DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jackie Silberston — in — Helpless in Seattle by Van ©2006 Chapter 2

ONE WEEK LATER
THE BIOSPHERE
NOON

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Anne had stopped at one of the campus cafés and purchased a salad to-go and a bottle of green tea.  She entered the Biosphere and made her way to one of the Sisters' favorite lunch sites—a stone patio tucked into a spectacular rock garden.

This particular venue of Margo's secret domain was located near the intersection of three of the campus' office towers, and most of the year their mirrored window-walls acted as solar collectors, concentrating sunlight and sending it through the Biosphere's polarized glass dome to flood the rock garden.  The terraces of boulders overflowed with bushy and trailing varieties of lavender, sage, rosemary, and other fragrant and flowering plants.  All elements of the design conspired to create a pocket of Mediterranean microclimate in what was predominately an enclosed, temperate rainforest.

Several of the boulders were sculpted in the form of comfortable seating, and were actually plastic shells and thick cushions, cunningly camouflaged to match the surrounding rock.  Reclined on one such lounge chair was Sabrina ("Brie") Sanchez.  An Inner Circle Sister, Brie was also a TESSERACT publicist, fluent in several languages, expert chef of a dozen international cuisines, and...  (Anne smiled as she approached.)  ...an incredibly hot Mexican beauty.

Brie's eyes were closed and she appeared to be deep in slumber.  She was dressed in what at the moment was an airy sundress, appropriate for her immediate surroundings.  However, discarded on a nearby seat, next to the empty containers that had held her lunch, was a neatly folded sweater-jacket that would transform the dress into business wear.

Acting quietly, so as not to wake her Sister and friend, Anne set her lunch on a vacant chair and removed her jacket.  Underneath, she was wearing a sleeveless, low-cut, silk blouse.

"It is very impolite to stare at people," Brie observed, smiling at Anne through sleepy eyes.

Anne's smile broadened.  "Sorry," she purred, but continued her leering gaze as she folded her jacket.  "May I join you?"

Brie sighed in mock exasperation.  "I suppose you might as well, seeing as how you've already spoiled my nap.  I was hoping to recharge my batteries a little, before practice, tonight."  Brie was the star forward of the Furies, TESSERACT HQ's female soccer team.  They were poised to win the Seattle Business League cup... again.

"Poor baby," Anne laughed, sat down, and opened her salad.  She emptied a packet of dressing over the lettuce, spinach, and roasted vegetables, restored the lid, and gave it a vigorous shake.  "Why are you so tired?"

Brie favored her friend with a somewhat petulant frown.  "Why am I so tired?  I'll tell you why I am so tired.  I let you talk me into taking a certain Jodi Weber home with me, that is why I am so tired."  Brie made a luxurious, full-length stretch, then lay still.  "The little minx kept me up most of the night; Naomi as well."  Brie shared a house in the Seattle suburbs with Naomi Curtis, fellow publicist, Inner Circle Sister, and lover.

"How so?"  Anne reopened the salad and began eating, using a pair of plastic chopsticks.

"She's worse than a newborn baby," Brie sighed, "but instead of wanting to be fed every two hours, she wants nookie."

Anne choked on a mouthful of roasted peppers.  Brie waited, politely, as Anne opened her tea and took a swig.  "Jodi is a greedy little thing," the smiling lawyer agreed, when she was once again able to talk.

"She is a gluttonous nymphomaniac," Brie huffed, "and we all love her for it."

Anne continued to eat.  "In that case, I suppose you wouldn't mind keeping her for the weekend?"

Brie sighed again.  "What about Ronnie and Fiona?"

Anne chewed a mouthful of salad and took a drink of tea before answering.  "I'm not sure they're ready to handle The Trickster... not if she's trying to escape, so she can work some mischief.  Plus, their place isn't as well-equipped as yours."

"And Charlie?"

Anne smiled.  "The Bug's already had a turn this week, and she has some hush-hush project she's testing this weekend—science—nothing to do with the Inner Circle."

Brie nodded, then her smile became rather coy.  She watched as Anne continued eating her lunch.  "I think I may be able to talk Naomi into your proposition," she said, finally, "but there is a price."

Anne's smile became coy as well.  "There usually is," she purred.  "What?"

"Why, you, chica," Brie answered.  "You are the price."

