by Van © 2006
	ATTACK OF THE FOREST NINJA  Chapter 2: Adventures in Naughty Nursing.

To see the actors the author would cast in a CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE anthology/mini-series (on premium cable, of course)
follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.  New cast members are added as they appear in the stories.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

NOTE:  This is the second in the series  Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE.

THE SAME DAY
MID-MORNING
CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

---

Joelle was on the sundeck attached to her bedroom suite, nude, her dark skin glistening with oil, her hair pulled up in a tight bun.  She was in slow, continuous motion, nearing the end of her daily Tai Chi routine.  Striking pose after graceful pose, her muscles firm and toned as she flowed from one position to the next, Joelle was an incredibly erotic sight.  Her breathing deep and slow, her eyes focused on infinity, she held the final position... and held it... then let her body relax.

"It's rude to stare at people," she announced, pitching her voice to carry back into the bedroom.

The screen door slid open, and Robyn stepped out onto the deck.  The redhead was dressed in one of her nurse uniforms: white heels, white hose, and a short-sleeve, mini-skirt-short, white shirt-dress with a buttoned front, narrow waist, and plunging neckline.  A traditional white nurse's cap pinned atop her riot of copper-red curls completed the picture.  A gold name tag above her right breast read: "NURSE GOODBODY".  A slightly naughty smile curled the bogus Nightingale's lips.  "If that's true, we're one rude collection of voyeurs.  We stare at each other every chance we get."

"Especially when naked," Joelle agreed.  "Have you been a good girl?"

"Of course!"

Joelle's smile became rather skeptical.  "C'mere," she ordered.  "Show me your hands."

Robyn blushed, stepped forward, and held out her hands, palms up.

Joelle seized her wrists and pulled them together until her hands were palm-to-palm, then gave the still blushing redhead's fingertips a delicate sniff.  "Hmm... All I smell is latex.  Let me refresh my memory."  Continuing her tight grip on Robyn's wrists with one hand, she reached under the now furiously blushing Robyn's skirt with the other, and caressed the crotch of her panties.  "Wet, as usual," she noted.

Robyn squirmed and shuddered, but didn't try to pull away.  "It's a stupid rule," she whispered.

Joelle sniffed the fingers of her free hand, then released Robyn's wrists.  "A Junior-Dominatrix-in-Training needs to learn discipline.  And a little erotic tension never killed anyone."

"I feel like I'm gonna explode!" Robyn sighed.

When Frieda had assigned "Nurse Goodbody" the task of assisting with Tess Ambrose's "therapy", she had decreed total abstinence from sexual pleasure, for the duration of the week-long visit—total abstinence for Robyn, that is.  Poor Tess would be teased and diddled to climax after climax, of course, and Frieda was free to pursue any and all pleasures of the flesh, either on her own or with Joelle's kind assistance—but Robyn was forbidden to touch herself, and any unauthorized climaxes or attempted climaxes would be punished, and would "go down on her permanent record", whatever the hell that meant.

Supposedly, the regimen of total denial was a test of Robyn's ability to control herself while in control of others.  Frieda claimed the resulting tension would lend an edge of manic intensity to the sessions that was unobtainable in any other way for a newbie.  Experienced pros like Frieda and Joelle had no need of such "tricks".  They could reach the required level of Sadistic Bitchiness at the drop of the proverbial hat, or so they claimed.

Robyn was bound to abstinence by oath, and, "for her own good", quite literally bound at night, to help her keep said oath.  Frieda strapped her in a special straitjacket with a cleverly placed and well-padded cup-shield through the crotch that left an air-gap around all her "good parts".  And the gap remained, no matter how the wearer rolled, writhed, wiggled, squeezed her thighs, or attempted to hump any convenient objects... and god knew Robyn had tried!

Anyway, Robyn was in day three of doing incredibly erotic and/or humiliating things to the incredibly beautiful and totally helpless Tess Ambrose—or watching and/or helping while "Doctor Paine" (Frieda) did incredibly erotic and/or humiliating things to the incredibly beautiful and totally helpless Tess Ambrose—and she (Robyn) was gonna explode!

Joelle smiled, and pulled Robyn into a tight embrace.  "Hang in there, Irish," she whispered.  "I'll ask Frieda for a special dispensation on your behalf.  With any luck, she'll give me permission to visit you tonight, and... solve your problem."

"That would be nice," Robyn whispered back.

