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

When last we left Our Heroine, Ronnie Allbriton (TESSERACT Game Designer & Tae-bo Tart); she was trapped in Virtual Reality with no memory of the "real world"; had been captured by the 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... & was!  ...then was rescued by the Alluring & Mysterious "Red Ghost;" was transported to the Ravishing Redhead's Subterranean Lair... & WAS EATEN BY A GIANT SNAKE!!!  (She got better.)  Rescued again by The Red Ghost (who now lets "Neeka" call her "Teela") the pair have joined forces to fight the hated Kul'Dakar.  Now aided by the Powerful Magic of their allies The Apemen, Teela & Ronnie are on a Brave Quest to reenter the city & rescue Princess Tollie; however, at the very first outpost of the Kul'Dakar... Ronnie has apparently been recognized!!

They continued up the trail, around two more switch-backs, then came to the ditch, bristling abatis, and log palisade protecting the outpost.  Ronnie stole a glance and discovered they were at a narrow drawbridge flanked by two guard towers.  A squad of Panther Cult amazons were on guard, with two of their giant mounts saddled and lounging beside the gate, one licking it's paws, the other eyeing the newcomers with feline curiosity.

"Halt and identify," one of the Panthers ordered, in a somewhat bored manner.

"Teela—Kestrels, Third of the Left, detached to wander," Teela announced.

"Pass," the guard responded, and Ronnie followed Teela across the narrow bridge.  The gate before them opened and they continued towards the inner compound.  They were halfway through the gate defenses, surrounded on all sides by Panthers, when suddenly a voice shouted from one of the watch towers.

"Look, it's Neeka!"

Ronnie's blood ran cold, and her heart began hammering in her chest.  Bound as she was to her heavily loaded yoke-frame, she might as well have been hog-tied for all the good she'd be in a fight.  She carefully lifted her eyes to gaze at Teela's back.

The redhead turned and gazed up at whoever was in the tower.  "Teela!" she shouted.  "It's Teela... and I don't know you, do I?"

The voice called down from the tower (where Ronnie dared not look), "Not you, Hawk-chick... your slave.  She's a Neeka!"

"Have I entered the Military Zone through the Insane Panthers Gate? " Teela inquired politely.

The surrounding guards chuckled at Teela's jibe, not taking offense.  Two stepped aside and their Squad Leader joined the group.  She was a tall Nubian (and very attractive).  "No Kestrel, this is the Impolite Panthers Gate," she answered.

The squad laughed (as did Teela), and Ronnie relaxed (a little).

"Excuse me a moment," the Squad Leader told Teela, then lifted her head (and voice) towards the tower.  "Hara, do your Squad Leader a favor and SHUT YOUR STUPID, IGNORANT, RUDE, OFFENSIVE MUSH-HOLE BEFORE I ASSIGN YOU THE DUTY OF CLEANING OUT THE SLAVES' LATRINE PIT FROM THE INSIDE!!!"

The surrounding Panthers cringed (as did Teela and Ronnie), and a tiny voice answered from above:  "Yes, Squad Leader."

The Squad Leader smiled and turned her attention to Teela.  "I apologize for my Cult Sister.  You've been wandering," she noted, and Teela nodded.  "It's all the rage, back in the city, to find brown-eyed slut-slaves with good builds, crop their hair, and call them 'Neeka.'  There was a Spirit-witch spy caught a few weeks ago that looked like that.  She caused quite a stir, supposedly defeating several squads of guards before she was captured.  And before she was executed she seduced the Sacred Twins, seduced the Queen's Witch-warriors, and in some versions of the tale, seduced The Queen!"

"You're kidding," Teela laughed.

The Squad Leader chuckled.  "Perverse, isn't it?  Anyway, the taverns are full of minstrels singing various versions of the saga and 'Neekas' serving drinks... and themselves.  No one can resist taming a Neeka, bedding a Warrior-slave."

"Warrior-slave..." Teela muttered.  "That's blasphemous!"

"It's a fad," the Squad Leader said, "and will pass.  By the time my squad gets relieved, something else will be in fashion.  Anyway..."  She shifted her attention to Ronnie.  "Clean this one up and sell her... and you could make quite a haul.  What's her name?"

Teela smiled.  "Neeka.  She battles amazons and seduces Queens."

The Squad Leader and her troops laughed.  "Enjoy the city," the Nubian said, and gave the "Kestrel Scout" a casual salute.

Teela returned the salute with snap (as was appropriate to an amazon of higher standing), gave Ronnie's leash a tug, and they continued into the outpost.

A dozen strides from the nearest amazon or slave Teela dropped Ronnie's leash, stepped behind her, and began fussing with the yoke-frame's load.  "You did very well, slave," she whispered.

"This slave nearly shit her loincloth, mistress," Ronnie whispered back.

