her eyes... blinked... then yawned and stretched. Feeble
light shone through the glass blocks sealing off the barred
basement window of her dungeon cell. The glow was only a
few candlepower, but adequate for Robin's dark-adapted eyes to
make out her surroundings. Surprisingly, she wasn't
disoriented. Robin hadn't experienced even a flash of
surprise when she awoke to find herself in a concrete cell and
lying on a thick foam pad covered with gray canvas. Nor
was it news when she "discovered" her ankles were shackled
together (with a foot of hobbling chain), her neck was locked in
a steel cable-collar (with a long chain attaching it to the
dungeon wall), and a ball-gag was dangling around her neck (in
The Prisoner-of-the-Dungeon heaved a Tragic & Pathetic
sigh. (And carefully suppressed the wry smile threatening
to curl her lips.) She didn't remember waking during the
night to release her wrists from their self-imposed "bondage"
(meaning untangling them from the collar-to-wall chain), nor
could she recall loosening her self-imposed ball-gag and
re-securing the strap on its first hole. However, she vividly
remembered pleasuring herself before drifting off to sleep.
Robin allowed the smile to surface, just a little. "Woe is
me," she sighed. Robin was a prisoner, locked in a deep,
dark(ish) dungeon, and at the mercy of a... Wicked
Witch? Evil Queen? Cruel Step-mother? "Witch,"
Robin decided. Yes, Miriam was a Wicked Witch with four
Irish Wolfhound familiars, and she was keeping Robin... Virtuous
Maiden of the Village? Robin frowned. Captured
Warrior-Maiden? No. Her smile
returned. Beautiful Princess! Yes, Robin was
a Beautiful Princess, and The Wicked Witch Miriam was holding
her captive for... Ransom? Undisclosed magical
purposes? As her erotic plaything? Just out of
general meanness? Robin shivered in "dread." Whatever.
Oh-by-the-way, Robin was thirsty and needed to take a
tinkle. Luckily, the Wicked Witch's Dungeon came equipped
with a modern, stainless steel toilet with a bidet/drinking
fountain feature, so she was good to go. Robin lifted her
head from the soft pillow the Wicked (But Thoughtful) Witch had
provided, sat up, then stretched and yawned, again, this time
with her arms fully outstretched and her back arched. Of
course, this caused the thoughtfully provided blanket formerly
covering her nude body to fall away, exposing her boobs.
The blanket in question was woven in a Native American pattern
with shades of cypress-green and rust-brown on a heather-gray
background. Robin had noticed the design before the lights
went out, but at the time was too preoccupied by Miriam removing
the bolero-straitjacket and tucking her into bed to appreciate
its beauty. Pretty, Robin thought, fingering the
soft wool, then dragged herself (and her chain) to the stainless
If Miriam's explanation of the plumbing was correct, from a
sanitation viewpoint it was irrelevant whether Robin decided to
drink before tinkling, but she decided slaking her thirst came
first. Kneeling before the commode, Robin groped to the
side and depressed what the Wicked Witch had said was the bidet
pedal. Immediately, a stream of clear water shot into the
air, almost splashed her chin, then fell back into the
bowl. She let the fountain run for several seconds... to
clear the standing water in the pipe... then leaned forward and
drank. The water was cold, very cold, but it
tasted good and was most welcome.
Her thirst quenched (and her chin and mouth dripping), Robin sat
on the cold steel of the commode—"Eeek!"—and emptied her
bladder. Tinkle accomplished, she used her right foot to
triggered the front pedal. Water enthusiastically swirled
and thoroughly rinsed the bowl. As Miriam (The Wicked
Witch) had promised, the plumbing was, indeed, quite efficient.
Robin paused before standing. Should she test the bidet
function of the bidet/drinking fountain subsystem? She
already knew the side pedal triggered an arching column of cold
water suitable for drinking, but how would it feel to ride that
column, to have it splashing between her legs?
