DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jackie Silberston — in — Helpless in Seattle by Van ©2006 Chapter 4

LATER
STILL AT BRIE AND NAOMI'S PLACE

---

Anne swallowed a bite of cheesecake, and smiled.  "Delicious, as usual."  She was seated with Jodi, Naomi, and Brie around the dining room table, finishing the last of what had been another gourmet triumph of a meal for Naomi's better half.

"What she said," Jodi added.  "Creamy-yummy!"

"De nada," Brie replied, then stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.  The Mexican beauty was wearing a pale blue cocktail dress.  Her long black hair was combed back and coiled in a tight bun.

Naomi favored her lover with a slightly worried smile.  "You okay?"

Brie laughed.  "I'm fine, just tired from practice—"  She glared at Jodi "—and from lack of sleep."

Jodi swallowed, and waved her fork in Brie's direction.  "If you didn't kidnap your friends and do degrading things to them all day and all night you'd have plenty of time to sleep."

"You do look awfully tired," Anne observed.  Both Anne and Jodi were nude, other than the heavy steel shackles locked around their ankles and the hinged handcuffs binding their wrists together in front.

"Is Friday," Brie observed.  "I sleep in, tomorrow."

"If I'd really thought Shrimp-face was such a burden—" Anne muttered.

"You know perfectly well 'Shrimp-face' is a high-maintenance kidnapee!" Naomi interrupted with a derisive laugh.

"Hey!  I'm not that short!" Jodi objected.

"No, seriously," Anne said with a rueful smile.  "If I'd known you guys had had your fill of Jodi-sitting, I would have had Eve pop her in one of R&D's new Spherus-VI machines and run her through whatever VR damsel-in-distress scenarios the Games people have in the testing queue.  We could still do that.  Ronnie was talking about a 'Temple of the Rabid Bat-God' thing she's been doing some research for."

"I mean, next to Elke I'm short," Jodi continued, "but so is everybody... except Margo."

"No, we're fine," Naomi answered.  "Temple of the what?"

"Is part of that 'Air Pirates!' thing half the Entertainment Division is working on," Brie said.

"And Penny," Jodi stated.  "Penny's tall."

"Would you mind?" Anne scolded her fellow prisoner, a smile softening the rebuke.  "The grownups are talking."

Jodi stuck out her tongue, then turned to Naomi.  "Air Pirates!  It's that 'Indiana Jones' meets 'Sky Captain' by way of 'Lara Croft' gaming venue, with the way-cool alternate history?"

"Oh, that," Naomi responded.  "Airships, bi-planes, retro-pulp-adventure—I heard something about it."

"Ronnie asked me to play a character for some storyboard testing," Brie added.

"Sounds like fun," Anne suggested.

"Maybe."  Brie yawned again.  "I think I have time, later in the month."

Naomi was smiling at Anne.  "Just out of idle curiosity, why did you ask us to watch the Trickster this weekend?  What were you gonna be doing?"

"I was going shopping, tomorrow," Anne answered, then nodded at Jodi.  "I hate just tying her up and leaving her to languish for hours and hours."

"No you don't," Jodi snorted.  "You're such a dirty liar!"

Anne ignored the accusation.  "Inner Circle guidelines state you should at least try and find another Sister to play with your abductee if the session is greater than three days and you're planning an abandonment of more than six hours."

"Six hours!" Naomi gasped.  "How many groceries do you guys need?"

"Not groceries," Anne responded, "clothes."

"Clothes?"  Naomi, Brie, and Jodi responded as one.

"I need some new outfits," Anne explained.  "No problem.  I can do it next weekend."

"Nonsense," Naomi scoffed.  "Change of plans!  Brie, you turn in and get a good night's sleep, for once."

"After the dishes," Brie answered, beginning to gather the dirty tableware.

"No," Naomi said, "that's naked slaves' work.  You hit the hay."

Brie stifled yet another yawn.  "Hokay," she sighed.

"You two load the dishwasher," Naomi told Anne and Jodi, "then I lock you back in the guest room 'til morning—then we go shopping!"

"Cool!" Jodi laughed.

"Oh, not you, Trickster," Naomi said, with a gloating smile.  "Anne and I will be doing the shopping.  You'll be busy enduring whatever cruel and unusual bondage Querida-Bear finds amusing, while she putters around the house and enjoys a snoozy, relaxing Saturday."

