Robyn smiled, sampled the fruit, then climbed into bed... and slept.

And now it was morning...  Robyn felt rested, unafraid, even a little excited (in more than one sense of the word), almost like she was starting a new job... and wasn't simply a naked, helpless prisoner, chained by the neck and at the mercy of two women I hardly know... except in complete carnal detail, of course.

The sun was peeking through the clouds and suddenly the snow was blindingly white.  Shafts of light pierced the gloom between the trees, and the snow on the branches glittered like countless diamonds.

Just then the key rattled in the bedroom door.  Robyn grabbed her chain, rushed to the middle of the room, knelt in "Position One," and dropped her gaze to the carpet.  And the adventure continues.

Nude but for her collar, her wrists crossed and bound behind her back with a yard of cotton rope,  Robyn had been led from the bedroom to the kitchen and hand fed a bowl of oatmeal and cream by Joelle.  Frieda was nowhere to be seen, and Joelle was dressed in the same salmon pink sweats from yesterday.

Breakfast over, Robyn was led down two flights of stairs, down a winding corridor, and into the Lodge stables.  They looked like stables, anyway.  The high windows were the same triple pane style as the rest of the Lodge, and the huge, barn-style, outer door was solid and well-sealed against the weather; but the complex was substantially colder than either the main Lodge or the "sanitarium" levels. Curiously, there was no sign (or smell) of horses.  They passed a row of stalls, small enclosures with tall, narrow, sliding doors.  The bottom two thirds of the doors and separating walls were thick, solid planks, and the upper thirds closely spaced iron bars.  The door to the last stall was open, and Robyn beheld a clean, smooth, concrete floor, and tucked in one corner was a stainless steel commode.  Numerous pad eyes and ring bolts festooned the stalls, and chains dangled from ceiling mounts.

Oh... Robyn realized, a people stable.  She was led past the stall and into a large room with several neat racks of leather and steel tack, and a row of large steel lockers.  A chain was snapped to the front ring of Robyn's collar, a second chain to the back ring, then Joelle walked to the wall, shortened the second chain's length, and Robyn found herself tethered in the middle of the room between two taut, horizontal chains.

Joelle smiled at her pink, shivering captive.  "Brisk this morning," she purred, "don't you agree?"

Both their breaths hung in the frigid air in vanishing clouds.  "It's like a freakin' meat locker in here," Robyn complained, her teeth chattering.

"Big baby!" Joelle teased.  "You'll get used to the cold up here, believe me."  She opened one of the lockers and pulled a long garment off a hanger.  "We don't use these stables much in Winter, but Summer is another matter.  Here, let's get you dressed."  The garment was a one-piece set of thermal underwear, in military brown.  Robyn noticed stirrup openings in the ends of the legs, but the sleeves ended in closed mitts.  She lifted her right foot, then her left, and let Joelle slide the suit up her legs.  The instep stirrups left her heels, balls of her feet, and toes exposed; but loops of the stretchy fabric captured her big toes for added security.  Joelle continued tugging and the tight sheath slid up to her thighs, over her hips, and up to her waist.  It was thicker than a leotard, but still thin.  It was also crotchless!  A neat, teardrop-shaped window left Robyn's sex, pubic bush, and half her butt-crack fully exposed.

Robyn's wrists were untied, and Joelle helped her snug her hands into the ends of the sleeves.  She stood still as her "Handler" smoothed the upper garment, settled the shoulders, and zipped the neck closed in the back.  The suit was skin tight, and there were tiny windows in the chest region, over Robyn's breasts.  Joelle made sure Robyn's nipples peeked through the button-sized openings.  "Better than nothing, I guess," Robyn groused, still shivering.

"This is only the first layer," Joelle explained, returning from the locker with a second one-piece garment.  It was military brown, like the first, but was considerably thicker.  It was entirely lined with fleecy, synthetic pile, and had ankle and wrist cuffs (elastic cloth, not the restraint kind.)  There were also a cutout at the crotch, and coin sized cutouts over each nipple.

"A little warmer," Robyn conceded.  "Got any socks?  This floor is freezing."

