CATHERINE BELL *is* Ronnie Allbriton, Slave of the Kul D'Kar

Spellbinding Tales of Virtual Adventure!

When last we left Our Heroine, Ronnie Allbriton (TESSERACT Game Designer extraordinaire & Tae-bo Tart); she was trapped in Virtual Reality; had been captured by the cruel but fictional Kul'Dakar Amazons (the very same slave-holding (& handling) Ancient Warrior Culture Ronnie herself had helped create); accused of being a "Spirit-witch" & Spy; stripped, collared, bound & gagged, placed in the merciless "Water Horse" Torture Engine; & abandoned to contemplate her morning appointment with Kul'Dakar's Dread Queen!
Poor Ronnie!

The "Water Horse" began making a series of creaking, groaning sounds.  Ronnie braced herself.  This would be the third time since she had been placed in her current predicament that the torture engine would be putting her through what she knew was coming.  She surmised the water clock governing the operation of the diabolical device somehow was linked to a series of chainfalls, and every so often, perhaps once every hour was her best guess, the chainfalls became misaligned and the links began slipping against their gears.  Whether this was a design flaw or the mechanism was somehow resetting itself Ronnie could only guess; however, the process had a significant side effect: as the chains rattled and the gears spun, the wooden plank pressing against her sex with ever increasing force vibrated... continuously... for several minutes.

Poor Ronnie! Maybe it isn't a side effect or a design flaw, Ronnie mused. Maybe it's just one more intentional torment for the prisoner... for me.  One thing's for sure, it feels—ahhh!  The rattling had begun.  Ronnie bucked in her tight bonds, struggled against the tight, inescapable, white silk rope binding her wrists and elbows together behind her back and lashing her arms to her torso.  She twisted her ankles and iron collared neck in the implacable wooden grip of the pillory and stocks of the Water Horse, squirmed against the edge of the plank pressing against her loins, and mewed through the cloying gag of blue silk cleaving her mouth. 

Ronnie knew she should be deep in pain, in agony, but at some point the sensations being produced and mediated by the Virtual Reality system had bottomed out.  She was in discomfort, but nothing approaching what she would be experiencing if her situation were real.

Ronnie grimaced and shuddered in her bonds.  PainAgony?  The plank continued quivering and shaking as the chains rattled.  No... this isn't pain! she thought, and began grinding her hips.  Would she make it this time?  Would the rattling continue long enough for her to cum?  She was close... very close!  Ronnie pulled against her bonds with all her strength... and finally...  writhed in orgasm!

And then it was over.  Ronnie slumped in her bonds, slick with sweat and exhausted.  The rattling had stopped... at some point... and the echoing drip of the water clock was now the only sound in the dark, torch-lit dungeon, except for the creak of the engine as the pressure on her loins slowly increased, as her Virtual torture continued.

Ronnie sighed and resumed the hopeless task of escape.  Her fingers fluttered and groped, but the knots of her white silk bonds were still unreachable and tight.  Abandoned by her Amazon captors to the mercy of the Water Horse, Ronnie had had time to think.  Her initial fear, anger, and despair had slowly faded, replaced by resignation and (dare she even think it?) hope.  While she might be a historian and anthropologist and not a code jockey, Ronnie had nonetheless been deeply involved in game design for some time and knew at least some of the details of the technical aspects underlying her plight. 

Even if some massive network malfunction had trapped her in VR; even if she had accomplished the impossible and somehow crossed over into a different VR session; her current situation appeared to be stable, and every game is governed by rules, every session has settings.  She already knew she was in Ancient Kul'Dakar... but a Kul'Dakar subject to what parameters?   Pain hurt (after a fashion), but the rules of physics seemed to be more or less intact.  Combat feels like combat, that much is certain... and other things feel like they should, Ronnie mused, still panting from the aftereffects of orgasm.  The characters she had encountered thus far seemed to be more or less true to form, well within the cultural parameters Ronnie herself had crafted. 

Ronnie had spent considerable time in the Ancient city as well as the ruins of "Present Day" Kul'Dakar... as an observer.  Of course, what was now missing from one of her normal design sessions (besides clothes and freedom) was her ability to interface with the VR system, to control the adventure from the inside.  Ronnie had always been in control when visiting the Modern or Ancient Amazon City; had never allowed herself to be captured by anybody, that was for sure, even during full game run-throughs with her fellow designers.  This adventure was different.

'Adventure,' Ronnie mused.  When did I decide this was an 'adventure?'  

The Water Horse creaked and the sensation of increasing pressure registered.  Ronnie decided this meant she was in agony and began writhing in her bonds and moaning through her gag... then shook her head.  Session rules or game settings aside, she was succumbing to another effect of full VR, an effect that seemed to be especially strong in this enhanced, improved, SPHERUS-IV system.  I'm accommodating! she thought grimly.  In a situation that was this real, this much like the world waiting beyond VR, her mind was training itself to accept this version of reality.  Again Ronnie squirmed in her bonds.  She knew the longer she remained in this session, the more real it would become.  The requirement for suspension-of-disbelief, for her conscious mind to actively accept this version of reality... would fade... had already begun to fade.

