by Van ©2018
		Chapter 6

Mile followed mile and both Jordan and Leda began to sweat.  Leda wasn't being a particularly obstinate pack-pony; however, she regularly peppered her "drover" with scathing and derogatory (albeit clever) remarks.  Finally deciding that enough was enough, Jordan carried through with her threat to stuff Leda's panties in her mouth, then made sure they stayed there by using a narrowly folded gray bandana (with the stereotypical and traditional black and white cotton floral design) as a cleave-gag, tying a tight square-knot at the nape of Leda's neck, under her swaying ponytail.

Leda's reaction was predictable: "Mrrrmpfh!

Jordan's response was equally predictable: "Hush.  Pack-ponies should be seen and not heard."

Leda glowered and stamped her booted feet, but this only seemed to add to Jordan's enjoyment of her fellow hiker's plight.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon when they arrived at the first campsite.  Little more than a modest clearing in the forest, it was about twenty yards from a narrow, meandering stream.  The only improvement was a small, stone-lined fire pit that quite obviously hadn't been used in a very long time.  Jordan and Leda were probably the campsite's first visitors in months, if not years.

Jordan shrugged out of her pack and hung it from a convenient tree branch, then stretched, smiled, and turned to Leda.

Leda was waiting patiently to be released from her pack (meaning was starring daggers and glaring at Jordan).  The "pony" watched as Jordan untied the parachute cord leash from around her nipple-stirrup-to-nipple-stirrup-chain, coiled and pocketed the cord, released her left wrist-cuff, and then her right wrist-cuff.  Finally able to release her grip on the padded, sweaty handles at the base of the pack frame, she clenched and flexed her hands (continuing to glare at her villainous companion), then released the pack's sternum-strap and hip-belt and shrugged out of the pack.

Hands on hips, Jordan smiled.  "Pitch the tent and I'll start on supper."

Leda tugged the bandana cleave-gag from between her lips and teeth, plucked her panties from her mouth, and licked her lips.  "Either that or I'll kick your butt," she muttered.

Jordan chuckled and set to work, opening her pack and pulling out a compact camp stove and other cooking supplies.  She didn't appear to be terribly worried.

Leda took a drink from her water bottle, then secured a couple of shirt buttons, covering her ruined bra, nipple-stirrups, and the still attached connecting chain.  The tails of the shirt remained tied together so her midriff was still bare.  She then stomped to the stream, knelt, and splashed her face.

Soon, the tent was pitched, the latrine area agreed upon (a tiny clearing at least 200 feet from the stream), and the evening meal prepared and consumed.  The only light was from a tiny candle-lantern hung inside the dome tent.  As per modern backpacking protocol, they'd neither gathered wood nor lit a fire in the fire pit, relying on Jordan's compact aluminum stove instead.  The fire danger wasn't high, but an open fire wasn't strictly required, so they didn't light one.

The patch of open sky directly overhead wasn't especially generous, but the stars were spectacular.  The campers sat side-by-side in front of the tent and enjoyed after-dinner cups of coffee in companionable silence.

"I suppose you're going to strap me to my pack tomorrow and continue dragging me up Mysterious Mountain by my nipples," Leda huffed.

Jordan smiled and sipped her coffee before answering.  "I suppose you're going to make me gag you again."

Leda sipped her coffee.  Her bandana cleave-gag was still around her neck, something like a scarf, and her rinsed panties hung from a nearby tree branch.  By this time they were probably dry.  A smile curled Leda's lips.  "What do you suppose is happenin' back at Cedar Wind Farm?" she purred.

Jordan also smiled.  "How would I know?  And we agreed not to speculate about the outcome of our bet, remember?"

Leda sipped her coffee, again.  "Yeah, we did."

Several seconds of silence ensued.

"I suppose, you're gonna tie me up and have your way with me," Leda stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Jordan sipped her coffee.  "There isn't much room in the tent.  Maybe I'll stake you out under the stars... naked... and make you lick my pussy.  Then leave you there 'til dawn."

"Mosquitos," Leda said quietly.

"Not my problem," Jordan chuckled.  "I'll be in the tent."

Leda sighed.  Like any modern backpacking tent, Jordan's dome-tent had mosquito netting that zipped closed across the entrance.  "I suppose if you slather me with enough insect repellent I'll survive the night."

"Sounds like work," Jordan countered.