Jodi sighed.  "Everybody's so—"

"—mean to me!"  Anne, Naomi, and Brie said in unison, then laughed.

"Just you wait," Jodi warned, in a muttered whisper, a pouting smile on her pixie face.

"I never pegged you for such a take charge kinda gal," Anne said, gazing at Naomi with new respect.

"When it's my turn," Naomi responded.

Brie stood and stretched.  "Usually, on Friday's when I have the practice, she makes me come home in my dirty uniform, still all sweaty and filthy from the field.  Then she makes me strip and put on this little ripped burlap rag of a loincloth she made for me.  Then she locks me in chains and makes me cook her supper.  Afterwards, she takes me to bed and has her wicked way with me."

Anne and Jodi shared a knowing smile, then gazed at Naomi.

"What can I say," she purred, finishing the last of her wine.  "I like my slavegirls a little ripe and salty."

Anne and Jodi laughed.  Brie shook her head, a tolerant smile on her tired, angelic face.  She kissed Anne, Jodi, and lastly, Naomi; then headed for the doorway that led to the hall.  "Good night!"

"Good night!" the remaining Sisters called after her.  Anne stood and helped Jodi finish clearing the table.  Neither "naked slave" was greatly encumbered by their steel bonds.

"That takes care of Saturday," Anne observed.  "What about Sunday?"

Naomi's smile became rather sinister.  "I don't believe either of you have seen what we've done to the basement, have you?"

"More renovations?" Jodi suggested, and Naomi nodded.

"What's it like down there?" Anne asked.

Now Naomi's smile was truly evil.  "What?  And spoil the surprise?"

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH...
(MARGO'S BIOSPHERE STABLES)

---

"You're a very good cook," Jackie told her mentor, hostess, and captor.

"Why, thank you," Narelle answered, and gave her protégé, guest, and captive a warm hug.

Both were reclined on Narelle's couch, snuggling together under the same blanket that had been wrapped around Jackie's naked body prior to her being released (from the blanket) for dinner.  They were watching the latest Sweet Gwendoline animated feature on the apartment's big-screen TV.  Narelle was still wearing her while silk kimono, and Jackie was still bound, hand and foot, her ankles lashed together, her arms folded behind her back, and a network of ropes pinning her arms to her torso.

On the screen, her costume reduced to a sheer, long sleeve blouse, frilly knickers, hose with garters, and high-heeled shoes, Gwendoline was running down a forest path.  Her wrists and elbows were bound behind her back, her mouth was stuffed with one coarse rag and cleaved with another, and her long, blonde hair was a flailing, tousled mass.  Fear and distress were evident on her delicate features, and her generous, oscillating breasts were threatening to escape the confines of her gaping, torn blouse and its underlying camisole.

"You can't really run in shoes like that," Jackie wondered, "can you?"

"You can if they're specially made," Narelle told her, "but I wouldn't advise it.  Even if the heels don't break you can still twist your foot and get a crippling fracture.  I insist on ankle support."

"Boots," Jackie suggested.

"Exactly.  And as far as the height of the heels is concerned, it's a matter of practice."

Jackie snuggled against Narelle's side.  "I see," she murmured.  "Is that what you do with your ponygirls?"

"What do you mean?"

"Make them practice," Jackie clarified.

"Why are you bringing up ponygirls?" Narelle purred.

"You said I needed training, remember?" Jackie kissed Narelle's cheek.  "Or are you confining my education to rope, only?"

"Actually, I was planning on letting you train yourself in the finer points of ponygirl equipage and dressage, once you get to Gondaloo."

"Train myself?" Jackie demanded.

Narelle laughed.  "Eve can produce more instructional videos, and even some VR simulations.  Anyway, at the moment, the specialized ponygirl tack on the island is only a few simple harnesses and bits, unless Penny and Jamie have a secret store not on Eve's inventory records, which I consider highly unlikely."

"I've never been in VR," Jackie confessed.

Narelle was mildly surprised.  "Never?  Not even with a visor?"

"I tried on a pair of VR-goggles in a store in London, once, but I've never been in full VR, like in one of Margo's spherical machines."

"Spherus," Narelle corrected her prisoner.  "Its the brand name of the sensor integration system.  We'll have to get you indoctrinated as soon as possible."

Jackie frowned.  "That sounds ominous."

Narelle laughed and kissed the top of Jackie's head.  "No worries.  You play a few special VR games in dream mode—"

"That's using the visor only, right?" Jackie interrupted.  "And not the entire body suit?"

