by Van © 2003
	PERSONNEL PROBLEM   EPILOGUE: ROBYN GETS POSTAL

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

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER
EARLY MORNING

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Robyn tapped several keys, then leaned back in her very comfortable, throne-like chair and waited for the screen to refresh.  The Warburg intranet in New York responded, and the transfer between accounts she had ordered was complete.  Thus far "Chattel Mountain Investment Project Number Seventeen" was performing very well, better than most such projects in the Warburg's vast global empire.  Robyn had heard that already various people-in-the-know were gossiping (jealously) about this new "Irish Poulenet" person and wondering when she'd move up to one of the higher management positions in New York, London, Geneva, or one of the other Warburg power centers.  The portfolios she was managing for Frieda, Joelle, and herself were also off to good starts, as were the business accounts for Frieda's "services" and Joelle's art.  "Irish" tapped a final key.  As the system shut down she stood and stretched.

None of the clothes she'd brought from New York—from her former life, when she thought she was coming to Chattel Mountain for a temporary assignment (Robyn shook her head)—were useful for her new life.  She'd ordered appropriate outfits from various internet/catalog companies, and now had jeans; cotton and wool shirts; sports bras, panties, and long johns; sweaters, a ski jacket, and an expedition parka; sneakers, hiking boots, and snowpacks; everything she needed to live year round in the Lodge and on the mountain.  At the moment she was dressed in sweatpants and a cotton sweater, both in a sage color that complemented her peachy complexion and copper-red hair.  Brown leather and nylon "trail runners" were laced on her feet.  Her red curls were captured behind her head by an olive green bandana.

The summer day had dawned clear and cold, but now was starting to warm.  Robyn peeled off her sweater, kicked off her sneakers, pulled down and removed her sweatpants, and lastly, her bikini panties.  She strolled to the balcony of her bedroom office and opened the French doors.  A hummingbird zinged away to the shelter of a nearby stand of firs, scolding Robyn for interrupting its feeding.  Robyn smiled.  The hummers emptied the large feeder she had hung outside her balcony window almost daily.  The tiny feathered dynamo would be back.

Robyn pattered along the narrow balcony to the hot tub deck built out from the master suite, Frieda's bedroom.  She retrieved a mat from the cedar storage chest near the lounge chairs, and rolled it out on the deck.  Already in good shape when she first arrived, Joelle and Frieda's exercise program was giving Robyn long, toned muscles.  In fact, she was in the best condition of her life, and as soon as the weather allowed, Robyn had begun a carefully regulated sunbathing regimen.  She'd learned early-on the power of high altitude UV rays, and limited her sun worship to a few minutes yoga followed by a few minutes of lounging.  Robyn closed her eyes and began her stretching routine, enjoying the warm sun on her ever more freckled skin.

Robyn settled into "The Cat"... held the pose for several long seconds... flowed into "The Lion"... then opened her eyes to find Joelle leaning against the deck railing and smiling.  The dusky-skinned beauty was dressed in hiking shorts, cotton tank-top, wool socks, and hiking boots.  Her black hair was pulled back and plaited in a loose braid.  Robyn smiled back.  "What are you leering at?" the naked redhead demanded.

Joelle crooked a finger.  "C'mere, Freckle Farm."  

Robyn sighed, climbed gracefully to her feet, pattered over to Joelle, and and gave her a kiss.  

"Hold still," Joelle ordered, spun Robyn around, and pulled her hands behind her back

Robyn felt thin cord loop and cinch around her crossed wrists.  "I take it the copter's comin'?" she muttered.

"You know the rules," Joelle purred, "you have to be completely helpless as long as the helicopter is on the ground.  We can't have you escaping, now can we?"  She led Robyn back to her room and sat her on the bed.  She rummaged in a drawer, then pulled a long underwear bottom up Robyn's legs and over her hips, untied her wrists, and helped her don a long sleeve top.  Robyn's new, skintight ensemble was a riot of mottled earth tones, one of the elaborate commercial camouflage patterns favored by hunters.  Joelle retied Robyn's wrists and laced on the captive's trail runners. "It's such a nice day, I thought we might take a little hike," Joelle explained as she pulled Robyn to her feet.

This is new, Robyn thought as she was hustled from her bedroom, down the stairs, and into a ground floor mud room off the kitchen.  Joelle swung a rucksack onto her back, then held the door to the outside open for her captive.

Robyn paused at the threshold.  "It's not that warm out there," she complained.

"It's not that cold, either," Joelle responded.  "You'll be okay."