Jackie leaned forward in the saddle and her mount took the final jump with effortless grace.  "Good girl, Skye!" Jackie shouted, laughing with pure pleasure as the well-trained sorrel mare accelerated into the final stretch of this, the Biosphere's longest and most challenging bridal path.  The track swerved to the left, skirting a grove of giant cedars.  It then swerved to the right, and they splashed through a shallow stream.  A wide tunnel of mirrored glass between two office towers followed.  Next, they passed a grassy field, a stand of oak saplings, more tall cedars—and then they were home.

Margo's private stable reminded Jackie of a cross between a hobbit hole and a timber-frame lodge.  A small paddock, fenced with natural wood posts and rails, enclosed the entrance to a low, earth-sheltered building with a green, living roof.  It was half-buried in the side of an artificial hill, and looking through its gaping, barn-style doors, one could see horse stalls and equipment rooms branching from either side of a straight, central passage that led right through the hill to a second paddock on the far side.  The interior was kept light and airy by numerous light tunnels and skylights.  Seasoned barn wood was used throughout, making a sharp contrast to the modern, steel and mirrored decor of most of the Biosphere.

Jackie dismounted and inspected Skye's hooves, lifting the mare's feet, one-by-one.  She then removed the saddle, pad, and bridle, depositing them on a specialized robot.  It rolled away on balloon tires, into the stable, heading for the appropriate tack room.  She gave Skye a smack on the flank, and she clopped away into the paddock.

Jackie was wearing well-worn riding boots, tan jods, and a white cotton blouse, all brought with her from Brightman Hall.  Her TESSERACT ID was on a lanyard and tucked into her left breast pocket, and her blonde locks were pulled back in a tight ponytail.

Narelle emerged from the barn.  She was dressed for her role as Biosphere Gardener, in rubber Wellingtons and a close-fitting, olive-green coverall.  The TESSERACT logo was embroidered in bold, blue letters across the back, and in a significantly smaller size above her left breast.  Her ID was tucked into a windowed pocket on her right sleeve.  "How are the new shoes?" she asked.

Jackie watched Skye for several seconds before she answered.  "They're fine."  She was commenting on her own work, as she'd replaced Skye's full set, just that morning.  It was something of a compliment that Narelle was asking her, rather than making a close inspection of her own, but was not surprising.  Jackie and Narelle's relationship had settled into one of mutual respect very quickly, after only a couple of days into her evaluation.  They were now mentor and protégé, at least as far as the stable was concerned.  Jackie's interest in Narelle's other profession, gardening, was limited to knowing which plants were safe for equine browsing.

Narelle's initial testing regime had been simplicity itself.  She's instructed Eve to make sure all of the stable's automated maintenance systems were turned off, robots included.  She'd then announced that Jackie was now in charge, that the three horses currently in residence were her exclusive responsibility.  Four things had become quickly apparent:

One—Jackie knew how to run a stable.  She was a proficient farrier (as she'd just demonstrated with Skye), she was a good judge of horseflesh (demonstrated by visits to the campus' larger, public stables, outside the Biosphere), and she could keep the required logs and records.

Two—She wasn't afraid of work.  The horses were fed, groomed, exercised, and their stalls cleaned on a regular routine, without complaint (from Jackie or the horses).

Three—Jackie was smart, asking all the right questions and taking nothing for granted.

Four—She loved horses.  Nothing was more important to Jackie than the health and well-being of the mounts in her charge.

After three days, Narelle had restored the stable's automated features, one-by-one.  As there would be similar systems and robots in operation on Gondaloo Island, she'd given Jackie instruction in their basic maintenance and programming.

They watched Skye amble to the far side of the paddock.  "Let's get a cuppa while she cools down," Narelle suggested.

"Super!" Jackie grinned, and they headed into the stable.

There was a day room off the central passage.  It had a small kitchen, table and chairs, a comfortable lounge area, and an office suite tucked into one corner.  Jackie went to the office computer and made a quick journal entry.  The stable's expert system had already made a standard entry documenting Skye's exercise run, so all Jackie had to do was add a few lines of commentary.  Meanwhile, Narelle brewed some tea.

