DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A SERIAL MELODRAMA by Van © 2002

When last we left Our Heroine, Ronnie Allbriton (TESSERACT Game Designer & Tae-bo Tart); she was trapped in Virtual Reality, had lost all memory of the "real world"; had been captured by the cruel but fictional Kul'Dakar Amazons (the Ancient Warrior Culture she herself helped invent); accused of being a "Spirit-witch" & Spy; "stolen" & "entertained" by the "Sacred Twins" (who nick-named her "Neeka"); sentenced by the Kul'Dakar's Dread Queen to be BURIED ALIVE in the Caverns of Kor; & then was RESCUED (dare we hope?) by a BEAUTIFUL, MYSTERIOUS, RED-HAIRED MAIDEN!!!

Ronnie passed in and out of consciousness.  For brief periods, never more than a fleeting handful of seconds, all of her senses would be crystal clear and she would find herself in full control of her body, or would have if she hadn't continually found herself bound and gagged.

Her hands were consistently folded across the small of her back and her wrists bound and anchored to thick bands of rope encircling her upper body above and below her breasts, pinning her arms to her sides and locking her elbows.  Other details varied.  Sometimes her knees and ankles were bound tightly together, and sometimes she was merely hobbled.  Sometimes her gag was a short stick of wood bound between her teeth with what felt like either thin cord or a leather thong; and sometimes her mouth was packed with something soft and supple, and wide bands of chamois-soft leather tightly encircled and compressed her lower face from nose to chin.  Sometimes she was walking behind her rescuer (or as seemed increasingly probable, her new captor), a leather leash linking her slave collar to the striding redhead's left hand.  Sometimes she was hog-tied, or bound to a convenient boulder, and once she found herself in a excruciatingly tight ball-tie!  There was one more consistency: when her bonds were most stringent, so was her gag.

The settings varied.  She found herself stumbling down dark tunnels.  (Was she still in the Caverns of Kor?)  Other times she was on a jungle trail.  Once she found herself hogtied near a small campfire under a night sky filled with countless stars.  Another time she was bound hand and foot in the bottom of a dugout canoe, with the sound of water lapping the sides and vine draped tree limbs passing slowly overhead.  The time she found herself in the ball-tie she was suspended in a net of vines, high in the canopy of a giant tree.  It was either dawn or twilight, and she could hear animals (the grunts, growls, and snuffling noises of several apparently very large animals) on the jungle floor far below.

She was always naked (of course), and the Queen's collar was still fused around her throat, but her thirst was gone, and her stomach was full (usually), and while her arms and jaw ached... she was not in pain.  Clearly, she was being cared for, and she was on a journey... a long journey.

Her trail companion... she finally admitted it to herself... her captor, was the redhead, the fair-skinned incredibly beautiful woman who had rescued her from her tomb, from her date with the bone beetles of Kor.  The redhead wore nothing but a harness of narrow straps, a loincloth, and a bandeau.  The costume (what there was of it) was gray leather, with an exotic pebbled texture, like the skin of the giant lizard Ronnie had seen in the caverns, before the freshly killed reptile's skin had begun to fade.  The redhead was armed with short sword, bow and quiver, and a stout spear.  A leather satchel, bedroll, and two coils of climbing rope completed her equipment.  Her feet were bare.  She moved like a warrior, her lithe, incredibly pale and perfect body graceful as a dancer... or a jungle cat... or a stooping eagle.

Was she Kul'Dakar?  Ronnie saw no badges of rank or cult membership, but her weapons were Amazon issue.  She's probably not Kul'Dakar, Ronnie decided, but the Amazons have no allies, only tributary states and neighbors not yet ripe for conquest... so who is she?  And why am I her prisoner?

The redhead never spoke, never even seemed to notice when Ronnie was alert.   Where are we going?  Where is she taking me?  And once again... as always... the world faded and all was blackness.

