Chattel Mountain Lodge Tales of Chattel Mountain Lodge
 by Van © 2006
Chapter 5: The Face Behind the Mask.
To see the actors the author would cast in a CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE anthology/mini-series (on premium cable, of course)
follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.  New cast members are added as they appear in the stories.


NOTE:  This is the second in the series Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE.


Robyn struggled in her captor's grasp, but it was hopeless. She was dragged into the room towards a third set of suspension cuffs, chains, and blocks.  The setup was identical to Frieda and Joelle's restraints, except that sufficient chain had been played out to leave the cuffs lying on the floor in a pile of gleaming links. Robyn was forced to the floor and pinned, face down, with the mysterious camouflaged woman straddling her waist.

The woman pulled Robyn's already gaping uniform down her body, then unclasped her bra and pulled it down as well, leaving both garments tangled together around her waist and bound hands. Robyn mewled a steady stream of complaints through her tape gag, but was ignored.  A second set of plasticuffs tightened around her arms, just above the elbows, and the pair binding her wrists were removed.

Robyn's uniform was stripped down her body and legs.  Her pantyhose and panties were peeled down as well.  Her attacker reversed position and captured her kicking feet.  She could feel the woman messing with her heels, and then the tiny heart-shaped padlocks formerly securing the ankle straps clicked open and were tossed aside.  Robyn watched them skitter away, followed by the shoes themselves.  The rest of her clothing was pulled free, and then her captor stood.

Naked, tape-gagged, and elbow-bound, Robyn climbed to her feet and turned to face her attacker.  The woman had her back turned and was busy stuffing Robyn's uniform and underwear into a plastic bag.  Robyn shook her hair from her face, and then tugged on her bound elbows.  Her already sweaty body was now thoroughly soiled from the dust carpeting the chamber floor.

Robyn lifted her head and looked towards Frieda and Joelle.  Her helpless companions were watching, exhaustion evident on their gagged faces.  The camouflaged woman retrieved Robyn's shoes, including the padlocks, and was stuffing them in the bag with her uniform.  My only chance! Robyn decided.  If she could kick the woman in the solar plexus, or under her chin, she might be able to disable her long enough to find a knife in her harness and somehow free herself.  She, eased herself to her feet, and launched an attack.

Robyn's execution was flawless, but even though the woman's back was still turned, she ducked the first blow, easily evaded Robyn's follow-through, and then seized her from behind.  No doubt about it, whoever the hell she was, her kung-fu was good!

"Feisty!" the woman remarked.  "Much more fun than a simpering bottom; but you're totally outclassed, Robyn-with-a-'Y'.  I suggest you go with the flow.  Fewer bruises on that pretty freckled hide of yours that way."

Robyn was dragged back to the waiting suspension cuffs and chains, and, again, forced to the floor.  She mewled through her gag and struggled, but couldn't prevent the woman from wrapping the broad, padded cuffs around her wrists and securing their straps.  The buckles had flush, locking, covering flanges, and would require a key to remove.

The tape was ripped from Robyn's lips with one callous jerk, but before she could so much as yelp, a rubber ball was thrust in her mouth and buckled behind her neck.  Then, a rubber panel was stretched across her lower face, from just under her nose to the point of her chin, and was buckled as well.  Her captor removed the plasticuffs from her elbows, then stepped back.  There was plenty of slack in her chains, so Robyn reached behind her head to release the gag; but its buckles were protected by locking flanges, like the cuffs.

Robyn's fingers were still searching for a weakness in the gag's straps when a mechanical noise sounded and her wrists began being slowly pulled into the air.  The woman was at the winch, her hand on the switch.   The chains clinked and clanked through the pulleys overhead and onto the winch's drum.  Robyn tugged on the cuffs and chains, but it was pointless.  The chains shortened until her arms were fully raised and she was almost up on her toes.  Robyn continued struggling, then flinched and went still when the woman seized her hair from behind.

"Hold your head still while I deal with this bird's nest," she ordered, and began brushing Robyn's hair.

Robyn forced herself to remain still, as ordered.  She considered the possibility of trying to kick her captor, again, but what would that get her?  She'd still be locked in suspension cuffs and unable to free herself.  The brushing continued, with smooth, strong strokes; then her hair was coiled into a tight bun, like Frieda and Joelle's.  She sighed as she heard what was probably a small cable tie zip around the base of the bun.

First on the left, and then on the right, her captor lugged the concrete blocks a few inches forward and placed them to either side of Robyn's bare feet.  Her intent was clear.  Robyn whined a complaint through her gag, but the woman was already returning to the winch.  "Up you go," she said cheerfully, and thumbed the switch.

