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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jodi's Story: R-E-S-P-E-C-T WITH A CHERRY ON TOP  ———————————————————————— by Van © 2005
		Chapter 7

Ronnie opened her eyes.  She was in a dungeon cell (gray stone walls, iron bars, dank, musty smell, etc.), lying on her back, in chains (steel manacles, shackles, and belly chains, all connected by thin but strong steel links), and was naked, save for a mildly itchy loincloth of dark brown burlap.  She sat up, to the accompaniment of tinkling and slithering steel.  Curiously, her normally short hair was now long, falling free about her naked shoulders in tousled waves.

She'd been at home, entertaining Jodi Weber, and then she was grabbed and drugged by black-masked female intruders!  And now she was here, a nearly naked captive—in chains—in a dungeon!

Or was she?  Ronnie blinked and stretched, and her sense of reality came into sharper focus—only now she realized it wasn't reality!  This was Virtual Reality.  An experienced VR user, Ronnie could tell.  It was high resolution, Spherus-III or IV, and it was VR(D), what the tech-weenies called "Dream Mode".   Full VR involved elaborate sensor suits on articulated frameworks that involved the entire body.  VR(D) was mind only, and could be achieved with only a sensor helmet, hi-res goggles, and stereo headphones.

Ronnie tested the VR environment and her ability to interact.  She could tell her real body was unable to move, was probably restrained, but the sensation of physical helplessness was remote.  Her consciousness was detached, as if in a powerful waking dream.

Okay, Ronnie decided.  I've been kidnapped, strapped into a VR helmet, and somebody's playing games.  Margo?  Who else?  The sophistication and "texture" of the sensorium reeked of TESSERACT.  She'd tried competing technologies in the course of her Games Division development duties, and this was definitely TESSERACT quality.

Ronnie made a mental note to have a serious discussion about employer-employee relations with Margo at her earliest opportunity.  All she had to do was ask .  A simple invitation would have sufficed.  Right now, of course, Ronnie had no choice but to play along with whatever Margo had in mind, so she decided she might as well enjoy herself.   I can always throw a hissie fit later, after the 'game' is over.

So... where was she?  What VR realm?  The dungeon's stonework was impressive.  The individual blocks were custom fitted with a high degree of precision, and no two blocks were alike.   Not Kul'Dakar, she decided, but something was familiar about the style.

She fingered the ends of her long hair, gave a strand a gentle tug, then pulled harder.  Okay, it was "real", not a wig.  She'd been thinking about letting her hair grow out, and had given herself long hair (or, more precisely, had given her character long hair) at the start of the latest R&D development round for Air Pirates!, the new gaming venue her team was working on.  

So... was she trapped in an Air Pirates! scenario?  She rattled her chains and shook a nearby set of iron bars.   You've seen one dungeon, you've seen them all, more or less.  Nothing in sight was truly distinctive.  Nothing bore any signature details of any of the Air Pirates! cultures she'd helped create.  Well, the design of her loincloth could be Aztec-Hawaiian... maybe.  She reexamined the stonework.  Meso-American?  This could very well be an Aztec-Hawaiian dungeon!

Air Pirates! was Alternate History, set in a world of giant airships, biplane fighters, "land cruiser" armored tanks the size of small buildings, and other exotic retro-fantasy stuff.  Technology was selectively frozen at roughly the first quarter of the twentieth century, but, compared to the real world, a radically different world history had spawned a radically different cultural and political landscape.

In the world of Air Pirates!, the "Grand Republic of Britannia, Hibernia, and Columbia" occupied most of Western Europe and North America, including Alaska.  It was a representative democracy, with the Grand Senate of the Grand Republic meeting in the Grand Capital of New Avalon (New York).  Ronnie's character was a citizen of the Republic.

The GR's arch rival was the "Aztec-Hawaiian Empire", a theocracy ruled by a permanent conclave of priest-warriors.  The cults of the Winged Serpent and Pele currently held the most power.  The Empire ruled Central and South America, and all of Polynesia-Oceana.  Its blue water navy was the most powerful on earth, but it's "Air Armada" was technically inferior to the Grand Republic's.