Jackie finished her entry, then reviewed the stable schedule for the rest of the day.  There was nothing listed that the robots couldn't and wouldn't handle, including getting Skye groomed, fed, and back in her stall.  Managing Margo's stable was a decidedly un-demanding task, although Jackie suspected things might be slightly more complicated when "Her Majesty" was in town.  According to Narelle (and the stable logs) Margo rode nearly every day when she was in Seattle.

"Come have a seat," Narelle called from the table.

Jackie settled into a chair, poured milk into her cup, then added tea.  She took a cautious sip of the steaming brew, then noticed Narelle's smile.  "What?" she asked, and took another sip.

"I'm just deciding how to break the news," Narelle answered.

"News?"  Jackie took a biscuit (a "cookie", as they were called in America) from a plate and took a delicate bite.  "Anything I should be worried about?"

"To the contrary."  Narelle's smile broadened.  "I've sent Her Nibs an e-mail tellin' her you're ready to report to Gondaloo whenever she likes."

Jackie's smile broadened.  "Super!"

"We've already discussed your completing those computer courses in tropical veterinary medicine, but you can do that on the island."

"Super!" Jackie repeated.

Narelle took a sip from her own cup.  "There is one thing that might keep you in Seattle a jiff longer, though."

Jackie's smile faded.

"No worries, mate," Narelle said, with a chuckle; then her expression grew more serious.  "You're ready to handle Margo's horses... but what about her ponygirls?"

Jackie's cup rattled in its saucer.  She'd been in the process of setting it down, to reach for another biscuit, and it had nearly slipped from her startled hand.  "Ponygirls?"

Narelle took a leisurely sip from her cup.  "Ponygirls," she confirmed.

The word seemed to hang in the air.  Jackie could almost see a ghostly maiden, naked, but for high heeled shoes with ankle straps—a leather corset and body harness—her arms pinned to her sides—a bit between her teeth, part of an elaborate bridle—harnessed to a light trap—being put through her paces by a driver, dressed in boots and jods—with a whip—like in the Sweet Gwendoline book Solange had shown her.  And the ponygirl looked like Jackie, herself.  And the driver—

"A penny for your thoughts," Narelle purred.

"Huh?  Oh, sorry."  Jackie grabbed her cup and took a quick, nervous sip.  "Uh, we never used to play like that at Brightman Hall—uh, when I was a girl, I mean."

"When I was a girl," Narelle whispered under her breath, gazing at her nineteen year-old protégé.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Narelle answered, hiding her amusement with another sip of tea.  "I know that you know that Margo has a penchant for... shall we say, restrictive recreation?"

Jackie nodded.  The bondage games Margo and Lady Brightman played during the TESSERACT CEO's infrequent visits to Brightman Hall were an open secret among the servants, and were probably the genesis of the innocent childhood, and not so innocent adolescent games she'd played with Penny, Chelsea, Connie Wright, and Solange.

"Whether you choose to participate in such activities at Gondaloo is entirely your decision," Narelle continued, "as is the role or roles you might wish to assume."

"Roles?"

"Top or bottom," Narelle explained, "or, to be more fanciful—mistress or slave, kidnapper or victim, pirate or captive—"

"Cop or robber," Jackie interrupted, a blush on her smiling face.

"Cowgirl or Red Indian", Narelle added, "although in the latter two examples, exactly who might be capturing whom is a little ambiguous."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Jackie agreed, still blushing.  "Uh, I... I wouldn't have to..."

"What?"

Jackie's face was now crimson.  "Sex," she answered.  "Uh, I mean, I wouldn't be required to—"

"Only if you want," Narelle answered, with a kindly smile.  "There was more to your games than playing with rope, at Brightman Hall?  Am I right?"

Jackie nodded.   "When we were older.  Nothing serious, just... fun.  You know?"

Narelle nodded in return.  "Nothing you don't want, Jackie.  I promise.  Not now, not when you get to Gondaloo, not ever.  Nothing you don't want."

"Okay."

"Now, this is all well and good," Narelle continued, "and awkwardly private and personal..."  Jackie laughed, but her cheeks were still red.  "...but there's a reason I've brought all this up.  If you do want to play a role in the games at Gondaloo, you need training."

Jackie gulped the last of her tea.  Narelle gestured toward the tea pot, Jackie nodded, and she refilled both their cups.

"What kind of training?" Jackie asked, finally.

"Safety, first and foremost," Narelle explained.  "As Margo's Stable Mistress on the island, safety will be your first concern, whether the games involve rope or ponygirl tack."