Ronnie struggled in earnest.  She had to get free!  The "Accommodative Apperception Effect" wasn't dangerous.  She might be disoriented for a while when she finally did get out of VR... but in her current situation accommodation would be the icing on a very unpleasant cake. Being a slave of the Kul'Dakar Amazons might be a fantasy she had flirted with, but it was not a reality she wanted to liveThen Ronnie reflected on the full extent of her situation.  A thrill of despair coursed down her spine and settled like a lump in her empty stomach.  I'm not a slave, she remembered, I'm a State Prisoner and an accused spy!  If I don't get out of here...

Ronnie and her game design teammates had devised some really nasty methods of execution for the use of the Kul'Dakar.  Most of them utilized complex and elaborate torture devices, subjecting their victims to hideous, lingering deaths... and now Ronnie would be facing one of those devices... and she'd do so believing it was really happening!  Ronnie pulled and twisted on her bonds.  What will happen if I die in this session?  I have to get out of the city!

"She's beautiful—"
"—just like they said."

Double trouble! Ronnie opened her eyes.  Two young women were standing before her.  Both were in their late teens or early twenties, and were identical... identical twins.  They had long brown hair, blue eyes, and were short, but with tanned, lithe, athletic bodies.. and full breasts.  They were very beautiful.  One was dressed in the leather armor of a Hawk Cult Amazon and was armed with a long, thin, saber-like sword.  The other wore the iron collar and ragged loincloth of a slave (and nothing else.)

"Do you think she's really—"

"—probably, but how can you tell, 'cause—"

"—a Spirit-witch looks just like—"

"—any other foreign captive."

The twins were speaking together, interrupting and completing each others sentences. 
'Spirit-witch ,' Ronnie remembered.  That's what they called me when I tried to invoke User Privileges with spoken commands, when I tried to get the system to terminate the session.

"Oh, she sees us," the slave whispered to her Amazon twin.  The slave stepped forward and gently caressed Ronnie's left breast.  "I think we should keep her."

The Amazon used her gloved hand to tease Ronnie's right nipple.  "We'll get in trouble." she said, and turned to her nearly naked twin.  They locked eyes... and laughed.

"In trouble!" the slave twin gasped, and laughed again.  She then slowly ran her hand over Ronnie's well roped torso.  "I like her," she purred.  "They say you can whip a Spirit-witch as much as you want and she'll only mark a little... and it fades quickly... so you can start all over again!"

The Amazon took a step back and put her gloved hands on her leather armored hips.  She locked eyes with Ronnie.  "Maybe we'll find out," she purred.

The slave twin's hands left Ronnie's body and the nearly naked nymph stepped behind the Water Horse.  There was a series of clattering scraping noises, and Ronnie felt the pressure on her sex dissipate as the pillory and stocks holding her captive slowly lifted her off the plank and snapped into place with a final metallic ping.  The slave twin then methodically began unlocking the clamps holding Ronnie in her semi-suspended condition.

"We're taking you off the Horse," the Amazon twin announced, "but if you give us any trouble... you'll wish you were already with the Suffering Goddess in hell, understand?"

Ronnie nodded her gagged head as the twins began speaking in tandem again.

"We've decided to play with you tonight—"

"—even though—"

"—they'll punish us—"

"—but then they'll—"

"— forgive us—"

"—and then—"

"—we'll do something else."

"We always do."

Ronnie's gagged head turned from angelic face to angelic face as the twins babbled.  This game's Encounter parameters aren't zeroed out, she surmised. This could be my chance to escape!  Ronnie sighed and squirmed in her bonds. Whatever happens, it can't be worse that 'riding the Water Horse' all night... can it?

The twins were surprisingly strong, given their stature, and Ronnie soon found herself off the Horse and on her knees beside the now silent engine.  She was still helpless in her white silk bonds and still tightly gagged, but thankful that she was no longer being tortured... for the moment.  The slave twin used a frayed, ratty length of coarse hemp to hobble Ronnie's ankles as the Amazon twin snapped a leather leash to the "Spirit-witch's" collar.

The Amazon tugged on the leash and Ronnie struggled to her feet.  "We're Peela—"

"—and Pella," the slave added, then turned to her twin.  "Do me." she said. 

"Why do I have all the work and you get all the fun?"

"'Cause it's your turn to be Amazon.  Oh, do me, do me!" the slave twin begged.  "Pleeeease?"

The Amazon gave a long-suffering, theatrical sigh, tethered the free end of Ronnie's leash to the Water Horse, rummaged in the dungeon until she found more hemp, and tied her twin's slave collar to Ronnie's.

"More than that ," the slave complained, regarding her twin with disgust.

'Peela' and 'Pella,' Ronnie remembered.  But which one was which ?

The Amazon twin used more hemp to tie her twin's wrists and elbows behind her naked back.  Ronnie noticed how it made the now captive twin's breasts point.

