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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier  ©2000
			Chapter 5

Charlie was losing track of time.  She was a veteran of numerous bouts of long-term bondage (at the loving hands of her Inner Circle companions), but after a few hours, sensory deprivation takes its toll, and experience is little help—other than to let you know that it's little help.

It was important to try and keep her mind occupied.  Charlie squirmed in her now tight harness and reviewed the recent past... it was recent... wasn't it?

Hours earlier, back in the valley...

Charlie watched helplessly as the redheaded teenager rummaged in one of the duffles and produced a blindfold of soft, brown suede.  The blindfold was, Charlie had to admit, a work of art.  Two wide pads were separated by a notch for the bridge of the wearer's nose.  Long, wide, suede bands tapered to virtual thongs on either side.  The redhead placed the pads over Teri's blinking eyes, stretched the bands to either side behind the brunette's head, crossed them, brought them back to the front, and stretched then flat and tight across the pads.  She then pulled them back again behind Teri's head and tied a carefully compacted square knot.  Teri shook her head, but the blindfold was obviously there to stay.

Next, the gagged redhead produced a small plastic package containing a pair of neon yellow, foam plugs connected by a thin, blue, plastic lanyard: industrial ear plugs.  Blindfolded and gagged, Teri offered no resistance as one at a time the cylinders were rolled and compressed between the redhead's fingers, then gently slid into her ears. Once inserted, Charlie knew, the foam would expand to completely fill the ear canal and block almost all outside noise.

Finally, the redhead produced a leather hood and the same ziplock bag of wet rawhide she had used for the laces of the mittens covering her captives' bound wrists and hands.  The redhead extracted a long, thin thong and began threading the dual lines of grommets lining either side of the pleated gusset in the back of the hood.  Her eyes met Charlie's, then quickly darted away, ashamed.  Charlie looked around, to try and locate her other captor, but the husky voiced Brunette Bitch had slipped away at some point.

Charlie turned back to the front as the redhead unbuckled the collar strap of Teri's harness, then carefully pulled the hood over the gagged, blindfolded, and plug-deafened head of the archeologist.  The redhead carefully arranged the flaps of the gusset and began tugging on the wet laces.  Soon the hood was tight over Teri's face and head, and Charlie could see her best friend's blinded and silenced features in the stretched leather.  Two grommeted holes pierced the hood in the region of Teri's nostrils.  The redhead tied off the lace and produced three wide straps.  All fit through wide loops sewn into the leather of the hood.  The first went over the region of Teri's already gagged mouth, the second across her blindfolded eyes, and the third under her chin and across the crown of her head.  The redhead secured the double tongued roller buckles of the straps, then rebuckled the collar of the body harness over the neck of the hood and Teri's throat, pulling the wide strap tighter this time, as she'd been ordered.  She then carefully and methodically tightened all the straps of Teri's harness.  When she was finished, the straps pressed into Teri's flesh, which bulged slightly on either side of each wide, transverse band.

Charlie watched as Teri squirmed and writhed in her near cocoon of tight leather.  Poor Ter, she thought, sighing through her gag.  At least she knew Teri had no problem with claustrophobia.  No one who studied cave-like cliff dwellings could.  Then Charlie noticed the redhead, her blue eyes sad above her gag and bandana mask, approaching with a second blindfold. Poor Charlie, the petite prisoner mused.

Soon Charlie found herself blind, deaf, hooded, and encased in tight leather, just like Teri.  Exploration of her helpless condition took only a few heartbeats... and then the waiting started.

Blackness...  Silence...  Sand and pebbles beneath her prone, tightly restrained body...  Long, long minutes passing in fear and uncertainty...

Charlie wished she could talk to Teri, could reassure her.  Not just to give her the relatively empty reassurance of one captive to another, but tell her of the e-mail message she had managed to send... had probably managed to send... if her phone card hadn't been discovered by the Bitch before it had transmitted her call for help.  Surely it hadn't been found.  Surely help was on the way.  Surely...

 A strong but gentle hand (the redhead?) rolled Charlie over onto her stomach, something was clipped to the back of her harness, and strong hands stood her on her toes.  Charlie tottered on her bare feet, and felt a rope or cable tighten at the nape of her neck.  Nothing happened for several more minutes... then abruptly the line tightened and Charlie's feet left the ground.