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

They took a descending trail Robyn had never used before.  After about a half mile they came to a small clearing surrounded by tall pines and screened by several large boulders and clusters of ferns.  In the center was a seven-foot vertical post of weathered gray wood.  It was approximately eight inches in diameter, and was solidly set in the smooth, hard ground.  Through the branches of pines further down the slope Robyn could see the lake, and the helipad was only about fifty yards below.  She looked straight up and beheld a window of clear sky less than a yard across.

Without prompting, Robyn walked to the post, put her shoulders against the smooth wood, and stood facing the lake.

Joelle shrugged out of her rucksack, stepped behind Robyn, untied her wrists, pulled her hands behind the post, and retied them.  "Figured out the use of the post, did you?"

Robyn sighed and twisted her wrists.  "I've always had a gift for the obvious," she muttered.  The cord was tight (but not too tight), intricately hitched and interlaced, and the knots unreachable.  Robyn sighed.   Inescapable... as always.  Joelle opened her rucksack and started pulling out neatly coiled hanks of thick nylon rope.  Their woven sheaths were mottled black, rust, olive, brown, and gray; all the colors of the mountain.  Robyn gulped nervously.  "You aren't gonna use all that, are you?"

Joelle selected a coil and began binding Robyn to the post, starting by cinching her waist and pressing her spine against the wood.  "Does the term trompe l'oeil ring any bells?"

"Vaguely," Robyn mumbled.

"I've always wanted to bind someone to a post or tree," Joelle explained, "so tight they couldn't move, of course, then paint their body to exactly match the background; countershading to flatten their shadows; exactly duplicating the textures, colors, and original shadows of the background...  It would be hiding them in plain sight.  This won't be nearly as elaborate; just a simple job of camouflage."

"Oh," Robyn sighed.  Artists!  Rope tightened around her torso, arms and legs, hitched her shoulders back against the post, framed her breasts, bound her above and below the knees, and around her ankles.  By the time Joelle was finished, the squirming redhead could barely move.

"There," Joelle said, tying a final knot.  She then opened a side pouch of the rucksack and produced a hairbrush.

"Just a simple comb out, okay?" Robyn asked.

Joelle smiled, parted Robyn's curls down the middle, and began giving her a pair of braids.  A short length of rope was knotted around the base of each braid, plaited with the long, red locks, then used to tie off the ends.  Several inches of rope remained at the end of each long braid.

"I'm betting all this is not just to give me the Pippi Longstockings look." Robyn groused.

Joelle smiled, reached back into the rucksack, and produced a cotton bandana printed in woodland camouflage.  "My favorite book in the series is Pippi Longstockings and the Lesbian Slaver-Pirates," she purred, balling the bandana into a tight wad.  "How 'bout you?"

"Oh, very fun—n'mmpfh!"

"Yummy!" Joelle said, smiling sweetly as she stuffed the bandana into Robyn's mouth.  She looped the rope securing Robyn's right braid behind the post from the right, the left braid rope from the left, tied a simple hitch, pulled them back to the front from either side, hitched them again, this time between Robyn's teeth and over the bandana stuffing, then tied a tight double square knot behind the post.  Robyn was now biting down on the ends of her own crossed braids, with her head pinned against the smooth wood.  She glared at Joelle and directed several well-muffled remarks in her direction.

Joelle laughed, reached back into the rucksack, and produced a roll of duct tape.  It was printed in woodland camouflage.  She ripped several inches free from the roll and walked towards Robyn.  "Entirely too noisy," she muttered, then slapped the tape across Robyn's lips and around the post, then several more times around post and head, until Robyn's face was mummified from just under her flaring nostrils to just under her chin.

Joelle dropped the tape into the rucksack, shouldered its straps, and stood before Robyn, smiling.  "I could probably dip you in international orange latex and bind you with yellow rope and you'd still be invisible, tucked back here in the shadows and behind these branches."  She stepped forward and ran her hands over her captive's well-roped and thinly clothed torso, arms, and shoulders; then gently teased the prisoner's nipples through her top until they popped erect.  "Poor Robyn... all alone waaay out here in the wilderness... no one coming to her rescue... all alone and helpless."  She strolled to the edge of the clearing.  "I'll be back for you... after the copter leaves... after all hope of escape is gone."

Robyn heard Joelle's boots crunch on the pine needles... and then she was alone.

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

Robyn squirmed in her bonds and groped with her fingers.  She could brush several strands of the thick rope binding her to the post with her fluttering fingers, but could grasp nothing, and there wasn't a hint of any knots she could untie.  She couldn't move her head more than a tiny fraction of an inch.  She forced a plaintive sound past her gag, and doubted the muffled sound carried more than a yard or two beyond her tiny clearing.