"A gag," the slave twin begged.  "I want a gag."

The Amazon jerked off her twin's loincloth, tied an overhand knot in the middle, and gagged her with it.

"There!  Happy now?"

"M'mmpfh!" the slave twin mewed, nodding and smiling behind the tight knotted band of coarse undyed linen now cleaving her pouting lips. 

"She is such a slave," the Amazon twin confided to a very confused Ronnie, then led her coffle of two from the dungeon.
Trapped in Time-2 A SERIAL MELODRAMA
Immediately after exiting the Water Horse chamber Ronnie was dragged into a small alcove, the Amazon twin did something hidden from Ronnie's view along one wall, and a thick, camouflaged door set into the stonework silently opened.  The Amazon, Ronnie, and the slave twin entered the dark space revealed, and the door closed behind them.

Total, inky blackness...  Ronnie felt her mild claustrophobia asserting itself.  Her nostrils flared as she pulled in deep breaths of the chamber's cold still air into her lungs.  Ronnie twisted in her bonds.  I have to find a way back to the Spirit-witch Realm, she mused,  I mean Real World.  She pulled on her bound wrists in frustration.  I'm accommodating fast, she realized.  Must stay focused!  Real world.  I'm a historian and anthropologist, not a Spirit-witch.

Suddenly, a dim blue-green light winked to life.  The Amazon twin had a tiny glowing globe in her hand, apparently just removed from a small leather pouch she was tucking back into a purse on her belt.  The globe provided enough light to reveal their immediate surroundings, but was not a substitute for a torch (electric or otherwise.)  Glowing marbles? Ronnie wondered.  When did the Amazons get such magic?  ...I mean when did we design that

They were in a narrow passage with a high ceiling, the walls and floor rough, semi-dressed stone.  As her eyes adapted to the dark Ronnie could make out more detail, but nothing beyond the yard of pale illumination provided by the marble.  There was a tug on her leash and Ronnie shuffled forward.  Real world; real world; I'm not a Spirit-witch, she chanted in her mind.

The trio journeyed for some time in the dark, making several twists and turns and climbing several steep sets of stairs.  Ronnie heard voices echoing ahead and soon found herself above a large open space.  Ronnie and the twins were on a narrow bridge of stone flags, perhaps ten yards above the floor of the main chamber.  Ronnie looked down and found perhaps two dozen loincloth-clad slaves toiling below.  They were tending or harvesting palm-size brown mushrooms growing in troughs of black organic matter set in waist-high stone tables.  All or most of the mushroom farmers were in their early twenties.  Ronnie's nostrils flared again.  The chamber was warmer than the passages from which they had just emerged, and the air held a close, earthy fragrance.  The slaves below all wore the usual iron collar, but in addition, each had "glow-marbles" on thongs around their necks.

One of the slaves looked up as she hoisted a basket of mushrooms to her shoulder and noticed Ronnie and the twins.  "A mistress is come!" the slave announced, lowering her basket to the floor and and kneeling beside it.  The other slaves followed suit, stopping their tasks and kneeling, pressing their foreheads to the rough flags; all of the slaves but one.PATRICIA KALEMBER as Trustee-slave Meg   The slave that remained standing was older than the rest, in her late forties.  Her collar bore the engraving and badge of a Trustee, and she carried a wand tipped with a glow-marble.  Naked but for a loincloth, like the other slaves, the Trustee was very beautiful, her waist narrow, stomach flat, her arms and legs graceful and well toned, her features even, her eyes a pale color that seemed to glow in the eerie light of the many bobbing marbles around her; her long hair loose around her shoulders. 

The Trustee bowed low at the waist.  "How may we serve you, mistress?" she asked.

"It's the twins!" one of the kneeling slaves whispered.

"That means she's only half a mistress," another slave added, and several of the others giggled.

"I am not!" the Amazon twin shouted with a petulant pout.  "I'm a full mistress, but only half the time."

This statement was greeted by more giggles.

"Silence!" the Trustee barked.  "Tollie," she growled, pointing her wand at one of the slaves, "you've just volunteered to haul ten baskets of wet compost from the sewer pits."

"Meggie!" the slave whined.  From her voice she was the one who had made the "half a mistress" remark.  She had pale, fair skin, the lithe figure and small firm breasts of a dancer, long dark hair, and blue eyes set in a face of almost elven beauty.

"Don't 'Meggie' me," the Trustee growled, "and since you still don't know not to make disrespectful remarks about a mistress, you can gag yourself,LIV TYLER as *Princess* Tollie so you don't get yourself butchered by the first guard-mistress you meet, leaving my crew even more shorthanded.  You're not a Royal Princess any more, Tollie.  Get that through your thick skull."

Mumbling under her breath the kneeling slave removed her loincloth and wound it around her head and through her mouth twice, giving herself a tight cleave-gag.

"Tollie likes being punished," one of the other slaves whispered, eliciting more giggles from the others.

"You still get all the troublemakers, I see, Meg," the Amazon twin observed with a chuckle.

