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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Kat's Revenge: A Love Story ——————————————————————————— by Van © 2001
		Chapter 3

NOON
Gondaloo Island, Far Beach

---

Jessie sighed in contentment, lying on a blanket and baking under the tropical sun.  She didn't have a lot of experience with ocean beaches, but to the bikini-clad redhead, Far Beach certainly seemed like a superior example: waving palms, white sand, blue-green water lapping the shore, and waves thundering against the distant, outer reef.  Apparently, Margo Wells agreed, because despite its distance from the Main Resort she had caused Far Beach to be outfitted in ingeniously concealed rustic luxury.  There was a large equipment locker, cleverly disguised as a weather-beaten, half-buried steamer trunk that had washed ashore.  Inside, the hikers had found beach blankets, a self-erecting, freestanding canopy, stakes, mallet, and abundant rope (to secure the canopy against high wind, Jessie assumed), as well as a large medical kit and other emergency supplies.   A simple, non-intrusive beach shower was present, as well as a modern latrine, tucked back away from the beach where the palms gave way to the jungle.

Far Beach had further amenities, of a more transient nature.  As promised, a TESSERACT robot had delivered an expansive, cold, gourmet lunch, as well as abundant drinks, all non-alcoholic (...at Penny's insistence, no doubt, Jessie mused with a tolerant smile).  The veritable feast was waiting in a large cooler, the crab-like delivery robot discretely hidden in the jungle.

Jessie propped herself on her left elbow, shaded her pale blue eyes with her right hand, and squinted towards the water.  Also clad in a bikini, Chelsea was still splashing in the shallows.  Got a lot of energy, that one, Jessie observed.  Farther out in the lagoon, the international orange shark-like fin of the lifeguard robo-torp could be seen, idling through the water on patrol.  "Chelsea!" Jessie shouted, "want some lunch?"

"Super!" the petite, tanned blonde shouted back and waded out of the water.  By the time she showered and toweled herself dry, Jessie had their lunch spread under the shade of the shelter.  "This place is fabulous," Chelsea gushed, around a mouthful of shrimp salad and water cress sandwich.  "Let's stay here for the rest of the week.  I'll be Robin Crusoe, and you can be my obedient, aboriginal serving girl 'Friday'."

Jessie smiled and took a sip of chilled fruit juice.  "Oh yeah, that's gonna happen," she snorted sarcastically.  "How 'bout I be the dread pirate queen Black Jessie—"

"Red Jessie," Chelsea interrupted.

"Okay, 'Red Jessie'," Jessie agreed, "and you could be my spoiled English captive... 'The Honorable Priscilla Twitworthy'."

Chelsea laughed, then swooned theatrically, the back of one hand on her brow.  "Unhand me you beastly buccaneer!  Just wait 'til my father, Lord Viceroy Twitworthy, arrives with his manly man-o'-war full of trusty tars. Then you'll be sorry."

"Aaar!" Jessie snarled.  Both girls laughed.

"We never played that one." Chelsea admitted.

"Huh?" Jessie asked.

"Connie and I played Cops-and-Robbers, Norman-Lady-and-Saxon-Outlaw-Wench, that sort of thing, but never Pirate-and-Captive," Chelsea explained.

"'Norman-Lady-and-Saxon-Outlaw-Wench'?" Jessie quoted, an inquisitive smirk on her freckled face.

Chelsea was struggling to open a jar of large, dark, Kalamata olives.  "Ah—We had costumes and—Ah..."  Jessie took the jar, grimaced in concentration, finally cracked the seal, and handed it back.  "Thanks," Chelsea said.  "Costumes and everything," she continued.  "I'd keep her captive in one of the towers, then next time I'd be the prisoner in her 'sylvan glade'."

"More chains?" Jessie asked, remembering Chelsea's mention of Brightman Hall's rusty relics.

"Oh no," Chelsea gasped, loading her plate with olives.  "Mother would have killed us.  We used rope.  Connie wasn't very good.  I always escaped... eventually.  She only escaped the tower once."  Chelsea reached into the jar, extracted one fat, dripping olive, leaned forward and popped it into Jessie's mouth.  "What about you?"

Jessie chewed the olive.  "Hmm... These are good.  Gimme!"

Chelsea surrendered the remaining olives.  "Well...?"

"My cousin tied me up a few times," Jessie admitted.  "I couldn't escape."

"She was good at playing tie-up then?" Chelsea asked casually, fishing for more information about what she obviously took for a description of Jessie's childhood games.

