DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Adventures in Personnel Management by Van ©2008 Chapter 3

Barbara was mildly surprised to find she'd managed to get even a little sleep.  She was equally surprised that she wasn't in a state of total disorientation and panic.  She was naked and bound hand and foot with tape, after all.

'Dermafoam', she remembered.  It's called 'Dermafoam'.  Kat, her "course instructor", was already out of bed and was striding towards the bathroom—in all her nude, athletic, and feline glory.  Barbara realized the bouncing of her kidnapper rolling off the bed was probably what had disturbed her fitful slumber.  She listened to the sound of water running, then the unmistakable sound of Kat taking a tinkle.  She squirmed and tested her bonds, but they were still as secure and inescapable as ever.  Her arms were still folded behind her back and mummified in continuous wrappings from elbow-to-elbow, and her legs crossed and taped at the knees and ankles.  Her captor was going to have to be the one to do something about it—Barbara certainly couldn't.

Kat returned to the bedroom, still nude and still smiling.  "Mornin', Barbie," she purred.  "Welcome to Day Two of A.R.E. training."

"My shoulders are sore," Barbara complained.

"Oh, Barbie," Kat chuckled.  "Sore?  You should try a day and night in full hogtie, with your hair tied to your toes."

Barbara's eyes widened in alarm.

"It was more a combination hogtie/frog-tie, really," Kat continued.  "And talk about tight.  My ankles were a good six inches past my wrists.  I could barely squirm.  That bind I had you in yesterday was nothing in comparison.  Besides, you're in excellent shape and I know you dabble in yoga, so save the complaints for when things get really serious."

Barbara continued to stare at Kat in disbelief.  'Combination hogtie/frog-tie'? she wondered.  What, exactly, is a 'frog-tie'? ...and what does she mean by 'really serious'... emphasis on 'really'?  "W-why were you tied like that," she stuttered.

"I'll bore you with my war stories another time," Kat interrupted, then lifted Barbara into her arms and carried her to the bathroom.  She planted the prisoner's feet on the tiles, in front of the sink and facing the mirror, then embraced her from behind with her left arm around her waist.

With her ankles crossed and bound, Barbara was forced to balance on one foot.  The support of her naked captor's body was a definite aid in that regard, but the physical intimacy was... disturbing.

Kat filled a glass with cold water and held it to Barbara's lips.  "Drink it all," she ordered, and Barbara complied.  Kat then half-carried/half-dragged Barbara to the commode, lifted the lid, and sat her on the seat.  "Wait here," she said, and returned to the bedroom.

Barbara squirmed in her bonds.  She supposed she could roll off the throne and flop down onto the floor, but what good would that do?  She wasn't going anywhere.  Her razor, cuticle scissors, and all her other toiletry items were nowhere in sight.  She surmised they'd been returned to her toiletries kit—which was zipped up and hanging from a hook near the door, well off the floor and hopelessly out of reach.  Not that I could unzip the thing and use any of it, anyway, she realized, what with my fingers and hands taped up like this.  I suppose I could try using my lips, but it would take forever just to work the zipper.  It was pointless to speculate.  She sighed and shook her head, trying to straighten her tousled hair.

Kat returned.  In her left hand was a coil of white rope, probably the same rope she had used to lash her to the kitchen chair the previous evening.  Riding her right forearm like an oversize bangle was the roll of gray dermafoam, and a wicked looking knife was in her right hand.  Without preamble, she dropped the rope, clutched the blade of the knife with her teeth, let the roll of tape drop into her hand, and ripped off a good seven inches.

"No—mrmf!"

Anything else Barbara might have wanted to say was trapped behind the strip of dermafoam now sealing her lips.  It was followed by additional strips, which were carefully positioned and pressed home by her somewhat piratical-looking captor, her expression made so by her knife-gripping grimace.  Soon, Barbara's lower face disappeared under a smooth, uniform layer of gray tape from just under her nose to the point of her chin, and from ear-to-ear.

