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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Kat's Revenge: A Love Story ——————————————————————————— by Van © 2001
		Chapter 6

EARLY NIGHT
GONDALOO ISLAND RESORT
KITCHEN BALCONY VERANDAH

---

Chelsea carried her tray over to Jessie's table, one of several on the dark, open-air balcony.  Her redheaded friend was already wolfing down a huge sandwich.  Chelsea knew there was a spectacular view of a jungle valley from this venue, but all she could see in the rapidly deepening twilight was the dark crowns of several large trees and the distant hills, all silhouetted by the last of what must have been a spectacular sunset, and a few flickering stars.  As in the rest of the Resort, only the emergency, foot-level lighting was illuminated, but Jessie had found a candle someplace and it was flickering in a glass globe on the table.  "May I join you?" the short blonde asked, smiling nervously as she glanced nervously about.

Jessie swallowed and looked up.  "Get lost Shorty!" she growled, a smile belying her words.  "This table's only for the popular people.  Go sit with the Math Club geeks."  Chelsea's big blue eyes blinked uncertainly, and Jessie laughed.  "Moron!" Jessie snorted.  "Sit down.  Geesh!"

Chelsea carefully set down her tray and slid into a chair, again glancing nervously at the surrounding darkness.  "Sorry," she mumbled.  "I get hopelessly polite when there are killer robots on the lurk."

"Again with the killer robots," Jessie sighed, took another bite, then mumbled something through her mouthful of cold cuts, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles, olives, etc., etc.

"And speaking of polite," Chelsea admonished.

Jessie swallowed.  "Sorry," she mumbled again.  "I said, did you find anything to drink?"

"No," Chelsea sighed, "I looked in several of the refrigerated cabinets, but—"

Jessie grinned, reached down for something on the floor beside her chair, and produced two bottles of Crown Lager.

Chelsea smiled.  "Super!"

The friends twisted off the caps, clinked bottles in salute, and enjoyed a long, refreshing drink.

"I told you before," Jessie said as Chelsea dove into her sandwich, "we're perfectly safe.  I have no more idea what's really going on here than you, but—"

Chelsea heard Jessie pause, and looked up from her plate.  The redheaded American was staring over Chelsea's shoulder, towards a point where the low wall of the verandah met a jumble of tastefully overgrown rocks near the entrance to the kitchen.  Chelsea turned and looked.  Nothing... nothing out of the ordinary anyway.  She turned back.  "What?"

Jessie smiled and took a swig of beer.  "Uh... I thought I saw a killer robot or something," she chuckled.

Chelsea turned back in alarm, looking frantically about.  "Where?" she demanded.

"Just kidding, Short Stuff," Jessie laughed, and took a bite from her sandwich.

Chelsea turned back.  "You have a sick sense of humor, Cowgirl," Chelsea admonished, took a sip beer... and laughed.

Jessie laughed as well.  They clinked bottles again and resumed their meal. 

Truth be told, Jessie had caught a glimpse of a certain catsuited TESSERACT employee she knew very well; then the stealthy visitor had melted into the shadows—and now she was back!  Jessie carefully, surreptitiously kept her eyes on Kat, trying very hard not to laugh.  The black-clad bodyguard was gracefully reclined atop the far wall of the verandah, behind Chelsea's back.  Kat winked and held her gloved, right index finger to her smiling mouth, nodded at Chelsea, and shook her head.  Being careful her short Brit companion's attention was on her food, Jessie nodded once and winked back.

"As I was saying," Jessie said, "we're perfectly safe..." (Kat nodded, still smiling.)  "...and Margo and the others would never let anything happen to us."  (Kat shook her head emphatically.)  Jessie paused, smiling at Kat, then turned her attention to Chelsea.  "Ya know, Shorty," she said in a conspiratorial tone, "this is something of an opportunity."

Chelsea frowned... then smiled.  "When the cat's away..." she purred.

Jessie nodded (carefully stifling a laugh when she looked up over Chelsea's shoulder and found Kat doing a very good cat imitation, licking her "paw" and using it to wash her face.

"And speaking of such," Chelsea continued, "where do you suppose Pens and Jamie are right now, and what exactly would they do during a 'security drill?'"

"Who knows?" Jessie said.  "Probably locked in a bunker playing economic war games or something."  (Kat stopped being a cat and pantomimed a bound and gagged prisoner.  The catsuited beauty writhed on the low, wide wall, struggling against imaginary ropes, silently mewing through an imaginary gag.)  "Or maybe they're simulating kidnap victims," Jessie added, coughing to stifle a laugh, "off someplace waiting to be rescued."

