her eyes... blinked... then heaved a deep sigh.
The sun had dipped below the tops of the trees, so she was in
dappled shade, lying on her back on the grass of Miriam's
backyard. Her neck and wrists were still collared and
cuffed by Miriam's stainless steel yoke, her ankles still locked
in steel shackles separated by a foot of stout chain, and the
collar of the yoke (and therefore Robin, herself) was still
tethered by a long chain to a steel ring and concrete block of
unknown size sunk in the lawn. Also, a ball-gag still
plugged her mouth. Her hair, skin, and the surrounding
lawn had long since dried from the hose bath Miriam had given
her. And speaking of skin, Robin was still naked, not
counting her bonds. As for her hair... she assumed it was
a tousled mess. How could it not be a tousled
Kelpie was nowhere to be seen. Robin had been abandoned,
by Miriam and the water-loving hound. She heaved
another gagged sigh and gazed up at the sky. A few fluffy
clouds drifted overhead, but mostly she saw a whole lot of
blue. By the angle and depth of the shadows it was late
afternoon, going on early evening. Her best guess was that
she'd caught a couple of hours of shuteye. Robin felt...
better. To say she felt "refreshed" would be too much;
however, and much to her surprise, her joints and muscles
weren't particularly sore.
Did she want to be released? Yes! As far as
Robin was concerned, was the experiment over? H-E-double-hockey-sticks
Just then, the kitchen door opened and Miriam appeared.
Robin sat up, shrugged and rolled her yoked shoulders for
comfort (with limited success), shook her head in a vain effort
to straighten her air-dried hair, and watched her Evil Captor
cross the deck, descend the steps, and stroll in her
direction. As Miriam grew closer, Robin could see that
something made of gleaming black leather was rolled up and
tucked under her right arm. Also, a small canvas bag
holding something heavy was dangling by its drawstring from her
left hand. Robin decided the rolled up thing was probably
a jacket or coat.
"I hope you enjoyed your nap," Miriam said as she knelt in the
grass at Robin's side. She set the leather bundle on the
grass and tossed the bag next to it. The bag landed with a
metallic clatter. "I've brought something else for you to
play with," Miriam announced as she pulled out a key, leaned
close, and unlocked the modified padlocks securing the yoke's
collar... right cuff... and left cuff. She then removed
the yoke, re-secured the padlocks, and set it aside.
Robin shivered with delight and reached for the sky, stretching
her arms. "Mrrrrgh!" She then reached behind her
head, parted her tangled hair, and unbuckled the ball-gag.
The ends of the gag's strap in her hands, she pulled the rubber
sphere from her mouth. It exited with an audible pop!
She worked her jaw and licked her lips, then favored Miriam with
what she knew was a truly heartbreaking pout (she hoped).
"I don't wanna play any more," she said (whined).
"Oh, darling," Miriam answered, "you haven't even seen what I've
brought you." She picked up the leather bundle, let it
fall open, then held it between her two hands for Robin's
Robin's eyes widened and she swallowed, nervously. Miriam
was holding some sort of leather jacket with long, closed
sleeves, a very short waist, and straps and buckles... lots
of straps and buckles... too many straps and
buckles. "W-what is it?" she demanded in a hushed voice.
"A Bolero Straitjacket," Miriam explained. "Yet another
"I know, your husband's toys," Robin interrupted, then shook her
Smiling broadly, Miriam gave the jacket an enticing shake,
causing the buckles to rattle and the straps to sway.
"You're not the least bit curious?"
"No!" Robin huffed.
Miriam's smile was openly cajoling. "You've not curious
about what it would be like to wear a straitjacket?"
Robin pouted and gazed at the jacket before answering. The
leather had a gleaming, slightly pebbled finish, and the
reinforced stitching was neat, redundant, and looked
strong. "Well... yeah," she finally admitted, "but...
no. No thank you. Not today."
Still smiling, Miriam cocked an eyebrow. "Really?
You're forgetting my pack of Savage Attack Dogs, aren't
you." It was a statement, not a question.
Robin snorted. "Yeah, they'll slobber all over me and
thrash me with their tails." She was trying to make sense
of the finer details of the jacket's design. It was...
"You know you're curious," Miriam purred. "The
hounds are the perfect excuse."