Charlie spun in her harness, blind and deaf.  She surmised she was getting that trip up the cliff the Bitch had ordered.  After several seconds, strong hands grabbed her and half held, half slung her captive form.  She supposed the redhead was manhandling her over the lip of the canyon.

Then, Charlie was prone on the ground again, warm ground this time... and the waiting resumed... and continued... and continued...  Then, Charlie was grabbed and tossed onto—a net?  A hammock.   Something else was tossed into the hammock with her.  It rolled against Charlie's nude, harnessed body, and Charlie felt... more leather? ... skin?  It was Teri.

A growling vibration penetrated Charlie's bound isolation (a vehicle's engine coming to life?) and Charlie, the hammock, and Teri had began jostling and rocking.

I guess we're taking a trip, Charlie mused.  She tried to snuggle close to her equally bound and helpless friend, giving her the only comfort she could.  Be brave Ter, Charlie thought.  Help is on the way... I hope.

Hours earlier... and now it was the present, a present of tight leather bonds, darkness, near silence, a rocking and vibrating hammock... Teri beside her, occasionally writhing in identical, inescapable bondage.... and...  Charlie caught herself napping.  That wouldn't do.  She had to stay awake, to try and estimate the length of their journey, to ascertain any details, any clues of where they were going and how they were getting there and... and... The vibrating journey continued... and... Charlie dozed in her bonds.

Sergeant Janet Begay—rising star of the Navajo Tribal Police Special Investigations Unit—woke to find herself lying on her stomach, her knees bent and splayed, ankles crossed, her hands together, behind her back, and under her booted feet, and her elbows touching.  She was held in this rather peculiar and uncomfortable pose by single, tight loops of that felt like straps or thin, plastic rope, binding ankle to ankle, wrist to wrist, and elbow to elbow.  Other bonds were cinched around her upper thighs and shins, circled her waist (pinning her bound wrists and ankles atop her buttocks), and around her arms and torso (pinning her arms).  In addition, something was stuffed in her mouth, and a wide, flat, taut piece of tape was keeping it there.  Her headband was gone, and her long, straight, black hair lay in tangles around her face.

Janet was still in her T-shirt and shorts, and was still in the ruins of the Ancient Ones' town, at the base of the low adobe wall, the same spot she had fought the camouflaged intruder. Fought, she mused.  More like provided a very bad sparing partner for...  The intruder in question, the Wraith, was nowhere to be seen.  From the night sky, the small part of it Janet could see from her current, captive position, it was late evening, going on midnight.  Janet squirmed in her bonds.  Tight...  Inescapable...  Hopeless...  'Well, Sergeant', she mused, imagining the voice of her Lieutenant, 'you screwed this one up pretty good'.

Just then, Janet heard a quiet scrambling noise, and her camouflaged nemesis flowed into view over the lip of the cliff.  There was no other way to describe the way she moved.  Janet had watched a puma prowl near the Painted Cliffs once for nearly ten minutes, before the cat caught her scent and vanished.  The Wraith moved like that... like a cat... a bipedal, feline predator.

The Wraith sauntered over to Janet and posed, hands on hips, for several seconds.  Janet shook the hair from her face as best she could and glared up at her captor.  The Wraith stepped to the far side of the ruins, several yards away from the hog-tied Officer, opened a small panel on something strapped to her left forearm, poked it with one gloved finger several times, then snapped the panel closed and gazed out over the valley.  Janet could just hear a whispered voice, eerily echoing off the ceiling of the cave and the ruin walls.  Distance, darkness and the Wraith's mask made it impossible to tell for sure, but Janet surmised her captor was engaged in a conversation. Active camouflage, night vision, hi-tech weapons, Janet mused.  Any wonder she has an uplink that works?

Over the next several minutes Janet watched as the Wraith paced and gestured, apparently deeply involved in a discussion... argument?  Now and then she would turn and (from her body language) glare at Janet.  Finally, the Wraith tapped her left forearm once, and sauntered back towards her bound and gagged audience.