Leda sighed, again.  She didn't think Jordan was serious about staking her out, and the tent wasn't that small, still...  A thrill rippled between her legs.  The fantasy of being spreadeagled on the ground... in the dark... the stars wheeling overhead...  It was delicious.  Of course, she wouldn't be able to do a lot of stargazing with Jordan squatting on her face, but after her captor/kidnapper/lover decided she'd had enough of Leda licking her pussy and crawled into the tent... the stars would be spectacular.

"The tent isn't that small," Leda stated.

"No, it's not," Jordan purred.  The coyote-brown parachute cord she'd used as Leda's nipple-leash was still in her pocket, ready for use.  "Finish your coffee."

"I've still got half a cup," Leda countered, "and I'm not done lookin' at the stars."

Jordan smiled.  "No problem."  She sipped her coffee.  Her aluminum cup was nearly empty.  "We aren't going anywhere."

The thrill pulsed through Leda's crotch as she sipped from her cup.  They were miles from anywhere and anyone, alone in the forest... and Jordan was in charge.

The sun was definitely setting.  Robin was sure of it.

The old fashioned electric light fixtures dangling from the barn ceiling were all turned off and all the barn doors closed, which included the oversized double-doors, the person-sized door set in one of the double-door panels, the person-size door at the other end of the barn, and the much smaller double-doors up in the hay loft.  There were windows in both side walls and they'd provided abundant light during the time Miriam had "tricked" Robin into conducting the current experiment.  But that was then.  This was now.  The interior of the barn was becoming darker and darker (and increasingly sinister).

Naked, elaborately bound from shoulders to ankles, cord binding her thumbs and big toes, and her mouth plugged with a genuine ball-gag, Robin dangled from a long, taut rope Miriam had tossed over an overhead rafter and tied to the anvil of Jordan's workshop.  Robin's feet were flat on the packed dirt floor, so she wasn't balanced on her bound toes (for which she was very grateful), but she was totally helpless.  Squirming, writhing, twisting, and otherwise struggling against her bonds was a decidedly futile activity, and the way the crotch-rope slid back and forth when she tugged on her bound wrists was... disturbing?  Robin decided it was disturbing.  It certainly wasn't arousing.  After all, the author of her predicament was Miriam Price, Jordan's mom!

How long is she gonna leave me like this? Leda wondered.  She's not gonna make me try and sleep like this... is she?  Robin supposed it was possible.  After all, the position wasn't actual torture.  She knew Miriam would never torture her, not in a million years.  Granted, binding a person in a tight rope cocoon and nearly dangling them from a rafter was, shall we say, impolite, and not at all what one would expect from a nice (hot) old lady and otherwise charming hostess like Miriam, but it wasn't torture, as such.

Having nothing else to do, Robin decided to further consider the topic of naked bondage, in and of itself.  When she'd decided that experience as an actual prisoner was required for purposes of literary research, she had been thinking about something much closer to the Saturday morning cartoons of her childhood and/or the damsels-in-distress depicted in mainstream movies and TV.  But that was before she turned to Leda for help.  The next thing she knew (or nearly the next thing), Robin found herself naked and helpless, with her BFF's grabby hands doing whatever they wanted!

Nakedness of the prisoner was pitched and accepted as a logical precaution that would be taken by any "normal" kidnapper or captor.  In retrospect, however, Robin realized she'd acquiesced to losing her clothes much too easily.  Entirely too much... uh... eroticism was creeping into the experimental regime.  Robin resolved to put a stop to it, as soon as Leda returned from her backpacking expedition to the summit of "Mysterious Mountain".  She'd insist that from now on things would remain on a level acceptable to a traditional broadcast network's Standards & Practices Department.  No more HBO productions!

As for her current experiment with Miriam... it was too late now.  She'd just have to let things play out.  Of course, if Miriam started running her hands over Robin's helpless body... or kissing her with her warm, smiling lips... or caressing her boobs, nipples, and private parts... Robin would put a stop to it immediately, meaning she'd writhe, squirm, wiggle in her bonds and whimper and moan through her ball-gag.  Her pussy agreed completely.  No hanky-panky in the hands of a hot mature women!  A thrill rippled between her legs... for emphasis.

By this time the general ambiance inside the barn—Robin's rustic prison—was gloomy and steadily approaching dim.  Abruptly, the person door—the normal-sized portal set in the big double doors—squealed open on oil-hungry hinges, admitting Miriam, one of the wolfhounds, and more light.  Robin's captor was wearing the same pretty dress she'd worn for most of the day, and as she crossed the threshold the wolfhound squeezed past and bounded ahead of her "mother," making a beeline for Robin and frantically shaking its tail!

