by Van © 2003
	PERSONNEL PROBLEM   Chapter 5: SNOW DAY

The day had dawned gray, very late, and full of blowing snow.  Robyn lay sprawled on her back in the crumpled sheets of the huge bed and watched the fat flakes fall against the bedroom's large windows.  Her only restraints were the tan leather collar padlocked around her throat and its long, thin, trailing chain padlocked to the headboard.  Nude, her copper-red curls a tousled mess, her body delightfully funky (as only a long night of extended love-making could make it)... Robyn shifted her gaze to the beamed ceiling... and smiled.  She stretched and shivered.  "I am so confused," she whispered.  Lured to the isolated middle of the godforsaken Idaho wilderness, kidnapped, tortured and abused (...well, okay, teased and abused... okay, teased and toyed with), and here I am grinning like a fool... and wondering when my kidnappers will come back... and hoping it'll be soon.  She stretched again and fingered a few links of her chain.  "Woe is me," she whispered, still smiling.

It had been a long night indeed, as Joelle had warned.  After Robyn's initial tongue lashing from Frieda (and the resulting crashing orgasm), her captors had traded places and Joelle had licked her pussy.  Robyn shivered and bit her lower lip.   'Licked my pussy'... I am such a wicked, naughty, little girl.  Yes, one licked her pussy while the other kissed her breasts, shoulders, neck, face, and mouth...  Then her captors (lovers) swapped roles again... and again... and again! ...until Robyn found herself floating in an exhausted, helpless, contented cloud of smooth, warm flesh; hot, wet tongues; and full, flushed lips... Then, at some point, Robyn found herself doing the licking and kissing and suckling... of glistening skin, dark and fair, of both her captors' (lovers') smiling faces and glistening cunnys... freed from her wrist cuffs and harness, her sole restraints her collar and chain (...and... dare she even imagine it? ...her love of her captors?)

And finally... Robyn had slept... and woken to find herself alone.  She'd roused herself enough to drag her chain into the bathroom and use the facilities, then had climbed back onto the bed and snuggled amongst the tangled, musk-scented sheets to sleep some more... and now it was morning... my second morning as a prisoner, the languid beauty realized.  Robyn was no longer frightened of her captors, certainly not of sweet Joelle, or even (much to her surprise) of Frieda.  She still wanted to regain her freedom, of course; but was betting (hoping) that that would be the business of the day.

Just then a key turned in the bedroom door, it swung open, and Joelle walked through, dressed in yet another leather catsuit.  Riding boots, leather opera gloves, and a tight corset completed the ensemble.  The skintight suit was oxblood with black trim, and all the "accessories" were reversed, black with oxblood trim.  Her dark hair (with its wonderful bronze highlights) was loose around her shoulders.  The overall effect was... shiveringly delicious.  Robyn smiled and bit her lower lip, an echoing thrill of the previous night's festivities quivered deep within her sex; then Joelle slapped her right flank with a riding crop, and the thrill shivered up her spine.   "M-morning," Robyn stammered, a blush coloring her cheeks.

"Good morning, Red," Joelle purred, stepped to the side, and slapped her flank again.

A serving cart rolled into view, and pushing the cart was Frieda.  The raven-haired beauty was nude, save for a heavily boned corset laced around her waist (the same black leather corset she had worn the previous night), and a set of chains similar to the chains Robyn and Joelle had worn yesterday.  There was no steel belt, but the manacles and shackles were broad and heavy.  The chain joining the shackles was about eighteen inches; however, the long vertical chain connecting her steel collar to the center ring of the hobble chain lifted it off the ground and limited her step to less than nine.  The manacle chain was also about eighteen inches, and as its center ring slid freely along the vertical chain, Frieda's hands enjoyed more freedom of motion; more than Robyn had been allowed by her "work clothes" chains, that was for sure.  The fair-skinned captive's nipples were squeezed by steel clamps joined by a pair of light, swinging, swaying chains that traveled up to a black rubber ball firmly clutched between Frieda's gleaming white teeth.  The ball had no strap, and Frieda seemed to be accepting its intrusion... voluntarily.  A thin line of drool trailed from the right corner of her mouth and dripped from her chin on her right breast.  Her hair was pulled straight back and clamped in a tight bun.  A jingle bell dangled from each nipple clamp, and they tinkled as she walked.  