The Wraith's strong, gloved hands grabbed Janet's shoulders and she found herself up on her knees and leaning back on her bound arms against the adobe wall.  The pose was uncomfortable, but mitigated by the soft sand under her splayed knees.  She looked down at the sand on her T-shirt, shorts, and bare legs, then glared up at her captor.

The Wraith removed her goggles and clipped them to her harness, then pulled the thin, camouflaged, spandex hood off her head, revealing the high-cheeked, even features of a Belagana ... possibly a Latina... with blue, green, maybe gray eyes.  Hard to tell in this darkness.  She also had long, straight, dark hair, which fell back in a tight ponytail.  The woman pulled something out of one of her pockets, and flipped it open.  It was an ID case, Janet's.  "Sergeant Begay," she said—

Belagana, Janet thought, from the accent.

"My superior believes I owe you an apology," the woman continued, mild distaste evident on her features.

No, you think? Janet fumed, squirming in her bonds.

The woman dropped Janet's ID and badge to the sand, and produced a second case.  She flipped it open and held it before Janet's gagged face.  It was too dark to read anything in detail, but Janet could see light glittering off a couple holographic seals on the ID, and a badge of some sort.

"Special Agent Katherine Mayfair," Janet's captor announced.  "National Security Agency, Office of New Technologies."

Oh joy! Janet mused, sighing through her gag, a damn Fed... the kind that arrive at a desert crime scene in a damn helicopter and obliterate ninety-percent of the evidence and... never... learn.

"We suspect Dr. Fournelle and Ms. Paretsky have been kidnapped by someone intent on using TESSERACT's SAARI technology for illegal purposes," Special Agent Mayfair continued, "and we're going after them."  Mayfair reached out and pulled the tape from Janet's mouth.

Janet winced and spit the wad in her mouth on the sand.  She recognized her blue bandana, that prior to her capture had been tied around her brow.  "We?" she croaked.

Mayfair's smile hardened for an instant, then turned... coy.  "I wanted to plug you with one of my tranq darts and let you walk out on your own after it wore off.  No offense, I'm just used to working solo; however... my superior has other ideas."

Janet cleared her throat.  "What gives you the authority to—"

"We're not on the Reservation," Mayfair said, "are we?"

"No," Janet admitted, but—"

"But the trail could lead us there," Mayfair continued.  "We have reason to suspect one or more of the local government agencies, possibly even local law enforcement, could be involved in this situation."

Janet squirmed in her bonds.  "You think I'm—"

"No," Mayfair said at once.  "Not for an instant."  Mayfair's lips curled in a feral smile.  "As I said, I like working alone, but my superior pointed out a Navajo cop would be a valuable asset... especially a Navajo cop who wants to help her friends."

Janet's frown softened... and she slowly nodded.

"Good," Mayfair purred.  "We have some assets overhead and more on the way.  I propose we follow our quarry up the cliff, and see where things lead us."

Janet squirmed and glared at her new... partner?  "You are planning on untying me at some point, aren't you?"

Mayfair smiled and produced a black-bladed combat knife.  The blade flicked several times and Janet's bonds melted away.  Mayfair helped the Navajo to her feet and Janet stood, stretching and rubbing her wrists.  She looked down and found a dozen severed cable ties lying on the sand.  "Thank you, Agent Mayfair."

Mayfair sheathed the knife, pulled off her right glove, and offered her hand.  "Call me Kat."

There was a moment of true panic when Charlie woke to find herself deaf, blind, and helpless, strapped and bound from head to foot, gagged, a taut hood laced over her head, her fingers trapped in a tight leather mitten.  She thrashed and struggled.  She was truly helpless, lying prone in some sort of hammock, and there was something in the hammock with her—then she remembered.  The something was Teri, they had been kidnapped, they were prisoners... and Charlie was thirsty.  She felt Teri move next to her, her friend's skin and the leather of her bonds rubbing against Charlie's nude, helpless body, the various straps of their harnesses catching... then sliding free.

Sorry if I woke you, Ter, Charlie thought, then realized that something had changed.  Aside from the prisoners' movements, the hammock was still.  The vibration Charlie had surmised was a vehicle's engine had stopped. I guess we've arrived, Charlie mused.  What now?