It was still a little chilly in the shade.  Spring and early summer on the mountain seemed to be like this: hot in the direct sun; cool in the shade, if not cold.  Robyn could feel her nipples straining against the thin, smooth fabric of her top, and she shivered slightly.  She was also aware of a growing tingling and wetness between her legs.   Am I cold or horny? Robyn wondered.  Then shuddered as a thrill of pleasure coursed up her spine.   Both, I guess.

Just then she became aware she had visitors.   "Chika-dzeee-dzeee."  A flock of tiny gray, white, and black song birds began flitting through the pine boughs.

I know you! Robyn thought, smiling behind her gag at the bold, inquisitive little birds.  Frieda said you're 'Mountain Chickadees.'

The little black-capped birds explored the nearby branches.  Robyn couldn't be sure, but she thought they knew she was there... and were curious.  Look all you want, she thought.  I'm certainly not a threat.

Suddenly, the chickadees were gone... and seconds later, Robyn heard the first low frequency, rhythmic sounds of the helicopter.  She jerked and struggled, fighting her bonds and knowing it was hopeless.  She mewed through her gag.  Over here!  Help me!  They'd played this game before.  She'd played this game before.

One time, when the Lodge was still snowbound, she'd been stripped, bound hand and foot, gagged with a pair of bandanas, and left to writhe and struggle on the floor of the solarium.  She'd heard the copter approach and land... then it took off and flew directly over her glass prison, casting it's shadow directly across her helpless body as it made its departure.

Another time she'd been stripped and strapped into one of the nastier "Tranquilizing Chairs" in the lower levels.  Unable to do more than wiggle under the plethora of tight leather straps, gagged by a leather plug and a head-pinning face mask, she'd watched the copter land and depart on a small television, arranged for her "viewing pleasure."

Yet another time, she'd been straitjacketed, her legs strapped in a canvas sheath, a harness of broad leather straps used to enforce a fetal tuck, gagged with cloth and tape, and locked in a wooden trunk.  The trunk was carried down to the landing zone, and Robyn had heard the helicopter land.  Someone, possibly Tony the pilot, engaged Frieda in small talk; and then the helicopter departed.

Every time was different, every time she was reminded that she was a helpless prisoner, and every time Robyn had enjoyed the little melodrama beyond words.  Back in the present, Robyn rolled her shoulders and twisted her torso against the ropes.   The least she could have done was give me a crotch rope to work with, the helpless redhead sighed.  She twisted her thighs together... but knew it wouldn't be enough.  She'd have to wait for the next act; for whatever Joelle and/or Frieda had planned for after the helicopter was gone.

But now the helicopter was here!  It circled the lake and came in for a landing, and it was right there!   Help me!  Please!  She could see the pilot's face.  Tony's aviator shades had gold rims, his headphones and microphone were gray, and he was wearing a brown leather flight jacket.   I'm over here!  Help me!

Frieda and Joelle came into view, opened the helicopter's cargo hatch, and began unloading boxes of groceries, several large parcels with shipping labels, and a flat of flowering plants in small plastic pots.  Frieda was in boots, jeans, and a cotton blouse.  Joelle was still in the boots, shorts, and tank-top she had been wearing when she bound Robyn to the post.  Frieda exchanged a few words with Tony, he handed her a bundle of mail, then the rotors revved until the branches between Robyn and the lake began to thrash.   No!  Don't leave me!  Frieda stepped back and waved, the copter lifted into the air... and was gone.

The sound of the helicopter faded into silence... and once again Robyn was alone, alone on the mountain and the helpless prisoner of her cruel, pitiless (wonderful) captors (and lovers.)

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

Many long helpless minutes passed after the helicopter's departure.  Robyn heard a quadrunner chug up the Lake Trail towards the Lodge, the usual means by which cargo was hauled from the helipad to the storerooms (when a ponygirl and cart was unavailable.)  Rubbing her thighs together and fighting the ropes was proving highly un-productive, and she was definitely getting a chill.  Frustrated and aroused, she found herself hoping the chickadees would come back, just to provide a needed distraction—then Robyn started in her bonds.  Without warning, Frieda had stepped into view.

The raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty was still in boots, jeans, and blouse; but now Joelle's rucksack was on her back.  She smiled at Robyn and sauntered forward.  "Still my precious prisoner I see, eh Red?"  She ran her hands over Robyn's body, leaned close, and kissed her gagged mouth.  Robyn shivered in her bonds.  "I was so afraid you'd wiggle out of Joey's ropes and sneak aboard Tony's helicopter," Frieda whispered, then shrugged out of the rucksack's straps, dropped it to the ground, and began the lengthy task of untying Robyn's bonds.

