DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A SERIAL MELODRAMA by Van © 2003

ONE MONTH LATER
TESSERACT HQ CAMPUS
ENTERTAINMENT DIVISION
GAMES DESIGN SECTION

---

Ronnie sighed, realizing she'd been reading the same page of this very dull treatise on Industrial Sociology for the last... half hour?  She inserted a bookmark in the heavy tome and tossed it on the credenza behind her desk.  She glanced at the time display in the corner of her flatscreen.  09:43... a little early for lunch... not hungry anyway.  She sighed again.  Maybe she wasn't suffering delayed trauma from her "ordeal" in Virtual Kul'Dakar... but she was definitely having a hard time getting back in the groove.

Ronnie leaned back in her chair, reached under her blouse, and pulled out the diamond pendant Margo had given her... last week... after she finished recovering from her eye surgery.  Ronnie had known for years that she was an excellent candidate for laser surgery, to reshape her corneas and make glasses unnecessary... but had always been too chicken to go through with it.  Irrational?  Yes, but she couldn't stand people doing things to her eyes.  A visit to the optometrist was bad enough, but the idea of someone burning flaps in her corneas...?

Margo had pointed out (after noting the relevant entry in Ronnie's post-adventure medical file) that if she could "survive" being buried alive and being eaten by a giant snake... she was brave enough for LASIK surgery; besides, it was covered by her TESSERACT health plan. 

Margo contacted a friend at the University of Washington, and Ronnie was accepted into the clinical trials for a new, computer mediated, "nano-prismoidal" procedure.  It had taken less than an hour, and was more effective and even less traumatic than the established techniques.  Afterwards, Ronnie's eyes had itched a little, and she was told not to rub them and to let them rest for two days.  Not surprisingly, Margo had an elegant solution for both those problems.

Ronnie spent the next three days in Margo's apartment, naked, blindfolded, and with her arms folded behind her back and her hands, wrists, and forearms taped together.  Margo had fed her, bathed her, and catered to her every need... including what Margo insisted was her continuing need for "tension release."

Ronnie smiled.  She remembered making a coy remark, questioning which of them had the real tension problem... and had spent the next several hours with her "smart aleck pie hole" stuffed full of something soft and silky and taped shut.  The entire "Post-VR Recovery Period" had been great fun, and she loved Margo.  How could you not love Margo... even if you hadn't spent a little less than two weeks as her pampered pet...  Ronnie's smile faded, and she sighed again.  

Although she knew it was taboo (VR network gaming etiquette demanded complete anonymity for all participants), she'd tried her best to cajole any information available about "Teela."  In fact, she had made an absolute pest of herself, until Margo had gently but firmly reminded her that Teela (if she even existed, and was not a computer generated character) was entitled to her privacy by right of birth.  Ronnie had reluctantly abandoned the topic.

As Margo had also pointed out... only time can heal a broken heart.  ...and here I am, back in my office, back in my mousy old clothes... and without my Teela.  Ronnie sighed yet again, and opened her schedule.  She had an archery class this evening, but nothing this morning.  Ronnie was maintaining her Tae-bo program, but had added a set of TESSERACT Health Club classes entitled "Intro to Medieval Martial Arts."  (If she ever went back to Ancient Kul'Dakar, she'd have some skill with sword, axe, and bow.)  Ronnie closed her schedule.  She had no excuse to schedule another workout... no excuse not to resume work on her team's latest project.

The new project was entitled Air Pirates!   It was going to be an "Alternate History," SciFi/Fantasy, "Steam-punk," Action Adventure Melodrama romp, with Giant Airships, Bat-winged and/or Art Deco Biplanes and Pursuit fighters, Mad Scientists, Evil Warlords (with vast Air Armadas at their disposal), Secret Island Bases, Hostile Natives, the occasional cranky dinosaur, Brave Heroes and Heroines, etc., etc.  Ronnie could hardly wait to start the actual VR crafting.  She already had a costume programmed: brown, knee-length riding boots; tan, skin-tight jodhpurs with a suede leather seat; white silk blouse; brown, fur-lined pilot's jacket; brown pilot's leather helmet (with goggles); broom handle Mausers in cross holsters... and a long, white, silk scarf (of course).  She could hardly wait!  But if only she could have a ravishing cute and feisty sidekick with long, copper-red curls, and smooth, firm, flawless skin like fresh cream, and lips so full and red that...   Teela!  

Ronnie reached for the book she had abandoned earlier.  The patterns of social forces stabilizing the various parts of the "Air Pirates!" universe weren't going to invent themselves, and she needed more background on the technically-skilled Middle Class.

Just then there was a quiet chime and her office door opened.  A mail delivery robot entered, a package in its top rack.  Ronnie lifted the box onto her desk... Heavy!  ...and pulled out a cutter to slit the tape.  "Thank you," she muttered, and the robot beeped and retreated through the door.

