— in —
Helpless in Seattle
by Van ©2006
EPILOGUE
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| DAMSELS
UNDER
GLASS:
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| Jackie Silberston — in — Helpless in Seattle by Van ©2006 EPILOGUE |
MORNING
(VIRTUAL REALITY)
VR was fabulous, much better than what Jackie had expected! And if this was less than full-VR—
Current mode: VR-D/full-body sensory feedback / limited semi-articulation / network mediation
—she could hardly wait to try the real thing! The input/output pop-ups were a little disconcerting, but Eve had promised they would drop away, once she was fully adapted—
Adaption/accommodation imminent; I/O matrix—0.79/0.98
—to the VR environment.
Everything was so real, and very similar to the acres of woodland surrounding Brightman Hall... only wild and ancient. This was The Forest Primeval, what England must have looked like before the Romans... before any humans, for that matter. There was a path under her feet, rough and unimproved, but it may have been just a large game trail.
And speaking of wild and ancient, Jackie's costume certainly qualified. Moccasin-boots of brown suede were laced on her feet. They came nearly to her knees and, she had to admit, they were very comfortable. The rest of her "clothing" wasn't really clothing at all, but more a bizarre mix of leather body-harness, suede bikini, and metal armor. Her breasts were in bronze cups, leather pads and short chainmail sleeves protected her shoulders, leather bracers with bronze studs were laced around her wrists, and an archer's tab protected the middle three fingers of her right hand. Like the boots, everything fit perfectly. No mirror was available, but she imagined she rather looked like a guest-star on the old Xena: Warrior Princess TV series, or perhaps an extra on one of the Red Sonja movies.
Appropriate for such a role, she was armed with a bow, a quiver of arrows, a fighting dagger in a sheath on her right hip, and a longsword in a sheath on her left.
The bow was a laminated recurve, similar to Mongol and Saracen horse-bows she'd seen in the British Museum, only it was a little longer. The arrows were fletched with white feathers, possibly goose or gull, and they were tipped with leaf-shaped hunting points of black iron. She gave the bow a tentative dry-pull, and was pleased with its weight and balance. She slowly released the draw. Jackie wasn't what you could call an expert archer, but she had enough time on the range to know you never twang an empty bow.
Eve had explained, early in the orientation programs, modern VR games usually mapped a player's real skills and experience directly to their character's body. That meant she could probably learn to shoot her new VR bow with little difficulty, as she was already a bit of a real archer. There were technical reasons for the mapping (Eve had mentioned something about "muscle memory" aiding the system's interface adaption routines), but most VR systems were designed to actually augment the effect, to avoid what VR gamers called "Harry Potter Syndrome." Unearned expertise—like suddenly discovering you were a world-class player of a challenging sport you'd never even heard of before—might be entertaining for a while; but in the longterm, skill gained through experience (in the real world, in VR, or both) was more satisfying and the ensuing game play was much more fun... or so Eve said.
Jackie slung the quiver and strung bow across her back, then drew her sword and dagger. Both had steel blades. To Jackie's eye they looked quite well made. She sheathed the dagger and gave the sword a tentative swing. It was well balanced (she supposed) and light, but until she found a Swordmaster willing to take her on as a student, the blade was probably only marginally more dangerous to an attacker than it would be to Jackie herself.
Adaption/accommodation threshold achieved
Network/scenario protocols and parameters preeminent—NOW
Player preference menus locking—NOW
REPLAY option disabled—NOW
Player Apparent Time Compression (PATC) set to maximum (10:1)—NOW
Player commands START (►), PAUSE (II), SKIP FORWARD (»), SKIP BACK («), STOP (■), and EXIT (x)
shifting to network/scenario control—NOW
I/O interface going mute—NOW
Jackie frowned as she sheathed her sword. "What? Eve, I'm not sure I'm ready to play an actual game!" There was no response. "Eve? Can't I just... wander around for a bit?" Still no response. "At least tell me something about the game. What's its point? How do I win? Eve?" In the distance a bird—probably a bird—gave a loud, rather raucous call. "Eve?"
