complained (whined)—"Mrrrk!"—but hopped off the table and
stood. She shook her collared head to free her tousled
hair from her face, and mustered her best wounded pout.
The taut chain in her strong hands, Miriam smiled and
sighed. "You look so beautiful like that, Cupcake."
Robin heaved a sigh of her own. Beautiful? I'm a
naked, sweaty, tired, sore, yoked, fettered, and gagged mess.
She knew she should be glaring at her captor in Justified
Outrage, but just didn't have the energy.
Miriam took several long, slow, (and embarrassing) seconds to
leer at Robin's pathetic form... then turned and left the
barn. The chain compelled Robin to follow, dragging her
clanking, clattering, rattling, hobbling chain with every
"Let's get you cleaned up," Miriam called back over her right
"Mrrr," Robin agreed. Mentally, her response was less
agreeable than grumpy. Bite me.
| Chapter 8
arrival at the summit of "Mysterious Mountain" was accomplished
a little after midday. Truth be told, if they'd pushed
themselves Jordan and Leda could have finished the entire three
day hike in one very long, very strenuous day; however: (A.)
they weren't trying to get in shape for the next Ironman
competition; (B.) you can't appreciate the forest and its
inhabitants if you're thundering down the trail at maximum
speed, blinking sweat out of your eyes with your heart pounding
in your ears; and (C.) Leda couldn't have maintained such a
frantic pace unless Jordan had released her from pack-pony
duty... and what would be the fun in that?
Anyway, the summit in question was an acre or more of forest
with blue sky or horizon haze visible between the towering tree
trunks on all sides. That and the lack of obviously uphill
slopes were their biggest clues that they were at the top of the
hill. Finally, they'd both been there before (Jordan many
times), so they recognized the area.
It was going to be what's called a "dry camp." There was
no nearby water source and they'd have to make do, for all
purposes, with what they'd lugged up the hill in their water
bottles. Before leaving Day One Camp they'd consolidated
the last of the well water they'd brought with them from Cedar
Wind Farm into one bottle, refilled all the rest from the
stream, and added chlorine tablets. With prudent use
they'd be fine, and another stream would be available at Day
The hikers shared the duties of pitching Summit Camp.
Soon, the dome tent was pitched, the fire pit and its immediate
area cleaned of loose needles and sticks, their packs hung from
convenient trees to either side of the tent, and the latrine
area agreed upon. Next, they consolidated their food loads
into one bag and suspended it from a tree branch several yards
from camp to foil peckish bears or other forest creatures.
"Allrightiethen," Price said, grinning at Leda, "I suppose you
might as well strip."
Leda's return smile was less than warm. "And why should I
want to do that?" she inquired dryly.
"Strip," Jordan reiterated.
"No," Leda huffed.
"Okay," Jordan relented. She was still smiling. "You
can leave your boots on."
Leda favored her camping companion with a sardonic moue.
"The boots are the only things I was looking forward to
Jordan chuckled. "In that case, you can replace them with
your moccasins. Strip."
Leda stared at her grinning top for several seconds, then untied
the knot in the tails of her unbuttoned, moss-green,
long-sleeved shirt—meaning the knot below her breasts that had
been keeping the shirt closed—removed the shirt and draped it
over a dead but sturdy tree branch near her pack, then released
the waistband of her All-Ireland Tartan mini-sports-kilt,
stepped free, and draped the kilt next to the shirt. She
then unzipped a side compartment of the pack, pulled out her
moccasins, dropped them on the ground at her feet, stooped and
unlaced her boots, stepped out of them, and into the
moccasins. As she'd been wearing neither panties nor bra,
she was now naked... almost. The bandana/scarf/cleave-gag
was still tied around her neck and the socks and moccasins on
Jordan shook her head. "No socks," she ordered.