"Correct," Narelle confirmed.  "There's a mutual learning process involved.  The Spherus software learns to interpret your sub-vocalizations and the other feedback channels, and you learn how to manage the virtual controls."

"It sounds terribly complicated."

Narelle shook her head.  "Exactly the opposite.  That's why the games are 'special'.  You learn without knowing you're doing it.  You can move on to full-body VR later, on the island.  It'll be similar."

Jackie nodded, then gasped.  "Speak of the devil," she whispered.

On the screen, Gwendoline was continuing her escape, but now the issue was very much in doubt.  The Mysterious Countess "M" had appeared, in hot pursuit.  Wearing jods, boots, and blouse, all in black, she was bouncing on the seat of a light, two-wheeled trap, and harnessed to the cart was a pair of ponygirls!  Both were brunettes, wearing matching costumes and restraints—boots with heavy, horseshoe-like soles, which forced their feet to remain on pointe—leather corsets that incorporated a network of tight straps encircling their thighs and upper arms—single-sleeve binders that encased and trapped their hands, wrists, and arms behind their backs—and finally, elaborate, head-caging bridles, with bits and blinders.  Ostrich plumes attached to the bridles' headbands waved in the breeze, and their naked breasts bounced as the bound beauties pulled the Countess down the path.

"Hi-yah!"  {Snap!}  The Countess cracked her whip and snapped the reins.  She was closing on her prey.

"Why doesn't Gwen just... leave the trail?" Jackie wondered.

Narelle chuckled.  "It looks thick as a hedgerow, on either side.  And more importantly, that would ruin the story."

The Countess had the reins in her teeth, and was twirling a lasso over her head.

"Here it comes!" Jackie gasped.

The lasso flew—and the Countess' aim was perfect.  The noose tightened around Gwendoline's waist and bound arms, she was pulled off her feet, and she landed in the leaf-litter with a thud and a gagged shriek.  Whip in one hand and the free end of the lariat in the other, the Countess leaped from the trap and hauled Gwendoline to her feet.  "That was very foolish," she hissed.  "Just wait 'til I get you back to the dungeons."  She used the coiled whip to caress the side of Gwendoline's gagged face.  "You disobedient little brat!  I'll teach you to put me to such trouble!"

"She's in for it now," Jackie sighed, then gasped—"Ah!"

Narelle's right hand was between Jackie's thighs.  Her thumb and the side of her palm were sliding against the captive's labia.  "Poor Gwendoline," she cooed, nuzzling Jackie's ear.  "U-89's on the other side of the globe.  Not even Auntie and Fifi are around.  There's no one to save her."  Her caress quickened, and Jackie shuddered in her embrace.  "No one at all."

"Do you mind?" Jackie whispered.  "I'm trying to watch the movie."

On screen, the noose had been tightened around Gwendoline's pretty neck, and she was tethered to the trap with about five yards of slack.  The Countess climbed back in the seat, and, with expert use of the reins and whip, spun the cart on its wheels.  "Hiya!"—{Snap}—and they were off, retracing the path of Gwen's short-lived escape, back to d'Arcy Manor.  The ponygirls were setting a rapid pace, their booted feet pounding in perfect, well-trained unison, and Gwendoline had no choice but to stumble in the cart's dusty wake as best she could.

"They've got a movie server on Gondaloo, you know," Narelle purred, continuing to caress Jackie's moist sex.  "You can watch this thing whenever you like.  I think you're just playing hard to get."

"Stop it!" Jackie moaned, grinding her hips and biting her lower lip.  "Stop!"

"No more orders from you, Little One," Narelle whispered, nibbling the lobe of her prisoner's left ear.  Suddenly, she stopped, her hands and lips going perfectly still.

Jackie shuddered, then turned her head toward her captor and frowned.  "Why'd you stop?" she demanded.

Narelle smiled.  "Just checking," she answered, and resumed her gentle massage of Jackie's loins.

"Oh!" Jackie sighed, then kissed her captor's (lover's) mouth—and Narelle returned the kiss with gusto!

Meanwhile, the scene had changed from Sussex to a sinister Oriental castle "Somewhere in the Himalayas", where U-89 was in the clutches of Fu Manchu's daughter.  Tightly bound, hobbled by shackles, being led by a pair of long handling poles snapped to rings in her collar by a pair of the castle's elite female guards, the captured agent was being given a personal tour of her hostess' elaborately and creatively equipped torture chamber—

—But the unfolding melodrama was being totally ignored by its former audience of two.  At the moment, Jackie and Narelle were much more interested in each other than in the misadventures of animated cartoon characters, no matter how expertly rendered or how clever the story.