Might as well give it a try, Robin decided. She
used her right foot to gently tap the side pedal,
and—"Eyaah!"—ice cold water drenched (and goosed) her nether
region. That wasn't so bad, she decided, then
heaved a sigh and stood. Actually, it had been
bad, meaning cold, and Robin could tell that if (meaning when),
she had to clean herself after a "number two," she'd have to
endure the splashing, frigid water splash for several long,
icy-wet seconds. Also, afterwards, she'd have to let
herself drip and air dry... like now.
Robin shuffled back to the pad, dragging her shackles' hobbling
chain across the concrete floor and holding most of the weight
of the collar-chain in her right hand. She then reclined,
rested her head on the pillow, and pulled the pretty "Indian
Blanket" up to her chin.
Robin's stomach grumbled. So... what time is breakfast
served? she wondered, then heaved another sigh. That
assumes Miriam's dungeon is a 'bed and breakfast' and not just
a 'bed,' of course. And what time is it?
Robin rolled onto her side. Will she bring my
crude wooden bowl of disgusting gruel down here, or drag me up
to the kitchen to feed me? Will there be coffee?
Coffee would be nice. And what will she do then?
Will she 'torture' me... like yesterday in the barn... with
nipple-clamps and vibrators? Will she set her Evil
Attack Dogs on me and let them devour me alive? Will she
pop me into the oven and magically transform me into a giant
Robin heaved another sigh... then closed her eyes and settled in
for some serious languishing. What else could she
| Chapter 11
Leda awoke to
find herself totally nude, inside the zipped-together sleeping
bags, and snuggled against her naked backpacking companion and
Evil Captor. She blinked, yawned, then extradited herself
from Jordan's arms and started squirming free of the joined
Something's changed, Leda realized as she unzipped the
dome tent's mosquito-net entrance, slid her feet into her
moccasins, and stood. Leda stretched, reaching for the
sky, arching her back, and going up on her toes. She
glanced back over her shoulder. She knew she had to have
woken Jordan during her exit from the bags and the tent, but the
gorgeous, nude beauty seemed to be in no hurry to start her
day. Jordan was lying on her side with most of her
beautiful face hidden by a curtain of gleaming brown, tousled
hair. Her right shoulder and arm were free of the sleeping
bags, and her right hand rested on a tangled pile of
That's it! Leda realized. I'm not tied
up! Jordan untied me during the night. It was
true. The bandana was still there, loosely tied around her
neck, but no elaborate network of brown cords lashed her wrists,
hands, arms, torso, or any other part of her anatomy. Her
former bonds were a tangled mess strewn inside the tent and
around Jordan (the other tangled mess inside the
tent). In addition to the bandana, Leda's nipple-stirrups
were still joined by their dangling, dancing connecting chain,
but that wasn't bondage, that was entirely... Normal?
Leda smiled, then strolled away to the latrine area to take her
morning tinkle. Afterwards, she'd wet her mouth
(conserving water, as this was a dry camp), then start
preparing breakfast. She wasn't tied up and Jordan was
being lazy, so she might as well be the one to do it.
After breakfast, they'd get dressed, pack up, break camp, and
hit the trail—no doubt with Leda fully rigged for her third day
as Jordan's pack-pony. Leda decided that was also
normal. It was certainly normal for this trip,
|| Chapter 11
asleep waiting for breakfast. She didn't need the rest,
that was for certain, but she had nothing better to do... other
than languish and/or play with herself. Maybe later,
she decided as she closed her eyes. Anyway...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ zzzzzzz ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
awake. "Later" had arrived. The cell's steel outer
door had been unlocked, unbolted—Thunk!—opened—Eeeeee!—and
Miriam was in the cell alcove, unlocking the barred gate.
The gate swung open—Eeeeee!—and Miriam entered the cell, in all
her smiling, mature, pretty-printed-dress-wearing gorgeousness.
