DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Adventures in Personnel Management by Van ©2008 Chapter 4

Kat frowned at her grinning boss, then turned to Michelle Hyde, her second in command.  "Anything I need to know about?"

 The African-American ex-fashion model (and world-class martial artist and weapons expert) smiled and shook her head.  "There's the usual deployment at the airport, area cyber-surveillance, a town car in the drive, and I've been ordered to make myself scarce.  I've got a taxi waiting at the curb."

Margo leaned close and kissed Michelle's cheek.  "Thank you, Mickey," she purred.  "Enjoy your week off, and do try that spa in the hills I told you about.  Their herbal wraps are heaven."

"Maybe," Michelle answered, with a dubious smile.  "Getting slathered in seaweed pesto, wrapped in wet sheets so tight I can't squirm, then left to simmer under heat lamps in a drip-bath of herbal tea is not my idea of a good time.  I'll be at the Galleria, burning some plastic."  She waved at Kat as she made her exit.  "I'll still on quick-alert, in case you get, uh, 'busy'.  Later!"

Kat waved back as the door closed, then turned to face Margo.  "I suppose you're here to torture your new pilot," she huffed.

"Actually," Margo replied, "I'm here to rescue her."

"Even less of a surprise," Kat muttered.  "You waltz in just at the point in the program where I'm about to shift from Überbitch to 'new-best-friend'—which leaves me holding the king-size bag of what-an-asshole.  Margo, I kinda like Barbie Radcliffe.  She'll hate me forever if you don't let me finish what I've started."

"Give me some credit," Margo said with a chuckle, and led the way into the living room.  She settled into a sofa before continuing.  "You know I wouldn't do that to you, Katherine.  We'll handle Barbara's decompression together, and when we're finished, I promise you she won't hate either one of us."

"Wheels within wheels and games within games," Kat growled.  "If I ever catch you doing something even remotely straightforward, I'll probably keel over with a heart attack."

"Linear dynamics are so last century," Margo purred.  "How long?"

Kat glared at her employer for several seconds, then sighed and shook her head.  "One more hour.  Are we staying... or are we shifting venues to the top floor of a five-star hotel you just bought on a whim out of petty cash?"

"This guest house will do nicely," Margo responded.  "Be a dear and fetch my bags, would you?"

"Why not?" Kat growled, and headed for the front door.

"Good Morning, Evelyn," Margo said, addressing the room at large.

The HDTV came to life, displaying the smiling image of Eve-L.  She had "changed" from her former leather catsuit to a business suit similar to Margo's, and the avatar's ensemble was even more conservative than Margo's Armani. In addition, Evelyn's blond locks were combed back and coiled in a tight bun, and she was wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.  "Good morning, Ms. Wells," she intoned.

A coy smile curled Margo's lips.  "Love the 'Sexy Librarian' look, Evelyn," she purred.

Evelyn affected a shy smile and slid her hands down her thighs, straightening her skirt.  "As Han said to Leia... 'I know'."

"Are you enjoying your assignment?"

Evelyn sighed and favored her creator with an expression of deep, theatrical sorrow.  "As well as can be expected, without having any of my robots on hand.  All I can do is watch."

"Don't be coy," Margo chuckled.  "You know I've brought you a present.  And I'm sure we'll be able to talk Ms. Radcliffe into trying a little 'VR games testing', at some point.  All sorts of frightening, unforeseen things have been known to happen in the course of Games Division R&D.  I really should look into tightening up the safeguards."

Evelyn's smile turned equally coy.  "You spoil me, Margo." she cooed.  "What do you have in mind?  Tales of The Kul'Dakar?  That new Worlds of Warcraft partnership project?  Might I suggest Air Pirates?  I've been thinking about a Pirate Queen character that might be fun.  All I need is a tropical island with a secret base—hidden in the caldera of an extinct volcano, of course—and a modest fleet of pursuit airships.  Oh, and a submarine, something like the Disney version of the Nautilus... the first one, the 1954 Nautilus... with all those pretty rivets, the picture-window portholes on the sides, and the funky tuna-tail?  Something retro... like that."

Margo felt a thrill of pride, the same thrill she felt whenever one of the EVE-6900 avatars exhibited unmistakable creativity.  "Sounds expensive," she purred.