"I'm tired and sore," Robin sighed. "No."
"It's comfortable," Miriam said, giving the jacket another
shake. "You'll see. Hold out your hands."
Robin started to shake her head... but instead (and not
understanding why), she followed Miriam's order, extending her
arms with her fingers straight and together.
Miriam leaned forward and slid the sleeves over Robin's hands
and arms, then settled the jacket over her shoulders. She
then moved behind Robin's back and started threading straps and
Robin's eyes widened and her breathing deepened as the leather
tightened around her upper torso. Her breasts remained on
full display, protruding through circular, reinforced openings
in the front of the jacket.
"Fold your arms across your chest," Miriam ordered.
Again, Robin complied, then yelped—"Eeep!"—when Miriam tugged on
the straps on the ends of the sleeves, threaded them through
slots on either side of the jacket's lower hem, then moved to
Robin's front and buckled the ends together. Robin watched
(and felt the jacket tighten) as Miriam secured additional
straps that encircled her wrists, bound her upper arms to the
sides of the jacket, bound her forearms together below her
breasts, and crisscrossed from the jacket's shoulders, passed
between her breasts, and further reinforced the
forearm-to-forearm self-embrace. The jacket was
constrictive and tight, to say the least. It was also...
"It's tight," Robin complained.
"Oh, Cupcake," Miriam chuckled, "how can it be tight on such a
petite little thing as yourself? When my husband buckled me
into this thing... now that was tight." She
went back over the straps—all the straps—tightening each
and every one. "There," she said with a smile as she spun
Robin in a circle, examining and admiring her handiwork.
"I had to tighten everything as far as it would go, but it's a
proper fit. Trust me."
"Trust you," Robin huffed. She squirmed and twisted her
body, causing her breasts to sway, bobble, and flop against her
leather-encased forearms (just a little). "I tell you,
it's too tight."
"Straitjackets are supposed to be tight," Miriam chuckled.
"If they're too loose, they chafe."
"Wouldn't want that," Robin drawled, continuing to struggle.
Miriam opened the canvas bag, reached inside, and produced a
tiny, luggage-style, brass padlock. It was only a little
larger than her thumbnail, but looked quite sturdy. Still
smiling (of course) she threaded the padlock through a small
opening in the tongue of one of the jacket's buckles, then
clicked it closed.
"Miriam!" Robin whined. She now noticed that each and
every one of the jacket's buckles that she could see had a
similar opening... and Miriam was methodically making sure each
and every one received its own very own padlock.
"Perfect!" Miriam gushed as she clicked the last padlock closed,
then stood and took a step back. "Struggle for me,
darling," she suggested (ordered).
Robin heaved another sigh, then resumed twisting, turning, and
squirming, but this time in earnest. After about thirty
seconds she stopped, blew an errant strand of hair from her
face, and genuinely glared at her experimental
assistant. "Seriously, it's too tight. Can't you see
Miriam shook her head. "It fits you perfectly,
Cupcake," she responded, then, still smiling, shook her
head. "I knew there was something wrong about that
thing. My husband ordered the wrong size." Her smile
returned and became decidedly coy. "Either that or he
purposely ordered it a size too small so he could squeeze me
into it and my boobs would bulge through the openings."
Robin blushed. Her breasts were only slightly bulging
through the openings in question. Maybe it was her
size. She further tested the jacket... but knew it was
pointless. No matter what she tried, slightly restricted
boob swaying and flopping was the principal result. "I still
think it's too tight," she huffed.
Miriam stooped, picked up the ball gag, and stepped behind
"Miriam!" whined, waiting for her Evil Kidnapper to reach around
her head from either side and cram the ball into her
mouth. Instead, the ball dropped to just between her
collarbones and bounced on her bare skin, just above the
jacket's reinforced neck opening. She felt Miriam part her hair,
fiddle with the strap's buckle, and then her fingers and hands
were gone. Obviously, Miriam had secured the strap on its
first hole, giving Robin another ball-gag-necklace.
"Your hair is a mess, young lady," Miriam purred, combing her
fingers through the hair in question.
"No, ya think?" Robin huffed.
Miriam laughed, then turned and headed for the house.
"Come along, Cupcake," she suggested. "You can watch me
finish cooking supper."
