by Van ©2018
		Chapter 8

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 to—"Mrrrmpfh!"

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 Damsels-in-General-and-Robin-in-Particular.

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, smiling sweetly.

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."

Robin 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, she realized.

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, very much."

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 barefoot step.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Miriam called back over her right shoulder.

"Mrrr," Robin agreed.  Mentally, her response was less agreeable than grumpy.  Bite me.

The triumphal 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 Three Camp.

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 removing."

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 her feet.

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 parachute cord.

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 effective bondage.

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.

"Ow!"

"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 the whatever-you-call-it-tie.

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.

Robin was 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 conflicted.

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.)  Yes.

Robin was conflicted.  She was also tired, sweaty, and the sun was definitely getting hot.  She was also thirsty.

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 self-inflicted brain-freeze.

"I'm proud of you, Cupcake," Miriam purred.  "You're very brave."

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 muttered.

"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 direction.

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 canine.

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 squirm away.

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 scratching.

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.