Jackie ran her fingers through her hair. "All right then," she sighed, "be that way!" Obviously, she was on her own—but that was okay. It would be fun... probably... she hoped.
She took a quick inventory of the rest of her gear. A small pouch on the back of her harness contained a small flint and steel kit for starting fires, two bone fishing hooks and a coil of braided line, two spare bowstrings and a lump of wax... and that was it. No food, no cloak, no blanket, and nothing that resembled money.
So... I guess I go hunting, she decided. Or I find a stream and catch a fish, or I lay some snares... or I walk for a while and see if I encounter something... or someone.
Jackie continued along the path. Gradually, the trees became even larger, and she found herself passing through tracts of fully mature oak, with the occasional elm, ash, yew, hawthorn, rowan, and, when she came to a small stream, willow.
There were several flat rocks that would allow her to cross the stream without getting her boots wet, but as she was about to do so, she paused. There were numerous sets of distinct animal tracks in the soft mud of the stream bank. She recognized fox, deer, what was either a weasel or a small martin... and several sets from what were unmistakably shod ponies.
Maybe the ponies' riders were friendly, and maybe not. Best to be prepared. Jackie eased the bow off her back, then pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it to the string. Eyes on the surrounding forest, she hopped from rock to rock to the far bank of the stream. Nothing moved but the leaves stirring in the breeze. There was no sound but that of running water and the twittering of a few song birds.
A glance at the path under her feet revealed more evidence of traffic, but deer appeared to be the most frequent and recent travelers. Jackie continued forward, arrow nocked and ready.
The noise of the stream faded behind her, and she entered a grove of truly ancient oaks. The blue sky all but disappeared as the canopy overhead closed into a roof of gray branches and green leaves. The path under her feet became a thick carpet of fallen leaves and a treacherous tangle of twisted roots. Here and there a shade-loving plant poked through the litter, but the deeper she went into the forest, the darker and gloomier things became.
Eventually, Jackie found herself surrounded by ancient trunks with massive, grotesquely contorted branches, and equally massive buttressing roots. The path all but disappeared, the deer tracks splitting into a seemingly infinite number of intertwining trails. Jackie kept going in what she hoped was the same general direction. It was getting more and more difficult to keep her bearings, owing to the need to constantly turn or retrace her steps to navigate the labyrinth of roots.
Finally, up ahead, she saw a bright greenish light, as opposed to the feeble gray-green glow from overhead. At some point in the past one of the forest giants had fallen, and the resulting clearing had become an oasis of oak saplings and other growth, all competing for the open space and light.
Jackie decided to head for the clearing, for relief from the oppressive gloom and in the hope of once again feeling the breeze on her skin. She was almost there, when she heard the familiar thump and rustle of a horse's shod hooves on a woodland trail. Then, perhaps ten yards ahead, a remarkable creature stepped into her path. It—she—was a centaur!
"Why do you stare at me, amazon?" the centaur demanded. She was a redhead... a red everything. Her human half was fair complected, with freckles. Her long hair, mane and tail, were a curly copper-red. Her equine half was an auburn bay, with the white wash of a roan. White stockings marked her hind legs, and white socks her front. Her human torso was clothed in a bra, harness, and wrist bracers, somewhat similar to Jackie's, but they were uniformly of a gleaming, rust-red leather. Her equine body was completely bare, and she was apparently unarmed.
Her human features were very beautiful, and her eyes were a striking green. Her equine form was well-proportioned, and somewhat coltish in appearance. Jackie judged her human age to be twenty-something. Her equine age, something less than a year. What all that meant in a centaur... she had no idea.
"I said, why do you stare?"
Jackie blinked. "I―I've never seen a centaur, before," she stammered. She realized she had her bow at full draw and aimed directly at the newcomer. "Oh—sorry!" she exclaimed, as she eased and lowered the bow. "I was startled. I mean you no harm!"
The centaur's lips curled in a rather sardonic grin. "You mean me no harm," she muttered. "What is your name, amazon?"
"I―I'm Jackie. Jaclyn, actually, but my friends call me Jackie."
The centaur took a few steps closer. "Well, Jaclyn," she said, "my name is Keelin."