Other players on the Air Pirates! stage were the mysterious "Hegemony of the Han", which ruled most of Asia (including Nippon, Siam, Siberia, Mongolia, and most of what we'd call Russia); the "Ashanti Confederation", whose powerful ground forces controlled all of Africa; and elsewhere, countless small and diverse kingdoms, republics, caliphates, and city states, all jealously preserving their domains and squabbling among themselves.

A state of Cold War existed between the Grand Republic and the Aztec-Hawiians.  Ronnie, as a Squadron Leader in the Grand Republic Flying Service (and a Secret Agent) was constantly crossing swords (or biplane pursuit fighters) with her Aztec-Hawaiian counterparts.  It was the "Great Game" played by the British and Russians in Nineteenth Century Afghanistan all over again... only with giant lighter-than-air carriers, swarming dogfights of exotic aircraft, colossal submarines (with shark fins, giant portholes, and observation blisters), and the occasional sea serpent, dinosaur, mutant plant, and/or mad scientist.

A good time to be had by all!  ...unless you were involuntarily dealt into the game with what looked like a decidedly losing hand.

So... was it "Air Pirates!"?

Ronnie heard a distant door being unlocked, then hobnailed boots stomping towards her cell.  Three guards came into view, and all doubt evaporated.

All three guards were women, and were dressed in the rather skimpy leather and cloth costumes favored by Aztec-Hawaiian warriors in tropical climates.  And wherever Ronnie "was", it was definitely tropical.  The VR environmental channel was pegged at "humid" and "hot".  The guards were very beautiful...   (Big surprise there, Ronnie mused.)  ...and were Polynesian and/or Hispanic and/or Native American, like most citizens of the Empire.

Ronnie's cell was unlocked, a guard grabbed each of her arms, the third gave an imperious gesture, and she was dragged from her cell and down the corridor.

"Where are we off to?" Ronnie inquired.

"Silence, Republican `îlio!" one of the guards barked, and the journey continued.

Ronnie decided to follow the guard's "advice", for now, and hold her tongue.  They passed through a massive complex of gates and doors, and out onto a covered walkway.  Ronnie could hear engines revving in the distance, and the sound of what was probably a brace of Washi fighters passing overhead, but she couldn't see anything through the thatched roof and camouflaged canvas sides of the walkway.

They entered another building, passed several side corridors, and finally stopped at a closed door.  Ronnie noted a small engraved plaque in an ornately carved hardwood frame.  It read:

"Sub-Kahuna Kiki Ohana, AHIAA"

Uh oh!  Ronnie suppressed a smile.  "Sub-Kahuna" and "Squadron Leader" were equivalent ranks, the "AHIAA" was the Aztec-Hawaiian Imperial Air Armada, and "Kiki Ohana" was Ronnie's designated arch-nemesis.  She hadn't actually encountered her yet, but she knew the character.  The Air Pirates! sessions Ronnie had participated in so far had been mostly for purposes of fine-tuning the culture mapping and physical settings.  She'd not actually run any of the game scenarios, but she knew about Kiki from storyboard meetings.  This was going to be... interesting.

The lead guard rapped on the door.  Several seconds passed with no reply.

"What a pity," Ronnie purred.  "No one at home.  Back to my cell?"

"Hâmau!" the lead guard ordered, and rapped again.

This time, a sleepy voice answered from within.   "E komo mai!"

The guard opened the door, entered the room beyond, and the other two guards hustled Ronnie inside.

It was as Ronnie had suspected.  This was the bachelorette officer's quarters of Kiki Ohana.  The decor was typical Aztec-Hawaiian: grass mats, woven rugs, bamboo and timber beams, hand dyed wall hangings... all very rustic and "primitive".  It was a fashion statement, of course.  Imperial citizens, especially the officer class, were as sophisticated and well-educated as their Republican counterparts.

Kiki Ohana, herself (it could be none other), was reclined on a mat-covered couch.  She was nude, her athletic, brown body gleaming in the dim light.  Ronnie swallowed and suppressed an appreciative smile.  Kiki was exquisite!  Her hair was long and black, her features even and very attractive, with high cheekbones and slanted, doe eyes.  She gazed at Ronnie for several seconds, then yawned and stretched.  Ronnie felt a thrill of arousal shiver through her sex.  She suspected it was triggered by the VR program, but truth be told, she didn't need any such encouragement.  Kiki Ohana was hot!

Her eyes on Ronnie, Kiki stood, stretched again, then sauntered forward.  "Squadron Leader Veronica Allbright," she said, "at last we meet."  Her voice had the typical AH accent, but her English was perfect.