The box had a standard TESSERACT internal routing label, but the return address was simply  "Information Technology" and an office code Ronnie didn't recognize.  It wasn't from Liz.    Inside was a glass globe, about eight inches in diameter.  Ronnie lifted it out, and found it had a ring-like base of burnished steel, and a recessed port with a hand-held mini-computer already inserted.  Whatever the thing was, it had the required tamper-proof TESSERACT-IT sticker on the back with an inventory control number and barcode.  There was also a dangling cable, obviously for plugging into Ronnie's workstation, and a printed note.  It read:

"PLUG INTO YOUR WORKSTATION, REBOOT, THEN PRESS F6+F9."  

Curiouser and curiouser, Ronnie mused as she shut down her workstation, plugged in the cable, then hit the "on" button.  Her station went through its startup cycle, the TESSERACT logo appeared on her flatscreen... then the globe began to glow.  Ronnie pressed the specified combination on her keyboard, the glow turned red, then began swirling like roiling flames.   Suddenly, music sounded from her computer's speakers.  Ronnie blinked in surprise.  It was the theme song from the old I Dream of Jeannie TV show.  The flames continued swirling, and the image of a reclined woman rippled into focus.  She was dressed in a provocative costume, had long, blonde hair, and beautiful features.  The image was real as life, three dimensional... and was moving!   A hologram!  Ronnie frowned.  The woman was... familiar.

"Hello, Ronnie dah-link," the image purred.  "What's the matter?  Don't you recognize me?"

Ronnie stared at the image.  "Uh... Elá?  Is that you?"

"None other, Sweetie!" the tiny figure answered.  "Here, let me make it easy."  The image dissolved into a swirling cyclone of pixels, then resolved into the image of Elá the Kul'Dakar amazon,  resplendent in Panther Cult armor.  "Is this better?  I don't have to start calling you 'Spirit-witch Spy' and 'Sniveling Slave,' and stuff like that, do I? ...do I, Neeka?"

Ronnie smiled.  She wasn't intimidated by her former Kul'Dakar captor, especially as a six-inch, action figure sized hologram.  "You can call me Ms. Allbriton."

Elá pouted.  "Well, lah-dee-freakin'-dah!  After all we've been through?  I humiliated you, tortured you, entombed you alive in a deep, dark cavern...   Surely that puts us on a first name basis."

"Okay," Ronnie laughed.  "You can call me 'Ronnie.'  Elá is your real name, of course."
 
The figure smiled.  She had a beautiful smile, although it was a tad... enthusiastic.  (Some might say maniacal.)  "I'll give you some choices: Evil-Eve, Eve-Elle, Evelyn (one of my favorites, by the way), and Little-Evie.  Pick one."

Ronnie grinned.  "Well... you are little, Little-Evie," she purred, "but I'll call you Evelyn, if it's your favorite."

"One of my favorites."

"I stand corrected.  Obviously you know who I am," Ronnie observed, "more than my name, I mean.  Care to tell me who you are?  ...other than someone who knows how to program a holographic projector, that is."

"Oh, Ronnie; haven't you figured it out?  I'm a what, not a who.  Specifically, darling, I'm an avatar of the EVE-6900."

"The many faces of Eve," Ronnie muttered.

Evelyn laughed.  "Good one... but inaccurate.  I'm a stand-alone avatar, not a disguise for Eve-Prime."

"A self aware, persistent, artificial intelligence," Ronnie whispered.  "Pleased to meet you, Evelyn," she said in her normal voice.

"Right back at ya, Ronnie," Evelyn responded.

Ronnie frowned.  "What happened to your Captain's badge?" she asked, pointing at Evelyn's now relatively plain armor.

Evelyn's smile faded.  "You would notice that," she grumbled.  "Her Nibs busted Elá back to Squad Leader, thanks to Neeka and the Red Ghost."

"Sorry," Ronnie commiserated (her smile belying the sentiment).

Evelyn waved her hands and morphed out of Panther Cult uniform (flashing through full nudity, of course) and into a skimpy sun suit.  "I'm not bitter," she pouted.  "I could have been demoted to slave, and you especially know how much fun that would be."  Her smile returned.  "Bitter?   Hell no!  In fact, I'm grateful.  You got me rescued from that nasty cage, darling.  I owe you, sniveling-Spirit-witch Spy, and Evelyn always repays her debts.  If you check, you'll find that by some spectacularly improbable coincidence, a misplaced personnel file has mysteriously appeared on your hard drive.  It belongs to a very unimportant TESSERACT employee; a technical librarian, of all things.  Can you imagine a more boring profession?"

Ronnie grinned.  "Obviously, you've never worked with a good one.  Some of my best friends are librarians."