"Mrrrpfh!" Robin complained.

"Bugbear!" Miriam chuckled.

Tail thrashing, Bugbear was muzzling Robin's rope-cleaved crotch!  Then, he leaped up on his hind legs, placed his paws on Robin's rope-yoked shoulders, and began licking her ball-gagged mouth, saliva-dripping chin, and horrified face in general!

"Stop that, you silly creature," Miriam laughed as she strolled forward, took hold of Bugbear's collar, and returned the friendly, slobbering canine to its usual four-legged stance.  Bugbear panted, his tongue lolling, and continued wagging his tail, but he refrained from licking Robin's gagged face (or anything else), for which she was very grateful.

"Time for dinner, dear," Miriam said as she stepped behind Robin, knelt, and began untying her ankle bonds.  The captive's big-toe-bonds were next, followed by her lower legs, followed by the ropes below her knees.  Miriam left Robins above-the-knee ropes intact, as well as her upper-thigh-bonds, but released her prisoner's thumbs and wrists, then untied the waist and forearms bonds, which included the crotch-rope, but retied them as an around-the-waist lower anchor for the remaining upper-body-bonds.  Next, Miriam folded Robin's arms behind her back and converted her predicament into a bona fide box-tie.  This took a while.  Miriam lashed Robin's forearms together, stretched and tightened strands of rope across her palms, and used her former toe and thumb cords to incorporate her thumbs into the box-tie.

Eventually, Robin was elaborately and no doubt artistically box-tied from waist to shoulders.  Robin wasn't in a position to visually inspect most of her bonds, of course, but could tell everything was tight, symmetrical, and... aesthetically pleasing?  Go figure.  Robin found she could be naked, ball-gagged, and bound, but could still appreciate her captor's artistry.  She also found the energy to squirm and complain as Miriam worked on her bondage.  "Mrrrm!"  Her efforts were ignored, and did nothing to impede Miriam's progress.

Robin's captor knelt, once again, and this time used one of the shorter coils of rope to hobble her captive's ankles about eight inches apart.  She then stood, untied Robin's above-the-knee and mid-thigh bonds, looped one end of the former thigh rope around Robin's neck and tied a knot, then tied a generous loop in the far end of the rope with a bowline.

"Bugbear!" Miriam called.

The wolfhound had wandered off to investigate the interesting smells in the vicinity of Jordan's former workshop, and bounded to his Alpha's side.

"Bring!" Miriam ordered, and held the loop in the rope before Bugbear's muzzle.

Bugbear took a firm grip on the rope with his teeth, then followed Miriam from the barn.

"Mrrk!"  The rope went taut and Robin had no choice but to follow her human and now canine captor.  Tail wagging furiously, Bugbear kept pace with Miriam as they left the barn and headed for the house.  Lucky for Robin, the pace in question was slow, and she wasn't in danger of tripping on her hobble.  Obviously, Bugbear was familiar with this game.  Naked, bound, and ball-gagged, Robin stumbled across the lawn, managed to climb the steps to the deck, and continued on to the kitchen door.  It was humiliating.  Also, and much to her surprise, the situation was a little... intriguing?  And she meant intriguing from an entirely intellectual perspective, of course.  This was shaping up to be a really good experiment!

Dinner was delicious and embarrassing.

As Miriam had promised, the star of the menu was a pair of truly tasty pot-roast sandwiches—thick slices of fresh baked bread, garden fresh tomatoes and lettuce, abundant slices of warm, juicy roast beef, as well as mayonnaise with a dash of grated horseradish—and washed down with bottles of Samuel Adams Boston Lager.  That was the delicious part.

The embarrassing part was the experience of being hand fed her half of the meal by her smiling, pleasant, hostess/captor.  Bite by bite and swig by swig the sandwiches and beer disappeared with deliberate (and delicious) speed.  Robin remained naked and elaborately box-tied; however the buckle of the ball-gag formerly plugging her mouth was now secured on the strap's first hole and the gag itself dangled around her neck like some sort of absurd, kinky necklace.

Helpless, blushing, and appreciative of the scrumptious sandwich, Robin squirmed in her kitchen chair but refrained from whining or complaining.  Complaining would be rude.  After all, Miriam Price might be a skilled rigger and she currently held Robin's fate (or her freedom, anyway) in her strong and capable hands, but she was a nice lady.  Also, while her current predicament might be Miriam's doing, it was Robin's fault.  It was her research project and her experiment that was playing out.  Robin had consented to what was happening... sort of.