Jackie nodded.  "I know something about rope, and... ponygirl tack can't be that different, from regular tack, I mean."  Her cheeks were still pink and her heart was pounding, but she was getting used to the idea of discussing bondage games with Narelle.  She met the Aussie's amused gaze (and realized she was feeling something more than her passing embarrassment).  "So, what will this training entail?"

"Most of the formal instruction can happen on the island," Narelle answered, "computer-assisted lessons, VR, practical exercises, that sort of thing.  Eve will help you out.  You know Penny, of course, but you've never met Jamie Seaton, right?"  Jackie shook her head.  "You're gonna love her," Narelle said, "I promise.  Anyway, we'll do some... orientation, here in Seattle, before you leave.  Since you already have some experience, I might as well toss you in the deep end and see how well you splash around."

Jackie nodded as she nibbled her biscuit.  "Okay... so when you want to start?"

"No time like the present," Narelle said, brightly.  She stood, took Jackie's cup from her hand and placed it and its saucer on the tray, then carried the tray itself to the kitchen area.  "Go to your room," she ordered, over her shoulder, "use the loo, then meet me in stall seven in the altogether."

Jackie's eyes popped wide.  "Excuse me?"

"Use the loo," Narelle repeated, "then meet me in stall seven in the altogether."  Jackie continued to stare.  "Nuddy, naked, sans clothing, wanting your kit, starkers."

"Naked?" Jackie squeaked.

"Not a stitch," Narelle confirmed, "jewelry included."

Jackie swallowed nervously.  "Uh, can't I wear knickers, or a swimsuit, or something?"

Narelle shook her head.  "I need you in the proper frame of mind," she purred, then nodded towards the door.  "Off you go."

Jackie rose from her chair, popped what was left of her biscuit in her mouth, and hurried away.

Narelle washed the tea service and left the various elements drying on a rack.  "Eve?" she said, as soon as the door closed.

"Yes, Narelle?" the disembodied voice of the Eve-6900 artificial intelligence answered.

"You all set to record in stall seven?"

"Of course," Eve answered, "in HDTV, from multiple angles, including full biometrics, with hidden cameras and sensors."

"Just to be sure... she's ready for this?"

"Yes," Eve confirmed, "Ms. Silberston is ready.  My sensors detect more than embarrassment.  I've been following Ms. Silberston in enhanced surveillance mode since she arrived, as per the Red Queen's instructions, and have developed enough of a physiological and psychological baseline to confirm that she is currently in a state of mild sexual arousal.  Although, I must note that your pheromones are masking my chemical detectors, reducing their efficiency."

"Very funny," Narelle laughed.  "But, you're sure?"

"With high probability," Eve answered.  "And don't worry about my biometrics.  I predict I'll soon have more than enough data to fully calibrate all my sensors, with respect to Ms. Silberston."

"Too right," Narelle chuckled.  "Okay, I concur, and will proceed as planned—Green Centaur's responsibility."

"Your professional due diligence is noted and logged," Eve intoned.  "Now, go have fun."

Narelle laughed, dried her hands, and went to gather the "teaching aids" she'd need for Jackie's first lesson.

Jackie hurried through the stable to the side corridor that led to her guest quarters.  Her suite had all the amenities of a five-star hotel room, but the decor was rather spartan.  This was fine, as far as Jackie was concerned.  She mainly used the room's very comfortable bed and spacious bathtub.  So far, her free time had been spent in the day room, the Biosphere gardens, and as a visitor to Narelle's much larger stable apartment, where they'd watch TV, chat about horses, and discuss their respective homelands.  Half of her meals had been cooked on Narelle's stove, and the other half had been at area restaurants, with Narelle and/or Anne for company.

She unbuttoned and removed her blouse, then sat on the bed and removed her boots and socks.  Her jods came off next, then her bra and panties.  The boots went on the rack in the closet, and the clothing was stuffed in the suite's laundry basket, to be taken away by a valet-bot for cleaning.

Jackie pattered into the bathroom, relieved herself, then washed her face and hands.  She considered taking a shower, but decided against it.  The morning rides had been exercise, but she wasn't really what you could call ripe.