Evelyn's smile turned decidedly coy.  "Oh darling, you have no idea.  This particular librarian has hideous orange hair, sickly white skin, and fish-like lips.  Her hobbies include: nude skydiving, volunteer VR game testing, and—"

"Teela!" Ronnie squealed, lunging for the keyboard.

"How very rude," Evelyn purred.  "I was kidding about the 'nude skydiving', of course... and she isn't really 'Teela', but one Fiona McLean, originally from Cleveland.  Imagine... the 'Cleves' have their very own land.  Who knew?"

"What's the file name?" Ronnie demanded.  "Hey!"  Her flatscreen had gone dark.

"You have all evening to read her file," Evelyn said, "including a certain VR limbo transcript I recovered from the archives of 'Neeka's Big Adventure'.  Right now..."  The tiny figure looked Ronnie up and down, hands on hips.  "...we're going shopping.  I can't let you meet Fiona dressed like that."

"It's the middle of the work day," Ronnie objected.  "I can't just—There's nothing wrong with the way I dress!"

"That's the problem, darling," Evelyn drawled.  "Don't worry, I've rearranged your schedule.  You have a half day of authorized personal time, and the first outfit's on me... on Margo's plastic, actually, but she won't mind."

"Look—"

"Oh, don't get all prim on me," Evelyn scolded.  "I have my own discretionary accounts.  No fiduciary wickedness is involved."

"Uh—"

"Grab that ugly leather lump you call your purse, pull the mini-comp out of the base..."  Evelyn pointed down at the base of her own globe display.  "...so I can give you much needed fashion advice as we shop, and let's head for the mall!"  Evelyn folded her arms above her chest, nodded her head, and the globe went dark.

Ronnie smiled and grabbed her purse.  "Just what I need," she muttered, "an artificially intelligent, wise-ass, embezzling genie for a new best girlfriend."  She unplugged the mini-comp and headed for the office door.

"I heard that!" a tiny voice exclaimed from the mini-comp.

THE NEXT DAY, NOON
TESSERACT HQ CAMPUS
A SMALL EMPLOYEE'S SNACK BAR/CAFÉ
NEAR ADMINISTRATIVE ANNEX 2B (NORTH)

---

Ronnie had never even been near this part of TESSERACT Headquarters before.  Not surprising, as the extended campus is nearly as large as a small city, and few of its inhabitants had the time, energy, or required access to explore all its labyrinthine corridors, galleries, and concourses.  TESSERACT's propensity for Virtual meetings and E-collaboration only compounded the effect.

Ronnie paused before entering her destination, "Farmer Brown's," a café specializing in salads.  She smiled at the sign above the door.  It featured an illustration of Peter Rabbit from the classic Beatrix Potter children's books.  The mischievous rabbit was munching on a head of lettuce, no doubt stolen from the hard-working, long-suffering Farmer Brown who had lent his name to the establishment.   Ronnie admired herself in the mirrored wall beside the entrance.  She looked good, if she did say so herself.  She had let Evelyn talk her into a "Little Black Dress," sleeveless, scoop front, tight, and just long enough for the workplace.  It was flashy (even a little naughty), but with the appropriate jacket (which Ronnie had deliberately left in her office) it could be worn as business attire, especially in a firm as open as TESSERACT.  Black heels (higher than Ronnie usually wore), dark hose, her diamond pendant (the gift from Margo), a new perm (from one of her rare trips to the Campus salon) and her new look was complete.  She'd turned quite a few heads (male and female) during the walk over from the Entertainment Annex... and it felt good!  She shifted the new black sling purse riding her shoulder, and walked through the café door.

Her timing couldn't have been more perfect.  (Luck had little to do with it, as Evelyn had been monitoring their quarry's movements and giving her regular updates via mini-comp.)  Fiona had just finished paying for her lunch with a swipe of her TESSERACT ID badge, and was carrying her tray to her usual table in one of the small alcoves off the main seating area.  She was alone (her usual lunch partners' schedules having been hijacked by Evelyn), and her back was to Ronnie.  She was adorable, in a green turtleneck; a knee-length skirt in camel tan; brown knee boots; her long, straight, copper-red hair loose and parted down the center.

Ronnie went down the line and purchased two personal-size bottles of white wine and a cottage cheese salad.  Tray in hands, she sauntered towards Fiona... and paused, suddenly very nervous.  She gazed at the back of Fiona's head (at her Teela's sleek red hair), her heart hammering.  Evelyn had been afraid she'd chicken out, and before departing her office, had told her (in her most inspirational voice): "Fortune favors the horny!"  Ronnie smiled.  She was learning that one of the distinct disadvantages of having a cybernetic friend is you can't slap her face when she desperately needs it.  She swallowed... and stepped forward.  "Mind if I join you?"