"Good morning, Cupcake," Miriam beamed, then turned on her heel
and stepped back into the basement, stooped and picked up a
wooden tray, then reentered the dungeon. "Breakfast is
scrambled eggs, toast, and link sausages." She set the
tray at the foot of Robin's sleeping pad.
Robin blinked and focused on the tray. It was true.
The tray held the meal described, all neatly, properly, and deliciously
displayed on what Robin recognized as a plate from Miriam's
everyday china collection. There was also a cloth napkin,
a fork, and—Yes!—a mug of steaming hot coffee.
"Mornin'," Robin answered as she lunged for the mug, carefully
held it to her lips, and took a cautious sip. Yummy!
Still smiling, Miriam backed into the dungeon alcove, pulled the
barred gate shut—Eeeeee!—and turned the key in the
lock. "Enjoy your breakfast," Miriam wished her naked,
chained, captive house guest, "And when I return, I expect to
find everything on the tray—by which I mean the empty plate,
mug, folded napkin, and fork—and neatly arranged in plain
sight. Especially the fork. We can't have
you using it to tunnel out of here, now can we?"
Robin smiled. Actually, it was more of an amused pout than
a smile. "I suppose that makes sense."
"And place the tray there," Miriam added, pointing through the
bars at the floor to the left of the barred gate (on the dungeon
side, of course). "Also," she continued, "your blanket
should be neatly folded and set on the floor on the window side
of the pad with the pillow on top, and I expect you to
be kneeling on the pad and facing the door with your hands
resting on top of your head with your fingers interlaced, your
weight back on your heels, and your gaze respectfully focused on
the floor. Understand?"
Robin blinked in surprise (and blushed). "Uh... I
"That should be 'Yes, Mistress,' Cupcake."
Robin blinked, again. Miriam was still smiling, but the
smile in question had taken a slightly predatory twist.
"Yes, Mistress," Robin responded in a near whisper.
"Good girl" Miriam chuckled, then stepped back into the
basement, closed the steel door—Eeeeee!—and threw the
Well, Robin thought, that happened.
Anyway, breakfast was served! She picked up a triangular
wedge of toast and took a bite. It was buttered just the
way she liked it. Apparently, "Mistress" had noted her
preferences, like the fact that she took her coffee black and
her eggs scrambled. She then picked up the fork and tucked
into the meal with well-mannered enthusiasm.
What did happen? Robin wondered as she
ate. What was with the 'Mistress' thing? That's
not standard damsel-in-distress protocol... is it? Emma
Peel might find herself involuntarily dressed in a sexy canary
costume and locked in a cage, or squeezed into knee boots,
fishnet stockings, a leather corset, and cracking a whip, but
that was the show's kinky undercurrent of, uh, 'British
Eccentricity.' Also, Nancy Drew might find herself
captured, tied-up, and gagged, but never in a million years
would she be ordered to refer to her captor as
'Mistress!' In the first place, she was underage.
And in the second place... it just didn't happen. So,
what does it mean? Does Miriam want me to explore being
kidnapped for, uh, kinky purposes? What does it mean?
Robin continued eating... and pondered whether she should start
thinking about Wicked Witch Miriam as Wicked Mistress Miriam.
|| Chapter 11
returning from Mysterious Mountain arrived at Third Day Camp
about an hour after noon. The site was similar to First
Day Camp, in that there was an unimproved clearing reasonably
close to a babbling brook with a convenient latrine clearing in
the opposite direction.
Jordan released Leda from her pack-frame and ordered her to
strip and pitch camp. And yes, Leda's Cruel Captor had
perpetrated a third day of pack-pony duty on
Leda-the-Innocent-Damsel. Having given the required
orders, Jordan sat against the base of a convenient tree and
watched her former pack-pony work.