"Close your mouth, Red," Joelle purred, and took up a position near the bed.

Robyn's jaw snapped closed.  (She hadn't even realized she'd been openly staring at Frieda's condition.)  Briefly, her fear (terror) of her captor had surfaced... but now she also felt unmistakable affection for her former captor; fellow captive; and highly skilled, generous lover of the previous night.  Most confusing of all... Robyn felt a wave of regret that Frieda wasn't in her skintight catsuit of gleaming black leather... back in charge... back in charge of Robyn.

Blushing still, Robyn directed her attention to the cart... and her stomach rumbled.  Frieda smiled around her gag and began uncovering dishes, revealing scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, ham, mixed fruit in yogurt, biscuits, and diced, pan-fried potatoes with onions.  There were also carafes of hot coffee and cold orange juice.  Robyn sat against the pillows piled at the headboard and watched, wide-eyed, as Frieda deployed a lap tray and quickly, deftly arranged a napkin and place setting, loaded a plate, and placed it before the still amazed redhead.

"T-thank you," Robyn said quietly as coffee and orange juice were added to the tray.  Frieda held up a small creamer, Robyn nodded, and a dollop of cream was poured into the coffee.  Next, she held up a cube of sugar using a tiny pair of silver tongs; but Robyn shook her head and the cube was returned to the sugar bowl.  Frieda took a step back, knelt beside the cart, interlaced her fingers behind her head, and pulled her elbows back.  This caused her full, white, cruelly clipped nipples to point and her firm, generous D-cups to (ever so slightly) bob.  Robyn's big green eyes darted from Frieda's breasts, to the plate of delicious food before her, to Joelle's grinning visage.  "Uh-is it, uh, okay if I eat?" she asked.

Joelle and Frieda locked eyes.  "She has the right instincts, anyway," Joelle purred, speaking to Frieda.

Robyn was confused.  "Huh?"

Joelle leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.  "Of course you can eat, Sweetness," she said.  "Enjoy!"

"You guys ate already?" Robyn asked, reaching for a fork.

"I did, anyway," Joelle answered, smiling sweetly at Frieda (who glared above her gag at her catsuited friend.)  "You start eating... and we can talk."

Robyn loaded her fork with eggs.  "Talk about what?"  She paused, the eggs halfway to her mouth.  "Oh..." she whispered.  "You mean... talk.  Talk about me."

Joelle nodded, stepped to the cart, and poured herself a cup of coffee.  She took a sip, turned, and nodded.  "Uh-huh."

Robyn chewed and swallowed a small (delicious) sausage, then took a sip of orange juice.  "Uh... I guess I might as well ask the big question," she mumbled.  "Are, uh, I mean when are you gonna let me go?"

Joelle smiled sadly and combed a few errant red curls from Robyn's brow.  "We've been on the phone all morning, talking to some of our contacts at Warburg HQ in New York," she explained.  "The seventeen million you supposedly stole is already so well laundered it can't be, shall we say, un-laundered without the Feds getting wind.  The prosecution of the actual thief, Conrad Lacey, complicates things ten fold.  NYPD Forensic Accountants are already pouring over all the records, paper and electronic.  Your apparent role in Lacey's crime and supposed flight with most of the embezzled funds... well... which metaphor do you prefer: ...a bell that can't be un-rung? ...a house of cards that can't withstand 'renovation'?"

Robyn stared at her plate.  "I... I can't go back."  It was a statement, not a question.

Joelle leaned closer and kissed Robyn's forehead.  "I'm afraid not, Sweetness.  The Manhattan DA will indict you immediately; and given the choice between letting you be the scapegoat or letting them go after half the corporate leadership; who do you think the Warburgs will throw to the dogs?"

Robyn's eyes welled.  "I... I didn't...  This is so unfair."

Joelle kissed Robyn's lips.  "I know, I know, but there is hope... of sorts.  Frieda has an idea."  Both heads swiveled to the gagged, kneeling, black-haired beauty.  Joelle smiled and Robyn found herself staring with wide eyes (again).  Tall and graceful in her leather skin, Joelle strolled over to stand beside the glaring Frieda.  "Well..." the dark-skinned amazon purred, "are you going to join the conversation or not?"