Kat took her time smoothing the tape over Barbara's lips.  Her green eyes locked with her captive student's angry (and worried) blue eyes.  After several seconds, she let her hands slide down Barbara's shoulders, arms, waist, hips, and thighs to her knees, evoking a delicate shudder from the prisoner (but her eyes were still defiant).  Kat took the knife from her teeth, slit the tape binding Barbara's knees, then removed it with with one callous rip.

"M'mmf!"  Barbara glared at her captor.  That stung!

"Sorry, Barbie," Kat purred.

Liar! Barbara fumed, continuing to glare.

"Now," Kat continued, "I'll going to make you a little more secure, and then you can do your morning business."

'Morning business?' Barbara wondered—then the light dawned.  Oh.  She blushed as Kat used the rope to tie her to the commode.  The bodyguard took her time, and when she was finally finished, and stood and took a step back, Barbara was bound with her knees splayed and bands of rope encircling her waist and the back of the throne.  Additional strands pinned her arms to her sides, yoked her shoulders, and were tied back to the steel bar mounted on the wall above the commode's water tank.

"Don't worry about pulling down that towel rack," Kat said, with the usual infuriating smile.  "All the hardware in this place is industrial grade.  None of that cheap, snap-on, home-grade crap for Margo's guests."  She picked up the roll of tape and the knife and smiled down at her captive.  "And speaking of crap... I'm talking numbers one and two, Ms. Radcliffe, and it better be 'mission accomplished' when I return, or we'll use the enema method."  She spun on her heel and left the bathroom, pausing only to flip the switch that activated the ceiling fan.

Barbara stared at Kat's disappearing back, then fought her bonds with all her strength... but it was pointless... still pointless.  It was also frustrating and humiliating in the extreme to be treated in this manner.  Which is almost certainly the point, she realized.  Humiliation is part of the curriculum.  Barbara sighed, gave a final, half-hearted squirm and tug on her bonds, then concentrated on the task at hand.  I'll show her I'm not some pathetic weakling, she resolved.  I may be helpless... but I will not give up!

Several minutes later, as well as one flush and the use of a warm, wet washcloth to make the humiliated captive "spanking clean", as Kat had put it (somewhat ominously), Barbara found herself back on the bed.  Apparently, she was there to stay, at least for a while, as Kat had used the rope to lash her already taped ankles, and then had tied the long, free end of the rope to the foot of the bed, somewhere out of sight near the floor.  A second length of rope was used to bind Barbara's blond locks in an overly-secure, but somewhat messy, topknot-ponytail.  Kat had gathered her hair at the crown, tied a hitch to keep it together, doubled the yellow-gold mass back over itself, then tied several tight loops and a final knot.  She tied the free end to the headboard, but was "kind" enough to leave significant slack.

"There," Kat said as she took a step back.  "This way you can roll around and get comfortable."

Barbara squirmed, glared, and sent a decidedly negative, but well-muffled, course critique in her instructor's direction.  Kat chuckled, then began dressing in the same red thong, bandeau, and black leather pants, boots, and jacket she had worn the previous day.  Barbara noted the knife Kat had used in the bathroom slid into a hidden sheath inside the bodyguard's right boot top.  She's probably a walking arsenal, Barbara mused as she snuggled against the tangled sheets, and could take on an entire squad of armed police... from ambush, of course.

Kat went to the bathroom and returned with Barbara's hairbrush.  She smiled down at the still glowering captive as she pulled the bristles through her brown locks.  "Now... I'm expecting a delivery of course materials, so the lesson plan is on 'hold' for the moment."  Her smile turned rather sinister as she continued brushing her hair.  "I'm afraid Day Two will be a bit of a challenge, Barbie—for you, that is.  This is the day we find the limit of that brave front you've managed to maintain up until now.  Today we find out how easy you are to break."  She returned the brush to the bathroom, then paused at the bedroom door.  "As the Navy SEALS put it, 'the only easy day was yesterday'."  The door closed and Barbara was alone.

Barbara squirmed in her bonds, yet again.  She's just trying to scare me, the prisoner reasoned, a shiver coursing through her naked, helpless body.  And it's working.  She ceased struggling, stretched herself full-length, then curled into a relaxed fetal tuck.  I will not start feeling sorry for myself, she resolved.  I will fight.