Leda rolled her eyes, then removed the socks, stepped back into
the moccasins, then draped the socks over the branch already
festooned with her kilt and shirt. She then tied the laces
of her boots together with a bow and draped them over the end of
the branch. Turning to face Jordan, she glowered and
placed her hands on her hips. Leda was now totally nude
(not counting the moccasins or bandana). Her long, brown
hair was loose about her shoulders, draped down her back, and
framed her pouting face.
Jordan had watched the striptease and the hanging of her
delectable friend's clothing with leering appreciation. It
was the polite thing to do. Also, between Leda's fit,
athletic, and very feminine body, the swaying and shaking of the
chain linking Leda's nipple-stirrups, the nipple-stirrups
themselves, and the cute little piercing glinting in her
navel... how could Jordan not leer?
"What?" Leda demanded, trying very hard not to
smile. She might be succeeding. She wasn't sure.
Jordan turned and strolled to her pack where it hung from the
trunk of a tree on the opposite side of the tent, unzipped a
side pocket, and produced a generous coil of coyote-brown
Leda gazed at the neat coil of cord as Jordan continued
rummaging in her pack. "How much of that stuff did you
bring?" she demanded.
"Enough," Jordan purred as she stuffed the coil into the right
cargo pocket of her shorts, pulled out a second coil
and stuffed it in her left cargo pocket, then pulled out a
third, much larger coil and tossed it to the ground near Leda's
moccasins. "Turn around," she ordered.
Leda heaved the required Tragic & Theatrical Sigh, then
complied. Jordan stepped behind her, there was a brief
pause as she prepared one of the shorter coils for use, then the
first of what would be no doubt many doubled loops of cord
dropped over Leda's head and tightened around her upper arms and
chest, above her breasts. The very-nearly-naked beauty
waited to see what Jordan was going to do to her. Loop
followed loop, above and below her breasts... then Jordan yoked
her shoulders, cinching and tightening the horizontal bands of
cord. Next, Jordan lifted Leda's hands and lower arms and
folded them behind her back, forearm-to-forearm.
"Bor-ing!" Leda sighed.
"Excuse me?" Jordan chuckled.
"Another box-tie?" Leda responded. "Bor-ing!"
Jordan paused... then quickly untied the half-tied
box-tie. Once she'd lifted the last loop of cord over
Leda's head, she retied the chest-harness as a torso-harness,
excluding Leda's upper arms. When she was finished, a long
pair of free ends dangled from the final knot between Leda's
shoulder blades. Jordan then spun Leda around, grabbed her
hands, and held them together, in front.
"Be careful what you wish for, wise-ass," Jordan purred as she
pulled the remaining "short" coil of cord from her cargo shorts
and prepared it for use.
A sly smile curling her lips, Leda watched as loop after neat,
carefully compacted loop tightened around her wrists and her
Cruel Kidnapper crafted a no nonsense palm-to-palm
wrist-tie. Jordan incorporated Leda's thumbs into the
pattern... then tied a redundant knot. Next, keeping a
firm grip on Leda's now bound hands, Jordan spun her around,
again, lifted her arms over her head, pulled her bound hands
back behind her head, and threaded the free ends dangling from
the wrist-bonds through the back of the torso-harness.
"Oh... one of those," Leda muttered. Her smile faded and
she bit her lower lip. Cord was tightening around her
upper arms, incorporating them into the
arms-lifted-and-hands-behind-the-head-tie. She knew (from
experience) that it was already impossible for her to lift her
arms back over her head or to either side and pass her head
through her arms, but now it was doubly so. The
last time this happened—meaning the last time Jordan did this to
her—Leda's wrists had been crossed. This time they were
together, so she supposed her condition could also be called an
upside-down-reverse-prayer. Whatever it was called, it was
There was a pause in the action. Either Jordan was
readying more cord or considering her next move. Leda used
the interlude for a little exploratory squirming. This
caused her nipple-stirrup-to-nipple-stirrup-chain to shake and
sway but did nothing to free her her wrists and arms.
"Stop that!" Jordan scolded, delivering a resounding smack to
Leda's right butt-cheek.
"It's very rude to struggle before your rigger gives you
permission," Jordan chuckled.