Robyn snuggled her back and buttocks against the post, trying to ignore the tiny thrills of pleasure caused by Frieda's hands as they touched her here, brushed against her there, and peeled off the layers of rope binding her in place.  Eventually her bonds were reduced to her wrist cords and gag.

Frieda produced a folding knife, carefully sliced through the tape encircling Robyn's head, and peeled off the overlapping bands.  "Oh my!" she sighed, smiling at the rope and braids cleaving Robyn's lips.  "My precious Joelle...  Her inventiveness never ceases to amaze.  We're going to have to keep this."  Robyn's braids were freed from the post; crossed again behind her head; pulled back between her teeth, crossed and snugged against the bandana still filling her mouth; then tied at the nape of her neck.  Frieda then untied Robyn's wrists, pulled her away from the post, and tied her wrists again.  

"Position two," Frieda ordered, and Robyn dropped to her knees and leaned forward until her forehead touched the ground.  Frieda carefully coiled all of the rope she'd untied from Robyn's body and stowed each hank in the rucksack... all but one.  She then shouldered the pack, tied a slip-knot in the remaining length of rope, dropped a loop over Robyn's head, and snugged it around her throat.

"Up!" Frieda barked, and Robyn scrambled to her feet.  Frieda locked eyes with her captive.  "There's a surprise from the Dragon Lady waiting in your room," she purred, then half-embraced Robyn and slid her right hand against the shuddering prisoner's sex.  "Goodness... So very wet."  She continued a slow, gentle caress of Robyn's loins through the thin fabric of her underwear.  "I don't know whether to bring you off right here, like the slippery little vixen-in-heat you are... toss you in the lake to cool you down... or take you back to your room so you can play with your pretty present."  Robyn shivered and whined through her gag as Frieda continued her massage.  "You're never going to escape," Frieda whispered.  "You know that, don't you?"  Robyn shuddered and pressed her sex against Frieda's hand.  "We're going to keep you here on the mountain forever," Frieda explained, "and as we get better and better at gauging your various thresholds..."  Frieda's massage stopped and she took a step back.  "...you're going to find it very frustrating."

Robyn shivered and fought the urge to glare at her tormentor.  She'd been so close!

Frieda smiled (her most cruel, evil smile), gave her shivering prisoner's leash a jerk, and led her towards the trail back to the Lodge.  "Poor Robyn," she cooed, and started up the trail.

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

Frieda set a brisk pace back to the Lodge.  By the time they arrived at Robyn's bedroom, the captive redhead was panting; but this passed in seconds.  Gone were the days of altitude sickness when she pushed herself (or was pushed) too hard.  Robyn's heart and lungs were at home on the mountain, as, increasingly, was the rest of her.

Three parcels were on her bed, the tape formerly sealing them for shipment neatly slit.  The first was open, revealing a white uniform, still factory folded and sealed in plastic.  Robyn stepped closer, and she could see several more such packets in the box.

"Three nurse's uniforms," Frieda said, rummaging through the box, "all of them miniskirt short with narrow waists and short sleeves.  V-neck with point collars, of course, and they button all the way up the front...  Several pair of white pantyhose...  A pair of white heels, and a pair of 'sensible' oxfords, white, of course... And two of those cute little nurse's hats."  She smiled at Robyn.  "This isn't your present, just costumes for one of the recurring roles for which you'll be training.  We'll call you 'Nurse Goodbody' until we think of something better."  Frieda put her arm over Robyn's shoulders and began teasing the captive's nipples through her skintight top.  "I have a lab coat I wear for some of my more... medically inclined clients, and you can serve as my assistant... delivering sponge baths, emptying bed pans, taking temperatures... that sort of thing."  She gazed into Robyn's eyes.  "You can even be the innocent nurse captured by the escaped inmates of the asylum.  Won't that be fun?"

Frieda spun Robyn towards the bathroom door and led her away.  "You can look at the rest of your haul after a nice hot shower."  She untied Robyn's wrists, gave her a gentle shove into the tiled space beyond, and pulled the door closed.

Robyn stared at her gagged face in the mirror, kicked off her sneakers, peeled off her top, then her bottom.  She noted the damp patch at the garment's tight-fitting crotch without a trace of embarrassment.  Months earlier she would have been mortified by such evidence of her wanton arousal... but not now... not any more.  She stared at her gag again.  Gagged with my own hair, she mused.  There was something... primitive about it... something that started her juices flowing all over again.  She crossed her wrists behind her back, imagining herself bound and helpless... and forced a quiet, piteous whine past her braids and stuffing.