THE NEXT MORNING

---

Narelle stretched and yawned.  She was alone in her rumpled bed.  The two neat coils of rope on the dresser were the only sign of her protégé and former captive.  The time display in the corner of the screen confirmed that it was time to rise.  It might be a Saturday and Eve's robots might be able to handle all the routine chores, but the welfare of her equine friends was still Narelle's sacred trust.

Naked and still half-awake, Narelle headed for the shower.  She smiled as she glanced again at the rope.  She remembered untying Jackie sometime in the early morning, after several memorable bouts of ravishing and being ravished.  When they'd collapsed in exhausted slumber, the ropes had been a tangled mass, half on the bed and half on the floor.  Obviously, upon awaking, Jackie had been a considerate guest and had coiled and hitched her former bonds before making her silent exit.

Narelle took a quick shower, then changed into tan jodhpurs, brown boots, and a light sweater of natural wool over a sleeveless T-shirt.  As she was making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen, Jackie returned.

"Mornin'!" the smiling Brit chirped.  "I've already checked the stables.  All is well."  Jackie was also dressed for riding, although her boots were black, her jods brown, and her top was a rather ratty hoodie that had faded to a dull, brick red.  She planted a kiss on Narelle lips, then pulled a mug from the cupboard.

"Mornin'!" Narelle answered as she poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot.  She then leaned close and returned Jackie's kiss.  "How do you feel?"

"Marvelous!" Jackie purred, then rolled her shoulders.  "A little stiff, but not bad."

"Now you know why yoga is so popular among Margo's friends."

"Maybe I can take up the practice on Gondaloo," Jackie suggested.

"Penny can teach you, although..."  Narelle leaned close and kissed  Jackie again.  "...I don't think there's a lot she can teach you about love-making."

Jackie blushed.  "Did you just give me a compliment, or insult Penny's skill in bed?"

Narelle laughed.  "The former, Little One."  Jackie had added milk to both mugs and the pot was sufficiently steeped, so Narelle filled the mugs with tea.  "Can't say much about your skill as an escape artist, however."

"I've always been useless at escaping," Jackie sighed, then sipped her tea.  "It's Chelsea who's the first class wiggle-worm."

"So I hear," Narelle laughed, "although she seems to have met her match in Jessie McQuade."

"I would have to be away during her visit," Jackie sighed.

"From Brightman Hall, you mean?"

Jackie nodded.  "Solange was quite taken with Jessie."

"I'm sure you'll get an invitation to Copperhead Canyon at some point," Narelle said.  "Margo suggested a quarterhorse might do well on Gondaloo, and there are several ranches in the area.  This wouldn't be for months, of course, until after you're well-settled on Gondaloo."

"I see," Jackie responded.  "So, after I cook you breakfast, what's on the schedule for today?  Are you sure you don't want to show me your ponygirl tack?"

Narelle was getting bacon and eggs from the refrigerator.  "My, quite the little merinthophile, aren't we?"

Jackie laughed, then frowned.  "What's a merintio... What did you call me?"

"Never mind," Narelle laughed.  "I'll show you the tack room—"

"I've seen the tack room," Jackie interrupted.

"The special tack room," Narelle clarified.  She placed a frying pan on the stove, then gestured for Jackie to take her place.  "Afterwards, we can take all three horses on a long group romp."

"Super!" Jackie responded, and began cooking the bacon.

Breakfast consumed, the kitchen clean, and the dishes in the washing machine, Narelle and Jackie left the apartment and headed for the tack room.  As always, there was a tool bench, a row of racked saddles (Western and English), various bridles and bits hanging from pegs, a deep sink with a coiled hose, and a large wooden cabinet which Jackie knew to hold blankets and saddle pads.  However, as they approached the cabinet, it rumbled to the side, revealing a formerly hidden corridor.

It led several yards into the distance, then made an abrupt turn.  The decor was the same as the tack room and the rest of the stables: barnwood, exposed rafters, and concrete floor.  "A secret passage!" Jackie exclaimed, with a smile and a shiver.  "How delicious!"