There was a full-length mirror on the back of the door, and Jackie paused to gaze at her nude reflection.  She stretched, full-length, remembering the time Chelsea and Connie had put her on the Brightman Hall dungeon's Spanish rack.  Her captors had been "Norman Ladies", in embroidered medieval gowns with flowing sleeves and wimples.  Jackie's "Saxon Lady" costume had been similar, but simpler—dramatically simpler, once they stripped it off her "struggling" body.  She'd been tied to the rack, stretched tight, and "questioned"—the topic of interest being the exact whereabouts of Robin Hood's Sherwood Forest hideout.

Jackie blushed (and shivered) at the memory.  The interrogation methods employed had been anything but torture—although Connie had swatted her breasts with a bundle of willow switches at one point.  (She always was a bitch.)  Luckily, "Maid Jaclyn" was rescued by one of Robin's Merry Men, a suspiciously girl-like figure in tights, tunic, and feathered cap.  The "Outlaw's" impudent, devilishly cute face, dark pageboy, and French accent evoked one of Solange's distant ancestors, but a green mask protected "his" identity.

The "Norman Dogs" were forced to strip, at sword-point, bound together in an intimate embrace, gagged, locked in an iron cage, and abandoned.  Maid Jaclyn was spirited away to "The Greene Wood", where she had ample opportunity to thank her rescuer for "his" heroism.  Oddly enough, the Outlaw's reward was strikingly similar to the "torture" Maid Jaclyn had "suffered" at the hands of the hated Normans.

A quiet moan escaped Jackie's lips—and she realized her right hand was between her legs, gently stroking her labia.  "Enough of this!" she scolded her reflection, and opened the bathroom door.  Naked (and feeling very naughty), she pattered through the apartment, out into the corridor, and to stall number seven.

Narelle was waiting.  A large canvas duffel was on the floor, next to her right boot.  "Finally," she scolded, with a wry smile.  "I was beginning to think you'd fallen in."

"Sorry," Jackie laughed, nervously.  Her left hand was shielding her sex, her right arm across her breasts.

"Okay, hands behind your back, and take a half-spin."

Jackie swallowed, nervously, and followed Narelle's orders.  She looked over her left shoulder and watched her soon-to-be captor unzip the duffel and extract a long coil of what appeared to be hemp rope.

"Eye's front!" Narelle ordered.  "In fact, eyes closed."

Jackie swallowed, again, and closed her eyes.  Despite herself, she flinched when Narelle lifted her crossed hands until her forearms were parallel to the floor.  She felt rope tighten around her wrists.

"You're nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers," Narelle whispered, her lips inches from Jackie's right ear.

"Sorry," Jackie whispered back.  "This stuff's... soft."

"It only looks like hemp," Narelle explained.  "It's actually microfiber, a blend of synthetics.  Soft as silk, but it holds a knot like sisal or jute.  Now, no more chatter.  Concentrate on what I'm doing—placement, order, initial tightness, final compaction.  This is going to take a while."

Jackie swallowed yet again, suppressed a shudder, and nodded her head.  She tried to stand perfectly still as coils of rope tightened around her arms and torso, knots and hitches were tied, and the process of rendering her completely helpless continued—but she couldn't stop herself from shivering, just a little.

Jackie struggled to escape.  She was on her stomach, on the concrete floor.  Her arms were still folded at the small of her back, and Narelle's ropes were making sure they stayed there.  It was a "box-tie", her instructor had explained, a simple form of "Shinju" (whatever that meant).  It was also a hog-tie, as her ankles were tied together, her shins lashed to her thighs, and everything hitched together to pull her into a back-bending arc that kept her heels on her buttocks and her breasts off the floor.  Additional rope bound her big toes, pulled all the elements of the hog-tie even tighter, and then was passed through a ring in the ceiling.

And thanks to that ceiling rope, a portion of her own weight was reinforcing her bonds, putting additional tension on whatever hitch or band or family of loops she tried to defeat.  Now, no matter what she did, no matter how she twisted and tugged, no matter what limb she tried to lift or push or pull, no matter what muscles she tried to bunch or flex, she was stuck.

It was a cunning predicament.  If she willed herself to remain perfectly still... she was actually comfortable.  Narelle's ropes punished only if she fought their embrace.  And as soon as she stopped struggling, everything returned to "normal".  The floor was hard, as unforgiving as Narelle's ropes, but at least it was clean and warm, thanks to the stable's cleaning robots and its underfloor, radiant heating.