Robin heaved a sigh, gave her new jacket a weak and decidedly
ineffective struggling squirm, then climbed to her steel-hobbled
feet and stomped (padded) across the lawn in Miriam's
wake. Thanks to the shackles still imprisoning her ankles,
her barefoot steps were short and the hobbling chain rattled,
clinked, and clattered.
| Chapter 9
yards from Summit Camp and slightly down the northern slope of
"Mysterious Mountain" is a small clearing. On the
down-slope side is a boulder field, the only thing that could be
called a precipitous drop on the entire hill. Stately,
mature cedars reached for the sky on three sides. The
clearing itself is only about a thousand square feet, but
provided a scenic vista of the surrounding landscape.
Leda was in the perfect position to appreciate that vista, and
decided the view was truly... nice. It wasn't like gazing
at the craggy, snow-covered slopes of the Olympic Mountains from
Hurricane Ridge, or drinking in the magnificence of the summit
of Mount Rainier (aka Mount Tacoma, aka Mount Tahobeh) from
Paradise, but the view was definitely nice. Also,
Leda figured she might as well enjoy the view, 'cause
she certainly didn't have anything else to do.
Leda arms were still bound in Jordan's
We really do need a name for this thing, Leda decided,
squirming her arms and upper body and testing her coyote-brown
paracord bonds. There's probably a Japanese Kinbaku
name for this sort of thing, but we need a good English
name. Raised-arms-tie? She squirmed,
again. Not very specific.
Behind-the-head-tie? Not much better. But I
suppose either will do in a pinch.
The wrists-hands-torso-behind-the-head-tie wasn't Leda's only
problem. Upon reaching the clearing, Jordan had backed her
against the rough bark of a mature cedar (the one providing the
best view) and tied her in place. Leda was naked (except
for her moccasins and the gray, black, and white bandana loosely
tied around her neck) until Jordan added tight, cinched,
horizontal bands of cord around her lower thighs, just above her
knees, and tied similar cords around her ankles. Then,
Jordan crafted a complex system of diamond-hitch and ladder-tie
bondage that lashed virtually all of Leda to the tree
from elbows to ankles. The lateral and horizontal cords of
the web, mostly single strands, were tight enough to dimple her
flesh in countless places.
It had taken Jordan quite a while to complete her masterpiece,
but she'd persevered. And once she tied the final knot,
she stepped to the side, smiled, and waited for Leda to commence
the traditional "courtesy struggle."
Leda locked eyes with her kidnapper/rigger, glared, then
started squirming and straining against the cords... and quickly
discovered she had two issues: (1.) the bark of the tree was
rough; and (2.) each and every cord was tight.
Anything she tried, even fidgeting wiggles, ground her skin
against the bark and caused the cords to go punishingly tight
somewhere, balanced by only minimal slack elsewhere. She
ceased her struggles after only a few seconds, but continued
"Asshole!" the prisoner-of-the-tree huffed.
"Asshole?" Jordan chuckled. "Right out of the gate you
resort to potty-mouthed expletives?"
"Bite me," Leda added in cold fury.
Jordan knew her "victim" wasn't really angry. "Well, if
you can't say anything nice..." She untied the loose
bandana around Leda's neck, shook it out, crumpled it into a
wad, and stuffed it into Leda's pouting mouth. "...you can
chew on this." Holding the mouth-filling cotton in
place with one hand, Jordan pulled her last remaining and
somewhat short coil of coyote-brown paracord from her right
pocket. Working with only her free hand, she deftly
doubled the cord, looped it around the cords cinching Leda's
upper-arm bonds, then used both hands to pass it back and forth
across Leda's stuffed mouth from left to right.
Leda continued glaring, but didn't bother testing her new gag.
Jordan cinched the mouth-cleaving strands tight, then
tied a final knot. "There. Can't have you disturbing
the tranquility of the wilderness," she purred, "now can
we?" Smiling sweetly, she combed errant strands of Leda's
long, brown hair from her gagged, glowering face and
tucked them to either side... then affected a slightly wounded
pout. "I'm not sure I like your attitude," she
sighed. "Perhaps I should tickle your armpits. After
all, they're right here... and so very convenient."
Leda's eyes involuntarily widened at the mention of her pale,
shaven, exposed, and oh-so-vulnerable pits. The weak,
hopeless struggles of her bound arms and lashed torso (which
were also involuntary), confirmed their vulnerability.