As if to answer her question, Charlie felt hands lifting her from the hammock.  She was carried a short distance and placed on a hard, horizontal surface.  Seconds later, something big was plunked down next to her.  It moved, and Charlie identified it as the usual something: Teri.  Abruptly, everything began to move, and Charlie surmised they were passengers on a cart or wheeled table.  The rolling journey continued for some minutes, with occasional pauses, turns, and at least one ride in a very rough elevator.

Finally, Charlie was lifted and put down on a stone floor.  Several seconds passed, then she was rolled onto her stomach.  The collar of her harness was unbuckled, something happened at the back of her neck, and the tight, hateful hood was unlaced, and eventually pulled from her head.  The air felt cold and strange on her damp, tingling face.  The plugs were pulled from her ears, and she became aware of the small, inconsequential, noises of her captors moving about... echoing off stone walls.  A dungeon, no doubt, Charlie mused.

Hands busied themselves with the buckles of her harness.  Strap by strap she was freed from its tight embrace, then the mitten was removed from her wrists and hands.  Soon her bonds were reduced to blindfold, gag, and the leather thongs binding her wrists and ankles.

A blade cut her wrists free, but before Charlie could form any feelings of gratitude, wide, heavy manacles were snapped around her wrists, taking the thongs' place.  Her ankle bonds were replaced next, with more heavy metal.  Exploratory struggles taught Charlie that her manacles were separated by only a couple of heavy links, but her shackles provided rather more range of motion.  They were leg irons.  Next, a cold, heavy iron collar was clamped around her throat.  She felt a few links of chain dangling between her shoulder blades, and was unable to prevent strong hands from using those links to secure her manacles to the back of her collar, leaving her in a mild, double hammerlock.

Charlie heard a creaking sound, then water splashing.  She was immediately reminded of her growing thirst.  She hoped her captors were going to—SPLASH— Cold water was unceremoniously poured over her upper body and head.  She sputtered through her gag.  A little, very little, of the water found its way around the leather plug and into her mouth.  Bastards! she fumed.  She heard more water splashing, and shortly thereafter her feet, legs, and stomach received a rough bath.

Next, a hand grabbed Charlie by her wet hair and hauled her to her feet.  Something was snapped to the front of her collar, and with a sharp tug on her new chain leash, a stumbling, leg iron encumbered journey began.  Stone was under her bare feet, even and smooth enough to make for easy travel, but her captor was setting a difficult pace.  Charlie followed as best she could, her already short stride further restricted by her hobbling shackles.

The journey was punctuated on three occasions by pauses as doors were unlocked, opened, closed, and relocked.  From the hollow, clanging sounds, Charlie surmised the doors were probably iron bars, and the hinges needed oiling.  Okay, okay, I'm impressed, Charlie mused.  You have a biiiiig dungeon.  A minute or less past the third door, Charlie was paused again as a fourth door was opened.  This one sounded like it was solid—thick, heavy wood on iron hinges.

Charlie was dragged forward.  She could tell from the change in echo that she was in a much more enclosed space.  The floor was covered with clean, dry straw.  At least it smelled clean.  Her knees were kicked from behind and Charlie fell, heavily, onto the straw.  That was uncalled for, Charlie fumed, mewling through her gag, indignantly.  The leash was removed from her collar and immediately replaced by another chain, a chain much heavier than the leash.

Charlie's head and shoulders were hauled up onto her captor's lap, who apparently had knelt in the straw, and she felt her unmistakably female captor's denim jeans and cotton shirt against her bare skin.  One hand clutched Charlie's chin, pinning her head against her captor's left breast and upper arm.  Her captor's other hand began roaming over Charlie's breasts and stomach.  Despite herself, Charlie squirmed in her captor's grip.  The hand found its way to Charlie's loins and caressed her labia, one finger parting the nether lips and probing Charlie's soft, dry sex.  Charlie mewed a complaint through her gag and kicked the straw with her chained feet.

"She's adorable, " her captor announced.  It was a voice Charlie had never heard before.

"Wait 'til we unpack the other one," came a husky response.  Charlie recognized this voice.  It was the Brunette Bitch.

"Just like Christmas morning," the first voice mused aloud.