"Which is why I sometimes get you two," the Trustee said with a long-suffering sigh.  The twins and the kneeling slaves laughed, their mirth echoing from the damp stone walls.  Meg (Ronnie surmised that was the Trustee's name) locked eyes with Ronnie and sighed again.  "Playing with a State Prisoner?  Don't you two have any sense?"

"We won't lose her," the Amazon twin said with a pout, "and don't talk to me like that, Meg.  I'm not little anymore."

"You're not so big I can't paddle your bottom the next time they send you down here to me for punishment," Meg growled.  Her kneeling crew giggled (all except Tollie).  "Silence!" Meg barked.  Her eyes were still locked with Ronnie's.  "You, White Rope," she shouted.  "If you cause trouble for the Sacred Twins... Amazon justice will be the least of your worries!"

Ronnie noticed the kneeling slaves had raised their heads and were glaring at her... at her.   'Cause trouble?' she mused, twisting in her bonds.  How the hell can I 'cause trouble' for anybody?  There was a jerk on her leash and Ronnie was dragged towards a narrow, dark doorway at the other end of the stone bridge.  ' Sacred Twins,' Ronnie thought.  Where have I heard that before?

"Bye, Meg," the Amazon slave called.  "Bye, Princess Tollie."

Ronnie heard the tittering laughter of the slaves echoing behind her, then they were through the doorway and climbing another narrow, winding, circular staircase. 

"Tollie... of Meg's crew," the Amazon called over her shoulder in a loud whisper.  "We should play with her some time soon." 

"M'ruh!" the slave twin agreed, nodding her gagged head.

The staircase seemed endless.  They continued climbing... and climbing... and climbing ... until the calves of Ronnie's hobbled legs burned and she was panting through her gag.

'Sacred Twins,' Ronnie mused as she climbed, finally remembering where she had first heard the term.  The Design Team had a large, ever-growing database of characters to populate the Ancient City.  Generating encounters from pre-formatted character states required significantly less system resources than generating characters on-the-fly.  They were born in the City, Ronnie remembered, of a freshly caught slave who died during their delivery.  The Queen adopted them and they're considered the living embodiment of the Amazon/slave dichotomy... and therefore 'Sacred.'  They trade roles.  Amazon and slave one day, slave and Amazon the next.  They're wards of the City, and everyone spoils them, Amazon and slave alike.  Warlock-scholar Dan designed them... or was it Pat?   Ronnie could almost feel her memories of the Spirit-witch Realm draining away, as the Warding Magic of Kul'Dakar worked on her mind.  I'm a Spirit-witch! Ronnie reminded herself.  Spirit-witch—not a slave!  Spirit-witch—not a slave!

Finally, they came to yet another straight lightless corridor.  "I'll go see if the coast is clear," the Amazon twin announced, threaded the thong attached to her glow-marble through the ring in the front of her bound and gagged twin's collar.  "Have to make sure one of my Oath Sisters isn't guarding the junction ahead," she explained to Ronnie with a sly smirk.  "We don't want anyone to catch us rescuing you... now do we?"  And then she disappeared.

Ronnie eyed the darkness before her, then turned to face the slave-twin.  This might be my chance to escape!  Ronnie twisted in her bonds, eyeing the knot on the hemp rope joining her collar to the slave twin's.  If only I can—"M'MMPFH!"

Despite having her wrists and elbows bound behind her back the slave twin had somehow managed to execute a takedown, tripping Ronnie onto her back and landing on her "fellow captive's" stomach.  Naked flesh slid over naked flesh and Ronnie found a shin pinning her throat, a knee pressed against her crotch, and the twin's bound hands clutching a pair of the white silk strands criss-crossing her torso.

The slave twin slid her leg to the side, away from Ronnie's throat, then leaned close until her linen gag was inches from Ronnie's silk gag.  The rough hemp joining their collars hung limply to the side.  The glow-marble dangled midway between their faces.  The twin's long brown hair settled to either side of Ronnie's face, trapping and reflecting the blue-green light of the marble like the walls of a silk tent. Their equally full breasts pressed lightly together, erect nipples sliding against one another as the naked, bound opponents breathed through their gags.  Blue eyes locked with brown eyes.  The twin had a superior smirk on her face.  Ronnie gasped when her bound captor ground her knee in Ronnie's crotch, using her grip on Ronnie's bonds to maintain their close, intimate contact.

Ronnie blushed, embarrassed by the twin's actions and the ease with which she was being handled. I wonder if there's a Naked, Bound, and Gagged Tae-bo class I can sign up for back in the Spirit-witch Realm, she mused, to learn how to counter situations like this.  She then grimaced and mewed through her gag when the twin slid her leg up Ronnie's thigh and used her toes to tickle Ronnie's rope framed loins.