Joelle broke the embrace.  "No guarantees, but I'll try.  You know how Frieda can be."

Robyn straightened the front of her uniform.  "Uh... speaking of which, did Frieda say when she'd be back from her run?"

Joelle squinted up to gauge the position of the sun.  "Hmm... Sometimes she decides to double the distance on a whim.  What's the problem?"

"The patient's had her enema and is eating her morning gorp," Robyn sighed, "but Frieda didn't tell me what to do with her next."

"So?  Improvise."

Robyn laughed.  "Yeah, right, and end up restrained on some horrific torture machine next to my 'patient'? ...being punished for usurping The Doctor's authority?"

Joelle stretched and strolled towards the bedroom.  "Just do something Frieda can easily modify when she gets back.  It's not your fault she changes her schedule and doesn't tell you."

Robyn sighed, and followed Joelle inside.  "Yeah, I guess I have to do something.  Can't make the patient think we don't know what we're doing."

"Exactly," Joelle laughed.  "I suppose you could call The Doctor on her sat-phone," she suggested, pointing towards the telephone on her desk.

"Oh no!" Robyn exclaimed.  "I'm not disturbing Mistress' run with inane questions."

"No, you're disturbing me," Joelle chuckled.  "Time for my shower.  Want me to make you a sandwich for lunch?"

Robyn smiled, watching Joelle's naked back, dimpled rear, and long, toned legs disappear into the bathroom.  "Uh, no thanks.  Don't know when I'll be hungry... to eat... food, I mean."

"Okay," Joelle said, and started the shower.  She looked in the mirror above the sink and found Robyn standing in the bathroom door, staring at her rear in open appreciation.  "Don't you have someplace to be?  Someone to torture... besides yourself?"

Robyn sighed, and turned towards the door.  "Later!" she called, and left the bedroom.  "Stupid rule!" she muttered under her breath as she strolled down the corridor, headed for the stairs.

Unseen by Robyn, a figure stepped from the shadows and watched her depart.  It was the Ninja, resplendent in her camouflaged bodysuit, boots, gloves, hood, and mask.  She was wearing her harness, with its many pockets and pouches, and her narcotic dart gun was holstered at her right hip.  She had stashed her backpack before entering the Lodge.

Robyn bounced down the stairs... and was gone.  The Ninja went to Joelle's bedroom door, eased it open, and slipped inside.

Joelle emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.  A towel was draped over her head and she was drying her hair.  Otherwise naked, she walked towards her built-in dresser for a pair of panties—and froze.  The drawers were all half-open and festooned with drooping coils of thin, white rope.  A roll of three-inch medical tape sat on top, and an eight-inch strip had been ripped from the roll and was tacked by one corner to the front edge of the top drawer.  It was her rope and tape, but who had taken it from the bottom drawer and arranged it into this display?  Robyn?  Why?

Staring at the dangling rope and tape—Joelle felt another presence in the room.  She spun on her heel, and found the Ninja gracefully reclined on her bed!

The hooded and masked figure's boots were crossed atop a folded blanket and her upper body was propped against the piled pillows at the headboard.  Joelle's gaze darted to the Ninja's weapon—an exotic, gas-powered dart gun, unholstered and lying within easy reach at the Ninja's side—then locked with the Ninja's brown eyes.

Joelle let her towel drop to the floor, then combed her fingers through her still slightly damp hair.  "You're early," she accused, glaring at the Ninja in what she hoped was brave defiance.

"The timing's within mission parameters," the Ninja answered.  Her voice was a melodious alto.  "Or didn't Frieda warn you?"

Joelle kicked the towel towards the bathroom door.  "No," she sighed.  "You've already caught her, haven't you.  That's why she's late from her run."

"You know better than to ask about an ongoing operation before the mission debriefing," the Ninja responded.  "I'm already bending the rules by giving you this chance to surrender."

"Just tell me she's all right," Joelle muttered.

The Ninja laughed.  "But that would ruin the suspense and uncertainty, wouldn't it?  Who's the redhead?"

Joelle sighed again.  "Her name is Robyn, with a 'Y'."

"Guest, or staff?"

"Staff," Joelle admitted, "but she doesn't know about you."

The Ninja picked up her dart pistol and pointed it at Joelle.  "Then she'll find the next few hours very interesting."  She motioned towards the dresser with the barrel.  "Three pair, I think, of your skimpiest thongs, but wrap them in a silk scarf, so you don't choke on the straps."

