by Van © 2006
	ATTACK OF THE FOREST NINJA Chapter 6: Plots Within Plots.

Tess was forced to service her captor several times, during which time she learned that "Ninja" was a screamer, she was relatively easy to bring to orgasm, and apparently had the sexual stamina to match her strength and beauty.  Finally, Ninja mumbled something about food (sending Tess' stomach into a chorus of gurgling growls) and abandoned her in the bedroom for several minutes.  Tess enjoyed a much needed rest, then snapped awake when Ninja returned with a tray of sandwiches and a large bottle of chilled wine.

Tess was hand fed half the food and allowed to consume more than her share of the wine, to the point that the helpless prisoner became a little drunk.  She snuggled against her "hated" captor's naked body and rested her head on Ninja's hard, flat stomach.  "I hate you," she whispered, then giggled.

Ninja laughed, and ran her fingers through Tess' short blonde hair.  "Don't flirt with me, rich bitch," she said.  "Put that tongue where it belongs and give me good reason not to make you sleep on the floor."

Tess giggled again, squirmed into position between Ninja's splayed legs, and set to work.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Frieda entered the room!  She stomped to the bed and stood, hands on hips.

Tess blinked and stared at the naked, filthy, sweaty High Mistress of Chattel Mountain Lodge.

Ninja stretched and smiled.  "You look rode hard and put away wet," she said in a casual tone, then grabbed Tess' hair and forced her mouth back to her crotch.  "I'll tell you when to stop," she growled, then turned her attention back to Frieda.  "Seriously, you're a mess."

Blue eyes flashing, Frieda continued glaring for several seconds, then spun on her heels and headed for the bathroom.  "Put Ms. Ambrose in a full isolation helmet and make sure she doesn't wander off," she called over her shoulder, "and get it done before I finish my shower or there'll be hell to pay!"  She disappeared into the bathroom and the door slammed.

"What do you suppose has her in such a foul mood?" Ninja mused aloud, then shuddered and tightened her grip on Tess' hair.  "That's it," she said.  "That's the spot.  Yes, yes, yes—aheeeEEE!!"

Tess continued licking, probing, and sucking Ninja's most intimate flesh. Finally satisfied, her captor lifted her head away from her crotch.

"Wipe that smile off your face, slave," Ninja growled.

"I can't help it, mistress," Tess whispered.  It was true.  She found she couldn't stop smiling.  The fear was still there—but it was not the unreasoning terror she'd felt earlier.

Ninja shook her head, vaulted off the bed, and began rummaging in one of the chest of drawers.  She returned to the bed with a bulging hood of tan suede that matched the leather parts of Tess' straitjacket.

"Please, mistress," Tess whined, and squirmed away across the bed, as quickly as her hobbles and straitjacket would allow.

Ninja sat on the bed, grabbed a strap of the jacket, and pulled Tess' head onto her lap.  "Stop it," she scolded, combing the prisoner's blonde locks with her fingers.  Her voice was strangely kind.  "You're not going to wiggle away, and I'm going to put this hood on you.  Frieda's orders.  Then, I'm going to make you very uncomfortable, and you're going to remain that way for a very long time."

Tess sighed and shivered in her bonds.  "Please, mistress," she repeated.

Ninja smiled, leaned close, and kissed Tess' lips.  "Mistress Frieda and I will enjoy your suffering, and that's all that matters.  Now, be a good slavegirl."

Tess ceased her struggles, but couldn't suppress a pout as Ninja dumped the contents of the hood on the bed.  They included a pair of earplugs, a strap with two foam-lined pads that was obviously a blindfold, and a head harness. The plugs went in her ears, then the hood was pulled over her head and zipped down the back.  The straitjacket collar was unbuckled, pulled over the neck of the hood, then re-buckled.  The hood was skintight, with eye holes, an open mouth, and nostril openings.  Padding over the ear region reinforced the earplugs and numerous snaps and rings studded its surface.