"You didn't panic, and that's what counts."

Ronnie stifled a smile, proud of her "owner's" praise.  "What now, mistress?"

There was a pause while Teela tightened a strap.  "This 'Neeka fad' is a gift from the gods.  It should make moving around the city even easier."

"I meant now, mistress," Ronnie said.  "This slave is tired. "

Teela chuckled under her breath.  "And you spent most of the day resting in the bottom of a canoe.  Maybe I should sell you to a tavern or slave-brothel, 'Neeka'... and buy me a nice strong pack-slave to take your place."

"This slave shivers in her unworthy skin in fear and dread at the very thought, mistress."

Teela chuckled again.  "I'm going to find a tavern with a slave kennel, you're going to get some more rest, then I'm going to enjoy a minor feast and maybe get a little drunk, which would be expected of a returning wanderer.  Tomorrow we head for the city, still a little less than a quarter moon away."

Ronnie shifted her weight, settling the heavy load.  "Can't we sell these trade goods here ... mistress?"

"Don't be absurd, slave.  I'll make much more in Kul'Dakar's Main Market."  She stepped to the front, retrieved Ronnie's leash, and gave it a tug.

Ronnie stifled a sigh and followed her "mistress."

The remaining days of the journey passed without significant incident.  They passed long coffles of pack-burdened slaves heading in and out of the city, but these formal transport caravans camped in their own exclusive walled compounds, staffed by amazon members of the Handlers Guild.  

Teela and Ronnie trekked from inn to inn, with Teela renting a bed for herself and kennel space for her slave each night.  The inns catered to amazon travelers from the outlying colonies and farms, and their slave kennels were more attached stables than prisons.  Sometimes Ronnie would find herself chained by her collar to a post and sleeping on a bed of straw; sometimes locked in a wooden barn or shed, commingled with the other guests' pack-slaves.

Ronnie soon learned there was an etiquette to the kennels.  When the mush was served, the older (tougher, stronger) slaves supervised its distribution.  Ronnie noticed, however, that the dole was always fair.  In fact, the weaker, younger slaves always seemed to get a little more (but only after the elder slaves watched them eat, then discovered that their own bowls were "too full.")  Sanitation was meticulous.

After the feasting in the common rooms ended and their mistresses retired, the slaves would huddle together for warmth (and comfort).  Ronnie remembered one incident the third night from the city.  She was locked in a barn-kennel with a slave a little older than herself and two youngsters, each no more than eighteen.  The three were all owned by the same amazon mistress.  The night was wet and chilly (for the tropics) and the straw pallets narrow and impossible to move.  Ronnie watched the trio trying to cuddle, having difficulty on a single pallet..  She caught the elder's eye and nodded, opening her arms slightly.

The elder nodded in return, and gave one of her companions a shove away.  "Stop hogging the straw," she muttered, turned her back, and pulled the other slave close.  

The rejected youngster looked ready to cry, then saw Ronnie smile and beckon to her.  She returned the smile (shyly) and crawled to Ronnie.  The two embraced and settled into the straw.  "My name's Ronnie," Ronnie whispered.

"I'm Weena," the little blonde answered.  "Thank you for your warmth."  She then looked back over her shoulder and continued in a louder voice.  "You don't stink like other slaves I know," she huffed.

The other youngster, the one who had not been ejected, giggled quietly.  Ronnie caught the elder's eye and they exchanged a knowing wink.  

When morning came, the elder, Weena, and the other youngster went one way (up one of the mountain trails, hauling city goods towards a terrace farm, led in coffle behind their amazon owner), and Ronnie trudged towards the city on Teela's leash... just like yesterday... just like every day.

They came to a wide section of trail at the crest of a rise... and Ronnie experienced an intense flash of déjà vu.  Teela noticed her hesitation and led her towards the edge of the trail.  Between the trees they had an excellent view of the city of Kul'Dakar, perhaps a half-mile distant.  The massive towers and ramparts of Victory Gate were directly across a shallow valley, the walls of the city running to the sheer cliffs on either side.  Beyond the walls the top half of the massive stone block that was Valpakra, the "Mother of Slaves," was to the left; the domes and towers of the Kat'Ur, the "Warrior's House," was to the right; and the huge ziggurat that was the Kul'Dak loomed in between.  
They had arrived at an opportune moment.  A large caravan of fresh-caught slaves was about to enter the city in parade.  Even from this distance they could hear the eerie wail of the thousand or so bound captives and the crack of the Handlers' whips as the procession started, the echoing sounds carried back to their ears by a trick of the the sloped walls.  The massive iron bound timbers of the main gates opened, music started from within the city, and the first of the cheers echoed through Victory Gate's gatehouse tunnel.