"Sub-Kahuna Ohana," Ronnie answered.  "May I call you Kiki?"

"You may call me 'Mistress"," Kiki purred, giving the right breast of her "visitor" a teasing caress.  "The photographs in your file do not do you justice," she said, gently twirling Ronnie's nipple between her fingers and thumb, "but then, all of them show you in uniform or flying gear.  You have very nice nius."

"Why thank you," Ronnie responded with a coy grin.  "So do you."

Kiki smiled, then nodded to the guards.  "Rack her," she ordered.

The guards dragged Ronnie backwards and to the side, and slammed her against a vertical framework of dark-stained timbers bolted to the wall.

"Ladies, ladies," Ronnie objected, with a sardonic smirk, "no need to get rough."

Ronnie's words were ignored as her manacles and shackles were locked to the frame and a leather collar was buckled around her throat.  Various adjustments were made, and Ronnie found herself standing in place with her ankles spread about two feet apart and her wrists separated from her sides.  She was relatively comfortable, but able to do little more than squirm against the hard timbers.

Ronnie smiled at her nude nemesis.  "Do all Imperial officer's quarters come with such furnishings?" she inquired.

One of the guards raised her hand to slap Ronnie's face, but quick as a striking cobra, Kiki grabbed the guard's wrist.  "Dismissed!" she barked.  The guards thumped their breasts in salute, and departed, closing the door behind them.

Ronnie and Kiki locked eyes, smiles on both their faces.  Several seconds passed, then Kiki reached out, cupped Ronnie's breasts in her hands, and gently squeezed.  "How does that feel?" she inquired.  "Is there any skipping in the tactile feedback?"

Ronnie squirmed in place, still smiling.  "Excuse me?"

"The point of this exercise is to evaluate the revised proprioceptive sensor channels in an asymmetrical encounter," Kiki explained, shifting her attention to Ronnie's erect nipples.

Ronnie was confused, then the context of Kiki's words registered.  "I—you're talking outside the game!" she gasped.

Kiki bit her lip, seductively, then nodded.  "Bad manners, I know, but sometimes you have to bend the rules when doing R&D."

"Asymmetrical," Ronnie noted.  "You're in full VR."

"And you're in VR(D)," Kiki responded, sliding her hands down Ronnie's torso to her loincloth.  She began removing the narrow, coarsely-woven garment.  "You haven't answered my question," she purred.

"How does it feel?" Ronnie responded.  "Typical VR(D).  Remote, more suggestion than sensation.  No skipping or channel flutter.  Accommodation helps, of course, but basically it's—ee-yow!  Now that was full-VR!"

Kiki had pulled the rough fabric through Ronnie's crotch, letting the scratchy, slightly stiff burlap caress Ronnie's sex.  The loincloth finally slid free.  Kiki smiled, folded it length-wise into a narrow bandage, and draped it over the top of the frame, near Ronnie's head.  "Hmm... VR double D, I suspect."

Ronnie shivered in her bonds, savoring the aftereffects of the loincloth's passage.  "Double D?"

"VR... dream mode, with dildo," Kiki whispered.  She leaned close, until her face was inches from Ronnie's, then thrust her breasts forward and slid her nipples against Ronnie's.  "Full-VR for me, VR(D) for you..."  Her right hand cupped Ronnie's sex, her middle finger parted the captive's moist, flushed labia, and nudged her clitoris.  "...and now full-VR for both of us."  Ronnie gasped and bit her lower lip, shivering and squirming against the hard rack.  "I surmise you're wearing a full helmet and an augmented chastity belt."

"Chastity belt is a bit of a misnomer," Ronnie observed, then gasped again as Kiki continued massaging and teasing her most intimate flesh.

"I've always thought so," Kiki purred, "but no one can think of a better name."

"There is something to be said for irony," Ronnie whispered, then continued in her normal voice, struggling to ignore what Kiki was doing to her.  "So, I can tell you're not a computer-generated character.  Do you work in Seattle?"

Kiki's smile turned into a playful smirk.  "Squadron Leader Allbright," she admonished, "I'm surprised at you!  I may be willing to bend the rules of VR etiquette a little, but I'm not about to reveal my true identity, or provide any clues you might use to hunt me down."  She increased the tempo of her fondling of Ronnie's sex until the captive gasped, then she withdrew her hand and took a step back.  "Tracing a player, be they volunteer or professional, is impossible in any case."

