* * * Part 5 * * *
The fifteen minutes of break were not really enough to make me feel rejuvenated, but at least my head has stopped spinning. The two big bottles of water they made me drink have helped against my exhaustion. I'm back in my red cycling outfit, and at the moment I'm biting my lip trying not to protest against the outrageously girlish pink backpack the minx is making me carry. Her fingers fumble with the two horizontal straps across my chest that connect the broader shoulder straps. It's a tight fit, the backpack's not designed for an adult, and only after I follow a snippy "Exhale!" do the buckles latch. My breathing is restricted, and the straps above and below my tits make them jut out obscenely.
The redhead tests the fit by pulling the straps a number of times, and I have a hard time keeping my balance.
"Nice," she declares with a satisfied smile, "I think you're almost set to go." Suddenly her fingers grip my already overly sensitive nipples and squeeze and twist them, until I can't hold back a gasp. "There," she grins, "it would be a shame to hide those delicious buttons of yours, don't you think, little slut?"
I look down and take in the shape of my hardened nipples so clearly recognizable through my skin-tight top, blush, and stammer: "Yes, no..., yes.... you are of course right, Madam."
Her face lights up with a smile, and for a second I expect her to clap her hands together in delight. Instead she slaps my butt and sing-songs "Off we go, then!"
So I start along the hiking trail, my girlish trainers not really the footwear of choice for a rough gravel path, and I have to be careful to avoid stepping on big or pointed stones. Which makes me wiggle my hips a lot to keep my balance, and I'm sure that's exactly what the two devious women trailing behind me had planned all along, if their giggling is anything to go by.
For the first two miles or so the path runs in slow curves between grassland and bushes, and I enjoy the feeling of sun and wind on my skin. And though I get reprimanded twice for going too fast, my Mistress and her friend appear to have a lot of fun too. My muscles relax after being restrained for the drive, and with the blue sky above me, birds chirping everywhere and small insects humming from flower to flower I feel content.
It's late enough in the year already that we don't encounter many people, just a group of older women too immersed in their discussion to pay us much heed. One of them sends me some strange looks, but I try to ignore those and walk on.
After half an hour we reach the forest, and the path gets steeper. It's not really a mountain, more of a big hill, not more than eight hundred feet high, but the gravel path turns into quite the rocky trail and slows me down. The minx walks closely behind me now, and from time to time she gives me a slap on my bum, which, as she comments to my Mistress, is wiggling at just the perfect height in front of her.
Otherwise, the two of them discuss new clothing trends, a topic that doesn't really capture my attention anymore, since my Mistress has started to pick out almost everything I wear. So I just let my mind wander on its own. Hiking makes me feel closer to nature, and with giant trees around me and rocks twice my height in diameter, left there by glaziers thousands of years ago, I feel myself pushed back in time. Any minute I expect dwarfs and monsters from fairy tales to jump out of the underbrush. I giggle, because can be so childish sometimes.
Another half an hour has gone by and we reach a clearing with some tables and benches made from tree trunks. My Mistress decides for a short break, and she and the minx sit down on one of the benches.
"Come here," I'm ordered, "we need something from the backpack."
So I step closer to them and lift my hand to open the clasps, but I receive a painful slap on it.
"Keep it on," the minx commands, "it takes too long to undo and re-fasten the straps. Just squat down between us."
And with that I turn around and squat down. They take their time to undo the top clasp of the backpack, and when they rummage around inside, I almost topple over. Finally, after a minute, they have found what they are looking for - though I am sure that the tiny backpack couldn't hold enough to warrant that much searching - and as my thighs already start to tremble, I try to get up. Without success. I look back over my shoulder and see the redhead's arm extended, holding me down with the handle of the backpack.
"No, no, no," she admonishes me, "you'll stay like that until we tell you that you can get up again!"
The muscles in my thighs are already getting strained now and start to hurt, but I manage a halfway convincing "yes, Madame."
I can hear the sounds of bottles being uncapped, and the two of them start a discussion about my body and my 'problem zones'. I'd like to sink into the ground, and I do hope that nobody comes by at this time.
"So she's stuffing herself with chocolate all the time, you say?" I can hear the minx ask.