Ronnie growled and twisted to the side, rolling in her bonds and the twin's continued hold until she was on top.  Ronnie's more stringent bonds and especially her hobbled ankles made the wrestling match decidedly uneven, and she suspected from the twin's continuing gagged smile that she had been allowed to reverse their positions.  Ronnie screamed through her gag and twisted in her bonds in frustration.  It was infuriating (and, she had to admit, a little exciting) to be roped to this smug, naked, randy youngster.

Suddenly, a gloved hand clutched Ronnie by the hair and she was hauled to her feet.  The Amazon twin had returned.  Ronnie mewed in alarm when steel flashed and a small leaf-shaped blade was held to her throat.  "That was very foolish," the Amazon twin purred.  "Now we get to punish you."


Ronnie and the Amazon looked down to find the slave twin smiling behind her gag and shaking her head.

"Only playing?" the Amazon asked, then sighed when her twin nodded.  The Amazon gave her twin a good-natured kick with one booted foot and sheathed her knife.  "Maybe I should punish you," she growled, a grin belying her anger.

The slave-twin giggled through her gag and gracefully rose to her feet.  The Amazon nodded ahead and her "helpless" twin took the lead.  The hemp linking their collars snapped taut and Ronnie followed, pulled and pushed forward, the Amazon twin's fist still clutching her hair.
Trapped in Time-2 A SERIAL MELODRAMA
They passed through a circular chamber with several arched doorways.  Ronnie caught a glimpse of other passages and staircases, then she was hustled though one of the arches and down a long corridor.  There was a pause as the Amazon twin stepped forward and opened a heavy door.

Ronnie blinked in the sudden sunlight.  They were on the huge, expansive roof of Valpakra.  She had a quick impression of stone watchtowers, several distant wooden posts and frames (some of which were occupied by naked slaves tied in various positions), and the silhouette a very large bird swooping across the sun... then she was hustled through a double set of gauzy curtains into a large courtyard with high walls. 

Kul*Dakar Hawk Cavalry Trooper*s Helm The courtyard was in two levels, and was covered by a canopy of translucent cloth strung between poles set in the wall.  It glowed in the afternoon sun with many colors.  More than two thirds of the courtyard, most of the lower portion, was given over to athletics, the Kul'Dakar version of athletics.  There was a wide circular sand-pit for wrestling and weapons practice; a wooden rack of helmets, shields, swords, knives, sabers, axes, spears, and various pole arms;Kul*Dakar Panther Cult Sword another rack with many different styles of bow and quivers of arrows, as well as javelins, throwing axes, and slings; and yet a third rack with coils of rope, whips, stiff lassos, hemp nets, noose-poles, and clubs. Close-in weapons, missile weapons, and the tools of slave capture, Ronnie noted. Everything a Kul'Dakar Amazon needs to hone her skills.  The courtyard also had several wooden posts and frames with dangling restraints; as well as chains with manacles, shackles, and collars set in the wall in several places; some dangling from near the top, some coiled like steel serpents at the base.  Off in one corner there was a low stone table and a sunken circular pool of steaming water.

 The upper courtyard was shielded by a heavier canopy.  At the rear Ronnie could see a doorway leading into another room.  At the front was a low table with one side flush with the lip of the drop-off separating the two levels.  Radiating from the table were several pallets of folded cloth, the "traditional" Amazon arrangement for reclined dining.  Apparently the twins and their guests liked to take their meals with a good view of the exercise yard.   Not unexpected, Ronnie mused.  The Kul'Dakar considered weapons drill, wrestling, and demonstrations of slave handling to be the height of entertainment.

Ronnie was hustled across the exercise yard to the edge of the platform and turned to face the empty table.  The upper level was shoulder height for the bound captive, the surface of the table at the level of her eyes.  The Amazon knelt and retied Ronnie's hobble as tight ankle-to-ankle bonds, then stood and untied her twin's wrists and elbows and the rope linking her to Ronnie's collar.  The slave ungagged herself and tossed the knotted cloth aside, then used her former bonds to bind Ronnie's legs above and below the knees and around her shins and calves, using running hitches from knee bonds to ankle bonds to keep the shin bondage from slipping.  Ronnie looked down and squirmed in place, testing her new bindings.  The tight, rough, hemp bands and hitched strands bit into her tan toned legs, dimpling her flesh.

Meanwhile, the Amazon had made a trip to the slave-handling equipment and returned with a stiff lasso of glossy braided hair (the hair of slaves, Ronnie suspected.)  She tossed the lasso to her naked twin, who leaped onto the platform, vaulted upwards, and grabbed one of the horizontal poles supporting the canopy.  Holding onto the pole with one hand, she threaded the free end of the lasso through an iron ring set in the pole (directly over Ronnie's head, she noted with a nervous gulp), pulled half the lasso through the ring, then dropped the braided coils.Kul*Dakar Coffle Drover*s Whip

They fell towards Ronnie's head and she flinched, then blinked when she opened her eyes and found the Amazon had caught the stiff coils before they struck.  Both twins laughed, then the naked twin swung herself on the pole, let go... executed a twisting somersault ... and landed next to Ronnie.  She then walked to the side and returned with a small clay pot.  It was more or less spherical, with a slightly flattened base and a thick rim, and looked as if it might hold about two liters.  The pot was overturned and placed on the stone flags at Ronnie's feet.