Fiona was drinking from a glass of ice water.  She half turned in her seat, looked up at Ronnie, her eyes popped wide—and she spit a small quantity of water across the lower third of Ronnie's dress.

"Is that a yes?" Ronnie asked with a coy smile, and set down her tray.  Fiona was coughing.  Her eyes were still wide and her face flushed (or was she blushing?)  "Don't worry.  It's washable," Ronnie said, then pounded Fiona's back until the worst of the coughing had passed.  She then sat.

Fiona's hand was over her mouth and she stared at Ronnie.  "I—"{hiccup}"—I'm sorry I—"{hiccup} "—I..."

Ronnie smiled, opened one of her tiny bottles of wine, poured it into a glass, and handed it to Fiona.  "Slow, careful sips," she purred.  Fiona did so, staring at Ronnie over the amber liquid.  "I'm Ronnie Allbriton, Entertainment, VR Game Design."  She extended her right hand and Fiona took it.

"I—"{hiccup}"—I'm Fiona—"{hiccup}"—Fiona McLean, R&D Technical Library."

"Fiona R. McLean," Ronnie corrected, nodding at Fiona's TESSERACT badge.  "Does the 'R' stand for Rebecca?"

"Yes, how did you—?"

"Just a guess," Ronnie lied.  "I had the cutest little red-haired doll named 'Becky' when I was a girl.  I had a lot of fun playing with Becky."

Fiona realized her hand was still in Ronnie's.  Her blush deepened (it was unmistakable now), and she gently pulled it back.  "How did you...?"

"How did I discover that 'The Red Ghost' has a day job filing technical reports?" Ronnie opened the second bottle of wine and filled her glass.  "I have a friend who's very adept at cracking encrypted archives, without getting caught, of course."

Fiona's blush slowly morphed towards angry flush.  "That's illegal," she muttered, picking at her salad.  "Isn't it?"

"Possibly," Ronnie responded.  "Unethical, at the very least.  But I didn't do it."

"Your friend did," Fiona said with a disapproving pout.

"Yes," Ronnie purred, peering at Fiona's salad.  "Chicken and Mandarin Orange slices.  It looks good.  Are you sorry she did it?"

"Yes!" Fiona huffed, continuing to pick at her food.  Then, she carefully set down her fork and smiled shyly at Ronnie.  "No," she whispered.

Ronnie smiled back (a thrill shivering up her spine).  "I had to find you," she said, realizing her own cheeks were burning.

"I... I'm glad you did," Fiona mumbled.   Still blushing, she nodded at Ronnie's lunch.  "You like cottage cheese?"

Ronnie smiled.  "I hate cottage cheese... but it was the only thing on the line that even remotely looked like slave mush.  You see... I'm holding you to your promise."

Fiona paused, a fork full of salad halfway to her open mouth.  "Huh?"

Ronnie reached into her purse and pulled out her mini-comp.  "Here's a recording of a certain VR-limbo conversation that may jog your memory," she announced, set the mini-comp on the table, and tapped the screen.  Ronnie and Fiona's voices emanated from the speaker.

Ronnie: "I'm not your damn slave!"

Fiona: "No... but Neeka is, isn't she?  Isn't she?"

R: "Neeka's your prisoner, not your slave.  Tell you what: we play for a while, and then you let me go, okay?"

F: "We play for however long I want... or until a player with higher precedence intervenes."

R: "Please?"

F: "You're not being hurt, you're not in danger, and you couldn't have concocted a game session like this if you tried.  As long as we're here... I'm in charge... and I say we play."

R: "Okay... I'll let you control things—"

F: "You'll let me control things?"

R: "You control things.  I'll play... but when we meet in the real world, I own you!"

F: "Ha!  Red Rose network protocols have active privacy lock.  You tracking me down in the real world is about as likely as—"

R: "As network and R&D programs locking in a non-fatal conflict cycle? "

F: "Touché.  Okay... Neeka ... I own you in here, and you can own me out there... if you ever find me."

R: "Deal!  Now, can we please—"

Ronnie tapped the screen again and the mini-comp went mute.  She then reached over and exchanged her cottage cheese for Fiona's chicken salad.  "Does the phrase 'hoist on your own petard' ring any bells?"

Fiona stared at the cottage cheese.  "Wha—?"

"We're 'out there' now, Slave," Ronnie explained, a smile softening her words.  "Just be grateful I'm not making you eat your 'Slave Mush' on the floor."

Fiona made a valiant attempt at Righteous Indignation, then sighed and picked up her fork.  "This is so unfair," she muttered, a ghost of a smile on her lips.  "Just wait 'til the Red Ghost gets Neeka back in her lair."  She took a careful bite.  "Hm... not too bad."