Just then, the HDTV across the room came to life.  The screen resolved into the image of the artificial intelligence Evelyn, lying in a tangle of simulated sheets on a simulated bed, in a simulated, very girlie bedroom with frilly drapes and cluttered by piles of cute stuffed animals.  The avatar yawned, stretched, sat up, then pulled the strap of her gauzy, frilly, white silk nightie back over her shoulder, covering her formerly exposed breast.  She smiled at the virtual camera... at Barbara.  "Good morning, Barbie!" she gushed.  "I hope you had pleasant dreams."

Whoever wrote her basic programming is either a certified genius... or is stark raving mad, Barbara decided.

On the screen, Evelyn stretched, again, then smiled as a bluebird flew into the frame and landed on her outstretched hand.  "Oh, good morning, Little Friend," she cooed, then climbed from bed.  Her nightie was of the baby doll variety, and did nothing to hide her exquisite (simulated) feminine form.  The bluebird remained on her hand, fluttering its wings and twittering a cheerful song.  It was joined by a dozen of its flock, carrying a long, diaphanous silk dressing gown by its upper sleeves and shoulder seams.  Evelyn did a graceful pirouette, raised her arms, and the tiny birds settled the garment onto her body.

"Thank you, Little Friends!" Evelyn laughed and danced around the simulated room.  All the while, the bluebirds swooped around her in a warbling, twittering cloud.  They were joined by a frolicking collection of chipmunks, mice, rabbits, and a single skunk.

I hope TESSERACT Legal is paying royalties to Disney, Barbara fumed.

Suddenly, Evelyn froze in place, striking a graceful pose with one hand cupped behind her ear.  "What's that you say?" Evelyn inquired, and one of the bluebirds hovered and sang several warbling notes.  "Kitty-Kat's delivery is about to arrive?"  The avatar snapped her fingers and several things happened instantly: all of her "Little Friends" vanished in puffs of smoke, the bedroom was replaced by a plain, stone-walled chamber, and Evelyn's nightie and dressing gown were replaced by thigh-boots and a skin-tight catsuit, all in gleaming black leather and festooned with a multitude of zippers and tightly buckled straps.  Her blond curls were pulled back in a severe ponytail, and a long, thin cane was in her right hand.  The overall effect was decidedly kinky (and more than a little intimidating).

"To business!" the catsuited blonde exclaimed, then smacked the side of her leg with the cane.  A window popped open, filling a quarter of the giant screen.  It showed Kat preparing to fry a generous portion of bacon.  "Oh Kittykins," Evelyn cooed, "your shipment of goodies draws nigh."

"Perfect timing," Kat grumbled as she turned off the burner and headed for the front door.  A succession of cameras tracked her progress.

Evelyn smacked her leg, again, and a second window opened.  It was an exterior view, and showed a large panel truck pulling into the driveway.  The TESSERACT logo was painted on its side.  A young woman hopped from the cab and started for the front door.  She was of average height, or maybe a little on the short side, and was dressed in brown work boots, gray-green shorts and short-sleeved work shirt, and a TESSERACT ball cap.  She had straight, fine, auburn hair cut in something between a crop and a pageboy, a fair complexion, and an abundance of freckles.  An electronic clipboard was under her left arm.

"Oh, she's adorable!" Evelyn sighed.  The camera zoomed in on the delivery girl's cute, freckled face.  "Let's see now," Evelyn said.  "Gimme a millisec while I hack the local personnel files... and... yes, her name is Keira Ryan, and she's been with TESSERACT Services three years.  Excellent employee record and evaluations.  In fact, she's in line for promotion, whenever something opens up.  Adooorable!  Can we get her transferred to Seattle?  Can we keep her?  Pleeease, Kitty-Kat?  Please-please-please?"

The cameras were still following Kat's progress.  She pulled a Bluetooth ear-bud from her pocket and settled it in her right ear.  "Stifle yourself," she ordered in a whisper, then smiled as she opened the front door.  "Good morning," she beamed.

"Morning," Keira responded, also smiling.  "Katherine Mayfair?"