"No doubt bound and gagged in a dark, secret room," Chelsea sighed.  (Behind her back, Kat nodded emphatically, then resumed her captive mime act.)

Jessie bit her lip to keep from erupting into laughter and surreptitiously frowned at Kat.  Instantly, comically contrite, Kat stopped pretending to be bound, and resumed her pretend feline tongue bath.  "Whatever they're up to," Jessie said, "I'm sure that as long as we don't damage any TESSERACT property... we can do pretty much anything we want 'til they return."  Kat nodded, smiling evilly.

"You really think so?" Chelsea asked.

"Anything," Jessie repeated, smiling at her petite, blonde friend.

Chelsea smiled back.  "I suppose some degree of discretion is called for," she suggested.

"Some," Jessie agreed, smiling coyly at Chelsea, then stole a glance at—Kat was gone!  Jessie blinked in surprise.  It had been that fast: Kat was there—Kat wasn't there.  God she's good! the amazed redhead thought.  "A Cheshire Kat," Jessie whispered aloud, "only without the lingering smile."

"What are you babbling about?" Chelsea asked, taking another bite of her rapidly diminishing sandwich.

"Nothing," Jessie mumbled and took a swig of beer.

So... we have the place to ourselves, she mused, watching her diminutive, blonde friend devour her meal.

Chelsea noticed the tall redhead's amused expression.  "What?" she mumbled, around a large mouthful.

"Nothing," Jessie repeated, but continued her grinning survey.  The meal continued in companionable silence.  Jessie could tell Chelsea was still a little nervous, but had been largely reassured.  Jessie finished her sandwich and took another swig of what was left of her beer.  "So..." she mumbled, smiling at her short, tan, perky friend, "what ya wanna do next?"

NIGHT
GONDALOO ISLAND RESORT
STOREROOM ECHO SEVEN

---

Jamie heard the door to her prison open... then Kat strolled out of the darkness and stood before her, hands on hips.  Jamie cringed in her bonds.  There was something in Kat's eyes Jamie had never seen before, not to this degree anyway.  Kat was... aroused, her face shining, green eyes staring, nostrils flaring.  "The time has arrived, Freckle Fox," Kat announced, and produced a knife with a short, curved, sawtooth blade.  "Hold still," she admonished.

In a very short time, not only had Jamie been freed from the strapping tape binding her to the pallet, but also the ropes binding her wrists, knees, elbows, and ankles.  Finally, Kat slit the tape covering Jamie's ball-gag, the knife disappeared, and the smiling, catsuited bodyguard took a step back.  Slowly, cautiously (sore and stiff from her enforced immobility), Jamie climbed off the pallet and stood before her strong, beautiful, feline nemesis.  Their eyes locked as Jamie pulled the band of tape from around her face, tossed it aside, and unbuckled and removed her ball-gag.

"We can do this one of two ways," Kat purred.  "We can have a wrestling match, or..."  Kat stopped, watching with amused attention as Jamie's right hand went to the main zipper of her wetsuit and she slowly pulled in down, opening the skintight, neoprene garment from throat to navel.

The short redhead unzipped the gussets at her wrists and ankles, shrugged her shoulders out of the wetsuit, peeled the suit off her arms and torso, then down her legs.  Underneath she was wearing a thin, very french-cut, one-piece swimsuit, in TESSERACT blue.  Chilled in the warm storeroom by the sudden absence of the stiflingly hot wetsuit, Jamie shuddered delicately, her fair skin slick with sweat and covered with gooseflesh.

Standing less than a meter apart in the darkened storeroom, the short, swimsuited redhead locked eyes with the catsuited bodyguard.  "I... I know it's too late to avoid what's gonna happen," Jamie said softly, still shivering in her sweat dampened suit, "but—"

"Don't even try, Freckle Fox," Kat snarled, then lowered her eyes to leer at Jamie's body.  The thin, swimsuit left nothing to the imagination.  Jamie's erect nipples were very prominent... as was the hollow of her navel... and the nylon covered pubic thatch above her mons venus.  The shivering redhead's freckled skin was ghostly pale in the dim light, her damp hair dark and auburn.  Jamie crossed her arms below her breasts and rubbed her gooseflesh covered arms with her pale hands.  Kat reached out and cupped Jamie's chin with her gloved right hand.  "Don't worry," she gloated, "you won't be cold for long."

"It doesn't have to be this way, ya know," Jamie said with tired resignation.  "It doesn't have to be so..."  Jamie stopped, at a loss for words.