Frieda growled something unintelligible (and no doubt very rude) around her gag, and stared straight ahead.

"Chicken!" Joelle teased, patting Frieda lightly on her head.  "I suppose I should explain," Joelle said to Robyn, then leaned down to smile at Frieda.  "The ball in Bitchie-poo's mouth is actually a steel sphere dipped in latex."  She flicked each of Frieda's nipple clamps with her right index finger, causing their jingle bells to tinkle and the fine chains trailing up to the gag to sway.  "I forget how many ounces it weighs, but it causes these clamps to deliver quite a sting after an eighteen inch drop."  She patted Frieda's head again.  "Of course, it's quite tiring to simply hold the sphere in your mouth, isn't it darling?"  Frieda snorted in disgust and continued glaring.  Joelle reached behind Frieda's head, grabbed the prisoner's crossed thumbs, and held them tight.  "It's up to you, Red," Joelle said quietly.  "Say the word and I'll order her to drop the ball."

Robyn and Frieda locked eyes.

"If she refuses," Joelle continued, "I'll tickle her until she drops it anyway... then punish her for disobedience."

Seconds passed as Robyn continued staring at her helpless captor, delivered to her for some small measure of retribution.  Finally... she licked her lips and spoke.  "Don't hurt her."

Joelle smiled (but maintained her hold on Frieda's thumbs.)  "Oh, Red Robyn... you sweet thing.  Why not?"

"It's not right," Robyn said, then took a sip of coffee.  "I... I don't mean hurting her isn't right... I mean hurting her isn't right.  She... she isn't one who...  Don't hurt her."

"Sweet thing," Joelle repeated, tightened her grasp on Frieda's thumbs, and reached for the right nipple clip.  She kissed Frieda's cheek and whispered in her ear (loud enough for Robyn to hear), "brace yourself, darling..." and she released the clip.

Frieda blinked, shuddered, and whined through the ball in her mouth, then glared at Joelle.

"An important thing to know about nipple clamps," Joelle told Robyn, an evil smile on her angelic face, "is that they hurt worse coming off... then going on."  Her head swiveled to smile at the still glaring Frieda.  "Isn't that right, darling?"

Frieda forced a gagged tirade past her gag, all of it totally unintelligible and directed at Joelle—which turned into an immediate whine when Joelle released the second clamp without warning.  Frieda's pale blue eyes actually crossed, then she shuddered, blinked, and resumed her angry, gagged lecture.

The business end of Joelle's crop swished into view and lightly tapped Frieda's right nipple.  "Quiet, slave," she hissed.  "I'm not done with you yet."  Frieda was instantly silent.  (Robyn gasped... then took a gulp of orange juice.)  Her smile returned, Joelle let the crop dangle from her wrist, reached down, and plucked the ball from Frieda's mouth.  From the way it was extracted, Robyn could tell it was indeed quite heavy, an impression confirmed when Joelle dropped the black, glistening sphere to the floor.  It landed with an authoritative thud on the thick carpet and rolled a few inches, carrying the tinkling, jingling clamps and chains with it.

Frieda licked her lips (favoring her aching jaw) and growled, "Just you wait, you—ah!"

Instantly the crop was back in Joelle's hand.  She tightened her grip on Frieda's thumbs until the kneeling captive gasped, and gave the prisoner's left nipple a decidedly un-gentle snap with the crop.  "What did I tell you were to be the first words out of your mouth when I removed your gag?"

Frieda's eyes darted to Robyn (who involuntarily flinched), then glared at Joelle (who continued to smile), then returned to Robyn.  "I... I apologize again for being so mean to you," she said softly, "before... before we—"

"It's okay," Robyn interrupted, then her eyes locked with Joelle.  "Don't hurt her, please?"

Joelle let the crop dangle again, then locked eyes with Frieda.  "I like her," the dusky beauty purred.  "Can we keep her?"

Frieda smiled back at her catsuited companion.  "We have to keep her, remember?"  Her gaze shifted to Robyn.  "We have to keep you."

Robyn's sad green eyes stared at Frieda, then at Joelle, and finally focused on the snow still falling beyond the bedroom windows.  "There has to be a way," she said quietly.