Robin watched as Miriam cleaned up after the simple meal.  It didn't take much effort.  Then, Miriam smiled and sat back down in her chair.

"Let's talk, dear," Miriam suggested.

"Uh... sure."

"Now," Miriam began, "I'm perfectly happy to help you with your experiment, but I want to make it very clear that there are things I simply won't do, under any circumstances."

"Huh?"

Miriam chuckled.  "I know you're nervous, but try and pull yourself together, darling."

Robin couldn't help but pout.  "I am together," she huffed.  "In fact... I'm bundled up tight."

"Clever girl," Miriam chuckled, then leaned close and planted a kiss on Robin's forehead.  "Now, listen up."

"Okay," Robin sighed.

"A real kidnapper would almost certainly use, shall we say, unpleasant methods to keep you under control," Miriam stated.

Robin frowned.  "Uh... we already talked about this, didn't we?  Intimidation?"

Miriam smiled and nodded.  "Yes, but now we're talking about corporeal punishment."

Robin's eyes popped wide.  "Corporeal p-punishment?"

"Don't have kittens," Miriam chuckled.  "I'm talking about spanking, or the use of riding crops, whips, or even cattle prods."

Robin's eyes were wider still.  "Y-you have a cattle prod?"

"Miriam's smile remained firmly in place.  "No, I do not have a cattle prod, but I do have a riding crop... somewhere.  It was my husband's."

Robin nodded gravely.

"Oh, darling," Miriam laughed.  "I'm sorry.  I promise that I won't whip you with a riding crop or anything else.  A little light spanking isn't totally out of the question, but only if you're a very naughty girl, don't eat your vegetables, or call your kidnapper disrespectful names."

Robin nodded, again, and managed a brave (albeit slightly tremulous) smile.

Miriam's smile took a noticeably (and disturbingly) coy twist.  "Of course, there's also an alternative technique our hypothetical villainess averse to the whip might employ to encourage an uncooperative captive to be a good little damsel."

"Uh... like what?"

"Tell me, Robin," Miriam purred, "are you... ticklish?"

Robin swallowed.  "Gulp!  Uh... who, me?"  She shook her head, causing her tousled hair to flutter.  "No, certainly not."

"Not even a little?"

"No," Robin reiterated, shaking her head, again, then noted Miriam's skeptical smile.  She knows I'm lying, Robin realized.  "Well... a little.  Everybody's ticklish a little."

Miriam nodded.  "Well, as we proceed, please keep in mind that the technique is available."  She lifted Robin from her chair, draped an arm across her rope-yoked shoulders, and led her from the kitchen.  "And if you prove to be insufficiently ticklish for our purposes, I have a pretty good idea where I last laid eyes on my husband's riding crop.  It shouldn't be that hard to find."

Robin swallowed, again, and allowed herself to be led, taking careful steps so as not to trip on her hobble.

Not to Robin's great surprise, their immediate destination was the guest bathroom Robin shared with Leda when her BFF wasn't gallivanting around the wilderness or otherwise abandoning Robin to the tender mercies of Miriam-the-Kidnapper.  Once again, Robin endured the humiliating (and hygienic) experience of having her nether region cleansed by hands other that her own after taking her evening tinkle.  Miriam used a wet washcloth to thoroughly scrub between Robin's legs.  Next came the brushing of Robin's teeth and the scrubbing of her face with a different and this time soapy washcloth.  Finally, Miriam brushed her captive's hair... then led her from the bathroom.

Miriam pointed to the stairs to the "Tower" guest room.  "Up we go," she ordered, her smile unchanged.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Robin demanded, nodding down with her pouting chin and lifted her left foot, indicating the hemp hobble connecting her ankles.

"You managed the steps up to the deck without difficulty," Miriam purred.  "Don't worry.  I won't let you fall."  She stepped behind Robin, spun her around to face the stairs, then put her hands on the bound prisoner's narrow waist.  "Up we go."

Robin heaved a theatrical sigh (it seemed like the thing to do), then slowly, carefully, one hobbled step at a time, trudged up the stairs to the bedroom.  Miriam was right.  She could and did manage the climb without difficulty.  When they reached the top landing Miriam reached around her and opened the bedroom door. 