"That's better," Jordan chuckled. "Well, I'm going back to
camp to cook supper, lounge around and enjoy the evening, then
turn in for the night. Say hello to the chickadees and
juncos for me." And with that, she turned and left the
Leda heaved a sigh. She was not only inescapably lashed to
the tree, but with the addition of the arm-to-arm-cleave-gag,
her head was now pinned in place... pinioned just above her
exposed armpits. She could still roll her eyes and enjoy
the full view... and that would include the stars after
sunset... but she wouldn't be going anywhere until Jordan
returned and untied her.
Leda recognized a chickadee alarm call. She surmised the
caller was aware of her presence and was letting his or her
songbird friends and neighbors know that one of the Giant Two
Legs had left the clearing, but the second Giant Two Legs
remained. And even lashed to one of their trees, Giant Two
Legs were not to be ignored.
You can bite me too, Leda silently fumed at the
vociferous, unseen songbird as she squirmed in her bonds.
Little feathered twit! She hoped things were going
well between Robin and Miriam, back at Cedar Wind Farm, 'cause
now she really wanted to win her bet with
|| Chapter 9
and clattered her way across the deck, through the outside door,
and into Miriam's kitchen. One of the straight chairs at
the table was already pulled out, so she padded (and clinked and
clattered) over and sat. A delicious, spicy aroma filled
Miriam had gone to the the stove and was stirring the steaming
contents of a small pot. "I used the rest of the pot roast
to make quick chili," she explained.
"It smells good," Robin conceded. She was still pouting
and was still helpless in Miriam's bolero-straitjacket, but the
chili did smell good. Credit where credit's due...
even to Wicked Kidnappers who wouldn't take no for an answer.
Robin knew that wasn't entirely fair. She'd clearly and
succinctly expressed her opinion that enough was enough, but had
also allowed herself to be enticed (seduced)
into wearing the gleaming (and tight) leather jacket. And
Robin knew that if she really put her foot down
(meaning one of her bare, shackled feet), Miriam would relent
and let her go... probably. At least I'm not gagged,
she thought. Her stomach grumbled. Ya can't eat
chili if you're gagged.
The chili not only smelled good, it was good,
especially with a little shredded cheese and chopped onions on
top, accompanied by store-bought tortillas reheated in the oven,
and washed down with bottles of Sam Adams Light. Miriam
deployed a napkin, draping it down Robin's front to protect her
pretty new jacket, then fed both her guest (prisoner) and
herself. They ate in companionable silence. Robin
found that despite her best efforts she was unable to maintain
her facade of pouting displeasure. Miriam was just too
nice. Also, the chili was just too yummy. The
bite-sized, melt-in-your-mouth chunks of pot roast made the
chili different from what Robin was used to, but she knew there
are infinite variations of "chili," and Miriam's Pot Roast Quick
Chili was yummy!
Once the meal was over, Miriam pulled the napkin from the front
of Robin's jacket, helped her stand, and led her from the
kitchen. Robin looked back over her shoulder as they
crossed the threshold. Apparently, Miriam was leaving the
cleanup for later. Robin allowed herself to be led to the
guest bathroom, then patiently endured the now familiar (but
still somewhat humiliating) ritual of getting ready for bed with
someone else doing all the work (not counting sitting on the
commode and emptying her bladder). Face scrubbed, teeth
clean, and even her formerly tangled and tousled hair brushed
and combed—At last!—the "ordeal" was over; however (and
unexpectedly)—"Mrrrf?"—Miriam had popped the dangling ball-gag
back into Robin's minty-fresh mouth, parted her gleaming,
freshly brushed hair, and tightened the buckle!
Robin stamped a bare but fettered foot, turned, and stared
daggers at her smiling hostess.
"Don't be like that, Cupcake," Miriam chuckled. "If we're
going to do this, we're going to do it right. Due
Robin continued glaring, but it wasn't like there wasn't
anything she could do about it, meaning the gag... or the
straitjacket... or the shackles. I suppose I could
pitch a full-blown, naked, bound and gagged conniption fit,
she thought, then heaved a gagged sigh. Maybe later.