The harness was next.  It caged Tess' hooded head and anchored a padded ring in her mouth.  A rubber penis with an attached rubber panel was inserted through the ring and strapped to the harness.  The blindfold was next.  It also strapped to the harness, then several loops were snapped over various parts of the harness, gag, and blindfold straps to anchor them to the hood.

Tess was now effectively deaf, mute, and blind.  Ninja dragged her down onto her stomach on the floor, at the foot of the bed.  She shortened her hobble strap, snapped its center ring to a ring in the back of the head harness, and Tess was now hogtied as well.  Finally, Ninja looped a leash around the base of one of the bed's foot posts and snapped its other end to the ring in the front of the straitjacket's collar.

Ninja stood, took a step back, and gazed down at Tess.  The helpless captive struggled weakly, testing her new condition.  Ninja savored her victim's plight for several seconds, then walked to Frieda's desk, picked up the telephone's handset, and punched in a number.  She turned to gaze at Tess as the connection was made, then spoke.  "This is Zenobia.  Authentication: romeo-mike-niner-fife-one-one.  I say again, romeo-mike-niner-fife-one-one. Over."  She continued watching Tess as a voice spoke in her ear.  "That's affirmative," she said, finally.  "Suspend over-watch and terminate the exercise.  Many thanks to all involved.  Zenobia, over and out."  She hung up the phone.

"By all means, make yourself at home."

Frieda was standing in the bathroom doorway.  She was nude, and was toweling her hair.

"Just making sure we aren't disturbed," Ninja explained.  "It wouldn't do to have a hostage rescue squad descend on the Lodge and find you in the middle of your hideous revenge."

"That wouldn't do at all," Frieda agreed.  She tossed the towel back into the bathroom, and stood, hands on hips, scowling at Ninja.

Ninja mirrored her stance, only her expression was a coy smile.

"You're more than a week early," Frieda growled.

"I finished my last operation ahead of schedule, and decided to move things up."

Frieda continued to glare.  "It's very rude to just barge in unannounced."

"Very rude," Ninja agreed, "but it would hardly be a surprise attack if I called ahead and asked permission, would it?"

Frieda combed her fingers through her still damp hair, fire in her eyes.  "You were still early.  We never had a chance.  I have a client..."  She nodded towards Tess.  "...and I hadn't yet warned Robyn about what to expect."

Ninja was unfazed.  "So Robyn-with-a-'Y' gets a once-in-a-lifetime experience," she laughed, "similar to our first meeting, and as for that one..."  She gazed at Tess' helpless form.  "She's just a slave."

"She's a slave and a paying customer," Frieda responded, then her frown faded.  "I suppose I'll have to do damage control of some sort."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ninja purred.  "You're nothing if not inventive."

Frieda smiled, a truly evil smile.  "Yes, I have my moments... as you'll discover in the next two weeks, much to your distress."

The naked pair regarded one another for several more seconds... then met in the middle of the room in a savage embrace.  They kissed, their tongues thrusting and lips smacking.  Their hands slid over each others bodies, and their breasts, stomachs, and thighs rubbed together.

Ninja broke the kiss.  "You hungry?"

"Starving," Frieda answered, and resumed kissing.

Seconds passed, then Ninja spoke again.  "I could cook you something."

"Oh, you will," Frieda muttered, "naked and in chains, now shut up."

"Yes mistress," Ninja whispered, and the kiss continued.

Eventually, the naked pair made their way to the bed and bounced onto the mattress, still kissing, still entwined in a tight embrace.

Trapped in her stringent bonds, Tess squirmed her naked body against the soft carpet, oblivious to what was happening only a few feet away.

Robyn was incredulous.  "Wait a minute, she's a Canadian ninja, and her name is Ninja??"

Joelle laughed.  "You heard me.  I don't know exactly what part of the Canadian government signs her paychecks, defense or intelligence or whatever, but she's a black ops specialist.  Ninja is just a nickname.  Her real name is I-could-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you."

"A Canadian ninja?"

Joelle laughed again.  "You think the Great White North doesn't have any James Bond types?"

"But... a Canadian ninja?"

The still naked pair were making their way through the sanitarium level, heading for the shower room.

