by Van ©2018
		Chapter 9

Robin opened 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 mess?

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 YES!

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 inspection.

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 of—"

"I know, your husband's toys," Robin interrupted, then shook her head.  "No."

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... difficult.

"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 securing buckles. 

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... naughty.

"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 that?"

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 Robin.

"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.

About fifty 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 upside-down-reverse-prayer-with-arms-raised-and-wrists-and-hands-behind-the-head-and-tied-to-the-back-of-a-torso-harness-tie.  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 glaring.

"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 clearing.

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.

"Chickadee-dee-dee!"

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 Jordan-the-asshole.

Robin clinked 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 the air.

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 diligence."

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 bathroom.

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 She-Hulk.

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 into Miriam.

"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.

"Mrrr."

"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 door.

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.

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—

Snap!

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, squirming body.

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 on orgasm.

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.