"Naked, tired," Teela whispered; "no... naked, exhausted, bound, terrified, and hungry...  The bitch-warrior crowd cheering, the music droning, the dust... oh Goddess of Freedom, the dust..."  She took a swig from her waterskin and spat, then held the skin for Ronnie to drink.  "I remember it like it was yesterday.  You never had a parade, did you Neeka?"

Ronnie swallowed, and blinked sweat from her eyes (or was it sweat mixed with tears?) and listened to the ghostly echo of the new slaves' wail.  "I... I don't know," she whispered back.  "All I remember is being there... in Valpakra... not how I got there."

"It's something all slaves and amazons have in common," Teela mused.  "All of them began what they call their 'true lives' through Victory Gate, as part of a coffle... even The Queen."

Ronnie shuddered in her yoke-frame bonds.  "I hate her!" she muttered.

"Control your tongue, slave," Teela hissed, giving Ronnie's leash a jerk.  "'Obedience is the Prime Emotion'," she quoted.  It was the first lesson of many awaiting the new slaves being led through the gate below.  "You've done very well up to now.  Don't start slipping on me."

"Yes, mistress," Ronnie whispered, her eyes on the dust beneath her naked feet.  Her leash jerked again and the last mile of their journey began.

Chandra composed herself, as she'd been taught.  Naked but for her single jewel of power, a Sea Hawk motif earring with a ruby eye, she was seated on the thin pallet of her tiny cell in the training warren under the Witch-warrior's wing of the Kul'Dak.  Her legs were folded and her hands in her lap.  Her loincloth and bandeau of gold-dyed linen were to the side, neatly folded and waiting to be donned.  Battle Practice was less than a thousand heartbeats away, and from bitter experience the novice amazon knew that if she tried to participate in a Coven-level exercise without achieving the proper meditative state, she'd be fighting a blinding headache the rest of the day.  Eventually she'd be able to enter Combat Trance instantly, even after a day of hard running... but that level of control was many long months of training in the future.

Concentrate, she told herself... but it just wasn't working.  Something was wrong.  Something was coming!  She could feel it.  It had been building for hours... a vague unease... a psychic itch...

She'd mentioned her feelings to Leefa, her Drill Leader, and had been ordered in no uncertain terms to keep her untrained, unfocused, useless mind on her training.   Fool! Chandra fumed.  Maybe I can't diagram the forty two Spirit Channels linking the sixteen Mundane Realms of each of the the nine Planes of Anti-chaos or demonstrate the seven ways to mind-shield an assault force from archers, but that doesn't mean there isn't something out there!  The least Leefa could have done was tell the Ward Watch to be on special guard, or pass her warning on as a petition to the Weird Council, but all Chandra got for her honest concern was a slap on the face and a hundred extra mantras to chant.   Fool!

Chandra sighed and tried again to clear her mind.  This time, rather than simply ignoring the disturbance, she tried integrating it into her mental incantation.  To her infinite relief, the irritating buzz faded into the background noise of what she'd been taught to call her aura.  Thankfully, with the Blessing of the Hawk, there would be no headache today.

"Teela the Kestrel Scout" (and her insignificant pack-slave) entered the city without incident, not through the post-parade chaos of Victory Gate, but through one of the Trade Posterns.  It was a short walk to the Main Market, and after only a couple of hours of bartering she was able to convert her trade goods (mostly bundles of aromatic jungle herbs, decorative pelts, and exotic spice nuts), for an impressively full pouch of coins.  She immediately indulged herself by replacing her worn saber with a better balanced, slightly heavier, not as elaborately decorated model, and by renting a private room in a slave brothel for herself and her slave.

Tired from a day of load-hauling, the stress of entering the city, and the mental exhaustion of maintaining her servile role, "Neeka" stood sullenly behind her mistress as her now half empty yoke-frame was removed by two of the brothel's trustee slaves: a tall blonde and a short redhead.  Both were naked, but for silk loincloths, and were clean, oiled, and perfumed, their hair elaborately plaited and pinned back (the very opposite of Ronnie's dirty, sweaty, tousled, and trail-worn condition). 

Ronnie watched (with carefully stolen glances, as would any slave) as Teela negotiated for room and board with the establishment's amazon owner.  Finally, a deal struck, Teela's brown-skinned amazon hostess led her away with a gesture.  Without a backwards glance Teela shouldered her weapons and cloak and followed. Ronnie would have followed as well, but was held back by the other two slaves.

"No, stupid," one whispered (the redhead), "you're getting a bath."

"Never been in a slave brothel before?" the blonde asked, and Ronnie shook her head.  "It figures," she muttered.  "A wanderer returns from the wilderness, fresh-minted coins burning a hole in her pouch, books herself a deluxe suite with play-kennel, double meals of every delicacy on the menu... and wants to share it with her untrained pack-slave."

"There's no accounting for a mistress' taste," the redhead sighed.

"Especially when it comes to her choice of slave-wife," the blonde added, and the pair laughed.