Narelle had tied-off the ceiling rope, mumbled something about not having the proper bit, and had left the stall.

"Narelle?  I'm to wait here?" Jackie had called after her, but was ignored.  That had been several minutes ago, and she had used the time to convince herself that she was not going to escape from this tie, even if she was suddenly possessed by the ghost of the Great Houdini himself!

There was nothing for it but to keep trying.  It would certainly be a feather in her cap if she did escape.  She struggled and squirmed, questing with her fluttering fingers for a knot or a band of rope she could grip and pull down, or tug to the side, or use to make some slack—but it was futile.

The thud of rubberized footfalls sounded, and Narelle's Wellingtons came into view.

"Still here, I see," the grinning Aussie noted.

"Still here," Jackie sighed, lifting her chin and forcing a brave smile.  "This is amazing.  I've never felt anything like it."

"Like I told you," Narelle purred, "I'm throwing you into the deep end.  Let's see..."  She knelt and began tugging on Jackie's bonds, one-by-one.  "Do you know where the key knots are?"

"Key knots?"

"There are two basic means of escape from rope bondage," Narelle lectured, "pick apart the key knots, or create slack.  This tie doesn't allow any slack.  The tension is uniform and self-correcting.  And the key knots—the knots that must be untied, if you're going to escape—are nowhere near your hands.  There's only one thing to add."

Jackie's eyes popped wide.  Narelle had something in her hands, something that looked like a cross between the mouthpiece of a training bit and a rubber dog toy.  It was molded in one piece, from hard, black rubber, in the shape of a ball pierced by a thick rod.  A small steel ring dangled from each end.

Narelle threaded the ends of a hank of rope through the rings, carefully measured out a length, and tied a figure-eight knot, joining the two strands.  As a result, the rope and bit dangled from her hand like a tiny swing.  "Your neck's probably getting tired, from holding up your head?"

Jackie's eyes were still wide.  "My neck?  Well, a little, but—mmf!"

Narelle had thrust the ball between Jackie's lips, pushing it back until it snapped behind her teeth.  It stretched her jaws and flattened her tongue, and the rod and rings pressed against the corners of her mouth.  The ring-to-ring length of rope was dropped under her chin and pulled taut, then the remaining rope was pulled up and against her face.  It framed her nose, with the knot pressed against her forehead, just above her brows.  It then continued across the crown of her head to the back of her skull.  Another knot was tied, the free ends separated, passed to either side of her head, tucked under the chin loop, and pulled back.  The arrangement tightened into a head-hugging, symmetrical, rope bridle.

More knots were tied, and Jackie could feel the bridle's ends being lashed to the vertical rope linking her hog-tied form to the ceiling.  She could turn and twist her head from side to side, a little, but if she relaxed and let it hang, she was cradled and held in a comfortable position—as with the rest of her bonds.

Narelle leaned close and smiled in her young captive's face.  "We'll discuss the psychological aspects of total helplessness at a later date," she said.  "The lesson for today is physiology."

"Frz'r'fr'ur'ee?"  Jackie watched as Narelle stepped away.  She could feel drool leaking from the corners of her mouth, and decided to keep any future attempts at conversation to a minimum.

Narelle returned, carrying a wide-screen laptop.  She placed it on the floor, positioning the screen for Jackie's optimal viewing.  She leaned down and kissed the captive's forehead, then tapped one of the computer's keys.  "I've got some weeding to do in Margo's office gardens, so here's an hour-long instructional program for you to watch.  Take lots of notes—mental, of course.  No worries about when it ends.  I've set it to loop, automatically.  Tah!"

Jackie squirmed in her bonds and fluttered her fingers.  "Nr'll!" she complained through her gag—but her mentor was already gone.

The laptop's screen flashed TESSERACT blue, an irritatingly perky tune began playing through the speakers, words began painting the screen, and a narration began.

"Welcome to... FUN WITH ROPE!  Your guide to safe and sane bondage play... WITH ROPE! 

In this program you'll learn about... 

Preventing nerve damage!

Maintaining proper circulation! 

and... Your friends, the pressure points!"

Oh, happy lovely! Jackie thought.  And I can't even rub my thighs together for entertainment!  She squirmed in her ropes, again.  ...not enough to do any good, anyway.