Robin crossed the threshold and looked around.  The room was gloomy and dim, but nothing was changed, as far as she could tell.  Then, Miriam switched on the overhead light and she got a better look.  The bedspread had been replaced by what appeared to be a mattress cover or duvet of blue-gray, heavy-weight linen.  It was fitted on all four corners and tucked under the mattress on the three sides Robin could see.  The bed's pillows, both the shams and sleeping pillows, were nowhere to be seen; however...

Robin's eyes popped wide.  "Oh."

Resting on the bed was what, by its size, Robin took to be a steel collar, a most unusual steel collar!  And attached to the collar was a long, randomly coiled steel chain!  And the far end of the chain trailed off the head of the bed and out of sight!

Her heart hammering, Robin flinched when the bedroom door closed behind her with a solid thud.

"Another of my husband's toys," Miriam explained, smiling down at the collar.

The toy in question was comprised of six horizontal bands of heavy-duty twisted steel cable—three vertical steel spacer-bars, on the left, right, and center-rear—and two curved, vertical front plates that closed across the wearer's throat and locked by means of a flush-mounted brass padlock that appeared to snap into the base.

Robin was intrigued.  The collar was interesting... and terrifying.

Miriam pulled a key on a long chain from under her dress and between her breasts, lifted it over her head, unlocked the padlock, and set it on the bed.  Robin could now see that the padlock was a modified padlock.  There was no "U"-shaped, swinging shackle, just a straight steel pin on the right and an empty opening on the left.  There was also a pin with a notch in the side permanently set in the base of the collar's left plate.  Additional pins and holes in the two plates would mate when the collar closed, thereby keeping the horizontal cables and the vertical plates in proper alignment.  A steel flange with two holes fit over the padlock pins to attach a steel ring and the attached chain.  So, when the collar was in place and the modified padlock clicked into the base... that would be that.

Robin realized Miriam was smiling at her, the collar held open in her hands.  "Uh... no," Robin said quietly, shaking her head.  The thing was intriguing, but also a little scary.

Miriam continued smiling.  "So, you've decided that this is the time to settle the is-Robin-ticklish question?"

"I don't want that thing locked around my neck," Robin explained (whined).

"I also assume you don't want to be naked, tied up, and my prisoner, either," Miriam purred, "but here we are."

"No."  This time it was an unequivocal whine, but also a rejection Robin had to admit to herself wasn't all that heartfelt.

"You will obey me," Miriam said quietly, but she was still smiling.  "Remember, this is your experiment.  Aren't you curious?  I promise, as such things go, it's not that bad."

Her heart hammering, Robin swallowed, again, then shuffled towards the bed, her captor, and the waiting collar and chain.  Much to her surprise, she found she was curious.

The cable-collar was surprisingly light and flexible.  Miriam had no difficulty fitting it around Robin's neck, aligning the various pins and holes, and securing the padlock.

Robin swallowed.  The collar was tight, but nowhere near too tight.  It was definitely there, but her impression that it wasn't very heavy was confirmed.  The dangling chain was heavier, but even it wasn't that much of a burden.  "I assume the far end of this chain is attached to something," the naked, bound, and collared captive huffed.

Miriam nodded.  "A high-security padlock locked through a pad-eye solidly bolted into the bones of the house."  She pointed at the bed.

Robin heaved a sigh, sat on the bed, lifted her hobbled feet and bare legs, and squirmed until her bare everything was full-length on the bed and she was reclined on her side.

"I stripped the linen from the bed while you were hanging around in the barn and put a rubber fitted sheet in its place," Miriam explained.  She patted the taut linen stretched over the mattress.  "Under this washable cover, of course."

Robin blushed.  This was an implied countermeasure to her wetting the mattress during the night.  She decided to ignore the topic.  "No sheets, blanket, or pillow?" she demanded in a hurt tone.

"Not tonight, darling," Miriam responded, "but I did turn up the heat, so you won't be cold."  Her smile turned coy, again.  "And speaking of turning up the heat..."

Robin blinked in alarm as Miriam sat on the bed, reached out, and placed her right hand on her hip!  "M-Miriam!"  She tried to squirm away, but her hostess/captor wouldn't let her.

"Stop that, silly girl," Miriam chuckled, then gave Robin's closest butt-cheek a teasing slap.

"Ow!" Robin complained.

Miriam's hand was back on Robin's hip.  "It's time for another discussion of the parameters of your research program," she purred.  Her hand began to move, slowly sliding up and down Robin's bare flank... from the top of her outer thigh... across her hip... to the outside of her lower tummy... and back.