"None other," Kat purred, and pulled her TESSERACT ID from a sleeve pocket.

Keira presented her clipboard and Kat swiped the card through its reader.  The clipboard bleeped, its screen flashed an approval message, and then it displayed a list.  "I'll have all of this off the truck in a couple of minutes," Keira announced.  "Where do you want it?"

"The living room will be fine," Kat responded.  "I have to make a quick call, and then I'll be out to help."

Keira nodded, spun on her heel, and started back to the truck.  The camera zoomed in on her strong, toned, smooth legs, then up to the seat of her shorts.

"Like two ripe melons," Evelyn sighed.  "Pleeease, Kitty-Kat?"

"I told you to stifle," Kat growled.

"But you know how much I love the cute-little-tomboy type," Evelyn pouted.

"Lock all interior doors," Kat ordered, "and if Barbie tries to make any noise, you know what to do."

Evelyn favored the prisoner on the bed with an evil smile.  "If she tries to alert my new girlfriend, Keira, to her cruel captivity, I'm to broadcast out-of-phase noise, canceling out her pathetic, mewling moans; and I'm to put a demerit in her training record for every attempt."

"Exactly," Kat intoned, "and stop bugging me about kidnapping every pretty female employee who crosses our path.  You know Margo has me on a strict quota."  She pulled the bud from her ear, then walked through the front door before Evelyn could respond.

"Oh well," Evelyn sighed, then smiled at Barbara.  "Don't pout, Sweetness," Evelyn cooed.  "Everything's soundproof, anyway.  You can make all the noise you want and your 'rescuer' still wouldn't hear you, even without my sonic shield."

Barbara sighed and watched the screen.  Keira, the "cute-little-tomboy", was half-lifting, half-dragging several medium and large aluminum packing cases from the back of the truck, then lowering them to the driveway by means of the truck's tailgate-lift.

"Anyhoo," Evelyn said, then smiled at Barbara, "why don't you damsel-nap for a while, if you can.  You're going to need all the rest you can get."  She slapped her leg with the cane, again, and the screen went blank.

Barbara did manage to get a little rest, but she did not get back to sleep.

After more than an hour, the bedroom door finally opened and Kat strode back into the bedroom.  "You missed breakfast," she said, as she sauntered to the bed and untied Barbara's ankles and hair.  "Unfortunately," she continued, lifting the captive onto her shoulder, "you're also going to miss lunch and dinner."

Barbara lifted her head and stared at the rumpled bed as she was carried from the room.  She didn't bother struggling or moaning through her gag, but she was far from being resigned to her fate... whatever it might be.  She'd just decided to follow her captor's advice, and save her strength.  Feet to the front and head to the rear, she followed their progress through the guest house.  They passed a neat row of packing cases in the living room, but didn't stop.  Eventually, their destination became clear—the basement.

After her initial exploration of the guest house, Barbara had only visited the basement to use the washer and dryer in the closet-sized laundry room near the stairs.  Kat carried her to the center of the dark space and lowered her to the floor, then turned her attention to a suitcase-like aluminum packing case.

The concrete floor was cool and hard, an unwelcome change from the soft, warm bed.  The only illumination was from the basement's handful of small, heavily-barred window wells, and none of them were admitting direct morning light.  Barbara watched as Kat lay the packing case on its side, popped the latches, and opened the lid.  She pulled out a rolled leather bundle, released a couple of buckles, and gave it a shake.

The bundle unrolled with the rattle of at least a dozen additional buckles and straps, and revealed itself to be be a very long, very narrow leather coat—only it had no sleeves.  Barbara realized it was more a sleeping bag than a coat.  It incorporated a broad, stiff collar, a long, heavy zipper that ran its entire length, and numerous horizontal and lateral straps that ran through reinforced loops stitched and riveted in the butter-soft leather.

Kat stood erect and smiled down at her prisoner.  "You didn't expect me to leave you down here in your birthday suit, did you?" she purred.  "That would be cruel."  She slid the sheath to Barbara's side, then knelt and began unbuckling and laying out the straps.