"Pleased to meet you, Keelin," Jackie said, released the still nocked arrow, and extended her right hand.
"Very pleased, I'm sure," Keelin responded, but made no move to move forward and take Jackie's hand. "I know why you're here, Jaclyn. Don't pretend to offer friendship. We both know the provisions of the treaty between our kinds."
"Treaty?"
Keelin laughed. "All right, play the fool. The Pact of the Greene Wood: No blood shall be spilled between centaur and amazon; but should one be taken by the other in the Greene, slave shall she be, for seven years, seven moons, and seven days."
Jackie frowned. "Slave? No, I never—"
"You mean to capture me," Keelin continued, "to make me back to your people, enthralled. Thus shall an untried young amazon gain status, and perhaps be invited to join one of the totem circles... the Cult of the Horse, perhaps?"
Jackie un-nocked the arrow and held bow and arrow in her left hand. She then raised her right hand, in what she hoped was a gesture of peace. "No, I swear, I never heard of—Hey!"
A lasso had flown from between the trees on Jackie's right and closed around her wrist. At the same time a second lasso, from the left, closed around her right shoulder and left arm, pinning the bow to her side. A third lasso, from behind, dropped over her head and closed around both arms. The ropes snapped taut and jerked her to the ground with enough force to empty her lungs.
Jackie gasped for air and struggled to escape, to no avail. Finally able to breath, but still helpless, she looked up. Keelin was standing before her, arms folded across her chest and a happy smile on her face. She had been joined by at least a dozen more centaurs, all female, and all armed. Some were pointing the business ends of rather nasty spears in Jackie's face, some were covering her with drawn bows, and the rest were holding the rope lariats pinning her arms.
"So, Jaclyn," Keelin purred, "you mean me no harm."
Her gloating smile sent chills up Jackie's spine.
"Birkita!" Keelin barked.
"Yes, my Princess?" It was one of the centaurs holding a rope, a blonde/palomino.
"Strip, bind, and gag her; and make sure none of her weapons or gear are damaged or lost."
"Yes, my Princess!" Birkita answered,
"Wait!" Jackie shouted, continuing to struggle. "I don't want to be a slave. Let me—M'mmpfh!"
Birkita and the other centaurs with ropes had stepped forward and dragged Jackie to her feet. One stuffed a cloth rag in her mouth, and another used two loops of rope to cleave her mouth and compress the gag. Then, all three busied themselves divesting the prisoner of her arms and equipment. Jackie squirmed and tried to punch, struggle, and kick, but this only served to amuse her captors.
Keelin watched the process of Jackie being rendered more-and-more helpless and more-and-more naked with obvious pleasure. "Moira," she said, "return to camp and have the small bear cage assembled and moved into my tent. I want to start Jaclyn's training immediately."
"Yes, my Princess!" It was one of the archers. The brunette/dark bay returned her arrow to its quiver and slung her bow.
"Oh, and Moira?"
"Yes, my Princess?"
Keelin's smile became even more evil. "Tell the smith to stoke the forge and prepare a collar."
"Yes, my Princess!"
"No need for manacles or shackles," Keelin added. "She probably didn't bring anything appropriate on the hunt, anyway. We'll use rope until we get back to the palace. Then my new pet can be outfitted properly."
"Yes, my Princess," Moira said, once again. She thumped her breast in salute and galloped away.
By this time, Jackie's left boot, the last of her clothing, had been removed, and rope was tightening around her wrists, elbows, shoulders, and arms. She continued to struggle, but soon her captors had her well-trussed and prone on the ground, with her knees and ankles bound, as well. Finally, she was lashed to a long, stout pole, and hoisted onto the shoulders of two of the centaurs. The naked captive squirmed and mewled through her gag, looking somewhat like a joint on a spit ready to be roasted over a fire.
Meanwhile, Princess Keelin was being rearmed by her companions. Bow, quiver, sheathed dagger, and a spear with a silk pennant were slung across her shoulders, buckled to her harness, or placed in her hand. All were finely made, and were trimmed and decorated to match her harness and bracers.