Robin couldn't help but shiver in her bonds and bite her lower lip in distress.  They'd already had conversations about coercion and punishment, during which tickling had been substituted for the use of a riding crop, but she decided not to bring it up.  "Well?" the naked, bound, and collared captive inquired.

"You realize, of course, that your captor," Miriam continued, "by which I mean your hypothetical captor, could do anything he or she wanted to do to you, don't you?"

"Uh... actually..."  Robin continued squirming... and Miriam's hand continued gliding.  "I never thought about it... much.  I'm more interested in exploring aspects of loss of control."

Miriam chuckled.  "This is an aspect of loss of control, just one not usually dealt with in the sort of conventional damsel-in-distress melodrama you probably have in mind."

"Conventional?"

"Emma Peel tied to the railroad tracks," Miriam explained.  "Batgirl bound and gagged in deadly peril.  Daphne and/or Velma kidnapped by the monster-of-the-week.  Nancy Drew bound and gagged and locked in a dilapidated shack, a dark basement, or the hold of a creaky old boat.  Perhaps I should say innocent damsel-in-distress melodrama."

"Oh."  For some reason, Robin was finding it difficult to ignore Miriam's smooth, strong hand and concentrate on the topic at hand (so to speak).  "That's more like what I had in mind."  She stopped squirming and glared at Miriam.  "Speaking of which... do you mind!"

Miriam chuckled and stopped her gentle caress, gave Robin's hip a final, gentle pat, then withdrew her hand.  "Yes, well, I want to reassure you that there will be no funny business while you're my prisoner... unless you force me to tickle you, of course, for disciplinary purposes."

Robin's glare faded.  "Good.  I mean, thank you.  I mean..."  She heaved an exasperated sigh.  "Now that that's settled."  She squirmed in her bonds.  "If this collar is attached to the wall, like you say, I'm not going to escape, so how 'bout untying all these ropes?"

"I assure you, the chain is, indeed, attached."  Miriam stood and smoothed her dress.  "Very solidly attached."  She gestured at the windows.  "By the way, the window sashes are now padlocked and all of your belongings are packed and stored elsewhere."  She indicated the bedroom door with a graceful flip of the wrist.  "And I assume you noticed the triple hinges with extra-long screws and the deadbolt lock on the door?  It's solid core, by the way."

Robin had, in fact, noticed the deadbolt, but assumed it was there so the guest bedroom could double as secure storage, not as a dungeon cell.  She hadn't noticed the triple hinges, and how could Miriam expect her to "notice" the length of the hinge screws?  Once screwed in place, screws were screws.

"As for the ropes," Miriam continued.  "This first night I want you to appreciate the prisoner experience to the fullest extent possible."

"Miriam!" Robin whined, squirming in the ropes in question.

"And in that spirit..."  Miriam sat on the bed and reached for Robin's ball-gag.

Robin realized her captor's intentions and tried to squirm away.  "No!  No!  Mrrrmpfh!"  The ball was back in her mouth!  Miriam threaded and tightened the buckle, paused to free her hair from under the strap, then secured the buckle.  "Mrrrf!"

Robin continued wiggling and squirming.  Her hair flopped and flounced as she rolled around on the linen-covered mattress and her collar-chain rattled and bounced, but she remained naked, bound, gagged, and helpless.  She rolled back onto her side, shook her head one last time to clear her face, and found Miriam watching her with rapt attention.

"You make an absolutely adorable damsel-in-distress, Robin." Miriam sighed.  "Absolutely adorable."  She then turned and strolled to the bedroom door.  "Good night, my dear!"

"Mrrmpfh!"  Robin squirmed in her inescapable bonds as Miriam crossed the threshold, blew her a kiss, and pulled the door closed!  Don't you dare leave me here like this, naked, bound and gagged!  She heard a key turn the formerly unimportant deadbolt lock in the bedroom door with a very solid sounding thunk.  A helpless prisoner, miles and miles from anywhere!  She tested her bonds, again.  Helpless... A prisoner...  Bound and gagged...  Miles and miles.

It looked like it was going to be a very long night.  Also, Robin realized she'd failed to specify the duration or end conditions of the current experiment.  What's going to happen in the morning is very much an open question, she mused, just like it would be for a real prisoner.  She squirmed in her bonds, again, giving them another futile test.  Good thing I'm not a real prisoner, the naked, bound, gagged, collared, and sequestered captive decided.