"Pleeease, Margo?" Evelyn begged.  "You could take it out of virtual petty cash and not even virtually notice."

"Or maybe I'll simply open you a line of virtual credit," Margo purred, "and let you pay me back with plundered treasure and enslaved maidens."

Evelyn smiled and batted her eyes.  "At what interest rate?"

Before Margo could answer, Kat reappeared with a pair of large and apparently quite heavy suitcases.  "I suppose you'll be taking over the master bedroom," she huffed.

Margo nodded.  "I'll share the bed."

"I'm sure you will," Kat grumbled, and lugged the suitcases towards the bedroom in question.

"Who were you thinking of recruiting as your pirate minions?" Margo asked Evelyn.

The avatar made a show of removing and cleaning her glasses.  "Minions?  Oh... I was thinking of going robot—appropriately retro, of course—in the vein of Tobor the Great?"

"But functional robots, as opposed to Tobor the Useless Clanker," Margo smiled.  "You'll want robots you can't defeat simply by putting something in their path for them to trip over, or you can't escape from by simply walking away or climbing some stairs.  Sounds good; however, I'd like you to accept an Inner Circle Sister as your piratical First Mate... so to speak."

Evelyn's expression brightened.  "Kitty-Kat?" she suggested.

"No," Margo laughed, "not Katherine.  One of the others, and give it some thought... more than a few milliseconds, I mean.  Let me know who you have in mind, by... say... next week?  I'll help with the recruitment.  And flesh out your ideas—"

"So to speak," Evelyn interrupted, with a saucy wink.

Margo smiled.  "Sketch a first draft of the airships, submersible, and lair, as well as the robots, weapons, costumes, etc.  And vet it all through the Air Pirates! development team.  And I'm authorizing a minor sub-venue, not something that could shift the balance of the game."

"Do I have to use a Sister?" Evelyn pouted.  "Working with meat-puppets can be such a bother.  No offense," she added, quickly.

"None taken," Margo chuckled.  "And yes, I do want you to use a Sister.  Anne and Ronnie are out, I'm afraid.  They're about to become... otherwise occupied."

"As will Narelle," Evelyn purred.  "I'll give it some thought.  I don't suppose you'd let me have Sabrina."

Margo shook her head.  "You know I've been trying to talk Brie into playing a major Aztec-Hawaiian character for some time.  It could be very valuable to the game."

Evelyn nodded.  "Sabrina Sanchez as an Aztec priestess...  I can see that."

"Now," Margo continued, "to the business at hand.  Thank you for your professional and disturbingly enthusiastic assistance with Barbara Radcliffe's training, but I'd like you to shift into non-avatar support-mode for the rest of the exercise."

"Margo!" Evelyn whined.  "Things are just getting interesting!"

"I didn't say you couldn't watch," Margo purred, "just don't interact... with Barbara."

"As long as I can watch," Evelyn pouted, "but I don't have to like it."  She waved goodbye, and the screen went dark.

Kat walked back into the living room.  "What now?" she asked.

"Now... we wait an hour," Margo answered.

Kat gazed at her boss through hooded eyes.  "You're planning something," she accused, then sighed and slouched into an easy chair.  "Oh, why do I even ask?  Of course you're planning something.  You're always planning something.  Wheels within wheels..."

Margo gazed at her bodyguard and Charter Member of her Inner Circle with an enigmatic smile.  Several seconds passed, then she gracefully climbed to her feet and headed for the kitchen.  "Coffee or tea?"

"Whatever," Kat muttered.

"And when I get back," Margo added, "we can start getting ready."

This is worse than torture, Barbara thought.  Worse than an actual whipping, anyway.

Of course, Barbara had never had the actual experience of a whipping, other than during her early school days—and she refused to take seriously Kat Mayfair's warning that she might come back and do that very thing to her bare feet—but what the horrible rubber thing lodged between her thighs and was doing was horrible!  Okay, she wasn't in pain, but whatever the rubber wedge was doing... it wouldn't stop!  It kept... vibrating or squirming or pulsing or whatever-the-hell it was doing... and it wouldn't stop!

