by Van © 2003
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.
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
SIX MONTHS LATER
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
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
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
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
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
"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
"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
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.
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
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
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
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
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.
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
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
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.
of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE
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
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
Robyn's eyes were welling, her chin trembling. Treasure
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.
| Tales of CHATTEL
We'll revisit the Lodge again, I promise.