"Did you say bath?" Ronnie sighed.

"Shut up, Dirt-monkey," the blonde scolded, "or you'll be gagged.  If it wasn't for you, one of us would be sharing a feast tonight."

"Don't take it out on the Monkey," the redhead said.  "It's not her fault her owner lacks imagination."

Ronnie was hustled through a side corridor, past a bustling kitchen (the delicious aromas causing the "Dirt-monkey's" mouth to water), through a barred gate, and into the slave quarters.  She was thrust into a tiled room, her loincloth was jerked away, and she was tossed a bucket and sponge.

"Get clean!" the blonde ordered.

Ronnie filled the bucket from a slowly running font to one side, then stepped back to the center of the room and over the drain in the floor, poured the bucket over her head, and began scrubbing herself with the sponge.  This process was repeated three more times until the blonde was satisfied with Ronnie's condition.

"You know..." the redhead said, inspecting Ronnie's wet, dripping form with a clinical eye, "this one has the makings of a 'Neeka.'"

"Like she isn't one now?" the blonde responded, stifling a yawn, "and as if we need another one?"

"No, I'm serious," the redhead continued.  "She's well fed.  Tan skin and big tits, perfect tone from all that trail hauling, graceful, obviously a natural slut-slave...  She'd make a good addition.  We should suggest her purchase to mistress."

"The kennels are full, in case you haven't noticed," the blonde muttered, then turned back to Ronnie.  "That's enough, Trail-monkey.  Over here."

Ronnie was dried with a rough towel, then led to another room.

"Inspection position!" the blonde barked.  Ronnie gazed at her, confused.  "Are you a dimwit?" the blonde demanded.  "Legs apart, back straight, hands on your head, elbows back!"

"She's tired," the redhead said, walked to a rack of shelves cluttered with small clay and glass vessels, and returned with a small pot.  "Hold still, Monkey," she purred.  "You'll like this."  She removed a leather cover from the jar... and a pleasant aroma filled the room.  All three slaves inhaled deeply, enjoying the floral, musky, exotically complex perfume.  The redhead dipped her left hand in the pot, then handed it to the blonde.  She then rubbed her hands together, then began rubbing the thick, greasy oil on Ronnie's skin, starting at her ankles, up her calves and shins, over her knees, and up her thighs.

Ronnie shuddered and sighed.  The thick oil felt hot on her skin, soothing her aching muscles with a deep, throbbing burn.  She stood perfectly still (as still as she was able) as every square inch of her body was oiled, panting with pleasure as her buttocks, back, abdomen, shoulders, and breasts were kneaded and massaged.

"Enough, already," the blonde said finally and nodded at her partner.  "Go clean your hands before they get red."

The redhead returned to the washroom and the blonde led Ronnie to a pair of stools.  "Sit!" she ordered, then sat herself, took Ronnie's hands, and began cleaning her fingernails with a wooden stylus and a small brush.  The redhead returned and made quick work of Ronnie's toenails.

Ronnie closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy being pampered.  Her hands and feet were oiled and wiped; her face massaged, lightly oiled, and patted with a fluffy cloth; and her hair brushed, dusted with perfumed powder, brushed again, then carefully rubbed down with a lightly oiled cloth.  Finally, her teeth were brushed with a spicy, aromatic paste.

"Up!" the blonde ordered.  "Inspection position—but don't muss your hair!"

Ronnie stood, hands atop her head (but not touching her sleek brown bob), feeling clean and relaxed for the first time since... since The Red Ghost's Lair.   Remember where you are, she reminded herself.

The redhead walked up with another small clay pot in her hands, stirring the contents with a small brush, a sardonic smile on her freckled face.  "Ever feel nettle oil before, Monkey?" she asked.

"Was that what you used on me?" Ronnie whispered.  "It burns.  It feels good."

The blonde stepped behind Ronnie, grabbed her hands, and wrenched them behind the startled brunette's back.  Ronnie felt binding fiber tightening around her wrists and thumbs, then the fiber was pulled tight with a savage jerk, cinched, and knotted.

The redhead watched her partner work with a gloating smile.  "We oiled you with aromatic palm and pepper oils mixed with rendered musk," she said when Ronnie's binding was accomplished.  She held up the pot and her smile became... feral.  " This is nettle oil.  It also burns.  Open your mouth."

Ronnie frowned.  "Wha—M'MMPFH!"

The blonde had reached around from behind and crammed a ball of silk in Ronnie's mouth.  This was followed by a neatly folded silk cloth that cleaved the shuddering, squirming captive's mouth and was knotted tightly (but elegantly) at the nape of her neck.

"Screaming disturbs the mistress-guests," the redhead explained, " especially when they aren't the ones causing it."