"I think there is a way," Frieda responded.  "We can't let you go, the Warburgs can't let you go... but what if we make it a career change, rather than imprisonment?"

Robyn blinked in surprise.  "Huh?"

"Wait," Joelle said, pulled the wrist strap free and tossed the crop on the bed.  She then began fumbling with the chains at Frieda's collar.  "Let's get more comfortable, shall we?"

"It's about time," Frieda muttered.

Joelle's smile turned decidedly evil as she continued unlocking and resecuring various clips and rings of Frieda's restraints.  "By 'we' I was referring to Red and myself," she purred.  "I'm not done punishing you, Ice Queen."  Joelle lifted her gaze to Robyn.  "And as for you, Red... finish your breakfast."

By the time Robyn's plate was cleared (including seconds on the eggs), Frieda's bonds had become substantially more stringent.  Her position was unchanged, but now it would remain so.  Her manacles were locked to the back of her collar and thumb cuffs held her thumbs together like tiny steel stocks.  Her shackles were locked together, enforcing her splayed knees, ankles crossed, kneeling pose.  The vertical connecting chain had been doubled and reversed, and now it ran from the back of Frieda's collar, took a tight turn around her corseted waist, and was locked to her shackles.  In essence, Frieda was in a kneeling hog-tie.  If she fell, she might roll on her side, or her stomach, or her back (with difficulty), but her basic pose would be unchanged, enforced by implacable, inescapable, stainless steel.

Joelle lifted Robyn's tray from the bed and set it aside, then returned to the bed.  "Scoot," she ordered, gesturing for Robyn to move aside.  She then climbed on the bed, leaned back against the pillows, and pulled Robyn close.  The nude, pale, red-haired captive snuggled against Joelle's leather-clad form, arranging her tethering chain so it draped to the far side.  "Kiss," Joelle whispered, and their lips touched.  Crossing her booted feet for comfort, Joelle shifted her attention to Frieda.  "You were saying?"

Frieda cleared her throat.  "Here's the plan," she said, her eyes on Robyn.  "You were lured out here by a temporary assignment.  Well... consider the assignment a relocation.  We give you a room—"

"Your choice of the luxury guest rooms," Joelle interrupted.

Frieda nodded, and continued.  "You get internet/intranet access, so you can do your job—"

"My job?" Robyn asked... then bit her lip when she realized she'd interrupted.  (Interrupting the "Ice Queen" was okay for Joelle, but somehow not for Robyn.)

Frieda cleared her throat again, and continued.  "I have something of a business going here.  The Dragon Lady and her friends travel out here now and then to play slave girl.  Free room and board for me, a substantial expense account, rather unique fringe benefits, and substantial gratuities from the 'slave girls', which I invest."

"Which you try and invest," Joelle teased.  "On my part... I'm an artist."

Frieda smiled.  "A highly successful artist."

Joelle smiled back, and continued.  "Oils, mostly.  Some mixed media.  I have a gallery that handles my work.  The statements they send me are impressive... but I confess I don't have much of a head for business."

"You, on the other hand," Frieda said, "have an MBA from Harvard Business School.  "You could be my business manager—"

"And investment counselor," Joelle interrupted, again.

Frieda scowled and squirmed in her chains.  "It's not like I'm broke," she mumbled.

"Not from lack of trying," Joelle responded, then shifted position to drape one gloved and leather-clad arm across Robyn's shoulders.

Frieda's eyes flashed.  "Any-way...  You handle the business end of things—my accounts, the Lodge, Joe's money relations with her gallery; and in return, we keep you safe and warm."

Joelle kissed Robyn's forehead and they snuggled.  "By making a show of your captivity, especially when Dragon Lady's here to witness, we keep the Warburgs happy."

"I'll still be a prisoner," Robyn whispered.

"Think of it as hiding in plain sight," Joelle said, patting Robyn's tummy.  "It'll be nothing like the first day.  Chandler Warburg wants you out of the way...  What could be more out of the way than Chattel Mountain Lodge?  Frieda and I will make sure you don't go anywhere... not for a long while, anyway.  Eventually, there may be shopping trips, business trips..."

"Emphasis on 'eventually'," Frieda added.  "And there's one more account you'll be managing... your own."

Robyn blinked in surprise, her arms around Joelle's corseted waist, her head resting on her leather-covered breast.  "My own?"