"You wouldn't believe it. Instead of doing something for her body, she lazes about on the sofa and watches movies. I really don't know what to do with her!"
My Mistress sounds quite exasperated, a lot more than appropriate, in my opinion, but I keep my mouth shut and focus on shifting my weight slowly between one leg and the other. Much longer, and they'll start to cramp.
"You know, I might have just the idea to cure her of that." The redhead sounds mirthful, and that is never a good sign.
"How so?"
"You're familiar with Pavlov's work with dogs?"
It takes my Mistress a few seconds to answer, and when she does, I'm sure I have missed something important. "You can't be serious! That's..."
The minx interrupts her. "Seriously kinky, but nothing dangerous, with good hygiene. You should just lend her out to me for a night, and I'll work wonders on her."
I want to jump up and shout "no, please not," not sure if I'd leave with my sanity intact after a whole night with her alone. True, she can be sweet and caring, but she is always the one pushing my limits one step further, and I often have the impression that my Mistress is slowing her pace. My burning thighs are now jumping up and down like needles in a sewing machine, and my head runs "please finish soon, please finish soon" as a mantra.
"You know," my Mistress answers instead in a contemplative voice, "I might just take you up on that offer. I'll have to attend a business event next weekend, and I'd hate to leave my pet here unattended."
My eyes grow moist, and I don't know if its the pain in my legs that's getting close to unbearable, or if the fear of spending a night with the minx is the main factor. One of them nestles with the backpack again.
"I'll be glad to help you there, just give me a call and I'll come and pick her up."
Just as I expect the first tear to escape my eyes, I feel a tug on the backpack.
"There, all done, let's go on, we want to be back before it gets dark!"
Getting back upright is harder than I had expected, and I stumble a few steps like a drunk until a modicum of feeling has returned to my legs. The redhead hands me a full bottle of water and I become aware of how thirsty I am only after I have taken the first gulp. The cool liquid works wonders for me, and it isn't hard at all to follow the order of "Drink it all, you'll need it."
After binning the empty bottle in the big metal waste basket next to the bench we're on our way again, me in front and my Mistress and her friend behind be. I guess we must already be halfway to the top of the hill, and now that the sun is definitely over its zenith, the air gets noticeably crisper. So crisp, in fact, that my nipples are hard like steel needles. And while my boobs bounce a little without a bra, the tight straps of the backpack keep my t-shirt from moving with them, making my nipples rub against the fabric with each step. At first, the small jolts of electricity that travel from there to my pussy each time I take a bigger step are a welcome addition, but all too soon my nipples get overly sensitive. It distracts me, and once or twice I almost misstep, which doesn't escape the notice of my companions.
"Are you already exhausted, Chrissie?" My Mistress' voice is caring, and that fact makes me embarrassed to confess my predicament.
"No, Mistress, just..." I stop, turn around and take a deep breath, knowing it won't do me any good to talk around the issue, "it's my nipples, Mistress. They're hard from the cool air, and they rub against the fabric of my top with each step, and I fear they'll soon get sore."
The minx giggles, and I can tell from the way the corners of her mouth twitch upwards that my Mistress is having a hard time not to. "Oh Chrissie," she sighs, "now you're turning an innocent pastime like hiking into a form of sexual torture, without us doing anything. What should I do with you?"
My response is a crimson blush on my cheeks as I look at my feet and wiggle on my heels.
"Oh my god!" interrupts the redhead, "look at her cunt!"
I do that myself, and gasp as I see the dark spot over my pussy where my moisture has obviously managed to soak the flimsy material. I bite my lower lip while I endure more giggling.
"We have to do something about that," decides my Mistress, and from the corners of my eyes I can see the minx nodding enthusiastically.
"I know just the thing to distract her from those rubbing nipples," she declares, "if you wait here for a minute I'll be right back."
My Mistress agrees, and the young woman disappears into the underbrush next to the trail. For a few minutes we can hear the distant cracking of dry twigs under her shoes, then she is back with an elated expression and a folded handkerchief in her hand. She whispers into my Mistress' ear, who's face shows a bit of concern at first, but that quickly turns into delighted amusement. They whisper back and forth for a bit, then my Mistress turns towards me.
