by Van ©2018
		Chapter 10

Leda awoke with a start.  It was full night and countless stars wheeled across the heavens.  "Mrrrk?"  She was still tied to the same tree in the same clearing with the same zillion feet of coyote-brown paracord—was still naked (not counting her moccasins)—still gagged with the same gray, black, and white bandana stuffed in her mouth and held in place by a horizontal band of cords—and the cleave-gag-cords still pinned her head against her upraised and bent-behind-her-head arms and hands.  In the back of her mind she was puzzled and confused about how she'd managed to fall asleep in the first place.

So, what had woken her up?  Someone (obviously her Evil Kidnapper, Jordan Price) was untying the myriad of diamond-hitched and ladder-tied cord strands lashing her against the rough bark of the cedar.  Leda's rigger (and now de-rigger) was wearing one of those headband flashlights.  Depending on where Jordan happened to look, the LED beam either dazzled Leda's blinking eyes or allowed her to see her captor's (rescuer's?) grinning face in the light bouncing off her own naked body.  And as far as Leda could tell, except for the light's headband, Jordan was otherwise naked, as naked as Leda herself.

The de-rigging took a while—just as the initial rigging had taken a while—but eventually Leda was standing in her moccasins in front of her tree—and she couldn't help but think of the stately cedar as her tree.  Her arms-raised-and-hands-behind-the-head bondage hadn't been touched.  That is, her hands, thumbs, wrists, torso, and upper arms remained tightly and inescapably bound.  She was also still bandana-stuff-cord-cleave-gagged, her cord-framed boobs remained fully exposed (including her nipple-stirrups and the nipple-stirrup-to-nipple-stirrup connecting chain), as did the rest of her (including her vulnerable armpits).

Leda watched as Jordan methodically coiled all of the many lengths of paracord, used one of the shorter lengths to string them together into a bundle, then slung the result over her left shoulder, across her body, and between her naked breasts.  And Leda could now confirm her earlier impression that Jordan was completely naked (except for the headlight and her moccasins).  She also discovered, unfortunately, that Jordan's "cord bandoleer" didn't include quite all the cord not currently binding her upper body.  The Evil Kidnapper had reserved one short length and was now using it to tie a simple bowline around Leda's nipple-stirrup-to-nipple-stirrup chain.  Once that was accomplished, Jordan took a grip on the cord's far end... and smiled.

Leda heaved a tired, deep sigh, then mustered the strength to glare at her not-rescuer.  Jordan hadn't said a word, just as she hadn't said a word when, at sunset, she'd appeared out of nowhere and extracted an involuntary orgasm from Leda's bound and helpless body.  You dirty rat! Leda silently fumed.  Unoriginal and lame?  Yes, but she was still  sleepy.  She was also very glad to no longer be lashed to her tree.  No offense, she telepathically beamed to the cedar in question, but didn't receive a reply.

Jordan took a half turn and stepped off.  The leash cord went taut and Leda had no choice but to follow.  At least I'm not hobbled, the long-suffering captive sighed.

They made it back to camp without difficulty, thanks to Leda's headlamp and the candle-lantern glowing inside the dome tent.  And once at camp and inside the tent, Jordan forced her prisoner onto her back on the open, zipped-together sleeping bags, straddled Leda's hips, and settled a portion of her weight onto her lower tummy.

Leda watched in the dim light of the candle lantern as her smiling, naked captor pulled the light off her head, turned it off, and tossed it aside.  Jordan then shrugged off her cord bandoleer... leaned close... and still said nothing.

Jordan continued leaning forward, her upper body supported by her straight arms, locked elbows, and the palms of her hands planted to either side of Leda's gagged face and cord-lashed upper arms.  Finally, she leaned closer still and kissed Leda's cheeks... forehead... neck... and continued kissing.  She also dragged her tongue across Leda's armpits, squeezed her breasts, took the prisoner's chain-linked-nipples into her mouth and sucked (one nipple and stirrup at a time, of course), licked Leda's chest between her breasts, etc., etc.  There was a great deal of etc.