One hand clutching Ronnie's wrist bonds, the other on the knot of her gag, the blonde leaned close and whispered in Ronnie's right ear.  "If you break position or struggle, you'll be punished.  We have ways of causing you pain without marking your hide and spoiling your mistress' pleasure."

"Don't be mean," the redhead muttered.  "This will be hard enough on the poor thing without you doing your Bitch Handler act."  She smiled at Ronnie and pulled the tip of the brush from the pot.  "Brace yourself, Monkey," she said, and began painting Ronnie's left nipple with a clear, glistening oil, carefully, meticulously coating the entire surface from the margin of the areola to the tip of the erect teat.

Ronnie watched this process with dread... then with surprise.  The oil burned a little, but it wasn't that bad.  Her right nipple received a coat of oil, and the redhead knelt and set the pot on the floor.

"Don't move," the redhead ordered, and reached out with her left hand, parted Ronnie's labia, and teased the hood from around the captive's clitoris.  Squinting in concentration, she then gave the erectile nubbin a smooth, glossy coat of oil with the tiny brush.

Ronnie shuddered and squirmed in her bonds.  She couldn't help herself.  The deep burn teasing her flushed nipples was building... and now her clit was burning as well.

"You were told not to move," the blonde hissed.

The redhead retrieved her pot, stood, and walked back towards the shelves.  "Let her be!" she called back over her shoulder.  "She's done very well, so far."  She placed the pot on a shelf, turned, and ambled back towards Ronnie and her partner, a chilling grin on her angelic, freckled face.  "Let her go."

The blonde released Ronnie's wrist bonds and gag and took a step back.

Ronnie shivered and her eyes popped wide.  Her nipples were on fire, and her sex was beginning to smolder.  She squirmed in her bonds and panted through flaring nostrils.

"She is doing well," the blonde conceded.  "Some panic and start weeping.  I hate when that happens.  It's hard trying and make a sniveling twit look like a trained pleasure-slave."

"You're very brave, Monkey," the redhead told Ronnie.  "Try to hold still, if you can.  Your mistress will be enjoying her bath and massage right now.  The nettle oil will continue to burn for a while, then the itching will start.  By the time that peaks, your mistress should be ready for you... and you'll be more than ready for her."

Ronnie fidgeted and danced on her bare feet.  The fire in her loins now matched her sizzling nipples.  She looked down at her flushed, painfully erect teats, half expecting to see them burst into flame.

"Do you think you can remain still?" the blonde demanded.  "Tell the truth.  If you can't, we can tie you to a post with padded ropes.  There's no shame in being untrained."

Ronnie glared at the smug blonde and shook her head.  She couldn't help but squirm, but she could remain where she was.  The burn wasn't building any more... but it wasn't dissipating either.

The blonde and redhead turned and exited the room, closing and locking a cage-like door of iron bars; but their voices carried back to the helpless Ronnie as they strolled away.

"I like her," the redhead's voice echoed.

"She is brave," the blonde agreed, "but she needs a lot of work."

Ronnie shivered in her bonds, and suffered.   I can handle this, she told herself, trying to ignore her blazing nipples and sex, ...I think.

Close to an hour later Ronnie was delivered to her "owner."  The redhead returned, snapped a leash of braided silk rope to Ronnie's collar and led the sweating, shivering captive through the slave corridors of the brothel, through a heavy barred door, and into the business part of the establishment.  The air was scented with incense and perfume (and musk).  They passed through the back of a public room, lute and drum music pounded, and (through the haze of sexual arousal tormenting her every moment) Ronnie glimpsed several amazons drinking, feasting, cheering a wrestling match between two heavily oiled and naked slaves, and watching a troupe of silk-costumed slave-dancers spin and whirl around a blazing fire.

Ronnie was led through a heavy wooden door, and the music became a dull pounding.  They passed through a second door, and the music was silent.  More heavy doors were on either side of the corridor.  The redhead opened a door and the blonde led Ronnie into a large room.  She unclipped Ronnie's leash and pointed to a small rug on the floor.  "Position," she whispered, and bowed at the waist, directing her obsequious gesture to the center of the chamber.

Still shivering with the fiery itch coursing through her bosom and sex, panting through her nostrils, Ronnie knelt on the floor and pressed her forehead to the smooth pile of the rug.  The blonde backed out of the room and the door closed.

Ronnie lifted her head and found Teela lying on her stomach on a huge bed, her chin propped on her her hands, as naked as her delivered "slave."

"Don't you look pretty," Teela said, climbed off the bed, and poured wine from a moisture beaded glass carafe into a large goblet.  She gazed at Ronnie and took a slow, careful sip.  Ronnie squirmed and moaned through her gag.  "Hold," Teela whispered, set the goblet down, tip-toed to the door, and jerked it open.  