It still didn't feel like it was actually moving, and it didn't burn or tickle... not exactly... and oh-by-the-way... it wasn't enough to get her completely off.  Barbara Radcliffe was neither a hedonist nor a libertine—but she was no virgin, either.  And she had experience with the practice of "tension relief", like any normal person.  The rubber monster was making her simmer... right on the edge of serious, uh, seriousness.  But it wasn't enough!

And worse yet... or maybe it was just part of the process... the leather sheath squeezing her naked body from her throat to her tightly strapped ankles was causing her to overheat, and she was starting to sweat, like the proverbial pig.  The hood, with its overlying harness pressing its insidious leather flap over her taped lips, was making her head feel hot, as well.  The thick, stiff leather of the sheath was unlined, and while its interior finish wasn't especially rough, as she struggled, as her increasingly sweat-lubricated skin slipped and slid through the fractional range of motion allowed by the tight straps... it was like the encasement was giving her some sort of perverse, full-body massage.

Barbara could roll around on the basement floor, and even flex her knees, bend at the waist, and move her encased head... a little... but it brought no relief.  The floor was cool against her glistening face, where her flushed skin bulged between the straps of the harness, and it felt cool against her feet and wriggling toes, as well.

Yes, she was hot... but it was not just a question of poor thermoregulation.  Barbara was slipping, sliding, and shivering her way into a state of acute, frustrated arousal!

Damn!  It—the thing between her thighs, lodged between her nether-lips, nudging her clitoris, and pressing against her anus—was pulsing again, although it still wasn't actually vibrating or moving.  Waves of stimulative energy rippled between her tightly strapped legs.  Am I imaging it? she wondered.  Am I trying to make it get me off, with my mind?

Barbara rolled completely over and shivered in the grip of her tight leather encasement.  She lifted her legs, the few inches allowed, until her efforts were checked by the tight squeeze of the sheath and the bite of the interior and interior straps.  She let her legs drop, moaned through her taped and leather-gagged lips, and stared into the total darkness.

Damn her!  Damn Kat Mayfair!  She has no right to... to...

She was going to cum!  She was going to cum or she was going to explode!  Barbara's nostrils flared as her chest and diaphragm strained against the tight, interior corset, the straps pinning her arms to her sides, and the restrictive, python-like embrace of the sheath.  She was going to cum—or she was going to die!

And then she did cum—and it was a crashing multiple orgasm—and it seemed to go on forever... and it was actually building in intensity!  She strained and bucked against the sheath and straps, ignoring the bite of the tight straps—and then she passed out.

Barbara opened her eyes... but there was nothing to see.  She had no idea how much time had passed, but she was still in the dark basement, still captive of the skin-tight leather sheath, and was still overheated and slick with sweat.  She was also panting, and her sheathed and strap-bound bosom was doing its best to heave.  In addition, her sex felt like it had swollen to twice normal size, and she could tell she was very wet.  Her nipples caused her to shudder as she squirmed against the sheath and straps.  They were throbbing and erect and brushing them against the rough interior of the sheath was... something she could do without.

At least it's over, Barbara thought, and I can rest.  Her breathing slowed... and eventually returned to normal.  She was still overheated, but it wasn't too bad.  Eventually she'd reach some sort of equilibrium.

Barbara rolled onto her back, and let the back of her head rest on the floor.  Maybe I can sleep, she hoped.  That would be nice.

Suddenly, the thing between her legs came back to life!  It pulsed—or resumed the strange, inactive activity it had been "doing" earlier—and it would not stop!

Against her will, her captive body began to respond.  She writhed and fought her leather encasement.  No!  Not again!  She rolled over and over on the hard floor, shivering and writhing in the darkness.  The sheath and its straps creaked and the buckles scraped against the concrete as she struggled and strained against her bonds.

Barbara heard a loud click, somewhere in the darkness, followed by a loud creak and a flood of light.  She squirmed her captive body around, and beheld someone at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against a rectangle of daylight!  Barbara blinked as her eyes adjusted.  She—her visitor was a she, but Barbara was sure it was not Kat—was coming down the stairs.  She was dressed in a business suit.  Barbara focused on a pair of very elegant, very expensive high-heeled pumps, and a pair of well-toned legs.