Joelle smiled, zipped the second layer closed, and returned to the locker.  "Hold on, Princess," she said.  "We're nearly there."  The third layer was thin, similar to the first, but not quite as stretchy.  It was hunter green.  Joelle took her time pulling it over Robyn's cooperative form.  "This layer's a windbreak," she explained as she made the final adjustments.  "Gortex."  She zipped the zippers at each ankle and wrist and the final zipper at Robyn's throat.  

Robyn held her arms straight out and scowled down at her costume.  But for her nipples, crotch, feet, and head, she was now completely covered in three tight layers, with a quarter inch of pile trapping air next to her skin.  She had to admit she was warm (but not toasty.)  "I didn't know Notre Dame even had a speed skating team," she muttered.

Joelle laughed.  "Good one, Red."  She returned from the locker with a thick pair of wool socks and a pair of boots; big, loooong boots.

"Holy crap!" Robyn gasped, staring at the boots in question.  They were gleaming brown leather; thigh boots that laced up the front.  They had medium heels and broad soles, yet the overall design was surprisingly elegant, as if Gucci had made a line of waffle-stomper snow boots for runway models.  Joelle slid the socks over Robyn's feet, then helped her step into the boots themselves.  The lacing took a very long time.  The number of eyelets seemed endless.  Finally, a bow was tied at each top, overhand knots tied in the doubled laces for insurance, the ends tucked under velcroed tabs, and broad straps buckled over the bows and boot tops.  "Holy crap!" Robyn repeated, this time in a whisper.

"How do they feel?" Joelle asked.

Robyn took a few tentative steps in place.  "Uh... stiff... heavy... but okay."

Joelle nodded, then returned to the locker and produced... something... a stiff tube of brown leather.  It matched the boots in color and grain.  Then Joelle shook out the dangling straps (there were a lot of dangling straps), and Robyn recognized it for what it was: a corset!

"Holy—"

"I know," Joelle laughed, "'divine doo-doo.'  Hold still."  Robyn lifted her arms and Joelle wrapped the corset around the wide-eyed redhead's narrow waist, a waist made even narrower when the corset was laced and its lace panel secured with a dozen tiny buckles.

"I can't breath!" Robyn complained.

"Liar!" Joelle responded, with a good-natured chuckle.  "Wait 'til Summer, when you wear all this tackle with nothing underneath.   Then I'll lace this thing 'til the back panels overlap completely and the eyelets actually meet."

Robyn stared at Joelle, speechless.

Joelle laughed and kissed the redhead's lips.  "Don't worry.  You'll be used to corsets by then... promise."

Robyn continued to stare.  "That's supposed to reassure me?" she muttered.

Joelle returned from the locker with a pair of long leather sleeves and a harness of dangling straps.  "We'll start with your right arm," she announced.  The sleeves were like fingerless opera gloves.  Laces at the wrist and upper arm made for a snug fit, and with the addition of the harness that draped across her shoulders and buckled to the top of the corset, Robyn soon found her arms folded behind her back and tightly buckled to the corset and harness in broad, stiff cuffs at the wrists and upper arms.  Rings at the tips of the mitts were buckled to the sides of the corset, and a leather flap with five buckles was secured over her forearms.  "There," Joelle muttered, took a step back, and returned to the locker.

Robyn stutter-stepped in place and gave her upper body a tentative twist and shake.  The boots were stiff, but not overly restrictive.  The corset, sleeves, and harness were another matter.  Robyn's arms might as well be welded to her body.

Joelle appeared behind Robyn with a hood.  It was of the same green material as the outer suit.  "Hold still," she instructed and gathered Robyn's red locks, passed them through a generous hole in the back; then carefully, gently pulled the hood over Robyn's head.  The main opening framed the redhead's face in a neat oval.  Joelle tucked the hood's neck under Robyn's steel collar, unzipped the neck of the green suit, tucked the margin of the hood underneath, and zipped the suit closed.  "One last thing," Joelle said, and returned from the locker with a harness of thin leather straps.

Robyn stamped one booted foot and sighed.  "Is that a bit?" she whined in complaint.