Leda was making it abundantly clear she was
neither happy nor amused (despite the panties stuffed in her
mouth and her bandana-cleave-gag). The naked worker tied
her pack to the side of a tree (as usual), removed her boots and
socks and changed into her moccasins, removed her kilt and
shirt, then hung boots, socks, kilt, and shirt from a
branch. She then tied Jordan's pack to another tree,
pitched the dome tent, unrolled their sleeping bags, zipped them
together and arranged them inside the tent, then zipped the
mosquito-screen door closed. Clearing the debris from
around the fire pit and readying the backpacking stove for use
was followed by consolidating their remaining food in the "bear
bag" and hanging it from a distant tree. Camp was pitched
and Leda's labors were complete... almost.
"Pour the remaining water into one bottle," Jordan ordered,
"bring it to me, then fill all the rest at the stream."
Clad only in her moccasins and still gagged, Leda turned to face
her Kidnapper/Captor/Mistress, placed her hands on her hips, and
glared. The chain connecting her nipple-stirrups
shook... then swayed... and then stopped moving. Her
navel-piecing glinted in the dappled sunlight in Righteous
"Oh, very well," Jordan purred. "You may remove your gag
and take a drink, then get back to work and stop dawdling!"
Her angry eyes locked with Jordan's smiling, tan (slightly
sunburned), beautiful face, Leda reached behind her head, parted
her tousled hair and untied her bandana-gag, then plucked the
saliva-soaked panties from her scowling mouth. She stomped
(padded in her moccasins) to her pack and draped both gag
components from the same branch as her clothes—meaning her other
clothes, as panties and bandanas are also clothes (when not
put to other, more nefarious uses).
Leda rummaged through both packs and extracted all of their
water bottles, then consolidated their remaining water into one
bottle. Actually, they'd been rationing their water use,
so the result was one full bottle (which she deposited next to
the stove at the fire pit), and one bottle that was
three-quarters empty. She took a long drink from that
bottle, leaving about a half-inch of water in the bottom,
screwed the cap tight, then tossed it to Jordan.
Jordan caught the nearly empty bottle, smiled at its meager
contents, then watched as Leda gathered the empty bottles and
stomped (padded) in her moccasins in the direction of the
stream. Jordan unscrewed the cap and drank, quickly
emptying the bottle. "Wait!" she shouted as she screwed on
the bottle's cap.
Leda turned and stomped (padded) back to camp. "What?" she
Jordan licked her smiling lips, then tossed the now empty bottle
to her glowering companion. Leda managed to catch it
without dropping the others. The nude beauty then turned
and resumed executing her water-girl mission.
|| Chapter 11
carried out Mistress Miriam's orders. She'd neatly folded
the pretty blanket and placed in beside her sleeping pad against
the back wall (the wall anchoring her collar chain), on the side
away from the commode and towards the window. She then
fluffed the pillow and neatly, carefully arranged it atop the
blanket. She'd then stretched to what was nearly the end
of her collar chain and placed the tray, plate, fork, and coffee
mug next to the barred gate and at the designated
location. As for kneeling on the sleeping pad in a
subservient position with her hands atop her head, she decided
to wait 'til she heard the dungeon's outer door being
unlocked. Robin was willing to go along with this new and
improved (?) game, but wasn't about to kneel on the pad for
hours in expectation of Miriam's immediate return. And
speaking of playing...
Exactly what was this new game they were now
playing? Things were beginning to creep well beyond simple
what's-it-like-to-be-a-prisoner territory and into... an
undiscovered country. No, ya think? Robin scolded
herself. What was your first clue, Sherlock? The
nipple-clamps and vibrators? Don't need to drop a ton of
bricks on Robin Clery's head to make your point.
No sirree. A thousand pounds will do just fine.
Yes, there was no doubt in Robin's mind that Miriam had made her
point... she just wasn't sure what that point might be.
Robin sighed and closed her eyes... then they popped open,
again. Oh! Very Clever, Mistress!
Miriam couldn't use actual punishment to keep her in line, as
they'd discussed. As a result, the fear and uncertainty
aspects of the I've-been-kidnapped experience were
compromised. So, by introducing subtle erotic elements
into the proceedings, Robin was empowered (so to speak) to feel
nervous, anxious, and jumpy. Very clever.