Barbara decided she had had enough of playing the cooperative captive.  She rolled on her side, tucked her legs, and delivered what she hoped would be a vicious kick to her captor's stomach.

Quick as a flash, Kat captured Barbara's ankles.  The kick never even come close to connecting.  In one fluid display of strength and agility, she flipped and rolled Barbara onto the open sheath, then stepped over her body and dropped to her knees, straddling Barbara's waist.

Barbara squirmed and mewled through her tape-gag—then abruptly stopped struggling when Kat leaned forward and clutched her breasts with savage strength.

"And just what did you hope to accomplish with that display of schoolyard kung fu, Barbie?" Kat purred.  "Rule One—'Always keep your eyes open for a chance to escape'.  However, here's Rule Two, which is highly correlative—'Think things through!'  Do you really think you had a reasonable chance of success, just now?  If, and it's a very big if, your feet had connected, one of three things would have happened: One—you would fail to actually hurt me.  That would only piss me off, of course, and I'd take it out on you.  Two—you did succeed in hurting me.  That would have really pissed me off, and I'd have really taken it out on you.  Three—you knock me out, maybe even break my neck."  Kat loosened her grip, then gave Barbara's nipples a very painful twist.

Barbara clenched her eyes tightly closed, and she moaned through her tape-gag.

"Are you listening to me, Barbie?" Kat demanded.  "I'm trying to save your life."  She returned to tightly clutching the captive's breasts.

Barbara glared up at her captor, blinking back tears.

"All right then," Kat continued.  "Now, with your fingers and hands taped up like this, do you think you could get the knife out of my boot?  And if I took it out for you, dropped it on the floor, and walked away for a few hours, do you think you could free yourself?  Finally, even if you did succeed in freeing yourself, if you'd killed me, do you think Evelyn would let you out of this basement?  ...out of this house?  What do you think her attitude would be towards the person who had killed her precious 'Kittykins'?"

"I know you're not stupid, Barbie," Kat said, "so start taking this course seriously, okay?  Do you think it's cheap and easy to run this program?"  She loosened her grip on Barbara's breasts, but didn't release them.  In fact, she began a gentle kneading of the firm, tan globes.  "The specialized equipment, like this sheath, are expensive and have to be made by Margo's robot manufacturing facility, taking valuable time and resources away from her special R&D projects."  She shifted her attention to Barbara's nipples, twirling them between her fingers and teasing the tips with her neatly trimmed nails.  "Let's show a little gratitude and buckle down, shall we?  And speaking of buckles..."

Barbara continued to struggle, but in a halfhearted manner and without any hope of success.  Easily handling her squirming efforts, Kat rolled her over onto her stomach and settled her weight atop her buttocks.  The prisoner mewled in complaint as broad straps sewn to the inside of the sheath tightened around her upper arms and were buckled closed.  Next, more sewn-in straps were tightened and buckled around her tape-mummified wrists and forearms.  Squirming became even more problematic when the sheath's stiff, broad collar closed around her throat.  Then, the leather envelope was pulled over her shoulders and zipped closed to the small of her back.  A corset, also sewn into the interior, was wrapped around her waist and laced closed, tight enough to make Barbara grunt in complaint.

The grunt became a squeal when Kat reached between Barbara's legs and pulled a thin strap up and between her buttocks.  Some sort of curved rubber wedge was attached, and with intimate, humiliating adjustments, Kat made sure it cleaved Barbara's labia.  The thing was ridged and studded with bead-like nubbins.  It covered her entire sex and pressed itself against her anus.  Kat buckled the end of its strap through a ring in the base of the corset, then zipped the sheath down to her thighs.  Another interior strap tightened around her knees, then the tape binding her crossed ankles was slit and pulled away.  Yet another strap took its place, binding them side-by-side.

The remainder of the already skintight sheath was zipped close, and now the buckling of the exterior straps began.  Barbara's struggles, already weak, faded to almost nothing as more than a dozen straps were tightened around her leather encased body, from ankles to throat.  When Kat was finally finished, the grinning bodyguard stood, took a step back, and surveyed her handiwork.   Barbara could barely squirm, and only her tape-gagged head and her bare feet were exposed.  Fire still burned in her eyes, but now it it was mixed with an expression of despair.