The woman knelt and gently lifted Barbara's shoulders and hooded and harnessed head onto her lap.  She then turned Barbara's head and began unbuckling the harness and loosening its interconnected straps.  Barbara shivered and moaned as the harness was pulled away.  The thing strapped against her crotch was picking up the pace, pulsing and teasing her with increasing intensity!

"My goodness," Barbara's rescuer chuckled.  "Kat has your lips taped, as well.  She's not taking any chances, is she?"

Half-lost in a haze of erotic stimulation, Barbara's eyes popped wide.  She recognized that voice!  It belonged to—Margo Wells!!

"I'll have to remove the hood before I can peel it off," Margo continued.  "Hold still, dear."

Barbara tried her best not to move, but it was difficult.  The device between her legs had other ideas, and it was embarrassing in the extreme to be rescued by TESSERACT's CEO under these conditions!  Hurry! Barbara thought, shivering and squirming, despite her best efforts.

Meanwhile, Margo was unlacing the hood... at a leisurely pace.  Barbara was sure her rescuer wasn't deliberately trying to be slow—but she didn't seem to be in a hurry, either.  Why should she be? Barbara conceded.  She doesn't know about the crotch-monster!  "M'rmpfh!"  The mortifying thing seemed to have a mind of its own, like it was trying to make her cum in the presence of the world-famous Margo Wells!

"Here we go," Margo cooed, as she pulled the now loosened hood over Barbara's head.  She smiled, and combed her fingers through Barbara's damp locks.  "Oh my, your pretty hair is a sopping mess.  This sheath must be hot."

Barbara could barely focus on Margo's face or make sense of her words.  The wedge was continuing to work its evil magic.  Barbara writhed and quivered in her bonds as Margo's fingers found an edge of her tape-gag and began slooowly peeling it away.

Barbara's lips and skin were pulled and stretched as the Dermafoam reluctantly surrendered its grip.   "M'mmrf—ahh!"  Barbara shivered and gasped.  "Hurry!" she croaked, as soon as she was able.  "It-it—ahh!"

Margo cradled her head and resumed combing her hair with her fingers.  "What's wrong, dear?" she asked, with maternal concern.

"I-I can't make stop it!" Barbara stammered.  "Ohh!  I-it-between my legs!  It—ahh!

"I don't understand, dear," Margo responded.  "What's happening?"

"It's doing things to me!" Barbara whined.  "It's making me—arr!  I-I can't—ohh!"

Margo leaned close and kissed Barbara's sweat-slick forehead.  "Oh, you poor dear.  Now I understand."  She kissed Barbara again, then held her close, with her cheek against the prisoner's wet hair.  "Shh... Just let it happen, Barbara.  I'm here.  I'll protect you.  Just let it happen."

Her eyes clenched tight, Barbara quivered in her sheath as waves of unendurable pleasure coursed through her captive body.  "Oh-oh-oh..." she panted.

"You're safe," Margo cooed.  "I won't let anything happen to you, Barbara.  You're safe."

It was another crashing multi-mega-orgasm.  Barbara shivered and moaned in Margo's strong embrace.

And finally... it was over.  "I... I'm sorry," Barbara gasped.

"Don't be silly, you darling girl," Margo responded.  "You're not responsible.  Kat's training course might be an embarrassing trial, at times, but it's necessary.  You're not in control of any of this, and you're not responsible."

"I'm sorry," Barbara repeated, and began to cry.

"Shhh..."  Margo continued cradling Barbara's sobbing head.  "Just rest, dear.  Rest a while... and then I'll get you out of all this terrible leather."

"I... I..."

"Hush, darling," Margo cooed.  "Just rest.  I'm here, I've got you, and you're safe."

Barbara relaxed in her bonds, but continued to cry, sobbing, quietly, with her face pressed against the jacket of Margo's suit.  She couldn't help herself.  Margo kissed her forehead, again, and gently combed her fingers through her hair.

She's so nice, Barbara thought, so very nice.

Half-supported by Margo, Barbara dragged herself up the basement stairs.  Her feet were weak and wobbly, her body flushed and glistening with sweat, and her arms were still folded behind her back and tightly bound in a sheath of skin-tight tape.  Margo had explained that she would need more than her hands to get Barbara out of the Dermafoam's tight embrace, and Barbara knew this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.  Her cheeks still wet with tears, Barbara rested her head on Margo's shoulder and let herself be led towards the living room.