The only problem, of course, was that not everything Miriam had
done to her could reasonably be characterized as "subtle."
I'm gonna have to think about this, Robin realized.
Lucky for Robin, other than languishing, playing with herself,
or using the commode's bidet/drinking-fountain to take a
splash-bath that would have made a wet mess of at least half the
dungeon, thinking was just about the only other activity
Miriam's subterranean guestroom allowed.
Is languishing an activity... or a state of being? Robin
wondered, then closed her eyes and returned to pondering the
|| Chapter 11
sometime later that Robin heard the dungeon bolt being thrown
back—Thunk!—once again. She quickly scrambled to a
kneeling position, hastily arranged her collar-chain to her left
side, then interlaced her fingers, placed her hands atop her
head, lowered her chin, and focused on the concrete floor.
She was just in time.
The outer door opened—Eeeeee!—a key rattled in the barred
gate, the gate opened—Eeeeee!—and Miriam's sandal-clad
feet appeared at the top of Robin's downcast field of
vision. Robin was sure it was Miriam. She recognized
the sandals... and the toes.
"There's my good girl!" Miriam gushed. "So brave and
strong, yet clever enough to know she should follow her
Robin blushed. She also gave serious consideration to
unleashing the awesome power of her dagger-spewing Angry Stare,
but decided continuing to be "clever" and submissive was far
more prudent. Besides, who can be truly angry
with Miriam, even when she's being a gloating Witch/Mistress?
Meanwhile, Miriam stepped behind Robin, settled down onto the
sleeping pad with her legs folded to one side, then pulled Robin
into a back-to-her-front embrace. Robin flinched and
started to squirm away, but Miriam had grabbed hold of her hands
with one hand and was keeping them atop her head and had the
other around her waist.
"Miriam!" Robin complained. The aborted squirm had become
a shiver of embarrassed delight—Delight?—and a weak thrill
was quivering through her pussy.
"Now," Miriam purred in Robin's right ear, "I'm going to help
you explore the reality of a little 'advanced
languishing.' Won't that be nice?"
Robin stared through the open gate and steel door at the dark
basement beyond. "Huh?"
"First of all..." Miriam reached around Robin's body and
used both hands to pop the ball-gag into her mouth, then part
her hair and buckle the strap.
"Mrrrpfh!" Robin had no idea why she'd allowed that to
happen, or why her hands were still voluntarily atop her
head with her fingers interlaced. Miriam had finished with
the ball-gag, and Robin turned her head to find Miriam reaching
into a cloth shopping bag. The bag was new, obviously,
meaning Miriam had brought it with her but it had been unseen,
as Robin's gaze had been on the floor. Also, the bag
wasn't actually new, but was slightly worn and had
probably been washed more than once—which was neither here nor
Miriam pulled Robins hands apart, planted her obedient
prisoner's right hand back atop her head and gave it a gentle
pat, then pulled Robin's left arm behind her back.
Robin felt something being pulled over her left hand and
stretched up her arm. "Mrrrf?"
"Hush, Cupcake," Miriam interrupted.
Robin could tell that whatever Miriam was stretching up her
arm... all the way to her armpit... it was thin and tight and...
tubular. Miriam finished with her left arm, released it,
then pulled her right arm behind her back and began fitting a
second whatever-it-was around her right hand. Robin pulled
her left arm from behind her back and found the entire limb was
now encased in a "nude" colored stocking, from her fingertips to
her armpit. And as there were toe and heel reinforcements
but no fingers, it was a stocking, not a glove.
And now both of her arms were encased.
Miriam pulled Robin's left arm back behind her back, and held
both arms together, wrist-against-wrist and each hand against
its opposite forearm. "Don't move, Cupcake," she ordered,
then reached back into the shopping bag.
Robin heaved a gagged sigh, then—Riiiiip!—turned her head
and twisted at the waist to find Miriam pulling a strip free
from what appeared to be a full roll of silver-gray
"Eyes' front," Miriam purred.