Robyn complained again, this time with a frustrated, angry growl; but the chain shortened, and she was pulled higher.  She scrambled to plant her feet on the blocks, and then sighed behind her gag as she was pulled up onto her toes.  The winch motor stopped, and Robyn's condition was identical to Frieda and Joelle's, in a standing spread-eagle, one apex of an equilateral triangle of gagged, nude, and helpless damsels.

Their captor walked a slow circle around her prisoners, and then stepped into the shadows.  She returned with—Robyn's eyes popped wide—a thrashing whip!  It was nearly a yard long, braided grip included, with two-dozen dangling, ribbon-wide thongs and a loop for a handle.

Corporal punishment was part of Robyn's training as Junior Dominatrix in Training, but she had yet to brandish even the most gentle of the Lodge's vast collection of crops, paddles, floggers, and whips.  Her education was far enough advanced for her to know that the model the masked woman was carrying was one of their most dangerous, one that required great skill to wield without causing horrific damage to the victim's skin.

A shudder of dread rippled up Robyn's spine.  Her breasts heaved as she panted through her nostrils, her heart hammering in her chest.
The woman removed her equipment harness.  She was careful to ensure her sidearm was securely strapped in its holster before bundling the harness and placing it in another bag.  Her gloves were next, and then she peeled off her top.  Her costume was now reduced to camouflaged boots, leotard-like pants, and her mask and hood.

Robyn had to admit their captor had an incredible physique, as feminine and strong as Tess or Joelle.  Her form was most similar to Frieda's, but with sun-bronzed skin, as opposed to Mistress' fair complexion.  Her abs were hard, her muscles toned and well defined, and she moved with the lithe, graceful poise of a dancer or a great athlete.  Her breasts were full and firm, without being overly large.  Her skin glistened, as if lightly oiled.

Shania Twain is The Forest Ninja!And then she reached for the mask.

Mask and hood were removed together, and the woman shook her head to free her long, brown, gleaming tresses.  She smiled at Frieda, Joelle, and lastly Robyn, hands on hips, the sinister whip dangling from her right wrist.  Robyn thought she'd never seen greater or more terrifying beauty.  Yes, the brunette was even on a par with…  Dare she even think it? ...Frieda!

She stepped in front of Frieda's helpless, spread-eagled form.  "So," she purred, "who wants to go first?"  She took the thrasher by the handle and gave it a casual flip.  Frieda simply stared, her blue eyes unmistakably hostile.  "Oh, I suppose it's a foolish question," the woman continued.  "One almost always starts at the top."  She gave the whip another flip, and this time the ends of the thongs snapped.  "We'll keep things simple and start at the back, as well."

Robyn mewled through her gag and shook her head as the woman strolled behind Frieda's restrained body.

"Don't worry, Robyn-with-a-'Y'," the woman said as she rolled her shoulders and twisted her upper body, warming up for the exercise to come.  "You'll get your turn."  She drew back the whip, and struck Frieda's buttocks.

Robyn screamed through her gag, tugged on her bonds, and danced on the blocks under her toes.  In point of fact, her response to the blow was many times more intense than Frieda's.  Her beloved mistress flinched, but that was all.  Robyn focused on Joelle and was surprised to find her equally calm and apparently unconcerned.

The whipping continued.  Robyn couldn't see the result.   Frieda continued to bear the ordeal with complete stoicism, but Robyn feared the worst.  Each butt cheek received six blows, then the woman paused, a gloating smile on her beautiful face, and stepped behind Joelle.

Joelle's derrière received a dozen licks.  Each blow landed with a surprisingly quiet slap.  Like Frieda, Joelle bore the pain with near perfect control.  The woman took her time, pausing between strokes, but keeping up a steady rhythm.

And then it was Robyn's turn.

Robyn continued panting through her nostrils, and her heart was still hammering.  Her gaze darted from Frieda to Joelle, then back to Frieda—and she froze.  Frieda was staring back, and in a moment of silent communion, Robyn received her orders.  Okay Mistress, I'll be strong... I hope.

The whip whistled, and landed on Robyn's right butt cheek.  Slap—Ow!  It hurt like the devil!  Robyn flinched.  Slap—Ow!  The second blow landed, and the pain was worse!  Slap—Ow!  The third was worse yet!  Robyn was biting down on her ball-gag, and her eyes were wet, but she was managing to stand still, more or less.  Slap—Ow!  Okay, she danced on her toes a little.  Slap—Ow!  She was only human.

Eventually, the twelfth blow landed (Robyn didn't actually count) and the woman stepped away.  Robyn watched her stroll behind Frieda.  She was sure her butt cheeks had to be a mass of raw, bleeding cuts, but couldn't see the damage.

The woman's drew back the whip, and struck Frieda's back.

She isn't finished! Robyn realized.