"Stranger things have happened," Ronnie responded, thinking of her "chance meeting" with her beloved Fiona.  A VR character had been traced to her real body, albeit with artificially intelligent help.  Anyway, "Kiki" was right.  TESSERACT had sites with full-VR facilities all over the world.  Her captor could be a software engineer in the next building of the Seattle Campus, or she could be a game development volunteer (like Fiona) in the Media Effects Studio outside La Jolla, or a code jockey in Hong Kong, or Honolulu, or Porto Alegra, or Bangalore, or...  It was pointless to speculate.

Ronnie watched as Kiki opened an ornately carved trunk and produced a wedge-shaped object.  It was roughly the size of the proverbial bread box, appeared to be constructed of wood and brass, and was ornately carved with Chinese ideograms.

"This was acquired from a Siamese pirate," Kiki explained, "who claimed to have found it while looting a Manchu treasure junk."  She returned to the rack and turned the object for Ronnie's inspection.  "A rough translation of the name carved on the front is 'the saddle of heaven'."  She slid the device into a bracket between Ronnie's legs, adjusted a lever, and the "saddle" was pressed firmly against Ronnie's sex, its top ridge parting her labia.  It wasn't uncomfortable, but thanks to her bonds, Ronnie found she couldn't do much to lift herself away from the smooth, rounded surface of the wedge.

Kiki turned a small wheel on the side of the frame.  There was a creak of turning gears, and Ronnie's bonds tightened further, making it even more impossible for her to do more than squirm her slightly squashed sex against the saddle.

"Have you ever seen one of the Han's fancy clocks?" Kiki inquired.

Grimacing slightly, Ronnie pulled on her bonds.  "There are several in the Republic Museum in New Avalon," she answered.

"Remarkable, aren't they?   Tiny metal birds chirping, animals leaping, musicians playing tiny instruments... remarkable."  Kiki inserted an ornate brass key in the front of the saddle, and gave it several quick turns.  "The Han are masters of automation."

Ronnie could feel the saddle vibrating as Kiki continued turning the key.  She surmised gears were turning and springs being wound  "I take it this is not a clock?"

Kiki's smile turned disturbingly evil.  "It has dozens of moving parts, large and small, that slide and twist and spin... but I'm afraid it doesn't keep time."  She withdrew the key, reached under the base of the saddle, and threw a small switch.

Ronnie affected a brave smile.  "I don't think I'd be able to read the face from this position any— WAY!"  Her eyes popped wide and she flinched in her bonds.  Things were happening—disturbing, horrible, wonderful things!  The upper surface of the saddle was vibrating, throbbing, and pulsating.  Small flanges and knobs and protuberances were twisting and thrusting and seemed to be making serious attempts to climb inside her sex!

"Remarkable," Kiki cooed, leaned forward, and kissed Ronnie's lips.  "I'm really glad I volunteered for this test scenario."

"At some point," Ronnie gasped through clenched teeth, "I'd very much like for our roles to be reversed."

Kiki laughed.  "I wouldn't hold my breath," she purred, then grabbed the loincloth draped on the frame and thrust its center between Ronnie's teeth.  She took her time tying the long, narrowly folded burlap strip as a gag, taking a hitch behind Ronnie's head, pulling an additional mouth-cleaving band from either side, tugging her long hair free, and carefully compacting a tight square knot at the nape of her neck.  "There," she said.  "Now now I can gloat without interruption."  She reached out, lifted the gagged and helpless prisoner's chin, and gazed into her eyes.  "Gloating is one of the true pleasures of playing a villainess, don't you agree?"

Ronnie gazed back, panting through flaring nostrils as the saddle worked its mechanical magic.

"I've been anxious to meet you," Kiki whispered, "in VR, I mean."  She released Ronnie's chin, and traced the soft margin of the captive's lower lip where it met her gag.  "Neeka the Warrior-Slave," she cooed.  "I've spent many long, pleasurable hours as a Kul'Dakar amazon, taming a simulated Neeka... and here she is in the flesh..."  Her hands cupped Ronnie's heaving breasts, and gently squeezed.  "...the VR flesh, with a direct link to the mind that spawned the wonderfully brave, terribly defiant, yet deliciously vulnerable Neeka."