"Anyway, now and then, she gets some time off and comes to the Lodge to play," Joelle said.  "Her arrival is always a big production."

"Big production?"

"She arranges things so her special operations colleagues can treat it as an exercise.  She goes in, has her initial fun, and all the while they're nearby, monitoring the frequencies of safety transponders, in case anything goes wrong and they have to intervene.  Don't worry.  They don't really know what's happening, and if she hasn't dismissed them already, she will soon.  The privacy of the Lodge is sacrosanct."

"That whip..."  Robyn shuddered delicately.

Joelle hugged her briefly, as they walked.  "Sweet little Robyn's no longer a virgin to the lash," she cooed.

"Stop it!" Robyn huffed.  "I just hope I heal without any scarring."

Joelle laughed.  "There isn't a mark on you, silly.  I know it hurt, but Ninja's an expert.  She always does things like that, just to piss Frieda off, so she won't go easy on her once the arrival phase is over.  This will be her third visit," Joelle said, "at least her third while I've been here.  She's an old friend of Frieda's, from before she landed the Lodge gig."

Robyn stopped.  "From before?"  Joelle smiled, put her arm over Robyn's shoulder, and started her moving again.  "I... I just never thought about there being a 'before'," Robyn muttered, "for Frieda and the Lodge, I mean."

Joelle's smile broadened.  "I know what you mean.  You'll have to ask Frieda about her early history.  She probably won't tell you much, but you can ask."

This time Robyn laughed.  "Yeah, like I'm gonna give Frieda a reason to punish me for being nosy."

"By the way," Joelle added.  "Chandler Warburg knows nothing about Ninja and her visits, and Frieda wants it to stay that way."

Robyn nodded.  "Okay."

They'd arrived at the shower room.  Joelle led Robyn to the center of the tiled chamber.  "Stay here," she said, pointing at the drain in the floor, then walked to the side.

Robyn stretched and yawned.  "I still don't see why we can't just go to our rooms.  You could come to my place... "  She stretched again, and smiled, "you know, for a sleepover?—Hey!"

Joelle had returned with a chain, and had snapped its attached, stainless steel manacle around Robyn's right wrist.  "Frieda's busy upstairs," Joelle explained.  "We'll let her have her privacy."

"Joelle!" Robyn complained, and tugged on the manacle and chain, but didn't resist as Joelle walked to the other side of the room and returned with a second chain and manacle for her left wrist.  "Do we have to play this game?" she demanded.

"Don't pout, sweet-cheeks," Joelle chided as she dragged over shackles and chains, one set from either side, and clapped them around Robyn's ankles.  She then strolled to a control panel, opened a waterproof cover, and threw a switch.  "Like Frieda, I'm in a bitchy mood, after being captured and tortured for no good reason, and I have to take it out on somebody."

The chains shortened and pulled Robyn into a standing spread-eagle, her arms and legs fully extended and widely splayed.  "What about me?," she demanded.  "You think I've been having fun?"

"You're junior," Joelle reminded the helpless captive.

Robyn sighed.  "Oh... yeah... your logic is impeccable," she admitted, "but I'll pout if I want to."

"Okay, pout," Joelle chuckled, "but no more complaining."

"Yeah?" Robyn sneered, "well if I want to complain, I'll—M'mmpfh!!"

Joelle had produced a ball-gag and silenced her captive.  It's sphere and strap were of clear, elastic plastic.   Robyn felt her fiddling with her hair, and whatever was enforcing the tight bun atop her head was released.  Her tresses fell loose in a cascade of red curls.  She shook her head, and watched as Joelle released the plastic band restraining her own hair.

Joelle walked to the manifold of valves controlling the plumbing, opened a single tap, and water began splashing from a faucet onto the tiled floor.  She held her hand under the stream until satisfied with the temperature, opened all the valves all the way, one by one, then opened the master valve.