Suddenly—she saw what was awaiting their arrival—and froze in her tracks.  "What's happening?" she demanded.

Kat Mayfair was in a kitchen chair in the center of the living room, centered under a large skylight.  She was still dressed in her black leather jacket, red spandex bandeau, black leather pants, and knee boots, but—inexplicably—she was bound to the chair with white rope!  In addition, her lower face was covered in gray Dermafoam, from just under her nose to under her chin, and from ear-to-ear.  The tape completely encircled her head, passing under her tousled hair.  She glared at Barbara with smoldering resentment.

Barbara blinked in amazement, then swallowed and turned to Margo.  "Why is she a prisoner?"

Margo walked over to a sofa and sat down, leaving Barbara to stare at her former "instructor" and now fellow-captive.  "I agree with the necessity of my personal staff completing the A.R.E. course, and I approved its rigorous curriculum," Margo said.  "However, I did not approve Kat subjecting you to an accelerated course.  In fact, I ordered her to modify the syllabus into a series of lessons you could complete over a period of months, so you could begin work as my pilot, immediately."

Kat focused on her irritatingly smug employer.  This was a bald-faced lie, of course.  Keep it up, Your Majesty! she fumed.  What goes around, comes around.

Barbara still didn't understand.  "So..."

"So," Margo continued, "if Kat insists on your immediate exposure to a simulated kidnapping, she can take the role of victim... at least until I forgive her for subjecting you to all this without my permission."  Margo climbed to her feet.  "Wait here, darling," she ordered.  "While I go find something to set you free."  She sauntered towards the master bedroom, then paused to smile back at the pair of captives.  "I mean for both of you to wait here, of course."

Kat growled through her tape-gag.  Hearty-har-har!  Just you wait!

Barbara stared at Margo's disappearing back, then returned her gaze to Kat Mayfair.  The bodyguard was bound in a sitting hogtie, the way Barbara had been bound in the kitchen, the previous evening.  Neatly hitched and intertwined bands of rope yoked her shoulders and passed above and below her breasts, around her waist, and across her thighs.  Her booted feet were off the floor, and her knees were splayed and lashed to either side of the hard seat.

Barbara walked a slow circuit of the chair-bound captive, remembering the feeling of total helplessness she'd felt while squirming in what very well might be the exact same chair and rope.  At least she has her clothes. 

Barbara noted the placement of the knots.  They were well out of the reach of Kat's fingers, but this was an entirely moot point, as Kat's hands were clenched into tight fists and mummified in Dermafoam.  Kat wouldn't be untying any knots, no matter where they'd been placed by her captor.

Barbara completed her inspection and locked eyes with her fellow-prisoner.  She expected to see more resentment in the bodyguard's eyes, and she found only a little anger in the green orbs... and somehow, Barbara decided it wasn't directed at her.  Then, Kat shifted her gaze to something over Barbara's shoulder, and the object of anger became quite unmistakable.

Margo had returned.  Smiling and waving what appeared to be a small pair of bandage scissors, she gestured towards the sofa.  "Join me?" she offered.

Barbara walked to the sofa and sat next to Margo.

"I suppose you'll have to stretch out across my lap," Margo suggested.

Barbara felt a blush color her cheeks.  That would be the easiest way for Margo to get at the tape binding her arms, but it was embarrassing.  She nodded, and eased her naked body across the lap in question.

Margo smiled down at Barbara's firm, dimpled rear, and her long, well-toned legs.  Unseen by Barbara, she winked at her bodyguard.

Kat's glare intensified.  Keep it up, wise-ass! she fumed.

"Comfortable, dear?" Margo purred.

"Yes, ma'am," Barbara sighed.

Margo leaned forward and began trying to ease the blunt tip of the scissors under the edge of the tape sheath.  "I'm afraid this is going to take a while," Margo explained, as she worked.  "I wouldn't want to cut you."

"I understand," Barbara sighed.

Kat rolled her eyes and squirmed in her tight, inescapable bonds.  This was another deliberate fabrication on Margo's part.  The Red Queen could have her new pilot free of the tape in less than half a minute, if she wanted to... even quicker if she produced a "buzz-knife", the specialized, vibrating tool designed to slice through Dermafoam like butter without harming human skin.  A fused mass of Dermafoam is easy to remove, once you make a few strategic cuts and can start peeling it from the skin.  Margo was deliberately prolonging the process, one more means of rubbing the role-reversal in Kat's face.