They've turned my VR 'adventure' in ancient Kul'Dakar into a game scenario?  I should demand royalties!

  Kiki released Ronnie's "VR flesh" and walked to a window.  She gazed outside, at what Ronnie assumed was an Aztec-Hawaiian base or outpost of some sort.  Her expression was wistful.  "Well, I'm afraid my shift is just about over."  She turned to face Ronnie, and her smile returned.  "It's been brief, but fun," she said.  "Maybe we can do it again, when I have more time... maybe when we finish working on the torture chamber set in the Temple of the Rabid Bat God at Nuevo Tenochtitlan?  It'll need full testing, including extended game scenarios. "

'Temple of the Rabid Bat God'?  Ronnie shuddered, not totally due to the continuing effects of the still very active saddle.   I haven't heard of that one.  Hmm... did 'Kiki' just give me an inadvertent clue about where she works?  I ought to be able to find out what team is working on that setting, and where.  Hmm...

"Anyway," Kiki continued, yawning and stretching.  "I'm going to continue my siesta.  When I wake up, I'll be gone, meaning of course, that 'Kiki Ohana' will have become a fully computer generated character."  She reclined on the couch and closed her eyes.  "I hope you've enjoyed our little encounter.  You certainly seem to be enjoying the 'saddle of heaven'.  Aloha."

Ronnie smiled around her gag, continuing to squirm against the vibrating, pulsating saddle.  Orgasm was approaching.  She gazed at the now slumbering Kiki, savoring every smooth curve of her captor's naked form.   Note to self, she thought, quivering and shuddering as her arousal began to peak, start the team thinking about a scenario in which Kiki Ohana is captured by Veronica Allbright—AHHH!!

GONDALOO ISLAND
THE GREAT BARRIER REEF
QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA

---

A helicopter circled above the island.  It passed low and slow above the site of the new treehouse complex, then sped towards the main resort.  It was a new design, a joint development of Boeing and Mitsubishi Aerospace, and TESSERACT was the first commercial customer.  Sleek and streamlined, it seemed to slip through the hot, humid air like a soaring seabird, and was nearly as quiet.  It hovered briefly, then landed on the helipad near the main lobby.

The side door opened, a set of steps deployed, and two women emerged: Margo Wells and Kat Mayfair.  Simultaneously, a cargo hatch towards the rear opened and a small, low, robot cart with two sets of luggage strapped on its back sped down a ramp and rolled away on rubber treads.

As soon as the passengers were beyond the safety circle, the helicopter revved its engine and lifted back into the air.  Margo watched it depart, waving to the pilot.  "Well, Katherine," she said, when the copter was a dot on the horizon, "here we are.  It's good to be..."  She'd turned back to face the entrance to the lobby, and found herself quite alone.  "...back on Gondaloo, and standing here talking to myself."

Kat was off skulking, of course, doing the bodyguard thing.  Even on Gondaloo her duties came first, even though Margo was as safe within the perimeter of Gondaloo's active and passive security systems as in her Biosphere suite back in Seattle.

Margo entered the lobby and headed for the elevator that would take her to her private suite.  She was anxious to change out of her black suit (with its elegant embroidered jacket), and into something more appropriate for a tropical vacation.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the far side of the lobby.  "Margo!"

It was Penny Brightman, Gondaloo's resident hostess and hotelier (and an Inner Circle Sister).  Dressed in a TESSERACT T-shirt, shorts, and sports sandals, her blue eyes sparkling, a broad grin on her beautiful, tan face, the tall blonde (nearly as tall as Margo herself) sprinted across the marble tiles and into Margo's arms.  They exchanged a fierce hug and greeting kiss, then Penny rounded on her boss.

"You rat!" she accused.  "You call two days ago to say you might be arriving early, then you sneak in without any further warning!"  She was still smiling (of course).  "I had an elaborate arrival ceremony planned for the start of the treehouse celebration, and now you've spoiled everything!"

Margo smiled back.  "I reserve the right to appear and disappear at will."

"Oh yes," Penny responded, her tone mischievously sarcastic, "you're the bloody, mysterious wind, blowing in and out like a bloody typhoon, scattering plans and schedules about, with total disregard for other people's wants and needs."