Narelle led the way.  They made the turn and the corridor opened onto a large, rectangular room, brightly lit by industrial fixtures and light tunnels.  Jackie could see several stall doors, identical to the sliding doors used in the main stable; however, the spaces beyond were quite a bit smaller than the regular horse stalls.

Jackie stepped into one of the cells.  (There was nothing else you could call it.)  It was about eight-feet square, and had a high ceiling with recessed light fixtures protected by steel grids.  There was a drain in the center of the floor, and the walls and ceiling were covered with wide planks of stained barnwood, secured in place with heavy, flush-mounted bolts.

Suddenly, the door behind her slid closed with a loud bang, and Jackie flinched and spun on her booted heels.  "Narelle!" she complained, a nervous smile on her pixie face.

The upper half of the door was barred, and Narelle was gazing at her young friend with an evil grin.  "Watch this," she said, reached to the side, opened a heavy steel cover, and flipped a switch.

There was a low rumbling sound behind Jackie's back, and she turned to find a section of the rear wall rolling aside to reveal a narrow alcove.  Centered in the alcove was a stainless steel commode.

"It has a bidet-style water jet," Narelle explained, "to keep your ponygirl spankin' fresh, between groomings."

Jackie swallowed, nervously.  "Uh... I see."

"This a typical ponygirl cell," Narelle said.  She flipped the switch again, and closed the cover.  The wall rumbled closed, restoring the cell to its former featureless state.

Jackie gave the stall door a tentative kick.  The resulting dull thud suggested a very strong portal.  She kicked even harder, and the door didn't even rattle in its track.  "Seems secure enough," she muttered.

"Inescapable, in fact," Narelle purred.  "The bolt mechanism has six heavy pins, spread evenly around the frame, and the lock's tumblers are offset, making it virtually impossible to pick, even from this side of the door."

Jackie swallowed again, then managed a brave smile. "Lucky me."

"I suppose I should order you to strip," Narelle mused, "and pass your clothes through the bars.  I could then pass you a pair of handcuffs, and have you restrain yourself.  Then it would be safe to open the door and restrain you properly."

Jackie's smile became rather defiant.  "And if I decide not to follow said orders?"

Narelle laughed and pointed to the hose reel mounted on the wall behind her.  "Eventually, you might get tired of receiving regular, ice-cold showers.  And even brave, defiant damsels get hungry... in two or three days."

"Very funny!" Jackie muttered.  She grabbed the bars and gave them a shake, with all her strength. They were thick as her thumbs, closely spaced, and might as well have been set in stone.  "I'm not sure I could get my boots through these things."

"Well..."  Narelle grabbed the door and slid it open.  "...never mind, then."

"You rat!" Jackie growled as she emerged from the cell.

Narelle grabbed Jackie, pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her lips.  "Your heart's beatin' a-mile-a-minute," she observed.

"Rat!" Jackie repeated, and returned the kiss.  Their lips smacked and tongues rolled for several seconds, then they broke the embrace.

Jackie looked around at the harnesses, bridles, and bits hanging from rows of pegs on the far wall.  The room also contained several closed cabinets, all with padlocked doors.  "It's all rather... plain," she observed, pointing at the hanging tack, "what I can see of it."  The disappointment in her voice was evident.

Narelle pulled her keyring from the pocket of her jods and opened one of the cabinets.  "I'll show you one of our works-in-progress.  It's anything but plain."  She pulled open a large, deep drawer, and nestled in velvet padding were several pieces of gleaming metal plate.  Some were burnished to a mirror finish, and some were mottled with the tortoiseshell dappling of damasked steel.  A few were embossed or engraved with traditional Celtic knot patterns, but most were unadorned.  There were also black leather straps, steel clips, rings, and buckles, in a bewildering array.

"It's beautiful!" Jackie gasped.  "It's like a suit of armor.  Not a full set, of course."

"It's also not in your size, unfortunately," Narelle said.  "Margo ordered something fancy for her next Halloween party."

"This is for Margo??"

"Not for Margo to wear, silly," Narelle laughed.  She lifted a damasked plate and pointed to the gold medallion set in its center.  It was in the form of a stylized Celtic animal.  "It's for one of her friends."

"What is that?" Jackie asked, leaning close to peer at the medallion, "a cat?"  Narelle nodded.  Jackie's gaze shifted to the rest of the steel and leather elements of the costume.  "It's so complicated, it's hard to tell how it all fits together; but it's beautiful."