Miriam chuckled, again, then dragged (led) her prisoner from the
Robin turned towards the stairs, expecting to be led up to her
"tower" guestroom, but instead, Miriam draped an arm over her
bolero-straitjacket-clad shoulders and led her back to the
kitchen. Robin watched as Miriam opened a door previously
unopened in Robin's presence, and beyond was a set of wooden
stairs, leading down.
"The basement," Miriam stated, flipping on a light switch.
Robin's eyes widened. "Mrrrf?"
"Yes, Cupcake," Miriam chuckled, "the basement." She made
a sweeping gesture. "Down you go."
Eyes still wide, Robin took a tentative step forward, then
slowly, carefully, made her way down the stairs. Her
hobbling chain clattered and drummed on the wooden treads with
every hobbled step.
They arrived at... a basement. There was nothing
remarkable, as far as Robin could tell. There was a deep
sink, washer and dryer, water heater, furnace or heat-pump, and
the expected clutter of cardboard boxes and plastic storage tubs
on sets of prefabricated metal shelving. Four or five
small, typical basement windows set high in the poured concrete
walls admitted the last of the day's light, and a few hanging
fixtures, electric bulbs with metal shades (and cobwebs), added
a dim yellow glow. Unpainted floor joists overhead and a
few regularly spaced steel lolly columns completed the
picture. Yes, Robin decided, it's a basement.
Again, Miriam draped an arm over Robin's shoulders and led her
across the cool concrete floor to the back of the semi-dark,
semi-dusty space. That was when a steel door set in the
back wall came into view. It was painted gray and studded
with regularly spaced bolt heads, the sort of door one might
expect to see in a back alley, a high-security door designed to
discourage breaking and entering. It was secured by means
of a hefty steel hasp that fit over the end of an equally hefty
steel bolt, as well as an overly large padlock.
Robin watched (with understandable nervousness) as Miriam
produced a long key and unlocked the padlock, lifted it free,
then swung open the heavy hasp. Despite herself, Robin flinched
at the sound when Miriam drew the bolt. Thunk!
In stereotypical fashion (in Robin's opinion) the door's hinges
squealed—Eeeeee!—when Miriam pulled it open.
Very theatrical, Robin thought, contemplating the open
door, and strong enough to defeat the She-Hulk... and I'm no
Still smiling, Miriam gestured for Robin to step forward.
Briefly, Robin considered turning and making a steel-hobbled
break for the stairs, instead. Next, she considered that
now might very well be the perfect time for that
conniption-fit she'd been planning. Instead, after a dozen
or so thudding heartbeats, she heaved a ball-gagged sigh and
shuffled forward. Inexplicably, she was curious to see
what lay beyond the imposing steel portal.
Robin crossed the threshold, Miriam clicked a light switch on
the outside wall, and Robin's eyes popped wide. She was in
a small alcove, and directly in front of a closed and locked
gate of vertical steel bars, like something out of a
prison! And beyond the bars was a roughly eight by ten
foot prison cell! There was nothing else she could
call it... other than a dungeon cell.
In other dungeon news...
Inside the cell, one of the basement windows was set high in the
left wall, but unlike the others—the basement windows not a
part of Miriam's Dungeon—instead of the expected pane of dirty
glass providing a view of a window-well lined with corrugated
steel, the far side of this particular small rectangular opening
was sealed off by translucent glass blocks. And adding
insult to overkill, vertical steel bars set in the concrete
protected the weakly glowing blocks from Robin's hypothetical
She-Hulk... or from Robin.
Also, what appeared to be a stainless steel commode was tucked
in the far right corner of the cell—a thick, canvas-covered pad roughly the size
of a twin-size mattress rested on the floor—and a long, gleaming chain
dangled from a steel ring set in the middle of the far
wall. Most of the chain was pooled atop the pad, but
attached to the very end of the chain Robin could
see—"Nrrr!"—her old friend the steel cable-collar she'd worn
last night up in the tower bedroom! Either that or
Miriam has more than one of the things, Robin
reasoned. She took a slow, careful (clinking) step
backwards. Robin had reconsidered making a "run" for it;
however, her cunning plan was foiled when she immediately bumped
"No you don't, Cupcake," Miriam purred. One hand gripping
Robin's leather encased and strapped-to-her-body right arm, she
produced another key, unlocked the barred gate, and pulled it
open. Its hinges also needed oiling. Eeeeee!