Margo affected a coy pout.  "I can always call the copter back and wait in a penthouse at the Cairns International 'til you give me permission to return."

Penny giggled and pulled Margo into a second hug.  "Don't be bloody ridiculous," she whispered.  "It's so good to see you."

"My Shiny Penny," Margo whispered back, using the pet name she'd first given Penny when the blonde was a youngster, toddling around Brightman Hall.  "It's good to see you, too."

Penny stepped back again.  "You're traveling alone?" she asked.

"Hardly," a familiar alto voice responded.

Penny flinched and spun on her heels.  "Don't do that!" she gasped.

Kat was lounging against a nearby wall, within an easy arm's reach of Gondaloo's resident hostess.  "Don't do what?" she purred.

Penny looked Kat's sleek, dangerous form up and down.  The smiling bodyguard was dressed in skintight black leather, as usual, only this catsuit was decorated with tooled ideograms in red, or were they circuit diagrams?  The suit was exquisite, but not designed for tropical wear.  As a concession to the heat, the front zipper was open from throat to navel.

"Don't creep about," Penny clarified.  "Someone should put a bell around your neck."

"You're welcome to try," Kat responded, her smile never wavering.

Penny smiled back (but knew Kat could read the hint of fear in her eyes she could never suppress in the presence of Margo's 'Black Knight').  She focused on the choker around Kat's throat.  Its highlight was a round medallion of green jade embossed with the stylized shape of a crouching cat.  "That's new," she noted.

"A gift from old friends," Kat explained.  (The medallion was a gift from The Five, but that was none of Penny's business.)

"It's beautiful," Penny said, then leaned forward and planted a greeting kiss on Kat's still smiling lips.  "Welcome."  (Embracing Kat could be dangerous.  A quick kiss would have to do.)

"And speaking of being alone," Margo said, "where's my favorite marine biologist?"

Penny blushed.  Her eyes darted from Kat to Margo, then focused on her toes.  "Uh... she's at a planned lull in her research, so she can participate in the treehouse activities, and, uh, she's..."

Margo gave a good-natured sigh.  "What have you done with her?" she demanded.

"She was making a pest of herself!" Penny responded, defensively.  "She kept interrupting the final preparations with bonehead suggestions and pointless changes, so I... sequestered her."

Margo and Kat exchanged knowing smiles.  "Sequestered?" Margo demanded.

"Only 'til tonight," Penny said quietly, "then I was going to, uh..."

"Show us," Kat ordered.

"Now?" Penny asked.  "Don't you want to settle into your rooms and unpack and freshen up and—"

"And give you a chance to sneak away to wherever you've stashed poor innocent little Jamie and let her go?" Margo suggested.

"Show us now," Kat growled, "or show us after a little... persuasion.  You know which I'd prefer."

Penny flashed a nervous smile.  "I don't know what I'm worried about," she said.  "It's not like we don't play damsel-in-distress games all the time, and—"

"You're afraid whatever you've done to Freckle Fox will put the Red Queen in a 'playful' mood," Kat purred.

Penny rolled her eyes and gestured towards a side exit.  "This way," she sighed.

The exit led to a service corridor, which led to another service corridor, which led to a storeroom.  Penny tapped her TESSERACT signet ring to the reader panel next to the door, and the thick steel panel slid open with a dry scrape.  The room beyond was full of neatly stacked cargo containers, ranging in size from steamer trunk to one-car garage.  All were of rugged, stainless steel construction, designed for the protection and security of precious cargo.

Penny walked to one of the medium-sized containers, and tapped her ring to the heavy lock-panel on its double doors.  There was a loud click as the bolts disengaged.  Penny grabbed the edge of the right door, pulled it open, then did the same with the left.

The container held exactly one item of "precious cargo"—Jamie Seaton.

The petite redhead was nude, save a pair of white socks on her feet; padded steel cuffs on her wrists; a silver, dermafoam tape-gag on her lips; several meters of soft, golden rope binding her in a tight, elegant ball-tie; and several million freckles.  Her eyes focused on Penny and glared, then shifted to Margo and Kat and sparkled in welcome.

Margo smiled back, savoring the sight of Jamie's tiny, athletic, stringently bound body.  "Hey, Jamie," she purred, and the prisoner mewed a happy, albeit well-muffled return greeting.  Margo pointed at Jamie's feet, then turned to Penny.  "Socks?"