Joelle sighed, walked to the dresser, and reached into the already open top drawer.  She extracted the three thongs, as ordered, and a gauzy, summer-weight scarf.  She draped the scarf across her cupped left hand, crammed the thongs in the center, then folded over the remaining scarf, to make a depressingly large wad.  Without prompting, she stuffed the roughly spherical mass in her mouth, shoved until in was completely inside, then tucked the remaining loose ends of the scarf inside as well.  This took considerable pushing and prodding, but she finally succeeded in closing her lips over the silky mouthful.

Next, she reached for the dangling strip of tape, turned to face the mirror above the dresser, centered the white strip over her lips, and pressed it home.  She stretched and pressed the ends, making sure the entire strip was smoothly and tightly plastered to the dusky skin of her lower face.  She gazed at her image for several seconds, then grabbed a brush from atop the dresser, ran it through her hair several times, and tossed it back down.  Finally, she placed her hands atop her head, fingers interlaced, spun on her heel, and faced her captor.

The Ninja gazed at Joelle's nude, perfect, brown body for several heartbeats.  "All right then, let's continue.  Ankles, big toes, and insteps; also, knees and thighs.  Make sure everything is well cinched and double-knotted.  Next, I want to see a Kikkou harness binding your legs from ankles to waist.  Make it moderately tight, and hitch it through the initial bondage as you go.  Then drop a dozen coils around your upper arms and chest, cinch it tight, and tie it off.  Slide your arms under the rope and cross your wrists in back, flop down on your stomach and tits, and I'll take it from there.  Make sure everything's pretty and tight.  We have lots of time, so do it right."

Joelle sighed yet again, then selected several hanks of rope of various lengths and sat on the floor.  She pulled her legs together, bent her knees, leaned forward, and set to work.

Robyn made her way to the "Medical Clinic", a cluster of a couple of dozen rooms on the first sub-basement level of the old Sanitarium.

This part of the lower levels was more-or-less clean.  Granted, the sanitation was hardly up to hospital standards, but that hadn't been Frieda's intent.  She wanted the Clinic to have the ambiance of an under funded and understaffed state institution, and that's what had been achieved.  The lowest levels of the Sanitarium remained a filthy dungeon.

As usual, Mistress provided the vision, and Robyn did all the work.  She had personally dusted, swept, and shoveled the dirt and cobwebs from the rooms and corridors, thoroughly cleaning everything from the overhead pipes to the tiled floor.  Much mopping and scrubbing of tiles had followed.  And finally, all the stainless steel furnishings of the various rooms had been polished and the many glass-front cabinets thoroughly cleaned.

To "save on the laundry", Frieda had insisted that Robyn accomplish all of this wearing only a full-hood gasmask—with locking collar, of course—and a pair of rubber gloves with locking cuffs.  The mask's filter and goggles had protected her eyes and lungs from the drifting dust, and the gloves had shielded her fingers and hands from the cleaning chemicals; but by the end of the workday, Robyn was always a sweaty, greasy, grungy mess from neck to toes.

Robyn suspected that Frieda and Joelle liked her that way.  God knew they'd delighted in taking turns chaining her up in the sanitarium showers, stripping down themselves, soaping her helpless body, and scrubbing her clean with loofa, washcloth, and hands.  The very memory of those long, hot, wet "ordeals", followed by the equally protracted drying procedures—with Frieda or Joelle using a multitude of warm, dry towels to caress her stretched and restrained body... sigh!  (So much for saving on the laundry.)

Yes, the showers had been very nice, but in light of the current requirement for Total Abstinence—basking in those memories was not helping!

Shaking her head in irritation (and sexual frustration), Robyn continued down the passageway.  The walls were a depressing greenish shade that defied polite description, and the floors were stained and sealed concrete that seemed to suck the light from the antiquated overhead fixtures.  She came to her immediate goal, a steel door labeled "PATIENT NUTRITION".

She pulled her key ring from a uniform pocket and unlocked the door.  She then paused, to muster her concentration.  A sickly sweet smile on her face, she entered the room beyond.

PATIENT NUTRITION was the chamber in which Robyn had "enjoyed" her first meal at Chattel Mountain Lodge.  The "feeding machine", with its steel frame, dangling straps, and funnel-gag, was in one corner.  In the opposite corner was a steel cage.  It was stainless steel, about a meter in cross-section, and a little less than two meters long.  The top and sides was a grid of centimeter-thick bars spaced about three centimeters apart.  The floor was solid steel, with a thin pad of latex-coated, medium-density foam.  Locked inside was Tess Ambrose.