"She was very good with the rope," Jessie confirmed with a laugh (not bothering to explain that her experience as her cousin Victoria's prisoner had been anything but a game).

"I could teach you to escape, you know," Chelsea suggested.  "I know several tricks and—"

Jessie laughed.  "I don't think you could teach me a thing," Jessie said.  "No offense."

"None taken," Chelsea responded with a coy smile.  "That sounds like a challenge."  Jessie said nothing in response, just took a slow bite of her sandwich and smiled.  "Now..." Chelsea continued, "who should go first?  I know!  I'm thinking of a number between one and ten."

Jessie laughed.  "I wasn't born yesterday," she snorted, then rummaged through the picnic supplies.  She found a package of toothpicks, shook out a good dozen, snapped one in two and tossed half towards the jungle.  Still smiling, she made a bundle of the remaining loose toothpicks and carefully arranged them in her right fist.  Finally, shielding her hand from Chelsea's grinning face, Jessie inserted the short, half toothpick into the bundle, and extended her fist.  "Short toothpick gets tied first," Jessie announced, smiling sweetly.

Chelsea nodded gravely, carefully examining the tiny slivers of wood protruding from Jessie's freckled fist.  "This one is for me," she said, reached out, and extracted a toothpick.  It was full length.  "This one is for you ," she said, and extracted another full length toothpick.  "Such delicious suspense," Chelsea noted, crinkling her tan, freckled, button nose in delight... then reached towards the remaining toothpicks, biting her lower lip in concentration. 

Jessie's smile broadened.  She noticed that despite the tropical heat, her short British companion's tan arm was covered with goose flesh.

EARLY AFTERNOON
Gondaloo Island Resort

---

Penny found she still couldn't move, but at least Kat hadn't made good on her promise to make Penny's drug induced paralysis moot... not yet, anyway.

The "Jungle Kat" had stripped Penny to the skin back in her office, leaving the tall, tan Brit's business suit and lingerie strewn untidily about.  She had then hefted Penny over her shoulder, and carried the nude, unmoving, but fully conscious hotelier through the Resort, into the Residents' Wing, and into Penny's own suite of rooms.

At the present moment, Penny was lying on her back on her carefully made bed, her limp hands crossed atop her flat stomach, legs together, head back and cushioned on a pillow, staring up at the plain, white, uninteresting ceiling... unable to move.  Kat was enjoying a leisurely shower in the adjoining bathroom.  At some point Penny had heard a robot make a delivery of some sort to the suite, but it had happened beyond Penny's rather limited field of vision.

Penny heard the shower stop.  Several seconds later, she heard her hair dryer being used.  A few minutes after that, she heard Kat approaching the bed.

"Oh, it's here," Kat remarked.  Penny heard the latches of an equipment case clicking open, then Kat's grinning visage loomed into Penny's view.  The bodyguard was still nude from her shower, and had something in her hands.  "The last few weeks I've salted a few special items among the routine deliveries to the Resort," Kat explained. "Most of it's for Freckle Fox, but this little beauty's for you."

Kat held up the "little beauty" in question.  It appeared to be a tangle of gold wires and tiny beads and... The horrible truth dawned: it was a chastity belt!  Penny recognized the basic design, although the devices in the Island's inventory weren't nearly as... pretty.  This belt looked like an elegant piece of expensive jewelry, the waist belt a gold chain, broken by several settings of what appeared to be blue diamonds.  The rear clasp featured a trio of dangling baubles, more blue diamonds, while the crotch section was of thin gold wire, the front shield of fine golden chain mail.  Pretty?  It was beautiful!  Penny hated it.  Kat reversed the belt so Penny could see the inside.  It was just as she feared: labial cage-clamps, a clitoris collar, an anal ring set into the heavy crotch wire, all lined with what Penny recognized as TIKLER beads, the tiny nerve stimulating gizmos Charlie Paretsky had invented, the smooth plastic jewels that felt like a squirming vibrator, but actually did nothing but glow .

Kat climbed onto the bed, spread Penny's unresisting legs, and busied herself making the many intimate adjustments required to fit the belt around Penny's waist and through her crotch.  "The gold suits you," Kat purred, "goes well with your skin color and blonde bush."  Kat paused to run her fingers through the bush in question, then finished fitting the clit collar and labial clamps, made sure the anal ring was properly positioned, then stretched the front shield in place and clicked the final clasp closed.  "A perfect fit," Kat sighed, running her hand over the smooth, supple triangle of gold mail.  She locked eyes with Penny, then continued her slow, firm massage of the paralyzed blonde's metal encased loins.  "You're drooling again," Kat noted in a teasing whisper, then reached up with her free hand, wiped away the offending saliva, then used the now damp digits to toy with Penny's left nipple.