"Dragon Lady has confiscated all your worldly possessions," Frieda continued.  "I'm pretty sure I can persuade her to un-confiscate them."

"I'm pretty sure you can too," Joelle purred, smiling coyly.

"We'll see that your salary continues," Frieda said, "possibly with a raise... and as all your living expenses will be taken care of..."

Joelle held Robyn close and kissed her cheek, then began combing the nude captive's red curls with one gloved hand.  "A strange situation," she said quietly.  "A lot to think about... but nothing to decide."  Robyn snuggled against her breasts and the dark-skinned beauty stared out the window, watching the white flakes continue to fall.  "Just what snow days are for... thinking."

"Dragon Lady can't possibly get here until noon tomorrow," Frieda said, "not with this storm."

"Chandler Warburg is coming here?" Robyn whispered.

Joelle kissed Robyn, then gently extricated herself from the nude captive's embrace and stood.  "Nothing for you to worry about, Sweet Thing," Joelle purred, then smiled down at Frieda.  "I'm going to do some chores; and in the meanwhile, do me a favor and see that the Ice Queen here gets fed, would you please?"

Robyn stared at Frieda, her green eyes wide, then shifted her gaze to Joelle, and nodded.

Joelle strolled over to Frieda's side and placed her gloved right hand atop the closely chained captive's head.  "There's clean plates on the bottom shelf of the cart; also a nice doggie dish..."  She leaned down to grin in Frieda's face.  "...if you decide to go that way."  Frieda favored her catsuited friend with a decidedly unfriendly scowl.  Joelle continued.  "I'm declaring a Snow Day; no school, no work, no hideous tortures."  She patted Frieda's head (in an infuriatingly condescending manner) and sauntered towards the door.  "You kids play nice, okay?"

The bedroom door closed and locked... and Robyn and Frieda's heads swiveled and their eyes locked.  Robyn smiled... rather shyly.  "When did you eat last?" the redhead asked.

"Lunch," Frieda mumbled, "yesterday."

Robyn climbed off the bed (controlling her chain with her left hand) and stooped to examine the contents of the cart's bottom shelf.  Sure enough, there was a large ceramic 'doggie dish' atop a stack of dinner plates.  She paused for several seconds... then lifted the dish and extracted a plate.  She stood; loaded it with eggs, sausages, bacon, and potatoes; found a clean fork; and sat cross-legged on the carpet directly before the kneeling Frieda.  She loaded the fork with eggs, and shoveled it into Frieda's mouth.

Frieda chewed and swallowed.  "Thank you," she muttered, and accepted a sausage.

Robyn smiled and continued feeding her charge.  After three more forkloads, she set the plate on the floor, stood, and filled a glass with orange juice.  She then sat back down, gave Frieda a drink, then resumed her feeding duties.  Eventually... the plate was empty.  "More?"

Frieda shook her head and swallowed the last bite.  "Maybe some of that fruit and yogurt stuff... a little later.  Right now, I want to tell you how things work around here."

Robyn sat back and settled into a semi-lotus, idly fingering her chain with her left hand.  "Okay."

 "I'm in charge," Frieda announced, a stern expression on her angelic face.  "What I say—goes.  Joelle's number two, and you, whenever we decide to let you settle into a role around here, you'll be number three, and—What are you laughing at?"

Robyn hid her mouth with her right hand.  "I'm not laughing."  Frieda continued glaring.  "I'm not!" Robyn continued.  "Giggling a little, maybe—"

Frieda squirmed in her steel bonds and growled an inarticulate warning.

Instantly (if incompletely) contrite, Robyn cleared her throat.  "Sorry... you were saying?"

"I'm in charge."  She squirmed in her bonds again... and sighed.  "...inexplicably complex and personal things that happen between Joey and myself not withstanding."

Robyn smiled and moved closer to Frieda, close enough to reach out and run her right hand along the chain cinched around the prisoner's corseted waist.  "I think I've got it.  You're Number One... Top Dog... Dominatrix Supreme... 'She who must be obeyed'...  Wicked Witch of the Lodge...  I've got it."  She squirmed closer and slightly to the side... and let her right hand trace the top Frieda's corset.  "Joelle's Number Two... And Poor Little Robyn...?"  She used both hands to cup Frieda's breasts.  "Poor Little Robyn's the bottom of the heap."