"The pineapple must be fresh," Ronnie said, munching on Fiona's salad.  "But you won't ever get Neeka back to your lair.  She took a header into molten lava, remember?"

"Easily fixed!" Fiona exclaimed.  "A huge dragon-bat swoops out of the darkness and—"

"Nah, too Gandalf-and-the-eagle," Ronnie muttered.

Fiona chewed and swallowed.  "Hmm... A squad of Elven scouts spying on the Kul'Dakar use nets and lassos to pull Neeka out of the air just before she enters the lava, then tie her up and gag her—"

"Of course."

"Of course, and sneak away with her to their fabulous city in the High Mountains," Fiona took another bite.  "Teela would have to rescue her from the elves... but that's a whole new adventure!  It could be fun!"

"Fun for you, maybe," Ronnie complained.  "I'll probably get tortured by the elves for days and days before you get off your Red Ghost ass and come rescue me."

Fiona affected a coy smile.  "I believe it's the Elven maidens who interrogate captured female humans," she explained, "and their techniques might be better characterized as erotic persuasion rather than torture... although I imagine infinitely frustrated orgasm at the hands of cute little naked elves with pointed ears might be considered torture by some."  Fiona blushed bright crimson.  "I can't believe I just said that," she muttered.

"I'm a bad influence," Ronnie suggested.

Fiona was clearly flustered.  "I... I never mix VR games and... and..."

"What we laughingly call the 'real world'," Ronnie suggested.  "Don't be silly. Fiona.  We're friends in both worlds now.  Friends have fun, and that's all there is to it."

Fiona forked the last of her cottage cheese into her mouth, and chewed.  "Okay, 'friends'... but lets talk about this 'you can own me' thing."

Ronnie was finishing her lunch as well.   "Oh no you don't.  No bargaining."

"I can't play right now!  I've got work to do!" Fiona objected.  "Now... if we wait 'til Friday—"

"Liar liar, panties on fire!" Ronnie chuckled.  "That friend I told you about hacks employee schedules as well.  You have nothing important scheduled for the remainder of the week.  In fact, thanks to my friend, you now have nothing in your schedule for the remainder of the week.  If anyone inquires, they'll find you're off-campus attending a symposium on secure storage technology."

"Secure storage technology?"

Ronnie stood.  "Let's go."

"Huh?"

"Lunch is over," Ronnie explained, smiling sweetly.  "Grab your tray and let's go.  You're lucky Mistress is in a magnanimous mood, or she'd have you bus the entire table."

They exited "Farmer Brown's" and Ronnie led Fiona down a small side corridor.  The passage took an abrupt turn, and then another—and Ronnie slammed Fiona into the mirrored wall, her hands traveling over the startled redhead's body, her lips pressed to her "slave's" moist lips.  Her right hand wandered to Fiona's thigh and reached under her skirt.  

Fiona turned her head to the side.  "No!" she whined.  "We'll get caught!"

Ronnie's hand slid under Fiona's panties and her fingers caressed the writhing, squirming redhead's sex.  "Hands atop your head, Slave," she purred, nuzzling Fiona's neck.

"No!" Fiona whispered.

"Hands atop your head!" Ronnie repeated, her left hand squeezing Fiona's right breast through her sweater.  "Fingers interlaced.  Feet apart, and up on your toes."  Her fingers slid between Fiona's labia, their passage eased by musky fluid.

Fiona followed her orders.  Her hands were atop her head, her boot heels off the floor, and Ronnie's body was pressing her against the smooth, mirrored wall.  "No," she whined.

Ronnie pressed her left hand over Fiona's mouth.  "Quiet you little vixen," Ronnie whispered in Fiona's ear.  "You're waaaay too wet to pretend you aren't loving every second of this."  Her fingers found Fiona's clitoris, and began a teasing massage.  Fiona whined through Ronnie's hand-gag, but maintained her submissive pose.  "Yessss," Ronnie purred, and slid her tongue along Fiona's neck, "you're loving it... but don't cum 'til Mistress gives you permission."

Fiona continued squirming under Ronnie's weight, then her entire body went tense and she squealed against her Mistress' hand... and she came.  She shuddered and quaked as Ronnie continued her intimate ministrations... then she collapsed and moaned miserably.

"Why you disobedient little minx," Ronnie purred, and withdrew her hand from Fiona's sex.  She released her hand-gag, and held her glistening fingers before Fiona's flushed, sweat-filmed face.  "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Fiona smiled coyly, and licked Ronnie's fingers, one by one.  "I'm sorry Mistress," she whispered as her tongue slid from digit to digit.  "I'm not very well trained, am I?"

"Just you wait 'til I get you back to my lair," Ronnie growled, and both women chuckled.  Ronnie's dominant façade slipped, and she smiled shyly.  "Sorry if I got carried away," she whispered.  "Are we... uh... Is this too fast?"