"That leather sheath Kat strapped you in was very tight, wasn't it?" Margo asked.

Barbara's blush intensified.  "Yes, and..."

"And the rubber wedge between your legs was covered with TIKLER beads," Margo continued.  "I recognized them."

"TIKLER beads?" Barbara asked.  "I-I know the controls of your new aircraft incorporate TIKLER contacts, but I never knew it, they, could... uh..."

"An interesting side-effect discovered during R&D," Margo said (lied).  "And there's a reason Kat subjected you to the experience."

"A reason?"

"At some point in the A.R.E. curriculum," Margo explained, "each student is pushed to their personal limit, to learn the full extent of their helplessness and the hard truth that their kidnappers can, in fact, break their spirit."

"But why... why that kind of... thing?" Barbara asked.

"The alternative would be some form of physical torture," Margo said, "something ultimately harmless, of course, but involving significant pain and genuine fear of death."

"I see," Barbara sighed.

"This is true of other, similar courses," Margo said.  "For example, during the prisoner-of-war phase of Air Force escape and evasion training, the students are subjected to simulated drowning.  I demanded an alternative.  Hence, Kat uses, shall we say, involuntary pleasure, rather than torture."

"I see," Barbara repeated.

"However," Margo intoned, "the experience is supposed to come near the end of the course, after the student has received training, instruction, and counseling, and is mentally prepared.  Kat decided to toss you in the proverbial deep end, sink or swim—and I do not approve."

Kat glared at her boss.  Liar, liar, LIAR!! she accused, mentally.  They'd agreed on every detail of what had happened to Barbara, except for Margo barging in and becoming directly involved.

Barbara was finally freed from the Dermafoam tape.  She lifted herself from Margo's lap, stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, and favored her employer with a shy smile.

"Do you forgive me?" Margo asked.

"Of course," Barbara answered, and allowed Margo to pull her into a friendly embrace.

"Why don't you take a hot shower and get dressed," Margo suggested.  "I know a nice restaurant near the airfield that will make us a very nice meal, whatever you'd like."

Barbara's stomach rumbled.  "I am hungry," she admitted.  She focused on Kat.  "What then?"

"Are you angry at my Katherine?" Margo purred.

Barbara blinked, and unconsciously folded her arms across her breasts.  "Yes," she answered, then sighed.  "I... I'm not sure.  I'll have to think about it."

"I've known Katherine for many years," Margo said.  "She huffs and she puffs, and she loves playing the bad girl; but when you get to know her, she's just a big pussy-cat."

Barbara managed a dubious smile, and Kat rolled her eyes, squirmed in her bonds, and shook her head in disgust.

"All I ask is that you give her a chance," Margo said, quietly, "that you give me a chance."

Barbara sighed.  Margo's legendary charisma was irresistible.  "I... I'll try," she responded.

Margo smiled in apparent relief.  "That's all I ask.  Now... go get cleaned up, we'll eat, and then you can give me a ride in my new jet."

Barbara focused on Kat.  "What about her?"

Margo walked over to the chair-bound prisoner and placed a gentle hand atop her head.  "She'll be just fine.  Someone will be along to set her free... eventually."

Barbara nodded.  "Excuse me," she said, and made her exit.

Kat glared up at the Red Queen, and shook her head.  "Nuh-huh!" she grunted through the panties Margo had stuffed in her mouth and the thick, tight layers of Dermafoam sealing her lips.

"Don't have a cow," Margo purred.  "You don't think I really sent Michelle away, do you?  She's relaxing in a nearby Starbucks.  Barbara and I will have ample protection... and you'll be safe, too, locked in this prison of concrete, steel, and bulletproof glass.  You'll be set free, like I promised."

Kat sighed, and relaxed in her bonds as Margo's strong fingers began combing through her hair.  Why do I let her do this stuff to me? she wondered.  The fringe benefits of this job... of this career... are remarkable, but I must be crazy.  Margo stepped behind the chair and began a gentle massage of Kat's neck and shoulders.  Crazy in love, I guess.