Their backs were followed by the backs of their thighs and their calves.  The woman struck silently and methodically, moving from victim to victim and anatomical region to anatomical region.  Robyn bore her share of the punishment with fortitude, but couldn't control her tears.  Where they bulged above her gag, her cheeks were flushed, glistening, and wet.

The woman stepped into the center space between all three victims, and struck Frieda's breasts!

Robyn flinched, despite all the punishment she had endured and had watched her beloved mistresses endure—then her eyes popped wide.  She expected to see a row of cuts where the thongs of the thrasher had struck, but, while there were pink striations, Frieda's skin was intact.  The next blow landed, and the next.

Robyn watched the woman's back as she delivered stroke after stroke to Frieda's breasts and stomach.  The woman's muscles rippled and flowed.  Her skin glistened with sweat.  In point of fact, all of them glistened with sweat.  The chamber was mildly overheated, like most of the sanitarium dungeons and playrooms.  The woman moved on to Joelle, leaving Frieda's front pink and flushed, but otherwise unharmed.

How can it hurt so bad, yet not do any real damage? Robyn wondered.  She flinched as lash after lash landed on Joelle's slick, dark breasts.  She shivered with dread as the count reached twelve.

The woman stepped in front of Robyn, and smiled.  She then drew back her arm... and struck.

Robyn flinched.  It was horrible!  She looked down at her left breast, and beheld a dozen pink lines.

"I love redheads," the woman gloated.  "That peaches-and-cream, freckled skin reddens so well under the whip."

The whipping continued—and Robyn drifted in a miasma of pain.  Blow after blow, lash after lash... and then it was over.  Sweating and panting, Robyn's eyes were still closed—then she yelped through her gag and her eyes popped wide.

The woman's right hand was cupping her sex, caressing her labia with deep, slow, gentle strokes.

"Wet, Robyn-with-a-'Y'," the woman purred.  "Not exactly dripping, but I suppose the fear is taking a bit of the edge off."  She withdrew her hand, took a step back, and delivered a stinging lash to Robyn's crotch.

Robyn voiced a barely audible squeal and a delicate shudder passed through her tractioned frame; but a gagged, imperious complaint came from Frieda.

"Oh, all right," the woman called over her shoulder in Frieda's direction. Her eyes were on Robyn, enjoying her reaction.  She let the whip fall from her hand, leaving it dangling from its loop, and turned to face Frieda.  "Well," she said, stretching her arms and smiling, "that was fun, wasn't it?"  Frieda glared at their gloating tormentor.  "If looks could kill," the woman laughed.

The woman stepped away to the bag containing her top, hood, and harness, reached inside, and extracted a small camouflaged pouch.  She then went to the winch that controlled the pair of chains attached to Frieda's cuffs.

Robyn couldn't see what the woman was doing.  Her body was in the way.  Eventually, she stepped aside, and Robyn could see what looked like thick wire wrapped around and through a pair of links on each of the chains.  Dangling between the two wires was a small metal cylinder, about the size of a ballpoint pen.  It was gunmetal gray, and a red LED was flashing on one end.

The woman collected the bags containing Robyn's uniform and her clothing and strolled towards the chamber door.  "Later!" she called, dropping the whip to the floor.  The door closed behind her with a loud clang.
Tess rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.  She'd woken from a catnap some time earlier.  It was full night, the only light in the bedroom provided by a pair of glowing accent lights, one on either nightstand.  She minced her way to the bathroom, relieved herself, and managed to drink from the sink.  As promised, all the controls were automatic, and she returned to the bed somewhat refreshed... in body, if not in spirit.

The "bandolero straitjacket" remained tight and secure, despite her energetic attempts to find a weakness in the cunning design.  With her arms folded behind her back and encased in the canvas sleeves, and her hands doubly encased in the sleeves and the neoprene mittens underneath, she was helpless; and no amount of twisting or squirming would loosen the buckles of the many sheathes, cuffs, and straps, including the jacket's insidious corset.

Tess sighed and rolled onto her side.  Mistress Frieda's sheets were satin-soft, caressing her legs and thighs, and, exposed by cutouts in the jacket, her breasts and shoulders.  The pillow cradling her head was equally soft and smooth.  She was getting seriously hungry, but wasn't in a position to do anything about it, of course.  Maybe another nap, she decided.

Tess sighed again, closed her eyes—then immediately opened them.  A key was rattling in the lock of the bedroom door.  Tess lifted her head and squirmed on the bed to face that direction.  Was it her mysterious, camouflaged captor—or Freida?  She held her breath as the door opened, and felt her heart thudding in her chest.

A woman entered.  She was a brunette and was very beautiful, evident even in the dim light.  She was also topless!  She strode towards the bed, and Tess noted her camouflaged boots and skintight pants.  When she was close, Tess recognized her gorgeous brown eyes.

Tess swallowed.  "It's you," she whispered.