"Oh," Leda huffed. "Excuse me!" Cord was
tightening around her hands, pressing her palms firmly together,
and making her wiggling fingers and bound thumbs even more
useless. And now Leda could tell (or strongly suspected)
that Jordan was threading and cinching the remaining free ends
of the cords through parts of her bondage that were well away
from her useless fingers and hands and tying the final knots of
Leda was spun around, yet again (causing her
nipple-stirrup-chain to shake, yet again), and found herself
facing a grinning Jordan.
"Nice pits," Jordan chuckled, smiling at Leda's armpits.
"Shuddup," Leda huffed. Clever comeback? No, but
nothing comes to mind. Maybe later. Leda
glanced down, noting the long—very long—coil of
coyote-cord that still lay at her feet, waiting to be
used. And she noticed that Jordan had noticed her
noticing. What now?
Jordan smiled sweetly, returned to her pack and loaded her cargo
pockets with even more coils of brown cord. She
then returned to Leda's side, stooped and retrieved the very
long coil, hooked her right index finger around Leda's
nipple-stirrup-chain, and led (dragged) her from camp.
Leda didn't bother asking where she was being taken. She
knew she'd learn soon enough, and from the direction Jordan was
taking she already had a good hunch.
|| Chapter 8
naked and helpless. Her neck and wrists were still locked
in Miriam's insidious stainless steel yoke and her ankles in
steel shackles with a foot-long hobbling chain. Also, the
far end of the long chain padlocked to the ring dangling from
the yoke's collar was now padlocked to a steel ring set in a
concrete block that was sunk in the ground, well below the level
of the lawn. Robin could tell that a lawnmower could run
right over the thing without difficulty—assuming a damsel wasn't
chained to the ring and blocking the way.
Miriam had done this to her, of course, then suggested she get
comfortable, promised she'd be back, then strolled to the house,
mounted the steps to the back deck, and entered the kitchen.
At the time Robin had complained—"Mrrrpfh!"—but she was still
ball- and tape-gagged and was unable to communicate her
displeasure in an articulate manner. Once alone, Robin had
heaved an exhausted/exasperated sigh and done the only sensible
thing: she sat on the soft grass. The afternoon sun hung
in a cloudless sky, shining brightly. Robin was hot, but
she'd survive. She was also sweaty and tired from her
orgasmic ordeal on Miriam's massage table... and remained
Robin heaved a gagged sigh. Did she want the "experiment"
to end? Yes! Was it the best, most wonderful,
kinkiest experiment in the entire history of all possible kinky
experiments and far beyond anything in Robin's naughtiest
daydreams? Uh... yes. Was she mortified-beyond-words
that Miriam had rigged that unspeakably wicked computerized,
vibratory, and totally unsolicited erotic predicament in the
barn, then abandoned her to the Evil Machine's
cyber-mercy? Yes! Had it been both a horrible and
exquisitely delightful experience? (Sigh.)
Robin was conflicted. She was also tired, sweaty, and the
sun was definitely getting hot. She was also
As if on cue, Miriam emerged from the kitchen and strolled
across the deck and lawn in Robin's direction. In her
hands was a small tray with a moisture beaded water glass with
ice and a protruding straw. As she drew near, Robin saw
that the liquid in the glass was clear and bubbling.
Miriam set the tray and its fizzing glass on the lawn, then
gracefully settled to the grass at Robin's side, folding her
legs to one side. She then leaned close (still smiling, of
course), teased back a corner of Robin's tape-gag, and slowly,
gently peeled the off-white strip from Robin's lower face.
She then tacked the strip to the skirt of her dress, no doubt
for later disposal, then reached behind Robin's head, parted her
tousled hair, unbuckled the ball-gag, re-buckled the strap on
its first hole, then gently plucked the rubber sphere from
Robin's mouth and let it drop, transferring the horrid device
from gag to necklace duty.
Robin licked her lips and worked her jaw, then opened her mouth
to demand her immediate release and the suspension of all
experimental activities—but was preempted by the hovering
appearance of the icy drink directly in front of her face.