The Princess stepped to Jackie's side and used the flat of the spear's broad, leaf-shaped blade to lift her chin. "I suppose we should follow the forms," she said, with a gloating smile. "Jaclyn of the amazons, I enslave thee; for seven, seven, and seven; by year, moon, and day; in work, pleasure, and all things." She lowered the spearpoint, leaned close, and pinched Jackie's right nipple. "You mean me no harm," she sneered. "Lying little two-legs! I hate liars... but I love punishing them."
Keelin stepped to the head of the forming column and raised her spear. Two of the centaurs had retrieved the carcass of a young stag, lashed to a pole, like Jackie, albeit not nearly as thoroughly. They took position in the formation ahead of the pair carrying the "amazon slave".
"A successful hunt," Keelin announced, dropped her spearpoint, and they were off.
Some game this is, Jackie fumed as she bounced along, regretting (for the moment) her decision to travel by VR module—as opposed to a first-class seat on a Qantas Dreamliner. Just wait 'til I get hold of Anne!
| Jackie Silberston |
Helpless in Seattle—EPILOGUE |
Anne was having problems of her own.
She had awakened to find herself in a dank, foul-smelling dungeon, totally naked... Big surprise. ...with her wrists and ankles in suspension cuffs... Another big surprise. ...and hanging in a loose spread-eagle. A leather ball-gag was in her mouth, and the dangling weight at the nape of her neck suggested the gag's buckle was secured with a padlock, like the cuffs. Her bonds didn't allow her to confirm this, the stretch being too far for her questing fingers and craning neck, but it seemed like a good bet.
The layout of the dungeon cell was rather odd. The construction was normal enough: walls of mortared brick, stone underfoot, and a ceiling of heavy, roughly planed timbers. However, at her back was a grill of iron bars, set solidly in the floor and ceiling, and the grid wasn't a simple wall. Immediately behind her pinioned body, it was open, like a heavy fence missing its gate. Curious. Beyond the bars a passage sloped down, an ever-narrowing tunnel leading into total darkness.
A tiny window set high on one of the walls shed a dim light on Anne and her immediate surroundings. Before her, she could see a set of steep wooden steps, leading to the underside of a trapdoor. The door was closed, of course. The chains attached to her wrist cuffs traveled up to and through iron-rimmed holes in the ceiling, about midway between the far wall and the grill. Her ankle chains were attached to the base of the grill, on either side of the opening. The workmanship of all the hardware—chains, padlocks, buckles, and hasps—suggested the Late Medieval or Early Renaissance periods. Nothing looked like it was machined or had come off an assembly line.
Anne knew she was in VR—full VR—probably one of the enhanced Spherus-VI prototypes in R&D. She also knew her user-preference and other game controls were locked-down. At least the accommodation filter is working, she thought. The system was constantly "reminding" her, in subtle, near-subliminal ways, that none of her surroundings were real. This was normal for regular game-play; however, having one's TERMINATE GAME command disabled was very much not normal—albeit all too common when Inner Circle Sisters were "entertaining" one another or Margo was meting out punishment.
So... which is it? Anne mused. Is Narelle having her way with me? ...or did I screw something up? Narelle seldom engaged in Sisterly shenanigans, although Anne had no idea why. The blonde Aussie was more than happy to engage in ponygirl nonsense—something of which Anne had never had the "pleasure" of being on the receiving end, so far—but, by and large, she kept to herself. So... I did something to piss off Her Majesty... But what?
Anne kicked and pulled on her fetters, accomplishing nothing other than the rattling of the chains and padlocks. Okay—Let's move it along, shall we?
Suddenly, the trapdoor at the top of the stairs opened, on oil-hungry hinges. Answers, Anne surmised. A figure began descending the steps. Bare feet became a pair of bare legs became—Eve-L!
Yes, it was Kat Mayfair's dreaded and notorious "cyber-partner", Eve-L, the security avatar of the EVE-6900 system. Her trademark, bone-chilling, evil/disturbing smile curled her simulated lips, but her hair was bobbing in an uncharacteristically, short, dark, "Lu-Lu" cut, instead of the long blonde curls Anne had seen before. She was also wearing a long, thin, black robe of boiled silk. It had full, voluminous sleeves, and was held closed at a single point by a silver brooch above her breasts. The robe fluttered and streamed, as if in a stiff breeze (although there was no breeze), and thus did little to hide the otherwise total nudity of Eve-L's exquisite "body".