Penny couldn't move, but apparently her body could still respond.  Both nipples blossomed erect, achingly erect to Penny in her helpless state, and her sex felt like it was dripping, hot and moist in its complex, intimate jail of diamonds and gold.

Kat smiled, her gloating, green eyes still locked with Penny's wide, staring, blue eyes.  Then, the nude bodyguard spoke words Penny dreaded to hear: "Eve, full power test of Penny's pretty new present, please."

Penny's mind screamed inside the prison of her paralyzed body.  The feeling was indescribable, an impossibly intimate massage; a thousand tiny fingers probing and pressing, knowing exactly where, when, and how to work their magic; rhythmic sensations coursing through her entire crotch, up her spine, exploding in her brain—and then it stopped, and her eyes could focus again.  Kat was staring down at her, frowning.

"Well," Kat said finally, "I expected more reaction than a simple 'urk' and more drool."

"She's paralyzed, silly," an unfamiliar voice said.  Penny watched Kat turn towards the vid screen on the far wall, but the helpless blonde couldn't see whatever was being projected.  "It's probably difficult for you to see with you poor, merely human eyes, Kitty Dearest," the voice continued, "but Ms. Brightman's blushing like a sweaty virgin under all that glorious tan."

"Now that you mention it..." Kat purred, running her left hand over Penny's abdomen.  Kat turned her body to face the screen.  Penny could just see the side of her nude captor's face, but still couldn't see the other speaker.  Kat glanced back down at Penny.  "Oh, how rude of me," Kat gasped with mocking, gloating concern, then climbed over the helpless blonde's body (giving Penny an excellent view of her captor's dark bush and glistening sex in the process), settled her bare back against Penny's headboard, and hauled the blonde's head up onto her nude lap.

Penny stared glassy eyed at the screen and beheld a beautiful blonde woman, dressed in some sort of latex outfit.  She was probably in her late twenties, and there was a disturbing, slightly... maniacal glint in her smiling gaze.

"Penelope Brightman," Kat intoned, "allow me to introduce Eve-L, the Security Avatar of the Eve-6900."

"Oh, Penny and I are old friends ," Eve-L gushed.  "I've been watching her shower for days now.  Did you know she sleeps in the nude?"

"That's voyeurism," Kat observed with a chuckle.  "It's only familiarity if she knows you're watching."

"Whatever," Eve-L responded.  "By the way, Kitty-Kat, you better get your naked little ass in gear.  Primary Target has finished her research and is about to start her controlled ascent.  She should be back at the Resort in a little more than an hour and a half. "

Kat smiled down at Penny's blank, staring face and ran her fingers through the helpless Brit's blonde locks.  "More than enough time to administer the antidote, bind and gag Ms. Brightman, and then be waiting in the boathouse."  Kat leaned down and kissed Penny on her slack, drooling lips.  "Eve-L's on vacation too," she whispered, "so while I'm playing with Freckle Fox, she'll be playing with you.  Isn't that nice?"

EARLY AFTERNOON
Gondaloo Island, Far Beach

---

It took four rounds, but finally Chelsea had drawn the short toothpick.

After lunch Jessie had taken four stakes and the mallet from the equipment locker and established a five yard square, straddling the high tide mark, about twenty yards down the beach from the canopy.  The stakes were more large, fluted screws than conventional tent stakes.  Jessie had tapped the stakes into the sand one at a time with the head of the mallet, then inserted the mallet's shaft through the stakes' eyebolt ends and twisted them deep into the soft sand until only the eyebolts protruded.  Next, Jessie had returned to the equipment locker and selected four coils of soft, quarter inch, braided, microfiber rope.  She returned to her square in the sand and dropped a coil over each eyebolt, then stretched, straightened the waist cords of her bikini bottom, turned to Chelsea... and smiled.

The slightly nervous, petite Brit had been busy straightening up the area around the canopy, stowing the picnic remnants for eventual return to the Resort by Eve's robot.  An unnecessary task... but it had helped fill the time.  Seeing that Jamie was finally ready, Chelsea had swallowed, smiled in return, and stepped forward.