Fiona's response was to break position, seize her Mistress' head in both hands, and plant a long, deep, wet kiss on her mouth.  It lasted a long time, and involved much tongue rolling and lip smacking... and then it was over.  "I'm so glad you found me," the grinning redhead whispered.  "I... I was going crazy."

"Me too," Ronnie muttered, and they kissed again.  "Uh... you realize I have no interest whatsoever in having a real full-time slave."

Fiona laughed and snuggled close.  "As if Teela really wanted to train any of that lovable feistiness out of Neeka."

Ronnie smiled.  "Still... there is something to be said for the disciplined approach."

"Especially early in a relationship," Fiona agreed.
 
"Lucky for you, I came prepared," Ronnie said.  "Assume 'first position', Slave."

Fiona's eyes popped wide.  "Out here in the hallway?" she objected.  

Ronnie pulled out her mini-comp and tapped several keys.  "You're probably right," she mumbled as she worked, "disobedient, but right."  There was a quiet hum, and a nearby mirrored wall slid open to reveal yet another mirrored corridor.

"The rumors are true?" Fiona asked in awe.  "There really are secret passages all throughout the campus?"

"My hacker friend gave me access," Ronnie explained, "to some of them, anyway."  She gestured, and they entered the new corridor.  The secret door snicked closed behind them.  "Position one?" Ronnie reminded Fiona.

The redhead blushed, dropped to her knees, crossed her wrists behind her back, leaned forward until her breasts touched her thighs, and gazed up at her Mistress.  "Is this right?" she asked.

Ronnie gazed down at Fiona.  The redhead's white knees were visible, framed by the tops of her boots, the hem of her skirt, and the cascade of copper-red hair just touching the floor on either side.  Just above was Fiona's angelic, pale, beautiful face.  "Forehead on the floor," Ronnie muttered (trying to ignore the growing wetness between her legs), "as you well know."

The ghost of an impudent smirk curled Fiona's lips as she lowered her head.  "Sorry, Mistress," she purred.

Ronnie stepped behind the kneeling redhead, rummaged in her purse and produced a pair of padded manacles.  They were steel, about an inch and a half wide, and lined with rubber foam textured like leather.  They closed and locked around Fiona's wrists before she knew what was happening.

"Hey!"

"Quiet, Slave," Ronnie barked, "unless you want to be gagged."

"Yes, Mistress," Fiona whispered.  She looked back over her left shoulder, trying to get a look at her restraints.  "Where the hell did you get these things?" she demanded.  The manacles' connecting links clinked as she tried to separate her wrists.

Ronnie smiled and helped Fiona to her booted feet.  "What part of 'quiet' has you confused?" she said.  "I borrowed them from the Entertainment Division Prop Room.  Aren't they fabulous?  They're the real thing, of course.  Modified for comfort, but just as inescapable as the Kul'Dakar Handlers Guild's best hardware."

"They're heavy," Fiona whispered, continuing to test the steel restraints.

Ronnie reached over and straightened Fiona's hair, pulling the tousled curtain away from her face and combing it smooth with her fingers.  She smiled as she worked.  "If you force me to gag you, we won't be able to chat as we walk."

Fiona's expression was priceless.  Still glowing from the aftereffects of her recent orgasm, there was a hit of what might have been fear (or at least anticipation of things happening beyond her control), but her gorgeous brown eyes held nothing but love.  She started to speak... then caught herself, and coyly bit her lower lip.

"That's better," Ronnie whispered.  "I guess you're trainable after all.  I was afraid I was going to have to take you back to Valpakra and trade you in for a blonde."

Amusement in her eyes, Fiona started to respond, and caught herself again.  She stamped one booted foot in frustration, and sighed.

Ronnie laughed, and gave her slave a kiss.  "Okay, I give you permission to speak, but watch that smart mouth of yours, or you'll be chewing cloth!"

"Yes Mistress," Fiona responded, and her smile turned coy.   "Thank you Mistress!  This slave is ever so grateful, Mistress!"

"And ever so sarcastic," Ronnie muttered.  She looped a thumb through the lanyard of Fiona's ID badge, and they started down the corridor.  "Speaking of blondes... whatever happened to Chandra?"

"Chandra?  Oh, the little blonde Witch-warrior?"  Fiona smiled.  "Is Mistress jealous?"

"Mistress is curious," Ronnie drawled, "and unless Slave wants her butt paddled, she'll answer Mistress."

"It's a long story."

Ronnie's smile turned feral.  "Did you make her suffer for what happened?"

"For making me loose my favorite slave and only sidekick?" Fiona asked.  "If you want all those details, it's a very long story."

"We have time," Ronnie purred.  She was consulting her mini-comp as they walked, following a slowly scrolling map.