The redheaded and blonde trustee slaves were in the corridor, looking rather sheepish (and a little frightened).  They had been listening at the door—and were caught!  Both immediately dropped to their knees, crossed their wrists behind their backs, and placed their foreheads on the stone floor.

"What have we here?" Teela purred, "a couple of spies?"

"No, mistress," the trustees said in unison.

"Hmm... lying spies, it would seem," Teela muttered.  "Present!"  The trustees scrambled to their feet and assumed the inspection position: feet apart, backs straight, hands atop their heads, eyes focused on infinity.  "I suppose if I punish both of you, your mistress will add a surcharge to my bill," Teela mused, "...so I'll punish only one of you... but which one?"  The blonde and redhead held position with perfect discipline (the fear still evident in their eyes).

Teela gazed at the blonde, then stepped in front of the redhead, reached out, and took the freckled pixie's chin in her left hand.  "Hmm... very pretty," Teela mused, turning the fellow redhead's face from side to side.  "You can handle your companion's duties as well as your own for the rest of the evening, can't you?"

"Yes, mistress," the redhead whispered.

"Good..." Teela purred.  "I want you to take her back to the slut-kennels, bind her... oh... let's say... a nice tight turtle-tie? ...and make sure she stays that way 'til dawn."

"Yes, mistress."

Teela released the redhead's chin and took a step back into her suite.  "Take her in hand!" she barked.

The redhead turned on her tall companion, tapped the back of the blonde's tan knees with one freckled foot, and pulled a length of binding fiber out from under her loincloth, all with one fluid motion.  The blonde settled to her knees and grimaced as her wrists were bound behind her back.  The redhead then jerked off the blonde's loincloth, thrust it between the captive's teeth, and knotted it behind the blonde's head.  The redhead then snapped the leash to the blonde's collar (the leash formerly used to lead Ronnie), hauled the blonde to her feet, and bowed to Teela.  "Permission to depart, mistress," she whispered.

"Granted," Teela said, and the redhead gave the blonde's leash a jerk and began to back away.  "Wait," Teela muttered, and both trustees froze.  "She is to cum at least seven times tonight, evenly spaced between midnight and dawn."

"Yes, mistress," the redhead whispered.

"You, however," Teela continued, "are not to cum at all."

"Yes, mistress," the redhead whispered again, and Teela closed the door.

Teela threw the heavy bolt on the door, smiled, and strolled towards the squirming, mewing Ronnie.  "That should give us some privacy," the pale, naked, beautiful redhead stated, "at least until the evening feast is delivered.  Want some wine?"

Ronnie pulled on her bonds and vigorously shook her head.  It wasn't clear whether she was declining the offered drink or trying to dislodge her gag.  Teela untied the knot of the cleaving scarf and helped her expel the stuffing.  The naked captive licked her lips and continued fighting her bonds.  "They... they did something to me!" she gasped.  "They painted this stuff on my tits and—"

"Nettle oil?" Teela suggested.  "I should hope so.  I paid enough for the service."

"You told them to do this to me?" Ronnie demanded.  "Why you—m'mmpfh!"

One hand clamped over Ronnie's mouth, Teela leaned close grabbed the front ring of the writhing captive's collar.  "Remain in character," she hissed, then continued in a normal voice.  "I give you permission to beg, slave," she purred, and released her hand-gag.  "It will amuse me."

"Please," Ronnie gasped, locking eyes with her gloating friend.  "Please, mistress.  Touch me."

Teela reached out and smoothed Ronnie's bangs.  "Oh... I don't know..." she muttered.  "I thought maybe we'd wait until after dinner.  We're having river prawns in peanut sauce, roast pork, quail garnished with— eek!"

Despite her bonds Ronnie had thrown herself at her "mistress," toppling the giggling redhead onto her back.  She was straddling Teela's pale body, raining kisses on her face, and grinding her breasts and sex against her "owner."  Still laughing, Teela rolled Ronnie onto her back and straddled her body.

"Please, mistress," Ronnie whispered.  "I burn, mistress."

"Poor little slut-slave," Teela cooed, and began massaging Ronnie's nipples with her strong, pale hands.  Ronnie moaned and twisted, fighting her bonds and thrusting her sex at Teela's hip.  "Does this feel good?" Teela asked, and Ronnie nodded frantically, her moans building to a strangled scream, strangled because Teela's left hand was once again over her lips.  The redhead's right hand was between the writhing captive's thighs, stroking and parting Ronnie's labia and wriggling inside the frantic brunette's sex.  "Poor slut-slave," she repeated, and controlled Ronnie's frantic writhing with her limbs and weight as the bucking captive came and came.

After several long seconds (which felt like eternity to the shuddering captive), Teela released her hand-gag, kissed Ronnie's lips, and carried the limp prisoner to the bed.  "Do you still burn, slave?" she asked.

Ronnie writhed on the clean silk sheets, her eyes wet.  "Yes, mistress," she whispered.