Ronnie opened her eyes.  She was in a vast, magnificent cavern.  Giant stalactites and stalagmites surrounded her on all sides, some glowing blue with natural phosphoresence and others a soft green from countless bioluminescent bracket fungi clinging to the sides of the wet, dripping, monumental columns and posts.  The ceiling was far, far overhead.  The natural surroundings made it difficult to precisely judge the scale of things, but the nearest wall was probably more than a hundred yards away, and the ceiling... too far to even guess.

Ronnie was semi-reclined on her back, near one edge of a large, roughly circular slab of limestone.  Her nude body was cushioned by layer upon layer of animal pelts, some striped or spotted in black and dark tan, but most a uniform, lustrous black.  Mixed with the furs were numerous silk cloaks, the standard issue black camouflage the Kul'Dakar wore over their armor during night attacks.   The fur and silk was luxuriously soft and comfortable against her naked skin.  Ronnie's head, back, and upraised arms were supported by a slightly upwards sloping section of the slab, and she was bound, gagged, and helpless.

What else is new? Ronnie sighed.

Her wrists were locked in steel manacles, her ankles in similar shackles.  The cuffs were thick-walled and wide, and fit quite snugly.  They were heavy, but their inner surfaces were burnished smooth, and all their edges well rounded.  The long chains were strong enough to restrain a sabertooth, the links smooth and large and thick.  

Ronnie was in a relaxed spread-eagle, her languidly sprawled legs granted the most slack.  Her gag was something soft and roughly spherical, perhaps a ball of leather.  A cleaving strap kept it in her mouth.

Not bad as restraints go, the prisoner reflected.  More comfortable than the Kul'Dakar ...  She tugged on her chains and examined the tiny keyhole slots in her manacles.  .... but just as inescapable .  Ronnie worked her jaw and tossed her head.  Despite its relative comfort the gag was nonetheless efficient and secure.

Ronnie lifted her head and scanned her surroundings in greater detail.  There was a veritable armory off to one side, tucked between two stalagmites.  Swords and sabers, axes and maces, spears and javelins by the dozen were neatly stacked, bundled, or standing in baskets.  Several bows and quivers dangled from a wooden rack.  Behind were several tight bundles of a hundred or more arrows each.  A second rack held several sets of Kul'Dakar armor.  Ronnie recognized the arms and accouterments of virtually every Kul'Dakar cult and discipline, from the heavy plate, lance, and saber of a Cave Lion Trooper to the light mail, leather harness, rapier, and recurved bow of a Hawk-rider.

Another area was set up as a kitchen.  There was a fire pit, oven, and limestone worktables laden with earthenware pots, iron pans and kettles, and wooden utensils.  Baskets of foodstuffs were nearby.  There was also a barrel-size natural hot spring.  An iron chain with a hook suspended a small kettle over the roiling water.

Several dozen yards away there was another, much larger hot spring, this one the size of a small pond.  Not as hot as the "kitchen" spring, its surface was still as glass, with wisps of steam rising into the comfortably warm air of the cavern.

Suddenly the surface of the spring erupted and Ronnie's pale, red-haired captor appeared, rising from the depths as if ascending an underwater staircase.  More and more of her smooth, toned, willowy, and totally nude body came into view.  Water slid down her pearl-white sensuous curves and steam surrounded her in a worshipful cloud.  Ronnie stared at this siren vision in open admiration, her longing eyes wide above her gag.  A frisson of desire coursed through her loins and she pulled on her chains, straining to go to the flame-haired goddess rising from the abyss.  She is so beautiful! Ronnie thought, tugging on her chains with all her strength.  A strangled moan of desire escaped her gag.  I've got to touch her!  I've got to have her!  She must have me!

The redhead stood at the very lip of the pool, a puddle growing at her strong white feet.  She lifted her arms (causing the coral nipples of her pert full breasts to point) and ran her long white fingers through her hair.  Simultaneously, her eyes glowed a bright jade green, crackling green sparks danced through her hair, her perfect porcelain body glowed with a green aura, and her copper red pubic bush sizzled with green fire.  The steam rising from her body trebled, then vanished in a gust of rising wind.  Finally, the viridescent flames died, lingering in the redhead's eyes for a few seconds... slowly fading.  Her perfect body and riot of curls were now perfectly dry.