Robin complied (for some reason), and felt turn after turn of
tape tighten around her nylon-encased forearms, wrists, hands,
and fingers, in overlapping layers. This continued for
several long seconds. Then, there was a pause as Miriam
pulled the as yet uncovered tops of the stockings from Robin's
armpits and back down over her forearms... then resumed
wrapping. Robin didn't even try counting the layers, but
when Miriam finally returned what remained of the roll to her
shopping bag, Robin's arms were mummified from mid-upper-arm to
mid-upper-arm in a "U"-shaped tube of nylons and
duct-tape. It was a nylons-tape-box-tie, only without a
torso-and-upper-arms harness element. Also, her fingers
and hands were less than useless. They were tightly
encased and totally immobilized!
Miriam didn't give her permission, but Robin started struggling
anyway, twisting at the waist and tugging on her taped
arms. She didn't bother even trying to move her fingers or
hands. They were obviously utterly useless.
"Mrrrrk." The vocalization was more a whimper than a
complaint, but at the moment it was the best Robin could manage
to communicate her displeasure.
Meanwhile, Miriam was pulling neat coils of hemp rope from the
shopping bag and arranging then on the floor beside the
pad. "On your tummy, Cupcake," the Mistress of Cedar Wind
Farm purred, patting the canvas-covered pad.
"Mrrrf?" Robin blinked... then heaved another sigh and
flopped down onto her stomach. She figured she might as
well, seeing as how she was chained to the dungeon wall by her
collar, her ankles were shackled a foot apart, and the ball-gag
plugging her mouth was making negotiations difficult.
Miriam set to work without saying another word. Doubled
loop after doubled loop tightened, hitch followed hitch, and
soon (meaning eventually) Robin was hogtied. She was also
frog-tied and had finally received the chest-harness that
transformed her tape-box-tie to a rope-tape-box-tie. Just
to be clear, her legs were independently folded back until her
heels nudged her butt-cheeks and her shins lashed to her
thighs. Then, the center link of her shackles'
hobble-chain was tied to the back of her chest-harness somewhere
between her shoulder-blades. It was a
tape-rope-steel-hogtie! The only thing missing was
Robin squirmed and struggled. Or rather, she tried to
squirm and struggle. Her breasts were just barely on the
pad, as were her lower thighs. Only her belly was solidly
on the pad. The hogtie was tight, very tight.
If the surface had been solid, Robin knew she would be rocking
back and forth. And then—"Mrrrpfh?"—Miriam gathered her
tousled hair together, combed it with her fingers, and now had
separated it into three more-or-less-equal strands and was
braiding them together! "Mrrr!" And then, Robin
could tell the braid was being folded back on itself and the
result lashed into a tight bundle! Finally, she felt rope
slither around her big toes and pull tight, binding them
together! "Nrrr!" Slack was removed, Robin's head
pulled back, and a final knot tied.
Robin blinked in distress. What had been a tight hogtie
was now a ridiculously tight hogtie!
Miriam leaned close and kissed the top of Robin's head, then
picked up her bag and stood, strolled to the barred gate,
stooped and picked up Robin's breakfast tray, then carried both
to the basement. She then returned to the dungeon alcove,
smiled at Robin, pulled the barred gate closed—Eeeeee!—and
locked the lock. Click! "Poor Cupcake," she
purred. "Bound in a punishing hogtie, gagged,
chained by her pretty neck, and locked in an inescapable
dungeon. The experiment continues."
Robin stared in incredulous alarm as Miriam stepped back across
the threshold and into the basement, pulled the steel door
closed—Eeeeee!—and threw the bolt. Thunk!