"It will fade, slave," Teela promised.  "It's like an itch,  isn't it?"

"Yes, mistress."

Teela climbed atop her prisoner, a gloating grin on her angelic face.  "But it's a nice itch, isn't it, slave?"

"Oh, yes mistress."

Teela traced the margin of Ronnie's left nipple with her right index finger, causing the bound brunette to shiver with delight.  "Would you like mistress to scratch your itch again, slave?"

Ronnie bit her lower lip and glared at Teela's coy face, torn between her anger at being treated in this manner... and her need.  "Please, mistress," she said finally.

"Only until dinnertime, slave," Teela said, and thrust her right hand between Ronnie's thighs.  "Then we eat, no matter how much of a dripping slut-monkey you've become."

"Kul'Dakar monster!" Ronnie hissed, and kissed her "mistress."

At the very same instant, across the city in the Kul'Dak, Chandra was participating in the final pattern-spell of a day-long group exercise.  She was in one of the larger practice chambers of the Witch-warriors' wing, one of a brace of thirty six novices drawn up in six ranks.  Dressed in bandeaus and loincloths, all were dripping with sweat, slowly moving through the demanding exercise from pose to pose in perfect unison.  

Suddenly, Chandra cried out and collapsed to the floor.  Her coven-sisters immediately surrounding her all shuddered and gasped.  The complex framework of the spell the coven had been constructing collapsed (although to a mundane amazon or slave (had one been present), nothing overt would have happened in the room, other than the novices stopping in mid stance and blinking in surprise).

The Drill Leader in charge of the exercise stormed forward.  "Chandra, what in the name of the Screaming Hawk do you think you're doing?  In all my years of kicking novices towards the light I've never seen such a display!  Are you a Witch-warrior or a slut-slave!  ANSWER ME!"

Chandra blinked and tried to focus.  Her sex was tingling.  "I... I don't know what... I..."

"You're channeling carnal energy through three planes! " the Drill leader shouted.  The other novices surrounding Chandra and their superior giggled.  Two knelt and helped Chandra to her uncertain feet.

"It wasn't me..." Chandra gasped, shaking her dripping head.  "I mean it was me, but... it was the other!"

"What 'other?'" the Drill Leader demanded.

"The one I told you about!" Chandra shouted.  "The one I tried to warn you about!  She's here!"

"Who is here?" a voice demanded from the doorway.  All turned and gasped, then bowed.  A member of the Weird Council had arrived.  She was short of stance with pale skin, blue eyes, and a short mop of dark brown hair, and was dressed in a long robe of boiled golden silk with matching loincloth.  A Hawk-goddess pectoral clasped her robe, gold bracers were on her wrists, and tinkling golden anklets with many dangling charms were on her bare feet.  To mundane amazons she was a high-ranking Witch-warrior.  To her Witch-warrior Sisters she was a legendary veteran fighter and renowned scholar.  "Who is here?" she repeated.

"I... I don't know," Chandra answered.  "I sensed something coming, something coming to the city."

The Weird stepped forward and the coven parted to let her approach.  "You said 'she.'"

"It is a she," Chandra said, "...it is now."

"Show me," the Weird said, and took Chandra's head in her small hands.  Seconds passed, then the Weird released her hold and took a step back.  "Go to the baths, eat your evening meal... whether you're hungry or not, novice... then go your cell and rest," she whispered.

"All of you!" the Drill Leader shouted, and the chamber emptied.  "I thought it was nothing," the Leader admitted, her eyes on the floor.

"Not your fault," the Weird said, lifting the Drill Leader's chin and smiling.  "The Warden Mistress herself senses an intruder, but every time she tries to see whoever it is, her sight is deflected.  It's like looking into a mirrored shield.  None of the Ward-gifted can see through it.  Half of them can't even sense it."

"What is to be done?" the Drill Leader asked.

"The Watch has been reinforced," the Weird reassured her subordinate, "magic and mundane.  Chandra is her name?"  The Drill Leader nodded and the Weird continued.  "Chandra shall be our dart piercing the shield.  You shall instruct her to follow the thread linking her aura to this... disturbance, wherever it leads her, and a coven-squad reinforced with warrior-elites shall follow at a discrete distance."

"I can't send a half-trained novice after what is obviously a powerful fey," the Drill Leader objected.

The Weird smiled.  "It is not your decision... but your concern for your young student does you credit.  I can't send trained Witch-warriors with her.  Her link is personal.  Others will block or at the very least distort the flow.  We will watch Chandra through the more tenuous realms of the neighboring planes.  The shield, whatever it is, will warp around her, and lead us to its mundane focus."

"I pray to the Hawk and Panther that you are correct," the Drill Leader muttered.

"I too hate sending my Sisters into danger," the Weird whispered, turned, and left.