Kat returned to the packing case and produced a leather hood.  It had an open front and laced down the back.  "I know you're upset," Kat said, as she pulled the hood over Barbara's head, tucked in her tangled hair, and began tugging the laces tight.  "So, I'm going to leave your lips taped shut.  We wouldn't want to give you a chance to say something that might make teacher angry, would we?"

Bitch, Barbara fumed, as the hood tightened around her head.  She has no right to treat me this way, no right at all.

The hood was followed by a harness of leather straps that secured a leather flap over her taped mouth.  It encircled her head at the forehead and under her chin and across the crown of her head.  Its straps were threaded through loops sewn into the hood before being buckled closed.  When Kat was finished, the hood and harness covered and caged Barbara's head with skintight efficiency.  Now only her feet, eyes, and the parts of her face bulging between the harness's straps were exposed.  Barbara could see and she could breathe, but the hood, harness, and sheath were a constant reminder of her total captivity.

Kat knelt at Barbara's feet, lifted them onto her lap, and began a gentle massage.  "There," she said quietly, "all snug and secure.  You already know the tape binding your arms is inescapable.  You've had all night to learn that lesson.  Now, you have the rest of the day to test the inner and outer straps of my 'python-sheath'."  Her smile brightened, in a manner Barbara found particularly disturbing.  "I love this particular design.  The straps reinforce and complement the bondage.  Anything you might try to defeat any one strap or set of straps is prevented by the others.  And then there's the sheath itself."  She continued massaging Barbara's feet, exerting firm, deep pressure with her thumbs.  "It's like a second skin, isn't it?"

Barbara shivered in the tight embrace of the leather cocoon.  The "python-sheath" was like a second skin, and the added hood and harness made her feel even more helpless... which minutes before she wouldn't have thought possible.

"You have very pretty feet, Barbie," Kat purred, then sighed and gently lowered the feet in question to the concrete floor.  "Well, I'm going to leave you to complete your class assignment, which is to languish in a dark, barren place, without hope of rescue or escape."

She closed the lid of the now empty case, stood, and picked it up by the handle.  "When I return," she intoned, "which will be either late today or early tomorrow, you'll learn the sort of things any potential kidnappers might do to such a pretty pair of feet... other than a nice massage, I mean.  Tickling, whipping, hot wax, all of the above... there are lots of possibilities."

Barbara did her best to control her fear, but her heart was pounding.  It's a joke, she told herself.  It has to be!

Kat stood and walked towards the stairs.  "Food for thought, Barbie."  She paused at the foot of the stairs and smiled back at the leather encased captive.  "Did it occur to you that the current situation might have nothing to do with some hypothetical security course?  Perhaps I get off on capturing attractive TESSERACT employees, like Evelyn implied.  Perhaps you haven't been selected as Margo's new pilot, but have been awarded to me as a prize for meritorious service.  Perhaps I'm going to keep you as my personal slave and test-subject for any new interrogation ideas Evelyn and I might come up with over the next several weeks... or months... or however long it takes for me to grow tired of binding and tormenting that hot little body of yours... which is now mine."  Her smile turned even more sinister.  "Hmm... nipple rings.  Yes, we'll start with nipple rings, and move on from there."  She turned and headed up the stairs.

The door closed with a solid clang and Barbara could hear the lock engage with an equally solid click.  Barbara let her hooded and harnessed head rest on the concrete.  Seconds later, a quiet humming noise began, and Barbara watched as steel fire-shutters were slowly lowered, covering the barred windows.  Their already weak light slowly faded as the metal slats rumbled down in their flush-mounted tracks.  The admitted light became narrow bands... then narrower still... and then the basement was plunged into total darkness... and silence.