That had been an hour earlier.  In the sunbaked, blue skied, lazy, tropical present, Chelsea pulled on her bonds.  Hopeless, she admitted to herself.  Jessie knows her knots.  Must have been a Girl Guide... or whatever they call them in America.  The petite, bikini-clad blonde craned her neck and examined her wrist ropes... for the hundredth time.  Nothing I can untie, she sighed.  Nothing I can reach anyway .  Jessie had looped a doubled rope around each of Chelsea's wrists and ankles, taken numerous tight turns, tucked the free ends back through the original loop, and had tied several carefully compacted hitches and square knots.  Chelsea could twist and pull against the resulting coils as much as she wanted.  The tight bands wouldn't compact, and she couldn't possibly pull herself free.  The final, unreachable knots were tied at the eyebolts, after stretching the ropes and each of Chelsea's limbs taut, of course.  Spread-eagled on the sand, Chelsea mused. I guess we are playing pirate.  She lifted her head and looked towards the water.  "Red Jessie," the tall, freckled "pirate queen," was wading gracefully out of the lagoon, stretching and adjusting her bikini.

Jessie walked over and straddled her bound prisoner, one bare foot on either side of her helpless captive's narrow waist.  Jessie then grinned and shook her wet hair.  Chelsea squealed and pulled on her bonds under the resulting shower of droplets, squinting up at her looming captor.  "Still haven't escaped," Jessie noted.

"It's all part of my frightfully clever plan to lull you into a false sense of security," Chelsea explained.

Jessie laughed, walked over to the canopy and returned with a plastic bottle of sunblock.  She poured a generous dollop into her hands, and began rubbing it on her on her toned, freckled arms.  "You thought you were foolin' me, didn't you?" Jessie said quietly, spreading more sunblock on her smooth shoulders.

"What?" Chelsea demanded, batting her eyes innocently.

"You're such a little flirt," Jessie said, her lips curled in a feral grin.  "You've been playin' rope games like this for years."

Chelsea smiled coyly, biting her lower lip, then tugged on her bonds.  "I don't know what you're talking about," she answered primly.

Jessie removed her top and spread sunblock on her breasts.  "You want some?" she offered, holding up the bottle.

Chelsea bit her lip again.  "You mean the sunblock, I assume?" she purred, then slowly nodded.  Jessie's breasts were larger than her own, she noted, the nipples coral, matching Jessie's fair, Celtic complexion.

Jessie reached behind Chelsea's neck and began untying the diminutive blonde's top.

"Jessie!" Chelsea complained, blushing prettily.

"You don't want tan lines, do you?" Jessie asked, gazing down at Chelsea's pert breasts, stretched nearly flat against the short blonde's chest by her outstretched arms.

Chelsea giggled, pulling on her bonds again.  "Of course not... except on my wrists and ankles."

Jessie giggled as well, then reached for the ties of her prisoner's bikini bottom.

EARLY AFTERNOON
Gondaloo Island Resort

---

Kat gave Penny a spray injection, the promised antidote to the paralyzing drug.  The nude bodyguard then busied herself binding Penny's wrists behind her smooth, tan back, folded and crossed below her shoulder blades in a double hammerlock.  A harness of tight rope bands across Penny's arms and chest kept them there, looping her armpits and shoulders and knotted at the nape of her neck.  More rope bound her legs together above the knees and at the ankles.  Some thin cord bound her big toes.  Ever the professional, all of Kat's knots were carefully compacted, redundant, and placed beyond the reach of Penny's slowly fluttering, groping fingers.

Groping fingers? Penny mused as Kat continued her work.  Not for long .

Kat used one inch dermafoam tape to individually wrap each of Penny's fingers in a folded tuck.  She then wrapped all the fingers of each hand together, leaving only the thumbs free.  As the dermafoam cured, fusing into one tight, inseparable mass, Kat tied Penny's thumbs together with more thin cord, then wrapped the corded thumbs with more dermafoam.  Finally, the free end of the cord was looped under the rope at the nape of Penny's neck, cinched tight, and tied off.

Kat began dressing in one of her signature, black leather catsuits.  By the time she was finished, Penny found she had regained control of her voluntary muscles—as much control as her tight bonds would allow, anyway.  Kat stepped into Penny's bathroom and returned with a glass of water, then held Penny's head and allowed her to drink.  She then returned the glass to the bathroom and stood next to the bed.

Again able to control her tongue, Penny licked her lips.  "Kat... Katherine," Penny pleaded, "please don't hurt her.  Please."

Something flashed across Kat's face, something surprisingly, unexpectedly... gentle... but it was quickly replaced with cold calculating anger.  "Freckle Fox deserves everything she's gonna get," Kat growled, reaching for something below the level of the bed.