As Ronnie looked down at the pot, the Amazon slipped the noose of the lasso over Ronnie's head and pulled it tight.  Before Ronnie could react to the noose, the slave twin lifted Ronnie and placed her bound feet on the pot.  Simultaneously, the Amazon twin pulled in the slack on the lasso until Ronnie found herself balancing on the small rough clay pot with her neck in a tight taut noose.  The Amazon stepped to the side, threaded the free end of the lasso through an iron ring set in the base wall of the platform.

Ronnie mewed through her gag in alarm as the Amazon hauled on the lasso until the captive had no choice but to go up on her toes.  Ronnie's bound feet danced on the rough surface of the pot as the Amazon tied off the taut line of braided slave hair with an elegant hitch.  Ronnie mewed in alarm again and her eyes went wide when the pot slip a fraction of an inch on the rough stone and she almost lost her balance.

"Better not do that," the naked twin suggested with a gloating smile.  Both twins were regarding Ronnie with sadistic delight.

"Better not move—"

"—'cause if you hang yourself—"

"—we won't help you—"

"—'cause it'll be—"

"—the will—"

"—of the gods."

The twins began running their hands over Ronnie's body.  The totally helpless captive stood rigid in her bonds, balancing precariously on her aching toes, grimacing in distress.

"She's strong," one of her tormentors stated.

"She'll last a long time," the other agreed.

Ronnie whined when a finger parted her labia and slid into her sex.

"She's wet," the owner of the finger observed, "very wet."

"Natural slave, " the twins chanted in unison, then laughed and stepped away, leaving Ronnie teetering atop the small round pot.
Trapped in Time-2 A SERIAL MELODRAMA
Ronnie's cheeks burned.  'Natural slave?' she fumed, twisting in her bonds.  I'm a Spirit-witch, she reminded herself, and not a slave of any kind.  The noose was taut around her throat.  Ronnie could still breath; but her toes were really starting to ache.  How long before they give out?

The twins had disappeared through the doorway.  Ronnie heard buckles rattling and a low conversation, punctuated by giggling laughter.  They're changing clothes... or possibly getting dressed in the case of the slave twin , Ronnie surmised, ... while I stand out here and try not to hang myself .  A thrill of despair (and arousal) coursed through Ronnie's captive body as she tested her bonds for what felt like the millionth time.  She sighed through her gag. Maybe... maybe I am a natural slave , she thought.  Can't I be a Spirit-witch and a natural slave?  She then set her aching jaw.  Whatever I am, it doesn't mean I can't kick some Amazon butt when I get free!

The twins emerged from the back room.  They were now identically dressed in short, thin, gauzy, linen robes of a deep burnt umber.  The robes were elaborately embroidered in gold and silver thread with pictoglyphs of the Hawk, Panther, and Slave goddesses, the Sacred Trinity of the Kul'Dakar pantheon.  The twins came closer and Ronnie could see that the robes weren't quite identical.  One twin's robe had silver Hawks and golden Panthers, the other golden Hawks and silver Panthers.  Both depicted the Slave goddess using thread of the same color as the robes, but with gold and silver collar and chains.  Under the translucent robes both twins were nude.  Their feet were bare, and their hair pulled back, coiled, and clipped.

"Not dead yet," one twin observed, regarding Ronnie with a gloating smile.

"She'll last," the other said, mirroring her twin's sadistic glee.  "She'll be fun all night."

Ronnie teetered on her precarious perch and moaned through her gag.  All night?  I can't do this all night!  Her feet and toes were starting to cramp!  Will I ever see the Spirit-witch Realm again?

Meanwhile, the twins were carrying platters of food and jugs of wine to the table.  A veritable feast was arranged before Ronnie's gagged face... and she felt her stomach rumble.  Roasted meats and fowl, beans, rice, various tubers, vegetables and fruits...  Ronnie didn't think she had any more saliva left after all these hours of being gagged, but she was wrong.

Kul*Dakar Pitcher (Dream Feather Motif) The twins reclined on dining pallets and began to eat.  One poured syrupy wine into thick-walled tumblers of green glass.  The other cut the wine with water from a chilled moisture dripping jug.

Ronnie's stomach growled again, so loud she was sure her tormentors could hear it.

One twin reached for Ronnie's gag, tugging at the knot behind her head.  The other twin took a swig of wine and spoke.  "If you speak one word of Spirit-witchery, we'll sew your mouth shut on a live pit-spider, understand?"

Ronnie nodded.  "Yes, mistress," she croaked when the hated gag finally came away.  She swallowed, feeling the stiff tight noose around her throat.

"Do not hang yourself," the twin ordered.  "Pray to the Suffering Goddess for strength if you must."

Ronnie's toes felt like they were on fire.  "Yes, mistress," she muttered.

The twins laughed and one held a glass of watered wine to Ronnie's lips.