Ronnie mewed through her gag and pulled on her chains, but was ignored.  Please, please, please! her mind begged as she strained at her bonds.  The Red Goddess ignored Ronnie's gagged pleas and clanking chains and sat on the edge of the fur and silk cushioned limestone platform, her strong flawless back to her prisoner.  She began running an ivory comb through her glorious hair, apparently oblivious to Ronnie's presence... or her needs.   Oh please...!

 Finally... after an eternity of unrequited desire... the redhead turned and regarded her captive.  Ronnie's heart pounded in her chest, she panted through her flaring nostrils, her breasts heaved, and sweat ran down her face and body.  The frisson of lust had become a raging, all-consuming bonfire.  Her strength waning, Ronnie pulled on her chains, whimpering and whining, desperate to communicate her love, her desire, her need to worship at the feet of her captor.   Beat me!  Torture me!  Just touch me!

A coy smile curled the redhead's lips as Ronnie collapsed in her bonds.  The flame-haired beauty climbed onto the bed and crawled on all fours towards her prisoner... slowly... her copper curls bouncing, her perfect breasts bobbing, the smile never leaving her full, red lips.

As the object of her desire approached, Ronnie's lust turned to dread.  I... I'll die!  I'll burn in her fire!  Her loins wet, her body shuddering with carnal passion, Ronnie locked eyes with her captor.  The redhead's eyes were dark... like polished ebony... like black pearls.  As she drew near Ronnie could see that they were actually brown, the darkest mahogany, and veins of green fire danced in their depths, pulsing veins of liquid emerald.  I'll die!

Then the redhead leaned forward, Ronnie's gag was ripped from her mouth... and their lips met.

Ronnie blinked and pulled on her chains.  The redhead's hot tongue was rolling inside her mouth, her soft lips pressing and sucking, her cool hands roaming over Ronnie's sweat-slick body, caressing her breasts and sliding down her flanks towards her sex.  Ronnie turned her head to the side, breaking the kiss.  "No!" she moaned.

"No?" the redhead demanded, a mocking tone in her husky voice.  "You really want me to stop?"

"No!  Yes!  I mean..."

The redhead kissed her again and Ronnie shuddered in her bonds as her captor's fingers caressed her labia.

Ronnie broke the kiss.  "Who are you?"

"My enemies call me 'The Red Ghost'," the redhead purred, raining kisses on Ronnie's breasts.  "I've never captured a Kul'Dakar slave before," she said.  "The Bitch-warriors usually don't take them into the caverns, and they certainly don't make a habit of lardering them for the beetles."

"I'm not a slave," Ronnie objected, tugging on her chains and fighting her rising desire to return her captor's affections.

The Red Ghost laughed.  (Ronnie's sex spasmed at the bell-like sound.)  She crooked one index through the ring in the front of Ronnie's collar and pulled her into a quick kiss.  "And I suppose this is a piece of jewelry you purchased at the bazaar?"

"I'm not a slave," Ronnie reiterated, squirming under the Red Ghosts roaming hands.  "They captured me."

"Well..." the Red Ghost purred, continuing to kiss Ronnie's flushed face, "now I've captured you, and you're my slave."

"I'm not your slave!" Ronnie objected, "I'm..."  Ronnie froze, an incredible sense of déjà vu sweeping through her mind.

"You're my prisoner?" the Red Ghost suggested.

"I... yes... your prisoner."

The Red Ghost sat back and pulled her long legs into a semi-lotus, her knees nudging the calves of Ronnie's splayed legs.   She smiled at her flushed, confused captive.  "You're my prisoner.  I know all about you, 'Neeka.'  I've read your memories.  I know you're a Spirit-witch, and I know your powers are in check.  I know... because I'm your Sister."

"You're a Spirit-witch?"

The Red Ghost nodded.  "The protective wards of the city stole your powers, and when the Queen sentenced you to Eternal Slavery and fused your collar, the hex-magic of the city cursed the iron.  No thaumaturge, witch, or sorcerer can remove the collar without destroying your soul... other than the Queen herself, of course."