Robin squirmed weakly in her incredible bonds. She was
very much afraid she was going to have herself a good cry, and
could do nothing to stop it.
|| Chapter 11
ate their freeze-dried supper while the sun set. Leda and
Jordan relaxed and gazed up at the stars for a couple of hours,
then decided to turn in for the night. Now, they were
zipped inside the tent, snuggled together inside their
zipped-together sleeping bags, and were fast asleep, enjoying
their last night in the forest before returning to Cedar Wind
Farm the next day.
Leda was inside the zipped-together sleeping bags, but
she wasn't sleeping. Also, she was in a rather loose but
inescapable hogtie. Her wrists were tied together with her
hands palm-to-palm, her ankles crossed and also tied, a
torso-harness encircling her chest and shoulders, and her ankles
and wrists linked to the back of the torso-harness, pulling
everything together into a hogtie that was more irritating than
Jordan had used an abundance—some would say an overabundance—of
coyote-brown paracord, but this particular rigging effort was
one of her simpler, less elaborate creations. The theme
was redundancy, rather than complexity. More than twenty
individual strands of cord enforced each and every element of
Leda's predicament, including the hogtie-enforcement cords, all
of which were not only multi-strand but tightly wrapped along
most of their length.
Oh-by-the-way, Jordan was naked (of course), and lying on her
back with the equally naked Leda on her stomach and between her
splayed legs, busily licking her pussy; and the hogtied captive had
been at this activity for some time. Last night Jordan had
licked Leda's pussy. Tonight, Leda was returning the
favor. She'd been a helpless prisoner both times, meaning
that Leda was the one who was tied up, but you can't have
Orgasms? Yes, Jordan had "suffered" several orgasms, and
as far as she was concerned, the night was young.
As for Leda... "Mmrbrfrm!" she complained.
Jordan lifted the top of the sleeping bags, revealing her boobs,
flat stomach, spread thighs, and Leda's glowering, upturned
face. "What was that?"
"I said I can't breathe down here," Leda huffed.
Jordan grinned. "That's an obvious lie. You can't
have been holding your breath for the last hour."
Leda was not amused. "I'm hot and sweaty and I can't
"Big baby," Jordan chuckled, then half-unzipped the bags and
held them open while Leda wiggled, squirmed, rolled onto her
back, then squirmed some more until they were both on their
backs, side-by-side. "Come to think of it," Jordan purred,
"I'm a little sweaty myself." It was true. They were
both glowing. There was just enough starlight making its
way through the open, rolled and tied rain-flaps and the closed
mosquito-net-door to reveal the glint of the patina of
perspiration on their naked bodies. Leda's nipple-stirrups
and their connecting chain also glinted in the
starlight, slowing rising and falling with her every breath.
"Tomorrow we should break camp at the crack of dawn," Leda
stated, "then hit the trail and beat feet, meaning not stop 'til
we get home—meaning
Miriam's home—meaning the farm."
"We're stopping at the lake for a swim," Jordan decreed.
Leda wasn't in a position to object, but she could pout
and whine, so she
did. "Ohhh..." She heaved a sigh and squirmed for
emphasis. "Okay, but only a quick dip, then we push on to
Jordan smiled. "I don't know why you're in such a
hurry. Your little girlfriend is already sleeping
snug as the proverbial bug in the proverbial rug in the tower
guestroom. You've already lost the bet."
Leda suppressed a smile of her own. "Robin is stronger
than you think. And if I know your mother, she'll have
done everything she can think of to push things just far
enough to make sure Robin doesn't quit." She
snuggled closer and rested her slightly sweaty head on Jordan's
slightly sweaty shoulder. "You'll see. The
experiment will still be going strong when we get back."
Jordan's response was a skeptical, "Hah!" Several seconds
later, her smile took a wry twist. "Double or nothing?"
Leda smiled in return. "Done! I'd shake on it,
but... you know."
"You can lick on it." Jordan pointed at her
crotch. "Get down there. Break's over."
Still smiling, Leda started squirming down to resume her former
position... and activity. C'mon, Rob, she
thought. Hang in there. You can take it.
Don't wimp out on me.
|| Chapter 11