Frieda squirmed, then shuddered in her bonds as Robyn gently teased her increasingly erect nipples.  "Stop that!" she snapped.   "Hey!"

Robyn had eased Frieda onto her back.  She lifted her left leg and settled her weight on Frieda's corset, snuggling her thighs and sex against the cold chain.  She continued teasing "Number One's" nipples.  "I'm sorry... did you say something?"

Frieda's eyes flashed.  "I said stop it!"

Robyn's smile broadened.  "You're ticklish?" she gasped.  "What a curious thing to say... considering the circumstances."  She let her fingers wander up to Frieda's deliciously exposed armpits.  "Let's see how ticklish."

"Look you," Frieda growled, "if you know what's good for yoUUU—NOOO—EEEEH!!!"

Robyn stopped dragging her nails across Frieda's quivering flesh and leaned close, until her face was inches from her helpless victim.  "I think we can safely classify you as very ticklish."  She leaned closer and kissed Frieda's lips.  "Now... what to do... tickle you senseless, take a nap, then tickle you some more?"  She kissed Frieda again, only this time she let her tongue slide into the squirming prisoner's mouth.  Seconds passed, then Frieda returned the kiss in kind.   More seconds passed, then Robyn lifted free with a final lip smack.  "...or," she continued, "I can let you apologize to me a few more times."  She let her right hand wander down and cup Frieda's sex.  "My-oh-my... nice and wet," she purred, then kissed her fellow captive again.  "I may apologize a little myself."  She locked eyes with Frieda.  "Well... what's it gonna be, Number One?  Seeing how you're in charge and all... I'll let you decide."

Frieda wiggled under Robyn's weight and tugged on her inescapable bonds.  There was genuine surprise in her expression.  "You know..." she whispered, "since you're not going anywhere... not right away, anyway... how'd you like another job?"

"In addition to managing the finances of everyone on the mountain?" Robyn purred, and kissed Frieda again.

"I assumed 'Number Three' would make you 'Resident Slave'," Frieda said, smiling seductively.  "I sense a natural aptitude, ripe for training.  How'd you like 'Number Three' to mean 'Junior Dominatrix in Training'?"

"I'd get to paddle fabulously wealthy naked heinies?"

"Not right away," Frieda said.  "We all need to get to know each other better."

"I think we know each other pretty darn well right now," Robyn observed, lifting her weight and moving forward, until her red bush and glistening sex were less than an inch from Frieda's smiling lips.  "Show me you're sorry," she purred.

"That's 'show me you're sorry', Mistress!" Frieda purred, then lifted her head and gave Robyn's labia a slow lick.

Robyn closed her eyes, shuddered, clasped her hands behind her neck, and let her weight settle, just a little, on Frieda's mouth.   "Mistress!" she whispered, and shuddered again as Frieda's lips and tongue began to move.

Joelle watched the enthusiastic "apologizing" happening on the bedroom floor for most of an hour. The quality of the image on the security monitor wasn't great, nor was the sound, but she'd been able to follow the action and eavesdrop on all that had been said.  After about ten minutes, Frieda's initial solo effort had given way to mutual love-making when Robyn lifted her hips, shifted her position one hundred eighty degrees, settled her weight atop Frieda's prone form, and began licking her fellow captive's sex.  "And the score is... Frieda and Robyn—sixty nine," the catsuited watcher purred, "Joelle—zero."  She tossed her cattle prod on the desk.  She'd been ready to rush to Frieda's rescue, if they'd misread Robyn's attitude (and character)... but obviously rescue wasn't going to be necessary.  She stared at Robyn's naked back and dimpled rump.  What did we do to deserve you, Red? Joelle wondered, continuing to stare at the monitor.   How'd we get so lucky?  

Joelle finally stood, switched off the monitor, and began loosening the straps and laces of her corset.  Laundry...  plan some menus and check the freezer and pantry... polish some leather...  The catsuited beauty stretched... and sighed.  Let Frieda go... later, which means I'm probably gonna spend the next who-knows-how-long tied up and/or in chains and/or gagged and/or strapped to something hard and uncomfortable...  How'd I get so lucky?