"It's not as complex as all that," Narelle responded, "but there's only one way to really appreciate its beauty."  She pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it to the side.  Her T-shirt followed, then she lifted her left boot.  "Gimme a hand?"

Jackie's was staring at her half-naked mentor with open mouth.  "Huh?  Oh!"  She went down on her knees and grabbed Narelle's boot.  It slid off, Narelle changed feet, and her right boot was removed as well.  Jackie remained on her knees and watched as her mentor removed her jods, then peeled off her socks and knickers—and was beautifully, gloriously nude.

Hands on hips, Narelle smiled down at her still kneeling protégé.  "Get up here and help me," she laughed.

Jackie had been staring at Narelle's sex.  "Sorry," she answered, and scrambled to her feet.

Like a squire of old assisting her knight, Jackie helped as Narelle donned the costume.  As the various plates were fitted, straps tightened, buckles secured, and clips snapped, its overall design became clear.  A collar and breastplate settled over Narelle's shoulders and closed around her throat; and a corset and chastity belt assembly tightened around her waist and through her loins.

"The key-tool pulls the plates together and makes it all tight," Narelle explained, pointing at an object still in the drawer.

Jackie had taken it to be a decorative medallion.  Its shape was that of a leaping cat with an open mouth, and its overly long, curled tail and thin body made for a convenient handle.  It was attached by a swivel-clip to a long, thin, golden chain. 

Narelle indicated the ornate, raised bumps, arrayed in rows along the sides of the corset.  "It's for these," she explained.

Jackie had taken the bumps to be pure decoration, but now she could see how the cat's teeth lined up with tiny holes in recessed rings in each bump.  "Like this?"  She snapped the cat's mouth into a ring and gave it a turn.  There was a quiet ratcheting sound and she felt a series of vibrations travel through the metal as the plate slid over its neighbor a fraction of an inch.

"Keep going," Narelle urged.

After a second full turn, there was a quiet metallic ping and the tool slipped.  Jackie gave the ring a close look, and that found the tiny holes were now gone.

"Spring-loaded pins set when the mechanism reaches the locked position," Narelle explained.  "All of them," she ordered, indicating the remaining bumps and rings.

Jackie worked her way down the row, then the row on the other side of the corset.  Each turn made the steel corset's embrace tighter and tighter.

"Now the collar." Narelle said.  This time the sockets were in the back.  Narelle gathered her hair and held it atop her head while Jackie worked the tool.  "That's tight," she remarked, "just like it's supposed to be."

Jackie nodded, a dazed smile on her face.

Narelle lifted the the final elements of the costume from the drawer, a pair of gauntlet-like bracers.  She slid her fingers through heavy rings at the ends of hinged sections that covered the backs of her hands, then closed the wide cuffs around her wrists.  The curved metal plates covered most of her forearms, from her wrists to her elbows.

"It's gorgeous!" Jackie gushed, gazing at the shining metal and Narelle's tan skin with an appreciative smile.  Elegant, curved wires held metal cups over Narelle's nipples, hugging and lifting her breasts like some absurd, minimalist underwire bra.  The collar was something like a medical brace, limiting Narelle's ability to turn her head or lower her chin.  The corset was tight, but its edges were flared out at the margins, to prevent the steel from pinching or cutting Narelle's skin as she moved.  The chastity belt panel between her legs was a combination wire cage and hinged plate, allowing peek-a-boo glimpses of her flesh, but barring all contact with her most private parts.

Jackie took a step back and frowned.  "It's hardly a ponygirl harness, though, is it?" she remarked.  "I mean, it's not practical."

"It's more ceremonial than workaday," Narelle agreed.

"And you're not really helpless, are you?" Jackie continued.

"Well, not like this," Narelle explained.  "The arms lock in the back."

"Where?"

Narelle folded her arms behind her back.  "Like this."

"How?"

"The pins and rings on the arm-pieces fit into sockets in the back of the corset-plate," Narelle explained, "and the arm pieces themselves snap together as well."

"I don't get it," Jackie said, still frowning.  "Turn around."

"I can feel everything lining up," Narelle said, as she turned.  "There, all the clamps snapped."

Unseen, behind Narelle's back, Jackie's frown had become a decidedly mischievous grin.  "And this would be the locking ring?" she asked.

"There in the center," Narelle said.  "Hey!"

Jackie had used the cat-tool to tighten the ring.  She continued turning the handle until, like with the corset rings, pins snapped and the tool slipped free.  "And I suppose these other rings are to double-lock the attachment points?"