"So like a real kidnap scenario?" Kat suggested.  "So like really being tortured at the hands of a skilled, well-equipped, sadistic professional?"  Kat gestured towards Jamie's swimsuit, and with a sigh Jamie pulled the straps off her shoulders and peeled the thin, wet, stretchy garment from her body.  Kat's eyes widened slightly and her leering grin became a hungry smile as she savored her nude victim's pale, freckled, shivering body.  "You're the one that went beyond the rules of the game, Freckle Fox," Kat purred.  "This is your fault."

Fear was slowly joined by smoldering anger as Jamie's face flushed.  "You hypocrite! " the naked biologist accused.  "You're the one who flaunts the bloody rules every chance you get!  You're the one who twists Margo's games into—m'mmMPFH!"

Swift and fluid as a striking cobra, Kat had grabbed Jamie, spun her around, silenced her brave tirade with a hand gag, and twisted the short redhead's arms behind her back in a double hammerlock.  "Don't bring Margo into this, Freckle Fox," Kat hissed.  "This is between you and me.  Margo's not here.  She's not here to rescue you, she's not here to call me off... she's not even here to take her turn.  If you mention her name again, I'll pop an oversize gel bladder in your mouth and glue your lips together.  Understand?"  Jamie squirmed in Kat's grip, then squealed when the black-clad bodyguard gave her prisoner's hammerlocked arms a painful jerk.  "Understand?" Kat repeated, and Jamie shook her head as best she could.  "Gooood," Kat purred, and shoved Jamie towards the large, shrouded object waiting in the middle of the storeroom.  "Remove the dust cover and fold it neatly," Kat ordered.

No longer shivering, now flushed and angry, Jamie jerked the dust cloth from the object—and  froze.  The object was a low table... or perhaps more properly a bench.  It was steel and looked heavy, with padding on its upper surface.  It was in the shape of a "Y" with what looked like steel ski boots attached at the separated ends and padded manacle-clamps at the single end opposite.  It didn't take much imagination to divine its purpose.

"Ahem."

Jamie tore her attention from the... thing... and found Kat gazing at her with an amused stare.  Jamie shifted her gaze back to the "Y-bench" and started folding the dust cloth, as she'd been ordered.  Yes, its purpose was obvious: to hold a victim (herself) flat on her back with her arms stretched above her head and her wrists clamped; her knees bent and widely splayed; and her feet locked in the boots.  Horrified at the prospect... fully conscious of how vulnerable she would be in such a position... how completely powerless to prevent whatever Kat might have in store for her, Jamie finished folding the dust cloth, walked like an automaton to the neatly racked cache of packaging and labeling material next to the locked door, and dropped the dust cloth atop a pile of its mates, then turned to stare at the waiting bench.  Like all of Eve's creations (Jamie assumed the bench had been built in the Eve-6900's automated workshops), the bench was a triumph of design, elegant, even artistic in its proportions, the perfect fusion of form and function.

"The boots are lined with TIKLER beads," Kat explained.

Jamie flinched at her nemesis' voice, still staring at the bench... and the boots.  "TIKLER beads?" she whispered, her arms crossed below her breasts, shivering again in the warm, semi-darkened storeroom.

"The bench itself is padded with something called 'squirm gel,'" Kat continued, "developed for hospital beds, to prevent bed sores."

Jamie's eyes darted to the door, then back to Kat.  The bodyguard's smile broadened, apparently delighted at the prospect of her naked, terrified prey making an utterly futile escape attempt.  Jamie started to say something, then flinched, again.   Without any apparent action on Kat's part, the bench's boots and wrist clamps had abruptly snapped open.  Jamie started to speak... then closed her mouth and slowly walked towards the bench.  Her limbs stiff, her manner awkward, the short, naked redhead sat on the bench... sighed... lay down... placed her trembling feet in the boots... stretched her arms above her head and placed her wrists in the clamps... and waited.

After about three seconds (which felt like three minutes to the waiting Jamie), the boots and manacle-clamps snapped shut... then slowly tightened... then locked with a series of hollow pings.

Jamie squirmed in her bonds as Kat sauntered over and gazed down at her prisoner.  The frightened, nervous redhead stopped struggling and stared up at her captor... her torturer.  Jamie's blood ran cold.  Kat's arousal had reached new and obvious heights.  The catsuited beauty was practically licking her chops, salivating like a hungry lioness as she savored the way the enforced pose somewhat flattened Jamie's pale, freckled breasts.  The grinning brunette reached out and teased one Jamie's erect, coral nipples with one gloved hand.  Jamie's nostrils flared and she panted through parted lips, her chest heaving as she resumed squirming and shivering in her bonds.