The Queen," Ronnie growled, her eyes blazing with hatred.

The Red Ghost smiled coyly and locked eyes with her prisoner.  "Remind me to send her a thank you note," she murmured and crawled towards Ronnie.

Ronnie was exhausted.  She'd lost track of how many times the Red Ghost had made her cum. or the number of times she had watched the Red Ghost cum, or the number of times they had both cum together.  Limp as a rag doll Ronnie lay in her loose chains.  Her captor was dozing, her right hand on Ronnie's left breast, her head cushioned by Ronnie's flat tummy.

The Red Ghost stretched (gently squeezing Ronnie's breast), raised her head, and smiled at her captive through the curly riot of hair draped across her face.  "Hungry?"

"For food," Ronnie purred, squirming her torso against her captor and smiling seductively.

"How disappointing," the Red Ghost said, squeezing Ronnie's breast again.  She then rolled to the side, propped herself up on her elbows, and cupped her chin in her hands.  "I must be losing my touch.  My Enchantment spell faded after the third orgasm.  When I use it on captured Amazons, they're usually my simpering love-sick thrall by now."

"Maybe it bounced off my collar and back onto you," Ronnie suggested, her smile turning flirtatiously coy.  She grinned when she saw her captor's cheeks color slightly.  "By the way, what do you do with your captured Amazons?"

The Red Ghost's smile became more feral.  "Oh... I toy with them for a while... no more than a month, usually... then I trade them to the Apemen for supplies.  They're all still alive, naked or dressed in scraps of smelly fur, chained by their necks to the back walls of various caves in the Apemen's territory, cleaning game, cooking, making hairy little babies."

Ronnie's smile faded.  "That's—"

"Cruel?" the Red Ghost demanded.  "I spent a year in Valpakra.  My first month in the Palace of Pain was far worse than a lifetime as an Apewife."

"Valpakra,"  Ronnie whispered, staring into the Red Ghost's dark eyes.

The Red Ghost was silent for several seconds, then finally spoke.  "I'm one of the one's the Kul'Dakar don't talk about, one of the ones they claim don't exist: a captive who refused the collar and fought her way out."

"Wow!" Ronnie whispered, her eyes wide with respect (and affection).

"Enough chit-chat," the Red Ghost said, rising to her feet.  "I believe I'm out of eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Eggs.  I'll unchain you when I return and you can cook us some breakfast."

"Oh... so I'm the cook now, am I?" Ronnie asked with a coy smile.

"You're whatever I tell you you are," the Red Ghost growled.  She gazed down at Ronnie, frowning (but with a twinkle in her eyes.)  "I don't like your attitude.  You need a lesson."   She stepped off the platform and pattered towards her weapons cache.

"I don't need a lesson!" Ronnie called after the Red Ghost's white back.  "I've got napping after sex down to an art!"  Ronnie may have been naked, helpless, exhausted, and sore... but she wasn't scared.  She didn't know her new friend very well (other than in complete carnal detail, of course) but she knew she was a friend.

The Red Ghost rummaged through a basket, then returned with several coils of rope.  They looked like braided cotton, or maybe flax.  "Nobody likes a smart mouthed prisoner," she muttered.

Ronnie sighed through her gag and wriggled in her bonds.  Other than turning her head a few degrees, fluttering her fingers, and pointing her toes, that was about all the motion she found possible.   Me and by big mouth!

The Red Ghost had used a different gag this time, one much more severe than the benign ball-gag Ronnie had found herself wearing when she first awoke.  This one was black leather and had a much larger leather ball and a narrower strap.  In addition, a broad flap with a cutout for her nose closed over her mouth and lower face and was secured with eight steel buckles, four on each side.  It was tight and effective and not at all pleasant to wear.

Next, Ronnie's limbs were freed one by one and she was placed in an excruciating ball-tie.  Her chin was resting on her knees (which were lashed together), her wrists were bound behind her back, and her ankles were together and hitched to her wrists.  She was in a tight fetal tuck, and various loops, bands, and hitches made sure she stayed that way: collar ring to knees, elbows to ankles, knees to shoulders, shoulders to ankles, and everything was efficiently, economically, and inescapably hitched until Ronnie was totally immobile.