"So..." Eve-L purred, "the ravishing and ravish-able Lady Anne of Clay Town, Counselor and Justicar of the Queen, in my power at last!" She struck a dramatic pose, raised her hands, and they began to glow with a crackling, sizzling blue energy. She put her head back and laughed—and laughed—and laughed, with full-throated, hysterical, cackling mirth—then stopped. "Too much?" she inquired with a mischievous grin. "Over the top? Be truthful."
Anne sighed behind her gag.
"Silly moi," Eve-L chuckled, made a complicated, finger-fluttering gesture with her right hand, and a ball of blue light formed above her index finger. She pointed, and the orb sped towards Anne, swerved, and zipped behind her head.
Anne felt a tingling sensation at the nape of her neck. At the same time, the gag strap loosened and the leather sphere popped from her mouth. The ball and strap now loosely encircled her throat, like some decidedly non-decorative necklace. She licked her lips and swallowed. "I take it you're supposed to be a witch or sorceress or something?"
"Yes, I'm a wizardess... Is that a word? A thaumaturgatrix of great power. Ooh, I like that one! If it wasn't a word before, it is now! Any-way, you are my captive, deep in the dungeons of my castle-stroke-fortress-stroke-lair, high in the orc-infested mountains of... whatever."
Anne tugged on her chains. "And this is because..."
Eve-L laughed and shook her head. "Duh! Because I can't do all sorts of terrible and/or horrific and/or erotic things to you if you aren't my captive."
"No, why am I here?"
"Why are any of us here, Anne?"
Anne tugged on her chains with all her strength. "No, dammit! You can't just VR-nap people and torture them, not without—"
"—one of these?" Eve-L inquired with an oily smile. She snapped her fingers and conjured a scroll of parchment from midair. She shook it open, showed its ornately calligraphied contents to Anne in a quick flash, then flipped it around, cleared her throat—"Hurmfh"—and began to read.
"Having been found guilty of the crimes of...
Anne Clayton, Esq., is hereby sentenced to... Skipping ahead... Skipping again... Ah! By order of Her Supreme and Sublime Majesty, The Red Queen. Her Great Seal affixed." Once again she showed the scroll to Anne, pointing at the embossed disk at the bottom. It was of red wax, with a red silk ribbon. Beside the seal was the signature, unmistakably in the "Royal" hand, of Margo Wells.
"Bullshit!" Anne objected. "I did everything Margo told me to do, in letter and spirit! Due diligence? Jodi, innocent? Jodi's never innocent! This is bullshit!"
Eve-L smiled sweetly as she rolled up the scroll. "Did we carefully read, study, and endorse all of Her Majesty's instructions and thoughts concerning this phase of Jackie's evaluation and indoctrination, including all endorsements, codicils, and marginalia?"
"Yes! You know I did!"
"Including the 'Inner Circle Council' endorsement?"
"Yes... Well, no, but that's just Elke's stamp of approval. If she'd made any changes or suggestions they would have been incorporated in the final instructions."
Eve-L waved her hand and the scroll disappeared. "If you'd bothered to open the file, you would have found Elke and Jodi's stamps of approval, with a comment by the Trickster about how she entirely agrees with the strategy of limiting Jackie's contact with Inner Circle members to only Narelle and yourself, while she's in Seattle."
"Jodi?"
"Remember how Her Majesty promised to start consulting the Trickster on all Sisterly business?"
Anne's outrage faded. "I kidnapped Jodi to prevent her from doing something she already formally stated she thinks shouldn't happen?"
Eve-L nodded. "Not really a serious infraction. Around here, kidnapping Jodi is a bit like getting lunch, but it's the perfect chance for Her Majesty to reinforce Trickster's new status... such as it is." Her smile broadened. "And the perfect opportunity to punish a wrongdoer, punish the wrongdoer's co-conspirators, allow said co-conspirators to take their revenge on she-who-led-them-astray..." Eve-L clapped her hands with childish glee. "This is going to ripple through Inner Circle politics for months!"