She captured the end of the straw and sucked. It was Sprite,
one of Robin's favorites, and had never tasted so lemony-limey
good! Yum! It was also very cold, so Robin
sucked prudently, not wanting to experience the stabbing pain of
"I'm proud of you, Cupcake," Miriam purred. "You're very
For some reason, Robin blushed. She also continued slowly,
carefully emptying the glass. Finally, only ice remained
and Robin released the straw. "Uh... thanks," she
"You're most welcome," Miriam responded as she returned
the glass to the tray. She then turned back and reached
for the rubber sphere dangling under Robin's chin.
Robin was a little slow on the uptake, but finally realized what
was happening. "Miriam! No!
Mrrrrf!" The ball was back in her mouth and Miriam was
tightening and securing the strap! "Nrrrr!"
Miriam gracefully climbed to her feet, brushed any lawn debris
from her rump and skirt, then stooped and picked up the tray and
glass. "Let's get you cleaned up," she announced, a sunny
smile on her beautiful face.
Robin watched (incredulously) as Miriam strolled to the deck,
entered the kitchen, then returned without the tray. Next,
Robin's Evil Captor strolled from the deck to the side of the
house and a rubber garden hose hanging from a decorative
hanger. She lifted the hose from the hanger and dropped it
on the grass, then turned on the nearby faucet. Robin
heard the expected hiss and sputter and could see the hose shake
and flop as it charged with water.
Still smiling, Miriam held the pistol-type nozzle attached to
the end of hose in her right hand, took a firm grip on a length
of hose with her left, and dragged the semi-rigid rubber hose in
Robin's options were limited, to say the least. She was
not only yoked and hobbled in steel, but the chain tethering her
to the ground might be long, but it didn't look like it was nearly
long enough for her to escape the range of the hose and nozzle
once Miriam arrived. It was a long hose.
Robin could shake her head and voice her displeasure at
what was obviously about to happen—"Nrrrrrf!"—but even that was
limited, gag limited. She climbed to her fettered
feet and shuffled a few clinking, clanking, hobbled steps
backwards. She couldn't help herself. It was
instinctive. "Mrrrpfh!" That last comment was an
overt whine of pathetic despair.
Now only a few yards distant, Miriam smiled—apparently, she
never stopped smiling—pointed the nozzle in Robin's
direction, and pulled the trigger. The hose sputtered,
repeatedly, as the air was purged from the line, and then a
steady stream of slightly diffuse, clear, very cold
water splashed Robin's naked body!
Robin squirmed, twisted, shuffled in place, and shrieked through
her gag. "NRRRF!" Soon, very soon, she was soaked
from head to toe, and Miriam continued playing the hose up and
down, continuing the hose-bath.
Suddenly, with a series of yodeling yelps, one of the wolfhounds
bounded around the corner of the house and made a leaping,
striding beeline for the space between Miriam and Robin.
Jaws wide, it leaped into the air on final approach...
and snapped at the water stream. Upon landing, it spun and
leaped again, doing its best to bite the elusive, undulating
water-snake. This happened several more time, and soon the
hound was as wet as Robin.
"Kelpie, you crazy beast!" Miriam laughed, and began alternating
the hose between two targets, Robin and the prancing
wolfhound. "She absolutely loves playing in
water," Miriam explained to the dripping Robin. "That's
why we named her Kelpie."
Robin vaguely remembered that the "Kelpie" was a mythological
Irish sea monster of some sort, so the name made sense... not
that she really gave a damn. Robin was wet. Her hair
was a hanging mass of long, drenched, dripping, dangling
tangles, and water beaded and dripped from her skin, all of
her skin. Robin was very wet.
The hose was now exclusively trained on Kelpie, and she loved
it! Kelpie yelped and barked, bounced and bounded, and
generally reveled in the clear, cold stream.
"Enough is enough," Miriam laughed, and released the nozzle's
trigger. The stream stopped immediately—much to Kelpie's
disappointment—but the dripping hound quickly recovered.