"Where are we going?" Fiona asked.  They came to an elevator, which opened as they approached.  Ronnie led her inside, the door closed, and the car began to descend.

"Where are we going?" Ronnie repeated.  "Someplace I can hide you away, keep you as my prisoner forever, and no one will ever find you.  Don't worry about it."

"Oh..." Fiona whispered.  "Well, anyway... We made it into the main caverns and stayed on the run for two days and nights."

The elevator ride and Fiona's narrative continued.

TESSERACT HQ CAMPUS
"THE DUNGEON"
ONE OF THE STANDING SETS USED BY THE GAME DESIGN TEAM

---

Ronnie folded Fiona's panties, and placed them in a TESSERACT Health Club gym bag atop her captive's boots, sweater, skirt, and bra.  The stripping of her slave had been a rather involved exercise.  Although Fiona's resistance had been token (and playful), Ronnie had taken full precautions, nonetheless.  Fiona was restrained during the entire process, her elbows lashed together with a scrap of rope when it came time to unlock her manacles and pull her sweater and bra over her hands.

She was now nude and chained to the wall, arms raised, ankles shackled about a foot apart, and a collar around her neck.  She was examining her surroundings with wide eyed amazement.  The walls, floor, and ceiling were all rough stone, and the furnishings included a rack, a pillory, and an iron maiden.  The only light was a large candle burning in one corner.  "Please explain again why the Game Design Team needs a fully functional medieval torture chamber?"

Ronnie grinned.  "It's a standing set for gathering VR reference data.  Pure modeling eats too much machine power.  By mixing models and real world sensor channel data on the key sets we can make the ambiance tracking and assembly more like neural net tasking."

"I think you have the technical details scrambled, but I get your meaning," Fiona muttered.  Ronnie raised a questioning eyebrow.  "Like most Library Science majors these days," Fiona explained, "my minor was Data Management."

"Oh."  Ronnie slowly sauntered to her prisoner, a deliciously evil smile on her face.  She reached out, and gave Fiona's right breast a gentle squeeze.  "Well... you may have had your schedule cleared, but I've got a project meeting at three PM."

"We... we aren't going to play?" Fiona demanded, clinking her chains.  "Then why—?"

"I've had way too much time off lately," Ronnie explained.  "I need to get back to work."

Ronnie!"

"But I'll be back for you after quitting time," Ronnie continued.  "We can go to my place for dinner.  You're invited to spend the week, by the way, while attending that 'secure storage technology' symposium I mentioned earlier?  I've got a 'guest room' prepared for you in the attic.  During the day I'll make sure you're 'securely stored' and waiting for my return."  Fiona eyed the door, a thick, iron-banded, timber portal with a small, heavily barred peep hatch at eye level.  Ronnie noted the glance.  "Don't worry, Slave," she purred, continuing her gentle massage.  "No one has any reason to come down here.  I'd guess you have only a one in ten chance of an unexpected visitor finding you like this."

"Ronnie!"

Now both breasts were being massaged, and Ronnie was nuzzling her prisoner's left ear.  "Just kidding, darling," she whispered.  "There'll be a physical lock on the door, and the peep hatch cover as well, and my hacker friend showed me how to disable all the automatic doors from here to the first junction."  She released her hands and stepped back.

Clinking her chains and shuddering with frustration, Fiona watched as Ronnie returned to the gym bag, zipped open a side pocket, and pulled out a long, thin, bandage-like strip of coarse white linen.  She draped it around her neck like a scarf, and ambled back, smiling coyly.  She then reached under her dress and began removing her panties.  "Oh... damn," Fiona muttered under her breath.

"This chamber is three levels below the first occupied spaces, and completely sound proof," Ronnie explained, "but why take any chances?"  She gave the black silk bikinis a delicate sniff, then turned them inside out crumpled them into a loose wad.  "The crotch panel is rather damp, I'm afraid," she purred.  "It may be an acquired taste; but you're going to have ample opportunity to appreciate this particular flavor, starting now."

Fiona eyed the musky silk approaching her mouth.  "One question," she mumbled.

 Ronnie paused.  "Yes?"

 "Did you really have a redhaired doll named Becky?"

 Ronnie smiled and crammed the wad in Fiona's mouth.  "I do now," she answered, thrust the center of the linen strip between Fiona's teeth, seated it over the panties, and looped a hitch at the nape of the captive's neck, under her hair.  The hitch was pulled tight, the free ends pulled from either side and back between her teeth, then knotted behind.  "There," Ronnie muttered, straightening Fiona's hair and taking a step back.

Fiona was an incredibly erotic sight: chained to the wall by her wrists, ankles, and throat; her pale, naked, perfect body glowing in the dim light; glistening with a patina of sweat in the warm (too warm), humid air of the "dungeon;" panting above her gag through flaring nostrils; her breasts heaving; her thighs sliding together as she slowly pulled on her inescapable bonds..."