Kat watched as Margo and Barbara made their way towards the front door.  The blond pilot had taken a surprisingly short time to get herself ready, and had donned an airy dress of white linen that perfectly complemented her athletic figure, tan complexion, and blond locks.

I don't think Barbie Radcliffe could look ugly if she tried, Kat mused.

As she passed, Barbara gave Kat a look that was difficult to read.  It was clear that her attitude towards her former teacher was mixed, at best.

Margo blew an infuriatingly smug air-kiss in Kat's direction as they made their exit—and then Kat was alone.  She sighed and relaxed in her bonds.

Suddenly, the HDTV across the room came to life.  It was Evelyn, of course, and she was back in her Dominatrix-Evil-Eve costume, and was carrying a whip.  Her smile was downright diabolical, and she was shuddering with evil delight.  "Oh, Kittykins," she sighed, "I love Margo!  I really do!  Especially when she gives me presents."  She struck a pose, cracked her whip, and lifted her voice, as if addressing an audience at somewhat greater distance than her captive cyber-partner.  "Wakie-wakie, my little friends!  Time to play!"

Kat frowned in confusion.  What the hell was Evelyn blabbering about?  Then, rather ominous clicking and clanking noises emanated from the direction of the bedroom.

"You didn't think those suitcases Margo had you lug in from the car were full of clothes, did you?" Evelyn purred.

A dozen or more doll-size robots entered the living room, slowly marching towards the helpless prisoner.  They were each about a foot in height.  Some were bipedal and some scuttled on multiple legs, like metal insects or spiders, and all had stylized doll heads, of chromed steel.  They also had articulated jaws and mouths full of shark-like metal teeth.  Their terrible jaws opened and snapped closed, repeatedly and in unison, and their glowing eyes were focused on Kat.

"Aren't they wonderful?" Evelyn gasped, with an enthusiastic shiver.  "You recognize the reference, of course.  Barbarella, Queen of the Galaxy?  1968?  Jane Fonda is tied up and almost eaten alive by hungry dolls... and not in a nice way?  I know you've seen it."

Despite her certain knowledge that she was not in any real danger, Kat's heart was racing.  This was certainly an "interesting" situation, but one she wished she was watching unfold with someone else as the center of attention.

I'm afraid your costume is toast, darling" Evelyn said, smiling sweetly, "but rest assured I have sufficient control of my little friends that they can nibble and gnaw their way through all that pesky leather and spandex without breaking any of that pretty skin.  That's if you don't struggle, of course."

The lead robots were now about halfway to Kat, and more were continuing to appear from the the direction of the bedroom.

"My little friends in the rear are more specialized," Evelyn continued.  "All of them can pinch with their claws and little dolly fingers, and can vibrate various parts of their anatomies, but the little gals in the rear have TIKLER fingers!  Isn't that wonderful?"

Kat very much wanted to not give Evelyn the satisfaction of watching her squirm... but it was difficult not to show some degree of apprehension at what lay ahead.

"One hundred orgasms, Kittykins," Evelyn said, "and I'll make sure you get rest periods and stay well-fed and hydrated.  One hundred orgasms... counting multi's as one each, of course."

Kat's head snapped around and her eyes popped wide as she stared at the screen.  That could take... days!

"Gotcha!" Evelyn smiled.  "I won't tell you how many times you have to cum before I cut you loose and let you make your way back to Seattle—but it will be less than a hundred."

Kat sighed, but her heart was still hammering, and she was beginning to sweat.  The first of the robot, shark-toothed dolls had nearly reached the chair.

"And wait 'til you see the pretty pink sundress and strappy sandals Margo left for you to wear... the only things she left for you to wear, and that includes underwear.  No panties and no bra.  You're going to be a very pretty girlie-girl when you arrive back at Headquarters."

Kat growled through her gag.

"And I won't let you buy anything different during the trip home," Evelyn continued.  "No cash, and I won't let you use your plastic, except to pick up your ticket at the airport.  Shall we begin?"

Kat flinched as a robot grabbed her right boot and began gnawing on the black leather.  Others were slowly climbing the chair, their ominous jaws continuing to snap.

Somebody's gonna pay for this! Kat vowed, but not Barbie Radcliffe.  This isn't Barbie's fault.