The next morning Ronnie awoke strangely refreshed.  Teela had untied her during the night (sometime after midnight, after several glorious bouts of lovemaking) and they had shared the suite's very comfortable bed.  As breakfast was delivered by one of the brothel's drudge-slaves (a very pretty little Han), Ronnie made a properly servile show of folding and stacking the clothing and trail equipment of her "mistress," but as soon as the door closed and they were alone, Teela motioned her over and they dived into the food.

"This is good," Ronnie said, between bites of some sweet, exotic, pink melon.

"This is good, mistress," Teela reminded her.

"This is good, mistress," Ronnie mumbled, then slapped her mistress' hand when she reached for the remaining slice of melon.

"Just wait 'til I get you home," Teela whispered, contenting herself with a juicy peach.

Ronnie smiled.  "Mistress is going to punish poor Neeka?" she whined with mock distress.  "Pass the... What is that stuff?"

Teela handed her a bamboo skewer of roasted meat.  "It's either fang lizard or rock snipe... but it's good.  Some kind of special sauce."

"Thank you, mistress," Ronnie muttered, taking a careful bite.  "This is good, whatever it is."

After the meal they made their final preparations for their infiltration of Valpakra.  Teela had no intention of returning to the brothel, but arranged her possessions as if she did, draping her cloak, bow, and quiver over the back of a chair, and leaving the still half-loaded yoke-frame leaning against the wall near the suite's unused slave-kennel.  The absolute minimum of trail and survival supplies required for their escape back to the Lair were packed in one small satchel, then Teela buckled on her saber and slung the satchel over her left shoulder to rest on her right hip.  Binding fiber coils were tied around Ronnie's wrists and knotted with tiny bows, but separately, so she could cross her hands behind her back and appear to be bound (without actually being helpless).  They exited the brothel, Teela in full Kestrel Scout regalia, Ronnie in a fresh loincloth, and Teela's rope trail lead (which doubled as a short climbing rope) clipped to Ronnie's collar.

Bluffing their way past the bored Cave Lion Trooper guarding one of the lesser used posterns of Valpakra was easy.  Teela's cover story was that she was taking Ronnie in for a week's retraining and testing, to see if she could qualify for a higher level of trustee rank: slave-squire.  Ronnie stood patiently, her hands "bound" behind her back as Teela listened to the guard's instructions on how to find the appropriate office of the Handlers Guild bureaucracy.

Once inside the massive building Teela led her coffle of one down the torch-lit corridors.  They passed a couple of drudge-slaves hauling loads of linen.  The dirty, nearly naked slaves knelt and placed their foreheads on the stone flags.  Teela passed them as if they didn't exist.

They came to a junction of three corridors, and Teela quickly ducked to the right, led Ronnie through an open arch, down a set of spiral stairs, down a much narrower corridor, and into a long corridor lined with many heavy iron-bound doors, all bolted shut.   Nearby was yet another junction.  Teela tied the end of Teela's leash to an iron ring then pointed at the floor.  Ronnie dropped to her knees.  "I think I know where we are and where we need to go," Teela whispered, "but I need to scout a little."

"Teela!" Ronnie whined.

Teela smiled.  "Don't worry.  Slaves get parked in the corridors all the time.  That's why the rings are here.  I won't be long.  If anyone comes, just keep your head down.  In the astronomically unlikely even that an amazon asks what you're doing here, just get weepy and say you don't know."

"Why can't I go with you?"

"I can scout things out much faster without dragging you along," Teela explained, gave Ronnie a quick kiss, and was gone.

Ronnie blinked.  One second Teela was there... the next she wasn't.  Damn she's good.  Ronnie sighed and settled her forehead to the cold stone floor.

 Seconds passed... and became minutes... then Ronnie heard the click of hobnailed boots.  She stole a furtive glance to the side, and beheld an amazon approaching down the corridor of doors.  She was a blonde, but as she was silhouetted against the torch light, Ronnie couldn't see much more, not without being caught staring.  The "slave" closed her eyes and waited as the boots continued to approach.

"Another damn 'Neeka'," the amazon muttered as she passed.

Ronnie's blood ran cold.  She recognized the voice... maybe.

The boots continued for several paces, then stopped.  Ronnie heard the dry scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard, then the boots returned.  Cold steel nudged and lifted her chin... and she found herself staring into the face of Elá, Captain of Panther Guards, Ronnie's original captor when she first came to this realm!

"Not a Neeka... the Neeka," Elá said in wonder, "returned from the afterworld.  So... the bone beetles didn't like your taste?   The goddesses have a very strange sense of humor.  I imagine you have quite an entertaining tale to tell, spy."

Not to worry!
Ronnie's Virtual Adventure continues!
... Stay Tuned for the NEXT thrilling episode of...
◄	Revisit Chapter 7		►