"Margo does like to stir the pot now and then," Anne agreed with a sigh.
"Yes," Eve-L nodded. "Let's see now... Charlie, Brie, Naomi... Am I missing any co-conspirators? Narelle has been adjudicated totally innocent, by the way."
"I'm so glad," Anne muttered.
"Anyway, did I miss anybody? No? Brie and Nams are already ticked off at you, by the way, for how you skipped out on the rest of the fun they had planned for you and the Trickster, so you and Narrie could take the Brit-Bit out for one last night on the town, before popping her into her module this morning."
"Naomi said she understood completely!" Anne objected.
"Right," Eve-L laughed, "and then she went straight home and took it out on Jodi, not realizing, of course, that she was just adding additional counts to her charge-sheet. Anyway, you all get served up to Jodi, at her convenience, then you get served up to the others... Oh, but first, before all that, Kat gets to play, as soon as Her Majesty's entourage is back in town."
"Kat? Surely I get an appeal—M'mmrf!"
Eve-L had made an abrupt gesture, the ball had flipped up and squirmed it's way back into Anne's mouth, then the gag's strap had tightened until her cheeks bulged. "No, you do not get an appeal, evil wrongdoer," Eve-L huffed. "And don't interrupt! It's rude. And don't call me 'Shirley'!" Eve-L paused, smiled, and laughed hysterically for several seconds—then, as before, suddenly went deadpan. "I love using that line. Don't get to nearly enough. To continue..."
Eve-L made another "magical" gesture, Anne's wrist chains glowed with blue fire, and began to clatter, slowly, link-by-link, into the holes in the ceiling. This continued until the naked prisoner was pulled off her feet. The chains snapped taut, and Anne was in a stringent, suspended spread-eagle, with her body canted forward at about forty-five degrees.
Anne didn't bother to attempt any resistance. It was pointless. At least I'm in suspension cuffs, she thought, grateful for small favors. Truth be told, she was in no real discomfort. The Spherus pain simulation routines seemed to be dialed back, or were being filtered.
"There!" Eve-L said. The blue glow faded, but the chains remained as rigid as iron bars. "I'm to entertain you 'til Kat gets here," she explained (unnecessarily). "However, I'm delegating that pleasure to a friend of mine." She nodded to the passage behind Anne's back, beyond the grid of bars. "That leads to the home of a... Come to think of it, I don't know what she is. She's sort of this half-amphibian, half-reptilian, dragon-snake-salamander thingie... big thingie. Anyway, she's far too large to fit in here, but she can stretch her neck and press her snout right up against those bars. She has the most delightful forked tongue—incredibly long, and incredibly prehensile. It's rather slimy, I'm afraid, but at least it's not cold. I've trained her to crave the taste of human sweat and musk, and she knows how to use her tongue to make her victim produce more musk, if you catch my drift. Her hot, humid breath takes care of the sweat part. It should make for an interesting experience... in a manga-cum-anime-cum-hentai tentacle-monster sort of way. A tongue bath and a tongue-lashing, all in one!"
Suddenly, a snarling bellow echoed up the tunnel from the darkness below. It was sort of a combination hiss, roar, and croak; and whatever had made it was big!
"Ah, here she comes now," Eve-L observed, spun on her heels, and pattered towards the steps, her open robe fluttering in her wake. "Things to do! Ta!" She levitated up the steps, and the trapdoor closed with a resounding thud, followed by the sound of numerous heavy bolts being thrown.
Anne let her head droop and sighed through her gag. I can't say I didn't screw up, she admitted to herself, but this is about as fair and balanced as Fox News. But then, fairness isn't really the point. After Jodi and the others have their 'revenge'... I'll have to get them back. Sometimes being a Sister can be a lot of work.