Penny knew Jamie was protected by the Inner Circle protocols, that Kat couldn't do her any real harm, but Kat had a habit of pushing the envelope, of exploring her playmates' limits, in detail.  Kat was scary, the Inner Circle version of the Bogeyman... and today the Bogeyman was in charge.  "It was only a game," Penny insisted, "what Jamie did to you.".

"Oh, this is only a game too," Kat purred with a gloating smile.  "Knight-takes-Pawn.  That's you, Sweet Cheeks."  Kat's hand flashed and Penny found a ring gag wedged behind her teeth, propping her jaw open.  Kat buckled the gag's strap tight, then stood back.  "The next move is Knight-takes-Queen," the gloating bodyguard continued, "followed by Knight-tortures-Queen, followed by Knight-tortures-Queen some more, followed, of course, by Knight-tortures-Queen.  Do you see the pattern?"

Penny writhed on the bed, tears welling in her pale, blue eyes.  Kat stepped forward and popped a rubber ball through ring of the blonde prisoner's gag, and held her gloved hand over Penny's lips as the ball slowly expanded to fill the captive's mouth.  "Oh, don't cry Pretty Penny," Kat cooed.  "You know Margo won't let me really torture your precious little orange haired geek."  Kat stood and walked to the bedroom door.  "Jamie and I are going to have fun," the black-clad brunette purred with a gloating, evil smile.  "In fact... she'll be laughing the whole time."

Penny stared at Kat in horror.  'Laughing?'  Penny pulled on her inescapable bonds in earnest, mewing through her tight gag.  Jamie was notoriously ticklish, especially her tiny, strong, freckled feet.  Penny loved teasing her about it, when it was her turn to be the one in control, to lightly tickle Jamie's precious wriggling toes and narrow, wrinkled soles, all the while threatening the adorable, squirming little redhead with hours of tickling torment.  With Kat, it wouldn't be a threat!  She'd do it, and it was mean!

Kat watched Penny writhe on the bed, tossing her short, pale, blonde locks, pleading with her wide, blue eyes.  "Ms. Brightman is all yours, Eve," Kat said finally , then stepped through the door.  It closed behind her with a sinister hiss.

Penny gave a final futile pull on her bound wrists, then collapsed on the bed, sighing behind her gag.  There was a quiet humming sound, and Penny lifted her head to find the heavy, thick emergency door sliding closed behind the main door, sealing the bedroom entrance alcove, making the bedroom proof against flood, fire, rampaging ninjas... and escape.

Eve-L popped back onto the vid-screen.  "Allrightiethen!" the avatar exclaimed with maniacal glee.  "Here are the rules, Pretty Penny."  As she spoke, Eve-L's costume changed into that of a teacher (from a school where Adolescent Sexual Fantasy seemed to be an important feature of the curriculum).  Words filled the screen beside her, and she used a long, cane-like rod as a pointer.

	The Rules of LET'S GO PLAY IN PENNY'S ROOM
	(1)	Pretty Penny will stay on her bed at all times, unless given explicit permission to hop around.
	(2)	When Eve, in her infinite kindness, announces that Pretty Penny may visit the Little Damsel's Room, Pretty Penny will hop into said room and do her business, using the bidet to make herself spanking clean afterwards.
	(3)	When Eve decides Pretty Penny needs a shower, Pretty Penny will hop into the shower stall, and stay in said stall until Eve tells her she's clean, no matter how cold the water.
	(4)	When Eve decides Pretty Penny needs to eat or drink, the ball in Pretty Penny's mouth will deflate until she can force it out through her ring gag with her tongue.  After eating and/or drinking, Pretty Penny will obediently suck said ball back into her mouth, so it can reinflate.
	Failure to follow these rules will result in Pretty Penny being PUNISHED.

The word "punished" began flashing on the screen, and as it did so, Penny's chastity belt began to throb on full power.  Penny writhed in distress, as every tickling, teasing sensation imaginable coursed through her loins.  Seconds later (or possibly minutes, Penny couldn't be sure) the torment stopped.  Penny lay on her bed, a film of sweat covering her flushed body, panting through her flaring nostrils.  Finally, she lifted her head towards the screen.  Eve-L was leering at her with an evil smile.

"Will you be a gooood little pleasure slave, Pretty Penny?" the avatar cooed.

Penny nodded her head.

"Goodie!" Eve-L giggled, quivering with what to Penny looked very much like sadistic pleasure.  "Now, while we wait for Freckle Fox to waltz into Kitty-Kat's trap, we'll experiment with the lower settings on your belt.  Let's see how excited I can make you without letting you cum, shall we?"