Charlie was dumped off the unknown captor's lap.  She rolled in the straw and her collar was caught up short by its chain.  Charlie heard squealing hinges, and the door slammed.  A bar was thrown, a key turned in a heavy lock... and Charlie was alone, blindfolded, gagged, chained... and still thirsty.  Bastards!

Minutes passed... then hours.  Charlie heard nothing, nothing she couldn't be sure wasn't her imagination.  Her bondage allowed some exploration, albeit very limited.  She found her collar was chained to a thick iron ring set low in a stone wall.  The chain was four, maybe five feet in length.  If she wiggled to the end of her neck chain and felt along the back wall, she could just touch stone walls on either side with her outstretched toes.  An honest to God dungeon cell, she surmised.

The waiting continued, and her powerful thirst was joined by a growing hunger.  I guess this is what they call 'languishing', she mused.

Some time later, Charlie imagined she heard some distant noise... then knew she heard some noise.  Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the door to her cell being unlocked.  I hope this is room service, she thought.  The door creaked open, someone entered her cell, accompanied by a curious tinkling sound.  Tiny bells, Charlie decided.  Once again she was hauled up onto a lap, this lap as naked as Charlie's own, but for some small, limited covering, possibly.  An apron?  A loincloth?

Strong fingers fumbled with her gag, and the hated leather was finally pulled from her dry mouth and aching jaws.  Charlie's lips felt oddly numb.  This was probably the longest she had ever had to endure such a gag—at least she thought it might be the longest.  Charlie had to admit she had no idea how many hours had passed since her initial capture.  Even a guess was problematical.

Water sloshed in a container, and a smooth, wet hand brushed Charlie's parched lips.  Next, a dribble of cool water splashed her tongue.  Thank you!  The dribble became a modest flow, and Charlie drank.  Glorious!   Her captor rationed the precious liquid, making sure Charlie drank slowly and didn't choke herself.

Next, a wet cloth was wiped across Charlie's lower face and neck.

"Thank you," Charlie croaked.  "My friend.  Please take care of my friend."

Her benefactor shushed her quietly, and held one thin, strong finger to Charlie's lips.  Water sloshed, the bells tinkled, and Charlie drank again.  She had never tasted anything so good, and it was simple water.

Charlie's thirst satisfied, she was about to speak again, when her captor replaced her gag.  This one had a mild plug of wet sponge and a narrow, butter soft, leather band cleaving Charlie's mouth.  The gag's strap was buckled tight behind her neck. Not as bad as the last one, she had to admit.

Next, the bells tinkled anew (they seemed to be quite near Charlie's head), and Charlie felt hands fumbling with her blindfold.  It finally came away, and the wet, cool cloth gently scrubbed her tingling brow and blinking eyes.  The cloth was removed, and Charlie caught a fleeting image of a perfect brown breast, pierced at the nipple with a gold ring and a tiny pendant bell —then a bright light flashed in her face and all Charlie's dark adapted eyes could see was an explosion of stars.

Her benefactor (and jailer) gently rolled Charlie back onto the straw.  Charlie immediately squirmed onto her left side, but by that time the tinkling bells had retreated through the door and it had closed with a thud.  Charlie's vision began to clear as the bolt was thrown and the lock turned.  She was in a dungeon, with walls of rough dressed stone, a low ceiling, and door of massive timbers bound with iron.  She saw all this by the light of a small, barred portal in the door.  She caught a glimpse of a brown, high-cheeked, angelic face—and a heavy cover thudded closed over the portal.

Thanks for coming, Charlie mentally called after her benefactor.  Next time bring a burger and fries.  A little light glimmered briefly between the door's timbers, the bells tinkled away, and Charlie was alone in the dark.  Maybe a small salad?  Charlie stretched in her bonds and nestled in the straw.  Well, Charlie, she mused, aren't you the Brave Little Trooper?  Her stomach growled.  She moved her head and the heavy links chaining her to the wall clinked and rattled.  She felt tears welling in her eyes—and pushed them away.  She couldn't afford self pity, to give in to the rising panic, the fear, the terror.  She had to be strong... for Teri.  Well... Inner Circle games never prepared you for this, she mused, for being kidnapped for real, for being... collected... did they Charlie?   The tears welled again.  Charlie rested her gagged face in the straw and wept.   I'll be strong tomorrow, she promised herself.