"You little scamp!" Narelle purred, as Jackie tightened each of a half-dozen fittings on the gauntlets and back panel of the corset.

"There," Jackie gloated.  "Now I see.  It all looks very secure."

"This is insubordination," Narelle accused, a cool smile on her lips.

"More like open mutiny," Jackie laughed.  "Well... walk around.  Let me get the full effect."

Narelle sighed, did a quarter turn, padded to the far wall, spun on her heel, and padded back.  "There, satisfied?"

"Oh, hardly," Jackie purred.  She walked to the array of hanging tack.  "Hmm... let me see, now.  Ah, here's what I need."  She selected a pair of hobbles, fleece-lined leather cuffs connected by a stout, adjustable strap.  "And this..."  She selected a ball-gag.  It wasn't specialized ponygirl tack, but was simply a translucent red rubber ball pierced by a black leather strap with a rolling buckle.  The ball went in her pocket, leaving the buckle and half the straps flopping and jingling free.  "Oh, and certainly this," she added, pulling the wrist loop of a riding crop off a peg.

Smiling sweetly (ominously), she walked back to her captive, hobbles in one hand and riding crop in the other.  When she was a pace away, she knelt at Narelle's feet.

Narelle watched as the hobbles were buckled around her ankles.  The connecting strap was at its full length, a generous eight or nine inches.  "Just you wait," she warned, but her lips were still smiling.  "You're enjoying yourself way too much."

"And you're putting up an incredible fight," Jackie observed.  This was gloating sarcasm, of course.  Narelle was cooperating fully with her ongoing capture.  Jackie rocked back on her heels and grinned up at her prisoner.  "Where's the rest?" she demanded.

"The rest?"

Jackie reached out and gently grabbed Narelle's calves, then began running her hands up and down her prisoner's long, tan, smooth legs.  "This can't be all there is to the costume.  I love your beautiful legs, of course, and your pretty feet, but whoever heard of an unshod pony, or cat, or whatever you're supposed to be?"

"There are a pair of pointe boots planned," Narelle admitted, "thigh length; steel, lobster joints at the knees; with the toes in the form of giant catspaws.  Also a bridle, with a bit-gag and cat mask.  And a special cart, of course, so the cat-pony can give Margo's guests rides around the gardens during the party."

"Well... where is it?" Jackie demanded.  "You can give me a test ride."

"I told you, it's a work-in-progress," Narelle reminded her captor.  "None of the rest is finished.  What you see is what you get."

Jackie laughed, hugged Narelle's legs, then planted a kiss on the costume's steel crotch panel.  "More than enough," she gushed, climbed to her feet, and pulled the ball-gag from her pocket.  She gathered the straps in one hand, letting the crop dangle from the strap looped around her wrist, then cupped Narelle's chin with her other hand.  "Open wide."

 "What are you going to do?" Narelle demanded, through clenched teeth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jackie laughed.  "Don't make me whip your legs, darling."

Narelle sighed in disgust.  She knew Jackie was incapable of more than a few stinging slaps, but allowed herself to be gagged, anyway.

"There!"  Jackie tightened and secured the gag's buckle, then restored the drape of Narelle's tousled hair.  She led her captive to the ponygirl cell she herself had so recently "visited".  "You can rest in here while I take the horses on that romp we agreed upon."

Narelle growled a series of decidedly inarticulate objections through her ball-gag, but still made no real resistance.  She was "shoved" into the cell, Jackie closed the door, and Narelle spun on her hobbled feet and glared through the bars at her "traitorous" young friend.

Jackie managed to reason out the workings of the bolt mechanism, and the satisfying snick of heavy steel pins sliding into the steel housings set all around the door frame sounded.  A plate turned behind a small window above the door handle, and the word "OPEN" was replaced with the word "CLOSED".  At the same time, a small metal ring below the handle snapped out from the plate about an inch.  Jackie realized it was the handle of a barrel-type key.  She gave it a turn, then another, "CLOSED" became "LOCKED", and the key popped out into her hand.

Jackie reached into her pocket and retrieved the cat-tool and chain.  The clip securing the tool to the chain was generous enough to allow the key to be added as well.  She double-checked the clip, to make sure it was properly secured, slipped the chain and its dangling contents over her head, pulled her hair free, then slid the tool and key under her clothes and between her breasts.