She then dragged Robin into the cell, and this time she did have
to actually drag her guest (and reluctant captive).
Robin twisted and squirmed and fought as best she could, but
couldn't prevent Miriam from flopping her down on the
surprisingly comfortable pad or from locking the
cable-collar around her neck! "Mrrrmpfh!"
Miriam stepped back and watched, a smile on her lips and her
arms crossed under her breasts, as Robin continued twisting,
squirming, and kicking, causing her shackle and collar chains to
rattle and dance. Miriam watched what she considered to be
a particularly entertaining display of bound, gagged, mostly
naked frustration by a delectably curvaceous and petite little
damsel. This continued for nearly a minute... then Robin
gave a heartbreaking, pathetic little gagged-sigh and blinked
her sad brown eyes at her captor.
"I know," Miriam purred, "miles and miles from the city, totally
helpless, and completely at my mercy. If this isn't a good
experiment, I don't know what is." She pointed at the
steel commode. "The front pedal flushes the bowl, and the
side pedal triggers the bidet function, which also serves as
your drinking fountain. And don't worry, the bidet stream
is strong enough that you don't have to stick your head inside
the bowl. You'll find the system to be quite
functional, although the water is cold. It comes
straight from the well."
Robin gazed at the commode in horror. Drinking
fountain? How can I drink when I'm ball-gagged?
She turned her gagged head to find Miriam stepping through the
barred gate. "Nrrrrr!" she whined.
Eeeeee! Miriam had closed and locked the gate—from
the far side, of course. She beamed a warm smile in the
pathetic prisoner's direction. "I'm so very proud
of you, Cupcake. You're so very brave. Good
night." With that, Miriam exited the cell and swung the
steel door closed behind her. Eeeeee!
"MRRRRRFH!" Robin screamed through her ball-gag. Inside
the concrete cell the sound of her extreme displeasure was
arguably loud, but she doubted if it had penetrated the steel
Thunk! Robin recognized the sound of the door bolt
slamming home. She listened, but didn't hear the hasp
being closed over the end of the hasp or the oversized
padlock snapping shut. The door was too thick. Brave?
Robin mused. If I'm so darn brave... why am I about
to cry? Her eyes wet, she lay flat and relaxed on
the pad, squirming for comfort as best she could. I
should have thrown that conniption fit, she decided.
Too late now. Robin gazed up at the cell's one and
only light fixture, a small, circular can set into the concrete
ceiling and protected by a grid of iron bars... and then the
bulb within winked out. Miriam had turned off the light.
The cell was now the next best (or worst) thing to dark. A
few feeble rays were shining through the glass block window and passing through the
She-Hulk-proof bars—but the
glow was no more than that of a nightlight, and all
too soon Robin knew even that would fade to nothing... and she'd be
in total darkness... and dawn was many hours away.
|| Chapter 9
Leda and the
clearing faced north, more or less, so even if she hadn't been
naked (not counting her moccasins), tied to a big ol' cedar tree
by a zillion feet of coyote-brown paracord, stuff-gagged with a
bandana, and cleave-gagged with the last of The Evil Jordan's
cord collection, she couldn't have watched the sunset.
That was happening well off to her left. Geography,
astronomy, and bondage had all conspired to rob her of the
pleasure of what was undoubtedly a spectacular show.
Anyway—Sigh!—the sky darkened and all was still.
There was a light breeze, but that was about it. It was
too early for bats, but Leda knew that soon the little guys and
gals might show themselves, fluttering and wheeling
across the twilight sky in their endless quests to rid the
planet of tasty insects. And after that... the first stars
would appear. All Leda could do was wiggle in her tight
cord bonds for comfort, and—
Leda's eyes popped wide. Someone or something had
stepped on a twig! Was it a bear? A cougar? A
sterotypically grumpy badger? An Evil Kidnapper?
Just then, a hand squeezed Leda's left breast—"Mrrrpfh!"—and a
second hand settled on her cord-bound abdomen, between her pubic
bush and pierced navel! Then, an Evil Kidnapper stepped
into view. Much to Leda's relief, the Evil Kidnapper in
question was Jordan, and not some other Evil
Kidnapper. She was dressed in the same shorts and t-shirt,
as far as Leda could see, and smelled of insect repellent.