"Part of it is," Joelle said.  She found an inch thick rod of hard rubber and held it up for Robyn's inspection.   "This part.  The remaining straps are, I believe, called the 'headstall', and together they comprise a 'bridle.'  And that's about the limit of my equestrian lexicon."  Robyn let her place the bit between her teeth, but was obviously less than thrilled.  "Good girl," she purred as she adjusted the many small buckles of the headstall.  With a final tug she seated the bit well back in Robyn's grimacing (pouting) mouth, and secured the final buckle.  "There.  Such a good girl," Joelle said, then cupped Robyn's sex with her left hand.  "Such a wet girl."

Suddenly a familiar, authoritative voice sounded from the main stable.  "Stop playing with the livestock!"

Robyn and Joelle found Frieda standing in the doorway, and both stared in wide-eyed amazement at the sight.

Frieda was in another catsuit, but this one was an interlaced mesh of black leather straps.  Its countless narrow, glistening bands hugged her perfect body like a second skin, slithering over and around every curve.  Countless peeks of Frieda's pale white skin were afforded by the loose weave of the design.  A black leather bra covered and supported her breasts, a corset compressed her naturally narrow waist, and the triangular shield of a leather bikini bottom covered her sex.  A black riding crop dangled from her right wrist.  Black riding boots, gloves, and a leather collar with a score of short, sharp, chrome spikes completed the ensemble.  Her raven hair was loose about her shoulders.

As she stepped into the room, a subtle, whisper-soft chorus of creaks and groans heralded her every movement, as the myriad straps of the catsuit slid across one another.  The leather goddess extended her right hand and took Joelle by the chin, then leaned forward and gave her a long, deep kiss.

Robyn stared at Frieda's leather-clad form.  As her muscles flexed and moved, the countless tiny diamonds of exposed flesh were gently squeezed by the interlaced straps, then released, then squeezed again.   She's so beautiful, the helpless redhead mused, squirming in her own tight, common, utilitarian leather restraints.  I'm the leather's prisoner... but she... she's tamed it.  She's no one and nothing's prisoner.

The kiss ended and Frieda released Joelle's chin.  "Go get ready," Frieda purred.  "We have a schedule to keep."  Joelle scampered away, towards the lockers, and Frieda directed her full attention to Robyn.

Instantly, Robyn's gaze dropped to the floor, to Frieda's boots.  Was I fast enough? she wondered.  Did I please her?  A gloved hand lifted her chin, and blue eyes gazed into green for several long seconds.

"Good girl," Frieda whispered (sending a thrill of pleasure through Robyn's sex and up her spine.)  Frieda favored the captive redhead with a knowing smile, then pulled her wrist free of the riding crop's strap, took a step back, and dropped it to the floor.  "Your eyes are not to leave it," she instructed, pointing at the long, thin, elegant shaft with its braided handle and leaf-shaped tip.  She then stepped away, towards Joelle and the lockers.

Minutes passed.  Robyn's eyes remained on the crop, but she could hear the incidental sounds of zippers zipping, buckles being secured, and quiet conversation coming from the direction of the lockers.  Finally, two pairs of boots tapped across the concrete and joined her around the crop: Frieda's black riding boots, and a second pair of brown thigh boots, identical to the pair laced on Robyn's own legs.

Frieda reached down and retrieved the crop.  "You may look, Red," she purred.

Robyn raised her eyes... and beheld Joelle... in matching boots, corset, harness, arm-binders, and bit-harness; however, her body suit was not green.  It was the color of... Joelle!  The tight, silky fabric was dyed to match the exact hue of the "Assistant Dominatrix'" skin tone, and the illusion of nudity was enhanced by what appeared to be subtly airbrushed shadows and highlights to match Joelle's underlying musculature and curves.  In addition, a stiff, neatly trimmed crest of black hair was atop her head and it matched and was blended into Joelle's natural hair with flawless perfection.

Joelle's boots and restraints were identical to Robyn's; however, her bit was dangling from the side of her headstall and was not in her mouth.  She also had a steel collar around her throat, but in addition to a steel ring, an engraved tag dangled from the front.  Robyn leaned close and read the single word: "Jet."

"Isn't she pretty, Red?" Frieda asked, running the tip of her crop along Joelle's flank.  "I'm sorry we don't have a skin suit that matches your complexion.  The racing green will have to do until I can place an order."

"She thinks it makes her look like a Notre Dame speed skater," Joelle said, a coy smile curling her lips.

Frieda laughed.  "Yesss.  I think we should match Red's skin as closely as possible, only give her a generous counter shading of freckles."