"I told you she was 'natural'," one twin purred.

"I told you," the other objected, and they laughed again.

Ronnie was too busy enjoying the wine to care.  The glass was pulled away and the other twin thrust a bamboo skewer with a small glob of succulent juicy red meat to Ronnie's lips.  Ronnie grabbed the meat with her teeth, chewed, and swallowed.

"What's your name, Spirit-witch?" one twin asked.

"Ronnie," the hungry captive answered.  "My name is Veronica, mistress."

The twins giggled, and one fed Ronnie a slice of melon.  "'V'Rah-necka'" the twin quoted.  "What a silly name."

"Silly," the other agreed.  "It doesn't mean anything.  'Peela,' my name, means 'bird'—"

"—and 'Pella,' my name, means 'bat'—"

"—in the Old Tongue."

The twins chewed and considered their prisoner.  Finally, one twin (Ronnie was already confused again as to which was Peela and which was Pella) reached out and ran her fingers through Ronnie's short straight hair.

"We give you the slave name Neeka—"

"—short for 'Vehr Roneeka'—"

"—which is 'smooth brown squirrel'—"

"—in the Old Tongue."

Ronnie blushed.  It was humiliating to be the plaything of these nymphs... humiliating and exciting.  "Neeka" squirmed in her bonds and ate what tidbits her mistresses fed her through the rest of the meal.
Trapped in Time-2 A SERIAL MELODRAMA
After the meal one twin cleared the table.  The other untied Ronnie's ankles and leg bonds, freed the lasso from the ring overhead, but did not pull the noose from around Ronnie's throat.  She used it as a leash to lead Ronnie towards the exercise pit, stopping at the slave-handling rack on the way.

Ronnie watched nervously as the twin ran her hand over several carefully oiled and neatly coiled whips, finally selecting one of the shorter thinner bullwhips.  The stiff braided leather tapered to a pair of leaf-shaped ends.  Ronnie started to say something, but kept silent when the twin held one of her slender, strong fingers to Ronnie's lips.

"Not a single word," the twin admonished, obviously enjoying her prisoner's distress.  "The fear in your eyes is like lotus tea sweetened with honey, Neeka," the twin purred, running her hand over Ronnie's flat stomach.  She then cupped Ronnie's sex, leaned close, and kissed her captive's startled lips.

The twin's tongue slid into her mouth and entwined with Ronnie's own.  Despite herself Ronnie leaned forward and returned the kiss with gusto, thrusting her loins against the twin's palm.  Then Ronnie's eyes shot wide in surprise as the second twin's body pressed against her back, the new arrival's hands caressing Ronnie's right breast and left buttocks.  The bound prisoner squirmed in humiliation, distress... and delight , surrendering herself to her captors, continuing to kiss the one, sliding her naked, bound body against the other.

Suddenly both twins pulled back, and laughed.

"Neeka is a slut-monkey!"

"Lucky Neeka is bound—"

"—or Neeka would rape us!"

Ronnie blushed furiously.  She hung her head... then yelped when her lasso leash snapped taut and she was dragged towards a pair of vertical wooden posts set in the stone floor near the exercise pit.  A long pole stretched horizontally between the posts, its ends resting in long vertical slots cut through the posts.  The pole was hardwood, about an inch and a half thick, and Ronnie could see scratches and indentations in the center section.  They looked like—

"Bite it, slave," one of the twins ordered.

—teeth marks.  Ronnie sighed and complied.  Thin cord whipped around her head and the pole, then tightened.  Ronnie grimaced as more and more windings encircled the pole and passed behind her neck, left to right— tug, right to left—tug, repeated many times.  Finally, the cord bands were cinched on either side, tightening the lashings even further.

The twins stepped to the side, one to either post, and Ronnie mewed through her new gag as the pole was lifted until once again she was up on her increasingly sore toes.  Ronnie's eyes darted to either side but her peripheral vision was severely restricted.  She heard and felt rather than watched as the twins locked the pole in position with lashings of stout rope. 

One twin stepped in front and uncoiled the bullwhip she had brought from the rack.  The other stepped behind and began untying Ronnie's rope bonds.  The tight white silk bands seemed to melt, and for the first time in many hours Ronnie was free... free but for the bit-gag holding her between the posts.  She rubbed her wrists and elbows, twisted, and stretched.

"Grab the pole," the twin with the whip ordered.  Ronnie eyed the whip and complied.  "Would you like to be whipped, Neeka?" the twin asked.

Ronnie mewed through the pole cleaving her mouth.  She couldn't move her head enough to shake or nod!

"I know you're not trained, but the correct answer, of course, is:  'Whatever may please my mistress,'" the twin purred.  "Blink your eyes if that is your answer."

 If she was disrespectful Ronnie suspected she would be whipped.  If she blinked... she might be whipped.  Better they should think I'm a docile slave, Ronnie decided, and deliberately blinked her eyes several times.

The twin before her laughed, coiled the whip... and tossed it aside.  Ronnie sighed behind her gag, and both twins laughed.