The tall, willowy ex-model was kneeling on the pad.  She was nude, but for the broad collar around her throat and the cuffs around her wrists and ankles.  Her bonds were all tan leather, with flush-mounted, locking clasps—medical restraints.  The wrist cuffs were attached to the back of the collar by a short strap, and the ankle cuffs were separated by an equally short hobble-strap.  In front of Tess' dimpled knees and pouting face was a stainless steel bowl... empty, but dirty.

"Oh, we've been a good girl," Robyn said in an irritatingly perky, singsong manner, "and finished all of our yummy breakfast."

Tess shook her tousled blonde hair from her face and glared at "Nurse Goodbody".  Her "yummy breakfast" had been plain oatmeal "seasoned" with pellets of Primate Chow.  It was marginally edible, albeit highly nutritious, and given the alternative of being strapped to the feeding machine and force-fed, Tess had swallowed her pride and the bowl's contents, making a mess of her lower face in the process.

Robyn went to a sink, snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and filled a kidney-shaped steel bowl with warm water.  She added a generous dollop of liquid soap and a washcloth, and carried it to the cage.  "Let's get our grubby little face clean, shall we?" she suggested.

Tess watched with a sullen pout as Robyn unlocked and opened the double hatch built into the roof of her cage.  The first hatch fell back, then the two semicircular halves of the inner hatch opened to either side, sliding in tracks.

"Up we come," Robyn ordered.  Tess remained kneeling, her breasts squashed on her thighs.  "Don't make me get 'Mr. Shock Wand'," Robyn added, her perky smile never wavering.

Tess sighed, sat up, and eased her head through the hatch opening.  Robyn closed and latched the two halves of the inner hatch, and the "patient" was trapped, as if in a pillory.  The steel clicked closed just under Tess' leather collar, capturing her head and forcing her to support the bulk of her weight with her thigh and abdominal muscles.

"I hate you!" Tess muttered, as Robyn positioned the bowl under her chin and began scrubbing her face.

"We're a Grumpy Gus this morning," Robyn cooed, "aren't we?"

"Shuddup and die, asshole!"

Robyn laughed, walked to a steel cabinet, and returned with a dental spreader, a toothbrush, and a forceps-clamp with a rubber-padded tip.  The toothbrush went into the soapy water, and the spreader was inserted between Tess' lips.  Robyn easily overcame her "patient's" token resistance, slid the spreader's steel flanges behind her teeth, and squeezed the side handles, engaging the ratchet.  The cruel device clicked and locked, and Tess' jaws were forced open and held in an involuntary grimace of a smile.

"You've been warned about what happens to naughty girls who call their nurse bad names," Robyn said, then picked up the toothbrush and forceps, and set about the task of cleaning Tess' teeth and gums.  The forceps were used to stretch and manipulate her lips, as required, and to control her tongue.  Robyn repeatedly dipped the brush in the soapy suds as she worked.

Tess gurgled and complained, as best she could.  The soap tasted horrible, but she was powerless to prevent the grinning redhead in the crisp white uniform from probing and scrubbing every nook and cranny of her gums, teeth, mouth, and tongue.  Even the rubber point at the end of the brush was used to clean between her teeth.

Mission accomplished, Robyn dropped the brush and forceps into the bowl, used the washcloth to wipe Tess' lips and chin, then carried everything back to the sink.  She returned with a steel and rubber object festooned with rubber straps and loops of tubing.

The defiance in Tess' eyes faltered.  The object was her "custom silencer", something Frieda and Joelle had fabricated during a previous visit.  With Tess helpless and immobilized, they had taken upper and lower dental impressions of her jaws.  The resulting molds were used to craft a pair of rubber wedges, which were incorporated into an expanding pear gag.

Robyn inserted the closed pear and wedges through the dental spreader and into Tess' mouth, then released the spreader's ratchet and extracted the steel device.  It was difficult working the flanges free of Tess' teeth without dislodging the new gag, but Frieda had demonstrated the technique on Robyn herself, then made her practice, on Joelle, until she got it right.