Penny swallowed nervously, and opened her mouth to answer, but Kat beat her to it.

"Foot lotion, to soften and moisturize the skin," the grinning bodyguard explained, "socks, to let them marinate—"

"—and later," Margo interrupted, her eyes still on Penny, "a few hours of serious tickling?"

Blushing, Penny flashed a sheepish smile.  "Not hours!" she objected.  "Besides, it's not exactly illegal."  She was referring to the Inner Circle Handbook's guidelines regarding the erotic torture of Sisters and casual friends.

"How are the final preparations coming?" Margo asked.

Penny blinked, the sudden change of topic taking her by surprise.  "The treehouse?  There are a few decorating options I have to sort out in the guest bathrooms—towels and drapes and such."

Margo smiled.  "Goodie!  I haven't done girlie stuff like that in years!"

Penny affected a coy pout.  "But I wanted you to see the village when everything was finished."

Margo's smile widened.  "Why should you have all the fun?"  She took Penny by the arm and headed for the storeroom door.  "Take care of Dr. Seaton for me, would you please, Katherine?"

Penny had time for one last glimpse of her still helpless lover and the smiling Kat, then the storeroom door slid closed and Margo led her away.

Jamie locked eyes with her Inner Circle nemesis, and swallowed nervously behind her gag.

Kat's expression was typically feline, with Jamie in the role of trapped mouse or helpless songbird.  "So..." she purred, "'take care of Dr. Seaton'...  Does that mean close and lock the container, set you free... or something else?"

Jamie squirmed in her bonds, forced a pathetic whine through her gag, and batted her eyes.

A smile quivered on Kat's lips, then she laughed and shook her head.  "Drama queen!" she accused, then stepped forward, leaned close, and delicately peeled back the edge of Jamie's tape-gag.  "Brace yourself," she whispered, and began pulling back the tape.

The silver strip pulled and distorted Jamie's face and lips, as if reluctant to surrender its adhesive grip.  It finally came free, and Kat helped the captive force a large wad of silk from her mouth.  "Thanks," Jamie muttered, working her jaw and licking her lips.

Kat shook out the wad and discovered it was three pair of bikini panties, all in Penny's size.  She smiled and tossed the panties and used tape away.  "You're welcome," she answered, and began the process of untying the rope enforcing Jamie's stringent ball-tie.  "Everything on track?"

Jamie watched as Kat's nimble fingers set her free.  "All costumes and special props are ready, and Penny, bless her cold, villainous heart, is clueless."

Kat finished untying the rope, which turned out to be one continuous length.  She grabbed Jamie's arm, and helped her scramble out of the container and climb to her feet.  The grinning bodyguard gave the short redhead a half turn, and gave her pink butt cheeks a gentle caress.  The hard rubber mat on the floor of the container had left a waffle pattern on Jamie's derrière.  "Very pretty," she purred.  "I do hope it lasts."

"Very funny," Jamie huffed, shook her arm from Kat's grasp, and presented her cuffed wrists.  "A little help here?"

Kat smiled, found a free end of the rope, took a quick turn around the short, rigid rod joining the two cuffs, and tied a complex, elegant knot.

"Katherine!" Jamie complained.  "We're supposed to be partners this trip—hey!"

Kat had passed the bulk of the rope between Jamie's legs and given it an authoritative jerk, snuggling the cuffs against Jamie's now rope-cleaved sex.  "We are partners," her catsuited captor confirmed.

"You promised not to tie me up or tickle me or do anything!"

Meanwhile, Kat had dropped several coils of rope over Jamie's head and shoulders and removed the slack, leaving the pouting prisoner's arms pinned to her sides.  A loop behind her neck and back to the front, and a final complex knot between her pale, pert breasts, and everything was taut and secure.  The long, free end of the remaining rope trailed from the knot to Kat's hand.  She smiled, turned, and headed for the storeroom door.  "C'mon.  Let's find a nice secluded beach and disappear for an hour or two.  Or maybe one of the guest suites.  Someplace out of Margo's earshot, in any case."

Jamie, of course, had no choice but to follow.  "You promised!" she reiterated.

"I find you all naked and helpless," Kat explained, "your feet lotioned-up and just begging for it...  I'm only human."

Captor and captive exited the storeroom, and the door slid closed behind them.