Bound, gagged, and pinned under her Cruel Naked Kidnapper's incredibly sexy and athletic body, Leda was unable to defend her honor.  Oh, the horror!  Leda was a Damsel-in-Erotic-Distress... if she could call having a hottie like Jordan Price slobber all over her helpless body "distress."  Leda couldn't.  Not really.

Next, Jordan reversed position, scooted back until her pussy was directly over Leda's gagged mouth, placed her hands and forearms on Leda's thighs to hold her legs apart, and went for the gold ("gold" being a euphemism for Leda's genitalia).

Leda suffered the rude (and nude) indignity of having her pussy licked and probed by Jordan's wet, warm tongue!  Oh, the horror!  Oh, the...  Who am I kidding?   Leda shivered, squirmed, and made a halfhearted attempt to close her legs (which Jordan didn't allow), and eventually, with Jordan's "help"... she climbed Mount Orgasm to the very summit and experienced a crashing climax!

There was a brief rest period with much panting and breast heaving... and then they did it again!  More correctly, Jordan did it again, licking and sucking Leda's face, armpits, breasts, other exposed Leda-flesh, and finally, her pussy.

Also, most of the time, especially when Leda's pussy was the center of attention, Jordan's pussy remained tantalizingly close to Leda's nose and stuffed mouth, but out of reach.  The pussy in question bobbed, weaved, and hovered directly above Leda's gagged face.  All the "distress" was one-sided.  Leda was unable to return the favor and erotically torment her erotic tormentor.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

During the rest period after Orgasm #3 (or was it #4?), Leda fell asleep, and no amount of prodding or poking (or licking or tickling) on Jordan's part could wake her up.

Meanwhile, back at Cedar Wind Farm...

Robin awoke with a start.  Someone (obviously Miriam) had thrown back the bolt of the dungeon's steel outer door.  The cell's overhead light winked on, and the door opened—Eeeeee!—admitting more light from the basement.  Robin blinked and squirmed on the mat as her eyes adjusted, and she could now confirm that her visitor was, indeed, Miriam, and she was unlocking and opening the cell's barred gate.  Eeeeee!

Oh-by-the-way, Miriam was wearing a white, frilly, gauze-thin, baby-doll-style nightie—a matching, gauze-thin, frilly robe—and a pair of fuzzy white slippers!  Miriam turned and stepped back into the basement, but immediately returned with a folded, multi-colored blanket and a pillow in a heather gray pillowcase.  Backlit by the basement lights and bathed in the dim glow of the light overhead, she was a Heavenly Vision (in Robin's humble opinion).

Of course, Robin was still wearing the same ensemble as when she'd been put to bed: ankle shackles with connecting chain, bolero-style straitjacket (secured by many, many straps and tiny, jingling padlocks), and the steel-cable-collar chaining her to the dungeon wall.

"I've brought you a couple of things to make you more comfortable," Miriam purred as she set the blanket and pillow on the concrete floor, next to Robin's twin-size mattress-pad.

Robin would have thanked her, of course, but the ball-gag still plugged her mouth.  Her eyes popped wide—"Mrrrk?"—when Miriam (smiling, of course) stepped over her reclined body, straddling her hips, then settled to her knees, resting a portion of her nightie-clad weight on Robin's bare tummy and pinning her on her back!  Robin lifted her head and watched as Miriam pulled a tiny key from a chain around her neck, then started unlocking the straitjacket's many tiny padlocks and dropping them into what appeared to be the same little canvas bag she'd produced them from when she'd buckled Robin into the jacket out on the lawn.

Robin noted that her captor/hostess was removing the padlocks but not unbuckling the buckles.  Next, Miriam lifted herself off Robin's body, sat to the side, rolled Robin over, then gently hauled her up and across her lap, face down.  Robin could no longer watch the process, but she could feel and hear the remaining padlocks being unlocked and dropped in the bag.  The final padlock removed (apparently), Miriam tossed the bag towards the barred gate.  It landed with a clattering thunk.  And then...

"Mrrr?"

One of Miriam's hands was resting on Robin's right butt-cheek!

"Such a brave young lady," Miriam purred, "and so well-mannered."