Barbara closed her eyes, and tried not to surrender to the soul-numbing despair knotting her gut.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes again, stared into the darkness, and quivered in her tight, redundant bondage.  The rubber wedge lodged between her labia was doing something.  She didn't know what to call the sensation.  It wasn't an itch, and the thing wasn't vibrating.  It wasn't getting hot or cold, but it was doing... something.  Maybe it's coated with some substance, she posited, like self-heating sports ointment.  Or maybe I'm allergic to the material, and—Oh!  The thing had pulsed down it's entire length.  No, 'pulsed' wasn't right.  It still hadn't moved... but she'd felt something.  Oh!  Oh!  Whatever it was "doing", it was doing it again—and in a regular, semi-random manner—and, she was forced to admit, it felt good!

Barbara struggled in her bonds and tried her best to ignore the sensations rippling through her sex.  The effect was still at a very low level—and it was not like being massaged with a buzzing vibrator—but it wouldn't stop!  And the sensations might have been growing in strength... or maybe she was just getting more sensitive to their insidious stimulation.

No job is worth this, Barbara decided.  I can get a dozen flying jobs, any time I want, if—I mean WHEN—I get free.  I don't need to put up with this treatment.  She shivered, again.  Whatever the thing between her legs was doing, it still felt good, but it wasn't enough to tease her to orgasm... not that she wanted to be teased to orgasm... not that she had any choice in the matter.

And she wasn't fooled by Kat's threat to keep her as her slave and torture-toy.  She wasn't fooled, not at all.  It's part of the program, part of the training.  It has to be.  It has to be.

Kat stomped into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of beer.  She noted that Barbara's six-pack was now half-depleted, and added beer to her mental shopping list.  She twisted off the cap, took a long swig, then walked into the living room and flopped onto the sofa.

The HDTV mounted on the wall came to life.  A leather-catsuited Evelyn shook her head and wagged a finger in her glowering cyber-partner's direction  "Tsk, tsk, Kitty-Kat," she cooed.  "I hate it when you get all pouty-pout-pout like this."

"Stifle yourself," Kat growled.

"Stifle yourself yourself," Evelyn huffed, and planted her hands on her hips.  "You know erotically torturing beautiful women is our favorite form of recreation—so buck up, Missy!"

Kat took another swig.  "Playing around with Inner Circle Sisters is one thing, but doing this stuff to a total innocent is... different."

"Don't even try to tell me you don't think Barbie-doll is hot," Evelyn scoffed.  "I've got hours of biometric data that say different.  And don't tell me you don't enjoy binding her perfect, world-class athlete, movie star, ten-thousand-dollar-hooker body."

"It's not the same," Kat huffed.  "I hate pretending to be a sadist.  I've had more than enough encounters with the real thing to last a lifetime.  When we play, my Sisters know it's a game."

"Oooh yes," Evelyn chuckled, "your Sisters think you're a pussycat."

"They know it's a game," Kat reiterated, "even when I'm mean.  They like it when I pretend to be a bad-ass.  It gives the game... spice."

Evelyn's smile turned sympathetic (which irritated Kat even further).  "Margo and Elke know, anyway, but surely you realize the others harbor some degree of dread every time they see your feline form saunter into view.  In the back of their mind they're thinking, 'this might be it, the time I disappear into the depths of the Katacombs, never to be heard from again'."

"Very funny," Kat muttered.  "Now, put a sock in it and let me sulk in peace."

"Sorry," Evelyn cooed, "no can do, Kittykins.  And sorry to have had to keep you in the dark, but orders are orders.  Things are about to get very interesting!"

"What?" Kat demanded.

Evelyn raised a hand.  "Wait for it...  Wait..."

"Evelyn," Kat growled in a threatening tone.

"Wait..." Evelyn continued, "and... entrance, stage right!"

The front door of the guest house opened.

Instantly, Kat jumped to her feet, dropped into combat stance, and drew the SIG-Sauer P245 holstered inside her jacket.  Then, just as quickly, she relaxed her stance and reholstered her weapon.

Michelle Hyde, second-in-command of Kat's "M-cadre", Margo's elite squad of bodyguards, strode through the door.  "Mornin', boss," she said, a broad smile on her strikingly beautiful face.

"Mickey, what the hell are you—"  That was all she had time to say before her fellow bodyguard took a step to the side——and Margo Wells entered the guest house.