Joelle nodded.  "Hmm... how about giant freckles dappling her flanks, like a Celtic appaloosa?"

"Oh, perfect!" Frieda whispered, and smiled at her dark-skinned friend.  "That's why you're the artist."  She turned back to Robyn and her smile broadened.  "I've got it!"  She took a step forward and hooked Robyn's collar ring with her left index finger, pulled the wide-eyed redhead close, and kissed her bit-gagged mouth.  "Your ponygirl name is 'Irish.'  I'll have a tag made for you right away."

"'Irish'..." Joelle whispered, and nodded.

"I'm glad you approve," Frieda purred, then stepped behind Joelle, seated the bit in her grimacing mouth, and tightened its strap with a savage jerk.  "Time to complete your costumes."

Robyn watched as Frieda stepped to the racks of leather... things near the lockers.  'Irish', she mused.  'Irish'...  I like it, then her eyes popped wide as Frieda returned.  In her gloved hands was a leather thong bikini bottom, a triangular front piece with buckling straps for the hips and butt-crack.  The disturbing feature was a pair of black rubber... protuberances.  Their purpose was unmistakable.  They were a dildo... and a butt plug!  They didn't look especially thick or overly long (granted, Robyn's experience with such things bordered on the nonexistent), but she knew for sure— she wasn't interested!

"Easy," Frieda said to Robyn, then locked eyes with Joelle.  "This isn't for you, Irish."  Frieda smiled (and Joelle smiled back, around her gag.)  "So... do I have to find a tube of K-Y," she said, "or are you as wet as you usually are in such circumstances?"  Robyn stared as Frieda slid the butt-plug into Joelle's sex.  It came out glistening and well-coated with Joelle's musk.  She then slid the plug into Joelle's anus, the dildo into her sex, and buckled the hip and thong straps to the bottom of her corset.  Robyn continued staring as Joelle shuddered and stutter-stepped in place.  Meanwhile, Frieda stepped to the lockers and returned with a leather bra.  Joelle's suit had nipple openings, like Robyn's, and Robyn stared with renewed horror as what appeared to be alligator clamps mounted inside of the bra cups were closed over Joelle's nipples, and the cups buckled to the corset and arm-binding harness.  Silver bells dangled from the points of the cups and they jingled as Joelle bit down on her gag and shuddered once again.

Frieda returned from the racks with a second leather bottom.  The way it was held, Robyn couldn't see any interior details, but fearing the worst, she took two involuntary steps backwards, and was checked by the chains clipped to her collar.  She whined through her gag, waiting for the wrath of her mistress to descend.  She stared at the front panel of the bottom, then lifted her eyes.  To Robyn's infinite surprise... Frieda was smiling.

"Mistress may take you to places you don't want to go," Frieda whispered, " but never to places you aren't yet ready to go."  She turned the shield over and Robyn beheld a layer of thick fleece; but no dildo, and no butt plug.  Frieda knelt before her green pony.  "I want you to stand with your legs apart," she ordered.  "Wider.  Good girl.  Now..."  She produced two long, thick, black, rubber bands, and began making very intimate adjustments between Robyn's legs.  "Steady!"

Robyn shuddered, but resisted the urge to try and move away.  Frieda had snapped the bands over tiny hooks in the back of the corset, pulled them through Robyn's crack, gently stretched her labia to either side, and used the bands to hold the pink, glistening folds of flesh open and exposed.  The ends of the bands snapped over hooks on the front of the corset.  Robyn continued shivering, but not from the cold.

"Such a brave pony," Frieda cooed and gave Robyn's pinioned sex a gentle caress with the smooth leather of her right palm.  Robyn bit down on her gag and an involuntary whine escaped her grimacing lips.  Then Frieda slid the fleece lined bikini bottom through Robyn's crotch, and the whine became a piteous squeal.  "Yesss," Frieda whispered as she buckled the bottom in place.  "The trick is to make things juuuuust loose enough, so that when you move, it moves.  It feels good, doesn't it, Irish?"