Still helpless in her tightly buckled but no longer padlocked straitjacket, her ankles still hobbled in steel shackles, her mouth still plugged by a ball-gag, and now lying across her hot and mature hostess/captor's lap, Robin shivered in her bonds and tried not to squirm.

Robin shivered.  Miriam's hand was now moving... with a slow, circular motion... and it was disturbing... and naughty... and entirely inappropriate.  Also... it felt kinda good.  And now that she thought about it, Miriam had a smokin' hot bod (in Robin's humble opinion), and that was smokin' hot not just for a mature, smokin' hot lady, but any lady.  Imperfectly covered by Miriam's thin, nearly transparent nightie and robe, Miriam's waist was thin, her tummy flat, and her boobs firm and full (with only minimal sag).  A thrill rippled through Robin's pussy.  Down, girl, she silently scolded her private parts.

"Yes, well-mannered," Miriam continued.  "Less polite damsels in your position would be disobedient and petulant, requiring their captor to spank them."

"Mrrrf!"  Miriam had emphasized the word "spank" with a single teasing smack on Robin's butt.  Very funny, Robin silently pouted.

"And if the discourtesy and disobedience continued," Miriam purred, "sterner measures might be required."  Her hand continued its slow, gentle massage (if it was a massage).  "But thanks to my brave, well-mannered Robin..."  She patted Robin's butt-cheek, again, and this time it was not a spank.  "I won't have to."

Robin started shivering again.  What's she gonna do next?

What Miriam did was to start unbuckling the many buckles on the back of the straitjacket.

Oh... that's good, Robin decided.

Miriam rolled Robin over and attacked the jacket's many front buckles.  Robin stared up at her hostess' face as the jacket grew looser and looser.  So beautiful, she sighed, then dropped her gaze to Miriam's nightie-covered breasts.  And I hope my boobs look half that good when I'm an old lady.

Miriam was still smiling, but her eyes were on the buckles and she was concentrating on her work.  "What are you staring at, young lady?" she purred.

Robin blushed.  Busted!

Miriam tugged on the now entirely unbuckled jacket and helped Robin free herself from its loose grip.  She then tossed the jacket towards the barred gate and settled Robin back down onto her lap again, this time with the prisoner's gagged head resting on her smooth thighs.

"Fold your arms behind your back and grasp your elbows," Miriam ordered.

Why? Robin thought, but complied.  This required a little squirming, but soon she was "bound" in an entirely imaginary box-tie, and staring up at Miriam's smiling face (and only slightly sagging boobs).  Robin blinked and continued blushing.  She had no idea why she'd followed Miriam's command, but she had.  Robin certainly wasn't afraid of receiving a spanking, or suffering any of the unspecified "sterner measures" Miriam had mentioned.

"Let's make sure you're okay, shall we?" Miriam said quietly, then began examining Robin's shoulders, upper arms, and torso with her strong, smooth hands.

Robin shivered, her hands gripped their opposite elbows more tightly, then an involuntary gasp—"Mrrk!"—escaped her gagged mouth.  Miriam's hands felt good, very good, and now—"Mrrf!"—Miriam was examining her breasts!  Robin's efforts to escape her nonexistent box-tie and roll off Miriam's lap intensified to actual squirming.  This caused the chain dangling from her collar to clink and clatter.

"Don't you dare, Cupcake," Miriam warned, continuing to make sure Robin's breasts were "okay."

Robin closed her eyes and stopped squirming, but resumed shivering.  The breast exam continued... and then was over.  She opened her eyes to find Miriam retrieving the pillow atop the folded blanket and arranging it at the head of the pad/mattress.

"Keep your arms as they are," Miriam ordered, then lifted Robin off her lap and arranged her (with Robin's squirming help) on her back and lying full-length on the pad.  "Good girl," Miriam purred, then knelt beside the pad, opened the blanket, and draped it over Robin's body.  She paused before pulling the soft wool over Robin's breasts, leaned close, and delivered a kiss to each of her nipples.

For some reason, the nipples in question were erect, and Robin was still blushing.

"Good night, my brave Cupcake," Miriam chuckled, then lifted the blanket to Robin's chin, stood, retrieved the straitjacket and bag-of-padlocks, and made her exit.