Showoff! Ronnie remembered thinking when her captor had finally finished, leaving her a helpless bundle in the center of the bed platform, precariously balanced on her knees and pointing feet, her gagged face half-buried in a silk cloak, her rope-cleaved rump and fluttering fingers in the air.  There had never been any question of Ronnie mounting an effective resistance.  The Red Ghost had manipulated her with the skill of a trained Kul'Dakar Handler (the Amazon guild that specializes in the transport and training of slaves.)

"The next time you mouth off I'll show you my 'turtle-tie,'" the Red Ghost had gloated.  "That one's really fun, 'cause you see... it gives better access to this."  She brushed her fingers across Ronnie's sex (what she could reach of it through the multiple rope strands enforcing the lower half of her captive's ball-tie predicament.)  Ronnie shuddered at the memory, a thrill of delight coursing through her body.  

Ronnie sighed.  The Red Ghost had then abandoned her, and she had remained on the bed, her position unchanged... for about an hour.  Then her feeble attempts at escape had caused her to fall onto her right side.  No amount of effort came even close to allowing her to right herself again.  A second hour had passed since the fall, and the ball-tie was beginning to hurt!

Damn her! Ronnie groused, mewing through her gag in irritation.   Where the hell is she going for those damn eggs anyway?  ...back to the city?  Ronnie saw movement off to the side from the corner of one eye and lifted her head.  It's about time!  When she unties me, I'm going to—

Ronnie's blood ran cold and her heart began hammering in her chest.  The movement she had seen was a snake... a big snake... a VERY BIG SNAKE!  It was slithering slowly towards her, its massive rippling body entwining several chariot-sized stalagmites.  It was gray and green and had orange-gold spots and it was a BIG snake in the sense that the Queen's Palace was a BIG pile of rocks!  Its eyes were bright yellow and the size of Ronnie's fists and it's pink tongue was flicking in and out and it was coming right at her and it was looking right at her and... and it was here.

Ronnie froze in her bonds, panting in terror.  The colossal serpent curled around her on the huge bed platform, surrounding but not touching her naked, helpless body.  Its eyes were examining her, examining its find.  Its giant head came close and the tip of its forked tongue flicked against Ronnie's hair... against her face... her shoulders... her back...  Its head left her range of vision and through terror glazed eyes she watched yard after yard after yard of snake slither around her, as if she was besieged by a vast marching army of gray, green, and gold scales.  The tongue flicked against her rump.  Ronnie fought the overwhelming urge to move, useless as she knew it would be to even try escaping her bonds or the snake.  If I don't move, it won't eat me, she told herself.  Of please goddess... help me!  The tongue flicked her rump again... and again... then brushed against her rope-cleaved sex...  Ronnie shuddered once in her bonds, then froze again.   Oh please!  The tongue flicked the back of her thighs, then the soles of her feet.   Please!  There is no fear!  There is no fear!  Oh, goddess protect me!

Then it happened—the snake opened its jaws and took Ronnie's feet, rump and bound hands in its huge mouth.  Ronnie screamed through her gag and struggled in her bonds.  The snake unhinged its lower jaw and gulped more of its struggling prize.  Its mouth was wet and clammy and warm, its jaw muscles irresistibly strong.  Its peg-like teeth were hard and pointed and numerous, but designed to hold struggling food, to prevent it from escaping, not to slice or stab.  Ronnie slid deeper into the horrible maw, then deeper still as the snake gulped and swallowed.  Ronnie thrashed and squirmed.  Only her head and knees and shoulders were free.  The snake swallowed and only Ronnie's gagged face remained, framed by neatly recurved rows of the snake's teeth.  Ronnie screamed through her gag—the snake's throat convulsed again—and all was blackness.

HECK NO!!!
It's the end of Chapter 5.  :-) Rest assured, Ronnie's Virtual Adventure continues... (...& we get to watch! )
... Stay Tuned for the NEXT thrilling episode of...
◄	Revisit Chapter 4		►