Robyn squirmed in her bonds and stamped her feet, reeling at the teasing, titillating, tickling sensations delivered by the friction of the soft, stiff lining.  Meanwhile, Frieda had made a trip to the lockers and returned with a leather bra.  At the sight, Robyn's heart began pounding and she stared in dread at the pointing cups with their mocking, tinkling bells.  Then Frieda reversed the bra, and Robyn saw it was lined with more of the soft fleece, and had no clamps.

Frieda draped the bra over one of Robyn's neck chains, and held up a pair of tiny metal rings.  "Irish, I need you to hold perfectly still, for Mistress.  Can you do that?"  Robyn nodded, Frieda pocketed one ring, snapped the other open on a tiny hinge, then seized Robyn's left nipple in a tight pinch and stretched it out; not painfully, but far enough to make Robyn's eye's pop wide.  "Trust Mistress," Frieda cooed, and snapped the ring around the nipple's base.  The right nipple received similar treatment, and Robyn found herself staring down at a pair of rigid, engorged, dark coral nubbins.  There was no pain, but her tits... tingled.  "They'll get more sensitive as time passes," Frieda explained, and began buckling on the bra.  Robyn gasped as the fleece-lined cups settled (loosely) over her breasts.  "The bells are weighted," Frieda explained, "to make the cups slide as they swing and bob."

The leather-clad beauty unclipped one of Robyn's neck chains and snapped it to Joelle's collar ring.  "There," she said, and stepped to the door.  "I'm going to get the small sleigh ready."  Her eyes focused on Robyn.  "Don't worry, Irish.  You'll find it an easy pull... going down the trail, at least.  Just follow Jet's lead.  Mistress isn't concerned with dressage today.  You'll get your style training later."  She paused in the doorway, an evil smile on her angelic face.  "You two have a drooling contest while I'm gone.  The loser gets her butt whipped with my new flogger, tonight, before bed."

Noon found Robyn waiting beside Joelle in the hanger shed down by the lake.  Through the open door she could see the helicopter landing area, where Robyn herself had first set foot on Chattel Mountain.  

The "small sleigh" had proved to be a strong, light, airy vehicle with waxed runners and a single seat, a cross between a dog sled and a traditional sleigh.  The trip down from the lodge had been surprisingly easy.  The trail wasn't excessively steep and the sleigh's runners and ponygirls' boots had proved quite stable, even in new snow. The return trip up the trail would be more challenging, but Robyn knew she was in good shape and wasn't worried, despite her lack of acclimatization (and the tight corset.)

"Jet" and "Irish" were standing in harness and reins, but "Mistress" had been kind enough to drape thick wool blankets over their shoulders.  Frieda was at the door, a thick, hooded cape of white wool wrapped around her body.

By a trick of mountain acoustics they heard the approaching helicopter for some time, but it was a distant, echoing windmill clatter, not seeming to get any closer—then suddenly, it was there, snow blowing and engine roaring as it landed.  As when Robyn arrived, its blades never stopped turning, and it departed in less than a minute.  The snow settled... and a lone figure with a single bag was in its place.

Frieda pulled the blankets off her "ponies," climbed into the sleigh, and took the reins.  In seconds, they were moving towards the landing area.

Chandler Warburg was the waiting arrival, of course.  Her boots were medium brown, with a rich, pebbled texture.  Her coat was a camel-tan wool blend, with cape shoulders and a hood trimmed with brown faux fur.  Her bag, a small Gucci overnighter with gold trim, matched her boots.  Her pale face was flushed with the cold and her short, straight bob tousled by the helicopter's artificial blizzard, but she looked every inch the ex-model and fabulously wealthy urbanite.

Chandler's blue-gray eyes examined every detail of Robyn's costumed and captive form, from her tightly laced thigh boots to her staring (frightened) green eyes.  "I see you're taken Ms. Tolliver firmly in hand," Chandler purred, then shifted her gaze to Frieda—and her expression froze.  

Frieda stepped from the sleigh and threw back her cape, revealing the black catsuit of woven leather straps beneath.  All trace of the helicopter and its sound were long gone.  The air around the frozen lake and surrounding trees was cold and still.  Finally... Frieda spoke.  "Strip!" she barked, "to the skin!"  Chandler continued to stare (in fear), then reached for the top button of her coat with trembling, gloved fingers.  "I've changed my mind," Frieda snapped.  "Keep the boots!  Now, strip!"