The barred gate closed—Eeeeee!—and was locked, Miriam crossed the threshold to the basement, the steel door closed—Eeeeee!—and the bolt slammed home.  Thunk!  A few seconds later... the cell's overhead light winked out, once again plunging Robin into total darkness.

The threat of spanking and/or sterner measures now safely beyond the barred gate and steel door, Robin released her elbows and unfolded her arms from behind her back.  She then sat up, causing the blanket to fall from her upper body.  She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms.  That feels good.  Her ankles were still shackled, the steel-cable-collar still chained her to the wall, and she was still locked in an inescapable dungeon, but her wrists and upper body were neither tied, buckled in leather restraints, nor locked in steel, so that was progress.

What am I forgetting? Robin wondered... then rolled her eyes.  Moron, she scolded herself as she reached behind her head, parted her hair, unbuckled the ball-gag, then re-buckled the strap on its first hole.  She eased the ball from her mouth, worked her jaw and licked her lips, then lay back down, settled her head on the soft pillow, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and sighed.

Why did I do that? she pondered, referring to giving herself a ball-gag-necklace, as opposed to tossing the wretched thing into the darkness.  No clear reason was forthcoming.  She contemplated groping around in the inky blackness to locate the steel commode and side-pedal that triggered the bidet/drinking-fountain function, but decided it was too much effort.  I'm not that thirsty.

She brought me a blanket and pillow, Robin thought, picturing Miriam's kind smile (and smokin' hot mature body).  She's nice... for an Evil Kidnapper.

Robin rolled on her side, heaved another sigh, and willed herself to go to sleep.  For some reason... that was proving to be difficult.  She was finding it possible to ignore her thirst (for now)... but another appetite was asserting itself.

Miriam strolled down the hall to her bedroom, kicked off her slippers, and climbed into her king-sized bed.  She reclined against the pillows piled against the headboard, reached over for the iPad on the bedside table, turned it on, and opened a media control app.  Quickly and confidently sliding and tapping her way through its menus, she tapped the screen a final time.  All the lights in the bedroom turned themselves off and the big-screen TV mounted across the room turned itself on.

On the television screen Miriam could easily make out the image of Robin lying on the pad down in the basement dungeon.  A tiny camera with low-light and infrared capability was concealed in the housing of the overhead light set in the cell's ceiling.  Miriam knew Robin thought the light in question was turned off, but in reality its LEDs were glowing at a very low level, providing just enough light for the system software to process the camera input into a false-color, clearly visible image.

Miriam smiled.  Robin had removed her ball-gag, but left it around her neck.  Most of her nubile, luscious, youthful body was hidden under the blanket Miriam had so thoughtfully provided for her oh-so-entertaining guest, but from what Miriam could see, her guest was... restless.  Robin was tossing and turning, one hand gripping the chain tethering her collar to the dungeon wall.

"Poor thing," Miriam whispered to herself.  "She's horny."  Miriam knew that might not be Robin's exact assessment of her feelings, but Miriam knew better.  She had the advantage of experience.

On screen (and down in the dungeon), Robin fumbled with the ball-gag, popped its rubber sphere back in her mouth, then tightened and buckled its strap.  She then tossed the blanket aside, exposing her nude, gorgeous figure, pulled in most of the slack of her collar-chain, then took a couple of loops around her wrists, thus "binding" her hands together in front.  And then, only slightly encumbered by the chain linking her collar to her wrists... she began pleasuring herself.

"I knew it!" Miriam sighed, "she's a tiny little brown-haired Gwendoline!"  Miriam's hands (no doubt by their own volition) slid down the front of her whisper-thin, frilly panties... and began to move, mimicking Robin's efforts.  Oh, how I'd love to throw caution to the wind, change into one of my leather outfits, and do that for her, Miriam thought.  But she's so young, and I don't want to horn in on her budding relationship with Leda... so to speak.

Meanwhile, despite being shackled, collared, and gagged, and with her wrists at least pretending to be chained together, Robin was making definite progress... definite progress.  And finally, not knowing Miriam was using the latest technology to spy on her pleasure, Robin writhed in a crashing orgasm.