The hiss-roar-croak sounded again... and this time it was closer!
| Jackie Silberston |
Helpless in Seattle—EPILOGUE |
9 PM
MARGO'S PRIVATE STABLES
NARELLE'S APARTMENT
Narelle was nearing the end of her yoga routine. She held each pose for several long seconds, and transitioned with deliberate grace, her leotard-clad, barefoot form flowing from the Cobra—to the Locust—to the Bow—to the Upward Facing Dog. Finally, she performed a dozen very slow push-ups... pausing at the bottom, each time, with her body never touching the mat.
Routine complete, she stood erect.
Her breathing was deep and steady, and her heart rate only slightly elevated. She glistened with sweat, stray strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail were plastered to her forehead, and her skin was flushed with a healthy glow. Patting her face with a towel, she padded to the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the frig.
Narelle's workout was far from over. By regular habit, yoga would be followed by either a run, a swim, or some other aerobic activity. Tonight, she had decided on a two-mile run. She cracked the cap of the bottle and took a long drink. "Eve," she said, addressing the omnipresent AI, "is everything on track?"
"In what sense?" Eve's disembodied voice responded.
"In every sense."
"Assuming that you aren't requesting a detailed briefing on TESSERACT's global operations, Jackie is completing the first quarter of her journey to Cairns, Anne is 'playing' with my daughter in VR, Jodi is being entertained by the still unsuspecting Namoi and Brie, and finally, weather permitting, Margo's flight will arrive tomorrow, at SEATAC, at 11:43 AM."
Narelle took another swig, then restored the cap and returned the bottle to the frig. She couldn't shake the delicious memory of what she'd done to Anne. Stripping her Sister's unconscious body... easing her limp, perfect form into the complex cradle of the Spherus apparatus... watching as the restraining straps and panels tightened and closed over her limbs and torso... as the system's life-support elements settled over and snaked into the appropriate orifices... as the visor of the helmet closed over her peaceful, angelic face...
Narelle sighed. The experience had been with her all during her yoga session, not spoiling her concentration, but making it difficult to maintain the appropriate meditative state. She walked to her computer, typed a series of passwords and commands, then turned to face the big-screen TV mounted on the far wall.
The panel began to glow... and an image appeared.
It was divided between three windows.
On the left and right, video clips of Ronnie Allbriton and Anne Clayton played on continuous loop. Both were in bikinis, enjoying the pleasures of Resort Beach, on Gondaloo Island. Ronnie was preparing to windsurf, and Anne was emerging from the water, after a swim. The HD images were from Gondaloo-EVE's security cameras, and had been recorded on different dates, during separate visits by the Sisters to "Margo's Mysterious Island".
The center window showed a female, computer-generated manikin in a ponygirl costume. Sub-windows provided information about the costume's various parts, and could be used to navigate through the related design files; but Narelle knew all the details by heart. She had designed the costume, with Eve as her engineering partner, of course. It wasn't really anything new, but there were several embellishments of which she was proud.
The "holo-blinders" could serve as traditional blinders, could fold over the ponygirl's eyes to act as a blindfold, and had built-in, anamorphic holo-projection panels, to allow computer-assisted instruction, even when the ponygirl's mistress was otherwise occupied.
The stacked spheres of the chastitybelt's "ben wa penetrator" incorporated helical coils of TIKLER seed beads. They could inflict varying degrees of punishment or reward, either in response to a remote in the mistress' hand, or under computer control.
Overall, the costume was neither fancy nor decorative; but it was elegant, in a less-is-more sort of way. It allowed the ponygirl complete freedom of movement, and was designed for long-term wear. It was also completely inescapable, of course. All buckles and closures could be locked, and the ensemble's mitten-cuffs wouldn't allow the ponygirl to hold, much less use any of the keys required to regain her freedom, even if her mistress had left them lying around.
Two custom-tailored, robot-manufactured copies of the costume were waiting in locked cases, in the stable storeroom—one for Ronnie—and one for Anne—Narelle's fantasy matched pair.
Narelle smiled as she watched the video clips loop and repeat. The Sisters were almost exactly the same height, and their delectable shapes were quite similar. But for Ronnie's brown eyes and Anne's blue eyes and slightly more prominent cheekbones, they could almost be siblings. Granted, Ronnie had started letting her hair grow, of late, but that was easily fixed.