The twin behind stepped through the bar and grasped Ronnie's left hand, pulling it from the bar.  Her twin stepped forward and took Ronnie's right hand.

The twin on the left smiled and licked Ronnie's left palm.  Ronnie shivered in disgust (or was it that devilish delight again?)  Ronnie's unresisting hand was placed on her own left breast and her fingers on her embarrassingly erect nipple.  "You are to play with your nipples and slave-udders until I tell you to stop," the twin whispered.

The twin on the right licked Ronnie's right palm and guided it to the captive's sex.  "And you are to play with your slave-twat until I tell you to stop," she whispered.  "If you stop... I will whip you."

"And if you cum, I will whip you."

"Feel free to use all that drool—"

"—pooling in your mouth—"

"—and dripping down your chin—"

"—to lubricate your hands."

Ronnie grimaced miserably.  Once again her face was burning.  She slowly massaged her nipples and fingered her labia.  Ronnie groaned in embarrassment.  Lubricating her right hand would not be an issue.

"Don't worry about your gag-cord," the twin on the left said, pulling off her robe and draping it over the post."

"No slave can untie Amazon knots," the right twin said, also disrobing, "not tied in binding-cord."

Ronnie's hands continued exploring her body as the twins shared a small jug of aromatic oil and slathered the thick clear fluid over each other's limbs and torsos.  Ronnie's nostrils flared.  The oil had a complex musky odor, with a high note of jasmine.  The writhing captive watched as her nude glistening tormentors stepped onto the sand of the exercise pit.

Wrestling practice, Ronnie surmised, her hands continuing to slowly caress her breasts and sex.

The twins faced each other, extended both hands, palms raised as if in greeting.  They slapped their hands together and then with one another, once... twice... and on the third slap their hands gripped and they began to wrestle.  Evenly matched in strength, agility, and skill (of course), the match was more an isometric workout than a battle.  Minutes passed as the twins strained and pulled, neither gaining advantage.  Muscles straining and cording, arms sliding on torsos, legs braced back or sliding forward to attempt a takedown, the struggle continued.

All three, Ronnie and both twins, were breathing heavily; Ronnie through her gag; the twins through open mouths and flaring nostrils as they grappled and strained.  All three were also beginning to sweat; the twins perspiration mixing with the scented oil, making their strong young bodies slick as glass; Ronnie's sweat stinging her eyes and mixing with the drool dripping onto her breasts as her hands roamed over her toned, tan, glistening torso.

I... I can't allow myself to cum! Ronnie groaned miserably.  Her helpless plight, the teasing cruelty of her nymph-like captors, the spectacle of their naked perfect bodies writhing and straining, their oiled limbs and torsos sliding and entwining, their muscular backs and tight buttocks, their bobbing breasts; glistening shoulders...  Nooooo !  "Ahhhh!"   Ronnie moaned through her gag, shuddering and shaking in the throes of orgasm.  She grabbed the pole with both hands and arched her back, thrusting her hips forward, ignoring her aching toes, ignoring her sore jaws... and it went on and on and on...

And then it was over.  Ronnie opened her eyes to find the twins standing before her, panting, glistening with sweat and oil; hungry evil smiles on their full flushed pouting lips; their pale blue eyes shining with sadistic pleasure.

"You stopped, Neeka," one observed.

"You came, Neeka," the other accused.

"You are disobedient, Neeka," they said together, then both twins embraced Ronnie, sliding their hot slippery bodies against Ronnie as the captive shuddered and mewed. 

"You make us very happy, Neeka—"

"—because now we may punish you—"

"—without breaking the Covenant—"

"—of the goddesses."

One twin stepped away and returned with the whip.  Ronnie's blood ran cold, and she moaned in despair.

"Her big brown eyes are so pretty when she is in slave-terror," the twin without the whip observed.

The twin with the whip gave it a preliminary expert crack, and addressed her victim.  "If you let go of the bar, Neeka, we will bind you in place—"

"—paint your body with warm nettle-oil—"

"—and whip you again—"

"—from the beginning."

Ronnie grimaced and whined, trying to prepare herself for the ordeal to come.  Oh Slave-goddess, she prayed, lend me thy strength that I may endure.  Oh Hawk and Panther, accept my gift of pain! Trapped in VR, her mind lost in fantasy, Ronnie braced for the first stroke of what to her was an all too real whip, wielded by an all too real (albeit very cute) torturer.
This bites!!!  (FotoFake by Courier (mostly))

Poor Ronnie!

Has she lost all knowledge of her true origin?
Will her Spirit-witch powers ever return?
Why must the twins be so cruel?
Will the Slave Goddess grant Ronnie the strength to endure?
Where can I buy stock in TESSERACT?
Is this truly...
THE END of Trapped in Time?

In a word... NO!
Ronnie's Virtual Adventure continues...
(...& we get to watch! )
... Stay Tuned for the NEXT thrilling episode of...
Spellbinding Tales of Virtual Adventure!
Revisit Chapter 1