Miriam stopped pleasuring herself.  Her fingers were feeble substitutes for a helpless slave's lips and tongue.  Too bad, Cupcake, she sighed, smiling at the screen.  Maybe during your next visit.  Down in the dungeon, Robin had rolled onto her side, her gagged-head resting on the pillow and half-hidden under her tousled hair.  She hadn't bothered to free her chain-wrapped wrists.  Obviously, she was falling asleep.  In fact, she might already be asleep.

Miriam sighed and continued gazing at the screen.  And then, her smiling lips took on what an outside observer might characterize as a mischievous or even sinister curl.  She reached for her iPad, and leaving Robin's image on the big screen across the bedroom, opened the "Messages" app.

Cody Archer yawned, stretched, and saved the 3D graphics renderings of the new commission she'd been modeling on the desktop computer in her bedroom.

The project would be a body-hugging "Gwendoline Cage."  It wouldn't be the first such close-confining enclosure she'd made, far from it, but this particular design was a little challenging.  The final product wouldn't be a form-fitting grid of horizontal and vertical iron bands, but a form-fitting cocoon of thick, heavy steel wires interwoven and welded together wherever wire crossed wire.

The cage would be exquisite (and quite inescapable), but would take forever to construct.  However, Cody had a plan.

First, she'd make a wooden mannequin-shape that slightly exceeded the measurements of the wire cocoon's intended occupant.  And by the measurements specified by Cody's client it was clear the intended occupant was female, with a narrow waist, broad hips, and a nice rack.  Anyway, Cody could weave and bend the wire grid over the wooden shape, do all the welding, cut the resulting cocoon/cage in half, then construct and add a pair of form-fitting steel bands what would allow the halves to fit back together.  Several carefully positioned hinges would let the thing open and close like a clamshell, and it would be secured by means of a dozen or so spring-loaded hasps and padlocks.  Solidly weld on a ring at the top (for hanging the cage and its occupant), polish and powder coat, and the result should be a masterpiece, worthy of Cody's best-of-the-best sales catalog.

Anyway, Cody had made a good start on the basic design, but it was time for bed.  She'd already changed into her preferred pajamas: nothing.  Cody was totally nude, and her hair was pulled back and restrained in a loose ponytail by a fabric-covered elastic.  Also, Cody had already conducted her evening toilette, so there was nothing to prevent her from sliding between the sheets—Gleep—nothing but the you've-got-a-text-message signal from her iPhone.

"What now?" Cody sighed as picked up her phone from its wireless charger on the nightstand.  The message was from Miriam Price.

Come visit me this weekend.

Cody smiled and thumbed an answer.

I'm busy.

Miriam's answer was almost immediate.

Be a good girl and come.

Cody grinned.

LOL.  You misspelled cum.

Shortly thereafter...

😒  Smartypants.  Come.

Cody thumbed her reply.

Some of us work for a living.

Three or four seconds later...

Don't make mistress angry.  😉

Cody let "mistress" stew for a few seconds... then answered.

I'll be there.  But we're cutting cards.

A good five seconds passed, and...

No you don't.  My turn.  No cheating!

Cody sighed.  She has a point.

I'll be there... Mistress.  Goodnight.

Seven seconds later...

Goodnight Codykins.  Sleep tight.  😘

Cody chuckled and rolled her eyes, then set the phone back on its charger, climbed into bed, turned off her bedside reading light, and snuggled against her pillow.  She was still smiling.  Sleep tight...  Odds are good I'll be sleeping really tight come Saturday night.

Miriam smiled as she turned off her iPad, plugged in its recharging cable, and set it on the nightstand.  On the big screen...  Miriam's smile broadened.  By all appearances, Robin was fast asleep.  Maybe she'd wake up and remove her chain pretend-wrist-bonds and her ball-gag, and maybe she's squirm and roll on the pad until dawn.  Time would tell.

Miriam had two options:  (1.) Take advantage of the inspiration so thoughtfully provided by little Robin and the welcome news that Cody had agreed to be her weekend guest and make a serious effort at pleasuring herself; or...  (2.) Roll over and go to sleep, metaphorically banking the coals.  After Cody arrived, self-pleasuring wouldn't be required.