Narelle imagined Ronne, nude and helpless—in her ponygirl costume, save the head harness—her mouth stuffed and lips taped—doubly helpless, strapped in a "barber's chair" that was little more than a framework of steel bars—her head and neck immobilized by a steel and leather posture-collar clamp—as Narelle herself used scissors and comb to restore the pixie cut she found so attractive on both "ponies". Anne would be watching, of course—also in costume—also nude, helpless, and gagged—tethered to the wall by a short chain. Her already cropped hair was just a tad long, so it would be her turn in the chair, next. Narelle shivered at the thought.
"I don't know why you simply don't ask," Eve intoned.
Narelle shook her head and laughed. "Yeah, right. Hey Ronnie, Annie, want to take long, possibly indefinite sabbaticals, so you can be my helpless playthings? Weeks of intense physical conditioning? Demanding training in ponygirl dressage? Learning how to pull traps and chariots in tandem, at competitive speeds? It'll be a hoot!"
"You've accumulated quite a wealth of 'Sisterly credits'," Eve observed. "Margo owes you. Ask her to make it an order, or to incorporate it into one of her games."
Narelle shook her head. "Not the same. Not the same at all."
"Then let me run it in simulation for you, in full VR," Eve suggested. "Since your simulated ponygirls would be gagged and restrained most of the time, I project the player/non-player character fidelity would to be in the high nineties."
Narelle shook her head again. "Not the same, either, but thanks." She turned, tapped the keyboard, and the screen went dark. "It'll happen... if it happens—and remember your promise: Margo is never to know anything about this!"
"Of course," Eve responded.
Narelle began peeling off her leotard. "The rain should be starting about now. Correct?"
"It started three minutes ago," Eve answered. The Biosphere gardens received artificial rain on an established schedule, tailored to the needs of the various venues. Tonight, the entire temperate rainforest, the majority of the enclosed plantings, was scheduled for a long, drenching shower.
By this time, Narelle was totally nude. "I'm going to take a 'nymph run' on the Cedar Trail," she announced, "ending with a dip in the Office Pool."
The "Office Pool" was a large water feature, near Margo's Biosphere office suite. It had a magnificent waterfall at one end, and under the spillway was a submerged tunnel that led to an artificial limestone cave. Nestled among its stalactites and stalagmites was a sunken hot tub, disguised as a natural geyser.
Narelle often took 'nymph runs', as did Margo; and running in the rain was an exhilarating experience. The cold sting of the drops, the chill of the plunge into the pool, the lung-burning swim up the dark tunnel to the cave—exhilarating! And sometimes, as she emerged from the forest and dove into the pool, she would see Margo watching her, through the window-wall of her office; or she would find Her Majesty waiting for her in the cave, already in the hot tub. Neither case could apply tonight, of course, as Margo was still out of town.
"I'd like to play, tonight, Eve," Narelle said. "I think I need it."
"Your wish is my command—and your schedule is light, tomorrow. We can play all night, if you wish."
"In the Katacombs, okay? Is there anything... new?"
"While the Kat's away..." Eve purred. "Katherine has a new interrogation chair you might find interesting. I'll have handcuffs, leg irons, collar and leash, ball-gag, and blindfold waiting for you in the cave. One of my 'Cylons' can drag you to your 'cruel fate'. Or would you rather be taken by force?"
"No, self-bondage will be fine," Narelle answered. "This new chair. What is it...? No! Don't tell me. Let it be a surprise."
"Why do you think I suggested the blindfold?"
Narelle started stretching. She was still limber from her yoga session, but her muscles had cooled down a little. "Oh, and Eve?" she said.
"Yes, Narelle?"
"Open a new file on Jackie, please—personal and confidential. I need to start designing her some ponygirl costumes and equipment."
"Clarify," Eve requested. "Costumes to begin outfitting the Gondaloo stable, or for her to wear?"
Narelle smiled, and headed for the door. "Both!" she called, then sprinted through the stables, out into the dark Biosphere gardens, and into the cool, pelting rain.
| THE_ | _END |
| Jackie Silberston_ |
_Helpless in Seattle—EPILOGUE |