"Do you still hate me?" the woman asked, a gloating smile on her face.

A thrill of pleasure at the memory of what the woman had done to her rippled through Tess' sex.  She turned her face away.  "I'm going to report you to Freida," she mumbled into the pillow.  "You ruined my fantasy."

"I'm sorry," the woman laughed, grabbed a handful of Tess hair, and hauled her off the bed.  "Or rather, I would be sorry, if I gave a rat's ass."  She forced Tess to her knees.  "Forehead on the floor."

For Tess, it was a familiar position: kneeling with her breasts pressed against her knees and her forehead pressed into the carpet.  She rolled her eyes, twisted her head to the side, and watched the woman sit on the bed and remove her boots.  The brunette then stood, stretched, and headed for the bathroom.  "Who are you?" Tess demanded.  "What's your name?"

The woman paused in the doorway, leaned forward, then peeled down and removed her pants.  "You can call me Ninja," she said, and tossed the pants across the room.  They landed atop her discarded boots with unerring precision.  "As for who I am..."  She stretched again, and smiled.  "I'm the one who will punish you 'til you scream if I hear so much as a peep from that pretty little pouting mouth while I'm in the shower."  The woman disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of running water began.

Tess sighed and shifted her gaze back to the plush carpet.  Her heart was still hammering... and she was aware that her sex was humiliatingly wet.  "I hate her," she whispered.

The bathroom door remained open, and 'Ninja' took a very long shower.  Wisps of steam began to drift into the bedroom proper—and finally the shower stopped.  Seconds passed, then Ninja strolled back into the bedroom, her nude, tan skin dripping with water.  Toweling her hair, she stopped with Tess's head between her bare feet.

"Up on your knees, rich bitch," Ninja purred.

Tess eased back onto her heels, and found her face several inches from Ninja's moisture beaded bush and glistening sex.

"You know what to do," Ninja said, continuing to dry her hair.

"If you think I'm going to—"

"Have you ever spent the night up on your toes," Ninja interrupted in a matter-of-fact voice, "gagged so tightly you can't even whimper, fishing line looped around your nipples and stretched up to a hook in the ceiling, an electrified dildo and butt-plug strapped in the appropriate orifices and plugged into a random timer?"

Tess shivered in dread, then sighed, shuffled forward, and extended her tongue.
Robyn hung in her bonds, her toes and calves aching from the effort of supporting her weight.  Their tormentor had been gone for... hours.  She wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been gone, but it felt like hours.

Suddenly, an actinic light flooded the chamber, together with a loud sizzling noise and a cloud of acrid smoke.  It was coming from the chains holding Frieda aloft, where the woman had threaded her wire and left the dangling, flashing metal device.  The light show continued for several seconds, then Robyn heard chain clattering and falling.

She opened her eyes and through the clearing smoke beheld Frieda stepping down from her blocks.  Yards of silver chain were pooled around her feet.  Pain evident in her eyes and moving slowly, she reached up and pulled a key from her hair bun, then began unlocking her cuffs.  Obviously, the apparatus the woman had rigged had burned through the chains, freeing Robyn's beloved mistress.

Still gagged, Frieda walked stiffly to Joelle's winch and threw the switch, then went to Robyn's winch and activated it as well.  The winch motors whined and chain rattled as it was played out.  Robyn stumbled off her blocks, and let the chain lower her to the ground.

Meanwhile, Frieda had removed her gag, and was releasing Joelle from her chains and gag.

Now free, both mistresses walked over to Robyn.  Joelle unlocked Robyn's cuffs, then her gag.  The rubber panel and ball fell away, and Robyn licked her lips.  "Who was that?" she croaked.  "What's going on?"

Frieda pulled her to her feet, and into a tight embrace.  "Joelle will explain," Frieda said.  "You were very brave, Irish," she whispered.  "I'm very proud."

Robyn lost all control.  She clutched Frieda's naked, sweating body with all her strength, and cried.

"Hush," Frieda whispered, her manner unusually gentle.  "Hush, my brave one."  She let Robyn cry for several seconds, then handed her off to Joelle.

Robyn gripped Joelle just as tightly.  "I-I couldn't stop her," she sobbed.  "I—"

"Easy," Joelle whispered.  "It's over, Red."

"I wasn't brave," Robyn wailed.  "I cried like a baby!"

"A beautiful, brave baby," Joelle cooed, and kissed Robyn's lips.

Frieda stretched until her joints creaked, then spun on her heels and started for the door.  "Get a shower and some food," she muttered.  "I've got something to do."

The door clanged.  Robyn broke the kiss and turned her head, but Frieda was already gone.  "What?  She's going after that... that woman?"

"I'll explain everything," Joelle said, pulling Robyn back into her arms, "right after we get clean.  It's quite a story."