Miriam shivered and snuggled against her pillow... and decided to wait for Cody.  A sly smile curled her lips.  In fact...

The Mistress of Cedar Wind Farm turned on her bedside light and climbed from bed.  She padded to the bedroom closet, rummaged around until she found a particular cardboard hatbox, then carried it to the bed.  She lifted the lid and set it aside, folded back the tissue paper lining the interior... and pulled out a latex-lined, stainless steel chastity belt, a "gift" from her loving husband.  It had been custom made to her precise measurements, something like... twenty years ago?

Miriam continued smiling as she turned the belt in her hands.  Will it still fit? she wondered.  Miriam had exercised regularly and watched her weight all her life, so she thought there was a good chance that it would fit.  She removed her frilly panties and tossed them away, then inserted one of the belt's long, peculiar keys into the screw-type lock on the side of the belt's "buckle" and gave it several turns.  The horizontal waistband opened and the vertical crotch-panel dropped away.

Moment of truth.  Will it fit?  And do I really want to lock myself away until Cody arrives?

Miriam fit the belt around her waist... lifted the crotch-panel until the cold steel (with latex-padded edges) touched her labia and the latex-coated steel cable in the back slid between her butt-cheeks... then mated (so to speak) the flange at the top of the crotch-panel back into the matching slot in the waistband's buckle.  The flange clicked into place... and the deed was done.  She turned the key several times... until it could turn no more... then pulled it free.

It fits, Miriam decided, meaning the belt.  And it's tight.  A thrill rippled down her spine, through her pussy, then crashed into the curved, polished, impregnable steel wall sealing off her private parts.  Was the belt tighter than before—tighter than the last time she'd worn it?  She twisted at the waist... took a few tentative steps... then spread her legs and slid her hands over her steel-encased crotch.  Her captive pussy purred in delight (meaning wailed in horror).  Yes, it fits!

One more step remained to complete the self-incarceration of Miriam's pussy.  She padded to an oil painting hanging on the wall near the closet.  It depicted a naked maiden (who had a remarkable resemblance to a youthful Miriam Price) bathing in a forest stream.  She gripped the edge of the frame, pulled, and the painting swung open on a vertical hinge, revealing that it was mounted, rather than hung.  It also revealed the door of a small safe set in the wall.  Miriam punched a code into the safe's numeric pad, turned the handle, and opened the thick door.  Inside was... nothing.

A second number pad was mounted on the door's inside face, and it featured a small lock with an inserted key.  Miriam smiled (a little nervously), then punched the numbers "4" and "8" into the pad.  The numbers glowed in red on a tiny LED display.  She turned the key and pulled it from the lock, set it on the floor of the safe, then deposited the ring of long, peculiar belt-keys—the only keys to the belt now locked around her loins—next to the inner number pad key.  When she closed the door and threw the handle, the safe's time-lock option would insure that it remained closed for at least 48 hours.  There was an override code, but it was in a sealed envelope in Miriam's safe deposit box in town.

Miriam closed the safe door, paused... then turned the handle.  The safe locked with an audible thud (and once again, that delicious, horrible thrill surged through her pussy and pounded on the door of its steel prison).

A shiver shook Miriam's nightie-clad form as she climbed back into bed, rolled onto her side, then reached out and turned off the bedside light.

The artisan who designed and made this thing is or was an absolute genius, Miriam thought, not for the first time.  She meant the belt, of course.  It didn't pinch and the latex-lined edges didn't chafe.  Also, the cunning opening over her anus and the slot guarding her pussy would allow her to relieve herself.  After-action cleanup (including an awkward douche) would be required, but seeing to her bodily needs was doable.  She knew this from experience.

Miriam closed her eyes... ignored her purring (whimpering), imprisoned pussy... and drifted off to sleep.

She'd forgotten to turn off the big-screen TV.  The infrared/low-light image of her captive guest down in the dungeon still flickered on the screen, but there was no sound and the glow was no more than that of a nightlight.  Robin's weakly squirming image didn't disturb Miriam's deepening slumber... or her eventual very wicked dreams.