by Van ©2018
		Chapter 11

Robin opened 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 necklace mode).

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 steel commode.

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 gingerbread cookie?

Robin heaved another sigh... then closed her eyes and settled in for some serious languishing.  What else could she do?

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 bags.

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 coyote-brown paracord.

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, anyway.

Robin fell 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 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Robin snapped 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 suppose."

"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 bolt.  Thud!

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.

The expedition 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 Anger.

"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 demanded.

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.

Robin had 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 game issue.

It was 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 kidnapper's orders."

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 there.

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 duct-tape!  "Mrrr?"

"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 leather.

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.

The campers 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.

NOT!

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 restrictive.

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 everything.

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 breathe!"

"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 your 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 the farm."

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.