"I don't hear the shower!" Frieda shouted from beyond the closed door.  "If you're late for lunch, you go hungry!"  Then Robyn heard the bedroom door slam.

Robyn stared at her gag one last time, then fumbled with the knot behind her neck, unraveled the braids, pulled the wet, compacted bandana from her mouth, then attacked the knots holding the braids intact.  Finally ready, she turned on the shower and stepped under the hot stream.

Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE

PERSONNEL PROBLEM—EPILOGUE

Robyn emerged from the bathroom several minutes later.  The shower had been short (and blissful); but blow drying her hair had taken time.  She sauntered to the bed, eager to examine her "surprise from the Dragon Lady," wondering not if, but how she would enjoy it.  Was the surprise for her "Resident Slave" or her "Junior Dominatrix in Training" self?

Next to the box of nurse uniforms were two large cartons.  A third, much smaller box was on her bedside table.  It bore a post-it note in Joelle's hand that read "OPEN ME LAST."  Robyn turned back to the smallest of the boxes on the bed, opened it... and gasped.

It was a pair of boots; knee-high riding boots with slightly elevated heels and narrow straps at the tops that closed on the side with bronze buckles.  The remarkable things was their color: a deep, mottled green; and they were richly tooled, covered with stylized Celtic animals and complex knot patterns.  "Beautiful," she sighed.  They were smooth and gleaming and...  "Beautiful."

Robyn opened the remaining box... and gasped again.  It was a catsuit, the same dark green leather as the boots, and with the same intricate Celtic tooling.  Robyn lifted it from its carton... and the scent of new, expensive leather passed over her in a wave.  She held the garment close to her freckled body, and a shudder of pure pleasure coursed through her sex and up her spine.  The suit was beyond beautiful—it was primal—a talisman of great power.  Robyn opened the long zipper down the suit's front.  All of the suit's metal hardware were the same dark bronze as the boot buckles.

Robyn sat on the bed, put her feet through the suit's legs, zipped the ankle gussets closed, then pulled the suit up her legs... wiggled her hips into the seat... then shrugged into the sleeves.  She zipped the wrist gussets, then slowly pulled the main zipper up from her navel... between her breasts... and to her throat.  As she buckled the collar that hid the zipper's pull, another shudder of pleasure tickled her sex and spine.  The leather was tight and rough against her skin, and it fit her perfectly.  Its cut and especially the pattern of the tooling accentuated her long muscles and svelte physique.  The only thing left in the box was a pair of green kid gloves.  She pulled them on, snapped their wrist closures, and ran her leather-clad hands over her leather-clad torso; then sat on the bed and pulled on the boots.  They were as comfortable and perfectly sized as the gloves and suit.

This must have cost a fortune, Robyn mused as she walked back into the bathroom.  She picked up her brush and began straightening her hair.  She smiled at herself in the mirror.   Life can be funny... as in hysterical... as in certifiably insane...  Months before Robyn had been on the fast track of an international corporation, looking forward to either early burn-out or a corner office... and now she was a willing (albeit real) prisoner...   Well, semi-willing...  Robyn couldn't remember being this excited and alive—happy and frightened and safe, all at once—utterly powerless, and a member of an unbeatable team.

Robyn strolled back into the bedroom.  Only one package was left.  She walked to the night stand and opened the box.  Inside was a card atop something wrapped in tissue paper.  Robyn read the card.  Once again, it was in Joelle's hand.

YOUR NEW SUIT IS FROM CHANDLER.  WHAT'S IN THIS BOX IS FROM FRIEDA AND MYSELF.  YOU GET TO CHOOSE ONE ONLY (GREEDY VIXEN!)  YOURS UNTIL SUNRISE THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. — J

Robyn tossed the card on the bed and folded back the tissue.  Nestled in the box she found two steel collars.  Both had steel rings set in ball and socket mounts on their fronts and backs.  Each closed with a pair of keys.  Robyn recognized the model instantly, as she had worn similar collars on many occasions in the last six months.  The collars also had engraved tags dangling from their front ring mounts.  One read "Jet," and the other "Sapphire."

Robyn's eyes were welling, her chin trembling.  Treasure beyond value!  "Jet"—Joelle—with her exotic features, coffee skin, and strong, athletic body.  "Sapphire"—Frieda—with raven hair, Snow White complexion, equally strong and athletic.  Both as beautiful as angels.  And one would be her slave; to do with as she saw fit; to give her pleasure in any form; Robyn's to punish and reward...

Robyn clenched her gloved right fist, and a delicious, erotic feeling of empowerment coursed through her catsuited body.  She reached into the box—and made her choice.

THE	END
Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE	PERSONNEL PROBLEM