A sly, infuriatingly gorgeous smile curled Jordan's lips as she
gazed at her Helpless Victim.
"Mrrrf!" Leda complained, staring daggers at her backpacking
companion. Then, her eyes popped wide, again, when Jordan
released her breast, hooked a finger around the chain linking
her nipple-stirrups, and gently pulled. "Mrrrf!"
She'd made more or less the same sound, but this time it was
unmistakably a plea for mercy.
Unfortunately, no mercy was forthcoming. Jordan pulled on
the chain until Leda's nipples and breasts stretched, just a
little. She then released the chain, withdrew her other
hand from Leda's tummy, and produced something from the right
cargo pocket of her shorts. It was a tube of insect
repellent. Still not saying a word, she locked eyes with
Leda, popped the cap of the tube, and squeezed a generous
portion of the oily concoction onto her right palm. She
then closed the cap, pocketed the tube, rubbed her hands
together, and began applying the lotion to Leda's exposed
skin... which at the moment was almost all of Leda's
skin. She took her time, replenishing her hands with
repellent as necessary, and massaged the protective oil into
every square inch she could reach of her captive's shivering,
This took a while.
Leda did her best to ignore Jordan's warm, smooth, gliding hands
(meaning she reveled in the massage being inflicted
upon her helpless body). The hands in question slid across
Leda's skin, as well as the cords dimpling her flesh and
dividing it into diamonds and trapezoids and binding her against
the rough bark. Leda tried not to squirm, not wanting to
scrape her back, butt, and calves against tree, but... it was
impossible. Eyes clinched tightly closed, she shivered and
wiggled as Jordan's hands continued coating her body.
That included Leda's legs, thighs, hips, torso, armpits, arms,
and face. She knew Jordan was finding it difficult to
reach all of her anatomy—and coating/massaging her calves, butt,
back, and hands would be impossible—but her Evil Kidnapper was
giving it her best try... and she took special pains to thoroughly
coat Leda's breasts.
And then—"Mrrrf?"—Leda's eyes popped wide. Jordan's right
hand was between her legs and sliding against her labia!
Leda clenched her thighs, both by reflex and in a halfhearted,
vain attempt to impede Jordan's efforts, but the hand in
question was strong and oily and would not be denied.
The labial massage continued... and continued... and
continued. Leda began rolling her hips, but the cords
lashing her to the tree seriously dampened her efforts to match
Jordan's rhythm. Leda also shivered and squirmed, as best
she could. The massage continued. Leda's eyes were
squeezed shut, again, and her breath was coming in pants.
And still the massage continued.
Finally, inevitably, Leda's body went rigid in the tight web of
Jordan's cords—Jordan chose that exact second to pull Leda's
nipple-stirrup-chain until her breasts and nipples stretched,
once again—and the earth moved.
It was either an earthquake or an orgasm. Leda's money was
Panting and her breasts heaving (enough to make the chain
linking her nipples sway in harmonic sympathy), Leda opened her
eyes to find Jordan standing in front of her and wiping her
hands on her shorts. She was smiling the same infuriating
(gorgeous) smile, of course. Leda wanted to slap her smug,
gloating face... and kiss those infuriating lips for an hour or
two. Unfortunately... cord bondage.
And then, Jordan left. Leda didn't believe it! She
hadn't said a single word the entire time, and now, Jordan had
just turned and left!
"Mrrrpfh!" And the horse you rode in on!
Leda was furious. And alone. And still naked
and tied to the tree. "Mrrf." And gagged. Leda
heaved a sigh and waited, her only option. She very much
hoped she wouldn't remain lashed to the tree long enough for
"waiting" to transition into "languishing," but that was out of
her cord-bound hands.
The sun was now well below the western horizon, somewhere well
off to the left. It was true twilight. And then, a
bat appeared overhead... followed by a second. Leda
enjoyed the show as her breathing returned to normal and the
orgasmic afterglow between her legs faded to a low grade
pussy-purr... then faded altogether.
If she leaves me here all night... Leda heaved
another sigh. ...then I'll be here all night.
The bats continued feasting on insects and the first of the
stars appeared, twinkling in the indigo sky.
|| Chapter 9