She smiled brightly at the still-glaring Narelle, spun on her booted heels, and sauntered back to the open cabinet.  Narelle's boots and clothing went into the drawer—Jackie paused to transfer her mentor's keyring into the pocket of her own jods—then slid the drawer closed.  She closed the door, secured its padlock, then strolled to the hanging tack and rehung the riding crop.  Humming tunelessly and her smile even brighter, she stepped back to the stall.

"I think I'll ride them bareback," Jackie mused aloud, referring to the horses and their impending romp, "just to give them a change, and don't worry, I'll make sure they all get a proper turn."

Narelle continued staring at her through the bars.

Jackie stared back, and her smile slowly faded.  "You look so... beautiful," she whispered.  She then blushed and her smile returned.  "Later, darling!" she said—waved, winked, and blew a kiss—then sauntered away down the secret corridor and back to the main stables.

As soon as Jackie stepped back into the main tack room the cabinet rumbled closed behind her back.  Her hand patted the keys under her hoodie and blouse.  She smiled, then hurried to the stable's day room and tapped her access code into the computer.

"Eve," she said, knowing the AI could hear her through the workstations microphone (not knowing that there wasn't a location on the entire campus where Eve couldn't hear her), "can you show me the... uh... secret stables, please?"

The screen split, and resolved into two images.  One was from a perspective outside Narelle's stall, and the other was an overhead shot from inside the stall itself.  In both views, Narelle was a helpless, bound, gagged, hobbled, and beautiful prisoner, slowly pacing her cell, and occasionally giving her bonds a weak test.

"She'll be... okay like that, won't she?" Jackie asked, biting her lower lip, nervously.

"Within reason," Eve's disembodied voice answered.  "What do you have in mind?"

Jackie blushed.  "Well, uh, I suppose I'll wait a while, and then let her go."  Her blush faded and her smile returned.  "Or maybe I'll take her back to her apartment and we can play... on her bed."

"What about the horses?" Eve inquired.

"I can't very well go riding with her all helpless and hidden away like that, now can I?" Jackie responded.  "What if something happened?"

"Good girl!" Eve laughed.  "Actually, regardless of the complexity of the game or the identity of the players, I have multiple contingencies to ensure nothing unpleasant ever happens to any player."

"What if there's a power failure, or an earthquake?"

"Multiple contingencies," Eve repeated.  "You may take the horses on their romp.  Narelle is safe and will remain safe."

"She let me catch her, didn't she?" Jackie whispered.  Eve didn't answer.  No answer was necessary.

Jackie stared at the screen.  The image was high definition, and Narelle—her prisoner—was an incredibly erotic sight.  A thrill of arousal passed through Jackie's sex and rippled up her spine.  "I, I'm not sure I can wait that long," she admitted, then sighed.  "But the horses need me.  We can't let them get barn sour."

"I can take them out," Eve suggested.  "A robot-supervised run?"

Jackie shook her head, still staring at the screen.  "Not the same at all," she sighed.  "Duty first.  Thank you, Eve."

"You're welcome, Jaclyn," Eve answered, and restored the screen to its usual TESSERACT screensaver.

Jackie was already out the door.

Narelle kicked the base of the stall door, as best she could.  Her hobbles didn't allow for much of a swing, and her feet were bare.  "Eee!  R'ee'ow'u'eer!"

"No, I'm not going to let you out of there," Eve's voice responded.  (Eve was fluent in "Gaglish", depending on the severity of the gag, of course.)  "Poor thing.  Hoist by your own petard.  Jaclyn's doing quite well on the top half of her 'Plays Well with Others' exam, don't you agree?"

Several seconds of growling, mumbling, drooling response followed, while Narelle stamped her feet and half-heartedly struggled against her steel bonds.

"Yes, I've double-checked the Biosphere bridal paths.  Jackie can exercise the herd undisturbed and without mishap," Eve answered, "and Anne will be kept in the loop.  She's at the Pacific Place Mall with Naomi, at the moment, but I'll have a full report ready when she gets back to the house."

Narelle moaned and mumbled some more.

"No!" Eve said in a scolding tone, "and please don't ask again.  You know very well this will be a much better test if we let Jaclyn decide when she wants to set you free.  A pity you can only stand in that costume.  Trying to relax on the floor in all that steel would be most unpleasant.  I imagine, after this experience, you'll be quite empathetic when it's finally Katherine's turn to play cat-pony."

Narelle sighed, shuffled her feet, and settled in to wait for her eventual release.