"You surprised me, my brave little Freckle Fox," Kat purred, teasing the other nipple.  "I would have bet the farm I was going to have to chase you down and drag you to your fate."  Jamie locked eyes with Kat, but said nothing.  "But then... I know what's in store for you... and you don't."

Green eyes stared into green eyes as Kat leaned close to Jamie's face.  "Kat," Jamie whispered, "I... I'm sorry I... ahhh!"

"That would be the boots kicking in, I assume," Kat gloated, "the TICKLER program commencing."

Jamie's face was contorted, grimacing as if she were in pain... but other sensations were responsible. "I... I... oh!"  It was as if a million ants were crawling over her feet, on her toes, between her toes, across the soles of her feet.  She wiggled her feet as best she could and pulled on her bonds.  "K-Kat... I... I..."

"Shh... shh... pace yourself, Freckle Fox," Kat cooed.  "This is only the beginning.  We have hours and hours ahead of us."

The maddening sensations came in waves, ebbing and swelling... ebbing and swelling... and the peaks were building!  "Oh-oh-oh ple-e-ease," Jamie begged, panting and sobbing and giggling.  "I—eh—I c-c-can't stand it!  I—I can't!  Eah!  I... Eeeee-p-please! "

"I know... I know you can't, Freckle Fox," Kat sighed, her expression dripping empathy.  "That's why the restraints are there."

NIGHT
GONDALOO ISLAND RESORT
JESSIE'S GUEST SUITE

---

The door to Jessie's suite opened and the girls entered.  Chelsea was still a little nervous, so Jessie had suggested they share her bed... and the petite Brit had smiled coyly and agreed.

"I'm going to take a shower," Chelsea announced, peeling her tank-top over her head.  "You don't mind, do you?"

Jessie walked over to the long chest of drawers occupying most of one wall, opened a drawer, and rummaged through the contents.  (The contents of Jessie's single suitcase occupied only two drawers.  The rest were "Resort Clothes," provided by Margo for her guests' use.)    "As I recall," Jessie purred, "It's my turn to be the one in charge, Short Stuff."

Topless and sitting on the foot of Jessie's bed, Chelsea was busy unlacing her hiking boots.  "Surely you don't expect me to go to bed still dirty from the trail," she objected, smiling sweetly as she dropped first one boot on the floor, then the other, and started peeling off her socks.

"I like you a little salty," Jessie teased, pulling two long, silk scarves from the drawer.

Now wearing only her hiking shorts, Chelsea leaned back on her locked elbows and smiled.  "You're awfully sure of yourself," she observed, batting her blue eyes seductively, smiling her girlish smile.

Jessie laughed... and pounced.  The pair wrestled on the bed, Chelsea giggling and shrieking as her arms were pulled behind her back and her wrists quickly, expertly bound with one of the scarves.  "Stop it, Cowgirl!" Chelsea protested, giggling and squirming as Jessie unfastened and unzipped the petite Brit's hiking shorts and pulled them down her tan, thrashing legs. 

Next came Chelsea's panties, which Jessie tossed towards the head of the bed.  "I'll need those later," she purred, then took the second scarf and tied her prisoner's ankles tightly together.  Jessie took a step back and gazed down at her naked captive.  The petite blonde was writhing and testing her bonds on the rumpled sheets, lying on her side in a semi-fetal tuck.  Jamie smiled, reflecting on how beautiful Chelsea looked in her nude captivity, her smooth, tan, flawless skin flowing in a sinuous curve from shoulder to hip to thigh.  Jessie returned to the chest of drawers and rummaged through the still very abundant collection of scarves, sorting them by size and shape.

"Let's talk about those games you said you used to play with your friend Connie," Jessie suggested, continuing to sort the scarves.

"I refuse to talk about anything if you're going to be beastly," Chelsea said, tossing her head in irritation.

Jessie could see the twinkle in her new friend's eyes.  The small, captive package was only pretending to be angry.  "Well... in that case," Jessie drawled, "you want to try a four layer... or a five layer gag? ...not counting your sweaty panties, of course."

Chelsea sighed theatrically and squirmed in her bonds.  "Connie and I used to play many games," she began, "but one of our favorites..."  Chelsea broke off when she saw Jessie approaching the bed with an armload of folded silk.

"Oh, don't stop," Jessie purred.  "I don't plan on gaggin' you yet.  These are all for the frog tie."

Chelsea swallowed nervously.  "Uh...  What exactly is a 'frog tie'?"

"Well I'll be damned!" Jessie laughed.  "I guess there is something I get to teach you after all."