Instantly, Robyn was deluged by watery jets from all directions.  The water was pleasantly hot, and felt wonderful—and then Joelle was there, with her under the streams, running her hands over Robyn's helpless, pinioned body.  This continued for several long, wet, sensuous minutes.  Eventually, Joelle stepped away, stopped the water streams, and returned with a terrycloth mitt dripping with fragrant liquid soap.  She used the mitt to explore Robyn's torso and limbs, once again, this time raising a thick, slippery layer of suds.  This process took a very long time, as Joelle made sure every nook, cranny, crease, fold, bump, and curve of Robyn's pale, freckled form received meticulous attention.

The soap was rinsed off, then Joelle produced a plastic bottle of scented oil, drenched her hands, and began rubbing them across Robyn's dripping body.  The pinioned captive shuddered and writhed as Joelle's dark hands massaged her muscles and combed through her hair.  The oil was replenished as needed, and soon Robyn was glistening from fingers to toes.  She moaned through her gag and tugged on her bonds as Joelle placed one hand at the small of her back and used the other to gently caress her labia.

"You're a randy little vixen," Joelle purred, "aren't you, Irish?"

Lost in a world of slippery pleasure, Robyn's only response was a slow rolling of her hips, in rhythm with Joelle's sliding hand.

"Let's see how long I can drag this out," Joelle whispered, "shall we?"

Robyn shook her head, and forced an urgent, keening whine past her gag.

"No, we'll keep it nice and slow," Joelle answered.  "After all, we have all night."

Tess was roused from a troubled sleep and hauled to her feet.  She was still strapped in the "Bandolero straitjacket" and zipped, buckled, and locked in the full isolation hood; but, obviously, her ankle cuffs' connecting strap had been released from the back of the hood harness.  She stumbled along, deaf, dumb, and blind, nearly tripping on the hobble, not knowing where she was going or who was tugging on her leash.

Finally, she was forced onto what was probably a bed, and hands began releasing the buckles of her head harness.  It was pulled free, and the hood unzipped and pulled away as well.  Tess blinked in the sudden light, then gasped as her head was forced back down, the plug was plucked from her left ear, her head was turned, and the right plug was removed.  She sighed, and let her head drop to the pillow.  She lay in a half-doze as the straps of her straitjacket were released, one by one.  She opened her eyes, and found it was Mistress Frieda removing her bonds.  She was dressed in a white satin robe, and her hair was a tousled riot of raven curls.

Tess was undecided about whether to complain about the interruption of her medical bondage fantasy.  Then it occurred to her that maybe she could negotiate more time with Mistress Ninja.  "Things are ruined!" she muttered.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Frieda inquired.

"My fantasy is ruined!"

Frieda sighed.  "That can't be helped.  We'll start again."

"No!" Tess whined.  She knew Frieda wouldn't respond to anger or threats, but maybe her spoiled brat routine would work.  She pulled out all the stops, working herself into a full-blown, writhing, squirming tantrum.

Frieda would have none of it.  She grabbed a handful of Tess' hair and pinned her face-down on the bed with her knee in the naked blonde's back.  "I had an interesting conversation with your husband a few months ago," she whispered in Tess' ear.  "It was at the reception for Joelle's last one-woman show in Manhattan, remember?"

"I remember," Tess admitted, through clenched teeth.

"We were watching you, from across the gallery," Frieda continued.  "You were wearing a black Oscar de la Renta, sipping white wine, and flirting with everything in sight.  I remarked that, as always, you had a gorgeous tan.  Hubbie remarked that he'd never seen so much as a square inch of your body without a gorgeous tan."  She turned Tess onto her back and straddled her body, pinning her arms and torso against the rumpled sheets.  "I suggested that maybe I should take you back to the Lodge, lock you in a suite of cells in the lower levels, and keep you from the sun for, say, nine months, until you were pale and pink as a new-born babe."

She locked eyes with Tess and combed her fingers through her short blonde bangs.  "The regimen would include exfoliation treatments, at least three times a week, a balanced diet with mineral and vitamin supplements, daily exercise, and regular oil massages.  You'd be restrained in some manner, of course, the entire time.  We could take the occasion to discover your natural hair color by shaving your head and letting it grow back.  You should have seen the erection the very thought gave your dear husband.  What do you suppose he would say if I called him right now and suggested we do it for real."