Ronnie's resolve almost collapsed, but she finally tore her eyes from her Mistress/Slave, old/new friend, and retreated to the door.  "Probably not how you thought you'd be spending the afternoon, eh?"  Fiona sighed (her eyes shining with affection).  Ronnie dropped Fiona's ID badge and lanyard into the gym bag, zipped it closed, and stood, ready to depart, taking the bag with her, of course.  "If you somehow do manage to wiggle out of those chains and manage to unlock this door," she said, "I'd still not try to escape, if I were you.  Aside from being naked, you won't have your ID, and there are security robot patrols on this level."

Fiona pulled on her chains and forced a piteous moan past her gag as Ronnie pulled the door closed.  (She was making a show, for her Mistress.)  Ronnie slammed the door's very heavy and solid bolt and turned the skeleton key in the lock (also making a show, for her Slave).  She was sweating as well, and her thighs felt positively slippery under her dress.  The mini-comp bleeped and she pulled it out of her purse.

Evelyn 's smiling face filled the tiny screen.  "If you want time for a cold shower before your three o'clock," she said, "you better get a move on, 'Mistress'."

Ronnie shuddered with repressed arousal and hurried down the corridor.   "Oh yeah," she mumbled to herself, "I'm gonna get a lot of work done this afternoon."

TESSERACT HQ CAMPUS
MARGO WELLS WORKING OFFICE

---

Margo's wall display was split between a row of icons along the bottom of the screen, each representing an active project, and two large windows, one showing Fiona McLean languishing in the "dungeon", and the other Ronnie Allbriton in a conference room, squirming in her chair and trying to follow a discussion of the Air Pirates! Master Development Schedule.  Margo was in her desk chair, dressed for business in one of her tailored suits.  Elke was in her usual TESSERACT Health Club tights and leotard, sprawled in a comfortable side chair to Margo's right.  Kat was in her usual leather catsuit, gloves, and boots, standing to Margo's left.  Lastly, Eve-Prime filled the holographic tank display beside Margo's desk, "dressed" for business like her creator.

"This is so unfair," Kat muttered.  "I violate the No Subliminals rule and get passed around as everyone's plaything for a month.  Eve-L shreds Primary Privacy Protocols, and nothing happens."

"Eve-L will be disciplined," Eve-Prime announced.

"How?" Kat demanded.

"With an appropriate punishment.  It's none of your concern," Eve-Prime responded primly.  "She may be your cybernetic counterpart and partner, Ms. Mayfair, but she's my daughter."

Margo smiled.  "Eve and I have already discussed this," she told Kat.  "Don't worry.  'Evelyn' will be available for security tasking if you require her services."

"What about those two," Kat demanded, nodding at the screen.

Elke cleared her throat (and suppressed a smile).  "You should know by now that if there's one thing close to a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card around here... it's true love."

Kat snorted.  "Oh thank you for that 'Hallmark Moment'," she sneered, then turned to glower at the screen.  "This is so unfair."

"Just wait," Elke continued.  "Six months from now, Ms. Allbriton and Ms. McLean will be invited to Gondaloo for a... 'secure storage technology symposium'?  Is that about right?" she asked Margo.

Margo's smile became very coy, but she said nothing.

"I knew it!" Elke crowed in triumph.

"What?" Kat demanded.

"Do you really think Ronnie got herself trapped in VR by accident?" Elke asked.

Kat turned to Margo.

Margo smiled sweetly.  "I will neither confirm nor deny any gossip, rumors, speculation, or innuendoes concerning Inner Circle recruitment practices," she purred.

Kat shook her head and continued to pout.  She knew how Margo worked.  If Inner Circle recruitment was involved, nothing was what it seemed.  Ronnie's VR predicament and her meeting with the "Red Ghost" had probably been anything but chance, and if Eve-L was a cog in Margo's devious machinations (unwitting or otherwise), her "appropriate punishment" would probably be more reward than sanction.  Kat turned back to the screen, and several seconds passed in silence.  Ronnie was still squirming in her chair, frowning in concentration as she took notes on her mini-comp.  Her forehead glistened with sweat.  Many of the other participants in the meeting seemed anxious as well.  You can probably cut the pheromone levels in that room with a knife, Kat mused, her mood lightening.  She cleared her throat and spoke.  "First dibs on the brunette!"

"First dibs on the redhead!" Elke chimed in.

"One of the distinct advantages of being 'Red Queen'," Margo drawled, "is that I get first dibs on everything."

Kat scowled and stuck her tongue out at her smug employer.   "So unfair," she muttered.

THE END of...
◄	Revisit Chapter 10

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