Tess continued squirming and complaining, but could do nothing to prevent Robyn from stretching the gag's many natural rubber straps over her head.  The main strap snapped home at the nape of her neck.  Thinner straps passed to either side of her nose, under her chin, and across her forehead.  The resulting bridle-like harness was tight and effective, as was the gag itself—doubly so after Robyn inserted a barrel-key in the pear and gave it three clockwise turns. The main plug expanded, forcing the wedges and Tess' jaws apart and tightening the head-harness even further.

Robyn pocketed the key, then pulled a folding comb from her other pocket.  She used it to free Tess' hair from the rubber straps, to let the blonde locks drape properly.  "There, all nice and pretty, quiet and polite," she cooed.  "Let's get you to the treatment room, shall we?"  She released Tess' head from the pillory-hatch, and the "patient" ducked her head back into the cage.

The cage's main door was unlocked, and Tess shuffled through and struggled to her feet.  She continued glaring at "Nurse Goodbody"—then her eyes popped wide as Robyn gripped her by the shoulders and pinned her against the nearest wall.  Her bound hands and naked rump against the cold tiles, Tess whined through her gag as Robyn shifted her grip to her breasts and began a slow, gentle, kneading massage.

Robyn's left foot straddled Tess' hobble strap, and her left knee and thigh were pressed between the captive's legs.  She stopped her massage of Tess' breasts and used one latex-covered hand to hand-gag the miserable, whining, already well-gagged prisoner.  Her other hand slid down Tess' abdomen to her crotch.

"I believe you're slightly overdue for your next round of tension relief therapy," Robyn whispered, pressed the edge of her palm against Tess' sex, and began a slow, gentle, sliding massage.

Tess shivered and tugged on her bonds, her nipples hard and erect.

Robyn's hand continued its slow, sliding motion.  "It's an endless job, relieving your tension, isn't it?"  She leaned close until Tess' nipples pressed against her own uniform and bra-covered breasts.  "Just wait until you see what Doctor Payne has in mind for you today," she whispered, parted Tess' flushed, wet labia, and slipped her fingers inside her sex.

Tess squeezed her eyes tightly closed and squealed through the rubber filling her mouth and the latex-covered hand pressed against her lips.  She tried squeezing her thighs together, but with Robyn standing on her hobble, all she accomplished was a firm pressure on the smiling redhead's white nylon-clad leg and knee.

"Poor Tess," Robyn whispered, as she teased the captive's clitoris.  "So strong, and beautiful—so helpless—every function of her toned, tanned, pampered body under the complete control of her wicked nurse.  She gets a nice, warm, soapy enema every morning—she pisses on command, to avoid punishment..."  Robyn quickened the pace of her intimate massage.  She could tell her "patient" was getting close to her first climax of the day.  "She even cums on command, don't you, you dirty, filthy girl?  Cum for nurse!  Cum right now!"

Tess screamed through her double gag—then Robyn shifted her grip and squeezed Tess' nostrils tightly shut, denying the writhing captive air!  Tess strained and struggled as the manipulation of her sex continued.  Her lungs burned—and then she came!

Waves of unbearable pleasure washed over her oxygen-starved brain.

And then she found herself leaning against the cool tiles, her knees weak and her sex throbbing.  She panted through her rubber gag and flaring nostrils.  Her breasts heaved, her nipples tingled, and her tan skin gleamed with sweat.

Robyn, her own features flushed and shining, leaned close and kissed Tess' gagged mouth, then her nipples—first the right, and then the left.  "Do you still hate me, dirty girl?" she cooed.

Tess shivered, tugged on her bonds, then glared at Robyn in renewed defiance.

Robyn laughed, stepped to the rack by the door, and returned with a tan leather leash and a "shock wand".  The leash matched Tess' restraints.  The clip on one end was snapped to the dangling steel ring on the front of the prisoner's collar, and the loop at the other end went over Robyn's left wrist.  The wand was about eighteen inches in length with a black rubber handle and a thin, chrome-silver shaft that tapered to a forked tip with a pair of copper studs.  Tess knew from experience that it was harmless, but packed a very unpleasant wallop.

"All right, then," Robyn purred.  "Off we go.  Remember to walk on your tippy-toes, as per Doctor's orders.  I know it's tiring, but it does wonders for your calf muscles and makes your legs look great."

The leash snapped taut, and Nurse Goodybody led her still panting, still slightly sweaty charge through the door and down the corridor.  The patient pattered along in her wake, on tip-toe, as ordered.