Tess swallowed nervously.  "Please, mistress," she whispered.  "I... what do you want me to do?"

Frieda's smile became very evil.  "Well... for now, get some rest.  In a few hours, we'll resume your medical fantasy, only with a few changes."

"Changes?"

Frieda climbed off the bed, gathered Tess' former restraints, and headed for the open door.  "You'll find out," she said, and pulled the door closed behind her.  Tess heard a bolt slam and a lock turn.

She looked around.  The room had cinderblock walls and concrete floor and ceiling, all painted a depressing institutional green.  There were no windows or skylights.  The door was a steel plate studded with large rivets.  The overhead lights were recessed and covered with heavy wire grills.  A stainless steel commode was in one corner, framed by manacles and shackles on chains attached to ringbolts sunk into the walls and floor.  The bed on which she was reclined had a stainless steel frame and was made up with hospital green sheets and pillowcases.  Various tan, leather, institutional restraints and straps dangled from its frame.

Tess rolled off the bed, pattered over to the commode, and relieved herself.  The hobbles with their connecting strap were still around her ankles, and they had locking buckles.  She wouldn't have removed them on her own, anyway, not without orders.

She returned to the bed, climbed between the sheets, and closed her eyes.  Whatever Frieda had in mind, it would happen when it happened, and she could do nothing about it.  Maybe she'll let Ninja be my nurse, Tess thought, and drifted off to sleep.

It was early morning by the time Frieda returned to her bedroom.  The sun had been up about an hour and a half and it was later than when she usually awoke, this time of year.  She stood by the bed and gazed down at the cause of her change in routine.

Ninja was dozing on the bed, limbs akimbo; her long brown hair a tangled mass, half obscuring her face; the tangled sheets draped across portions of her nude, perfect form.

Frieda smiled, despite herself.  Ninja was an incredibly erotic sight.  Relaxed in sleep, her face looked even more beautiful.  Her smooth, firm, tan skin; the tone of her lithe muscles; the proportions of her physique; she defined grace, strength, and femininity.

"Morning already?" the supposedly sleeping beauty asked, and opened her eyes to smile at Frieda.

Frieda sighed.  She should have known.  No one could sneak up on Ninja while she slept.  "It's past morning, lazy bones," she answered, then walked to her walk-in closet.

Ninja stretched and combed the hair from her face with her fingers, then watched as Frieda returned, burdened with about twenty pounds of stainless steel.  She offered no resistance as manacles were snapped around her wrists, shackles around her ankles, and a collar around her throat.  All were thick and wide, closed with spring-loaded studs that snapped flush and locked, and were connected by links of heavy chain.

Frieda grabbed a handful of chain and hauled Ninja to her feet.  The restraints were in the classic serving-slave configuration: hands in front and with sufficient slack between the shackles and manacles to allow a shuffling walk and the limited use of the hands for simple tasks.  The connecting chain lifted the ankle chains off the floor but prevented Ninja from lifting her hands more than a few inches above the level of her waist while standing erect.  "Knees!" Freida growled, and pointed at the floor.

Ninja knelt on the soft carpet, and held her head still as a cage-like gag harness was locked over and around her head.  It anchored a black rubber ball in her mouth and had steel bands which ratcheted tight under her chin, over her forehead, and across the bridge of her nose.

Frieda pointed towards the door.  "To the kitchen!  Bacon, eggs, orange juice, and coffee on the deck—and make it snappy!"  She watched with an Imperious Scowl as Ninja clinked and clanked to her feet, went up on her toes (without prompting), and minced away.

Frieda watched her depart, enjoying the captive's strong back, firm buttocks, and toned legs... then walked back to the closet.  Hmm... catsuit... maybe something in latex?  Hmm...  It's going to be a strenuous day.  Better go with comfort.  She shrugged out of her robe, donned bikini panties, pulled a periwinkle blue cotton tank over her head, donned a pair of black jodhpurs, and reached for her favorite black riding boots.