She wagged her tail and watched as her Alpha began dragging the
still charged hose back towards the deck.
Robin watched as well. Apparently, she was now officially
"clean." Truth be told, the humiliating drenching hadn't
been that bad of an experience. The water had
been cold, but she'd soon adjusted to (or come to accept)
the chilling torrent, and towards the end it had almost felt
kinda good... almost. And she had to admit that even under
current circumstances, watching Kelpie play in the water had
been a hoot-and-a-half.
At that moment, Kelpie, who was standing only a couple of yards
to Robin's right, decided to shake the excess water from her
wiry gray fur. She shook and shook and shook, showering
Robin with countless droplets.
"Mrrrf!" Robin complained, scolding the grinning, panting
Kelpie chose not to be offended, chastened, contrite, or
anything but happy... and wet.
Meanwhile, Miriam had turned off the faucet, triggered the
nozzle to release pressure and purge the hose, and now was
coiling the hose back on its holder.
Robin waited patiently (and wetly) for Miriam to return once
she'd completed the task. Instead—"Mrrrf?"—Miriam
strolled to the deck, mounted the steps, smiled and waved, then
disappeared into the kitchen.
Robin continued waiting for Miriam to return and release her...
and waited... and waited... then waited some more. The
lawn around her was as drenched as she was, of course, but she
couldn't stand there staring at the house all day. Robin
heaved a sigh and, as gracefully as she could, sat on the wet
grass and folded her shackled feet to one side.
Kelpie padded over and started licking her face.
"Nrrr!" Robin huffed with a gagged frown.
Kelpie relented, then dropped to the ground and rolled on the
wet grass for several seconds. She then dragged herself on
all fours close to Robin's side, rolled onto her back, placed
her dripping wet head on Robin's dripping wet lap, and smiled up
at her equally wet friend-of-the-pack.
Robin didn't have it in her to glower at the hound or try and
From Kelpie's goofy, panting smile, lolling tongue, and thumping
tail, her canine thoughts were as crystal clear as Miriam's
chilling well water: Wasn't that FUN??
Yes, it was fun, Robin mentally conceded. After a
fashion, in its own way and in a manner of speaking, getting
drenched by the hose while naked, bound in steel, and
ball-gagged had been fun, but what was Miriam going to
do to her next? All Robin could do was wait... wait for
her skin to dry... and wait for Miriam to reappear. She
dropped her gagged gaze to Kelpie's smiling, panting face.
You smell like wet dog, she silently accused.
Apparently, Kelpie didn't care, all she wanted was a belly rub,
but since the newly arrived friend-of-the-pack was playing with
some of her Alpha's shiny metal toys, she knew that probably
wasn't gonna happen. Still, it was a good day!
Robin gazed down at Kelpie, who took that moment to heave an
enormous yawn, exposing jaws lined with the predatory teeth of
her species. Then, the happy canine resumed panting and
"smiling." It occurred to Robin that sitting on her naked
rump on the wet grass as she was, the yoke would allow
her to scratch Kelpie's belly. All she had to do was twist
at the waist and lean to one side. She did so, managed to
find Kelpie's tummy with her questing fingers, and started
Kelpie's reaction was to stretch, thump her tail with renewed
vigor, and shiver in delight.
I'm glad somebody's happy, Robin mused. Her
human mother might be an Evil but Maturely Beautiful Wicked
Witch, but Kelpie's a nice dog.
She's probably not any good at picking locks, but
she's a nice dog.
When Miriam the Wicked Witch did return—whenever she
returned—Robin resolved to announce that the experiment was
done! Absolutely done! Done-done-done! Of
course, there was the fact that Miriam was proud of Robin for
being brave. Also, that pesky ball-gag was still plugging
her mouth... but somehow she'd find a way to make the
announcement, even if it disappointed Miriam. Yes, Robin
resolved, at her first opportunity she'd hit the "STOP"
button... or the "PAUSE" button... probably.
|| Chapter 8