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DAMSELS
UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES |
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Jessie
&
Chelsea:
THE ADVENTURES OF
Shorty & the Cowgirl
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by Van © 2004
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TWO
WEEKS LATER
TESSERACT WORLD HEADQUARTERS
SEATTLE, WA, USA
THE BIOSPHERE "HANGING GARDENS"
Lourdes
assumed
she was in for another day of rock hauling. Narelle had announced
her satisfaction with the new rock garden two days ago, but that didn't
end the toil. A series of small rock groupings were added along
the path leading past the new venue, to "soften
the transition". Lourdes assumed today would be more of the
same.
As usual, she'd been roused from her stall at dawn, taken to use "the
little ponygirl's room", hosed down and scrubbed with a brush and soapy
water, then fed her morning oats (oatmeal). All the while she'd
been helpless in her "sleeping harness", a network of leather straps
binding her wrists to her upper thighs, and her forearms and upper arms
against her torso. She was
hobbled as well. She'd been a "good pony" the day before (in
Narelle's opinion, the only opinion that counted) and had been allowed
to sleep without a gag, nipple clamps, and/or "vibratory
entertainment".
Narelle was in her gardening clothes: a form-fitting, olive green
coverall with "TESSERACT" embroidered in teal
above the right breast pocket and in tall letters across the
back. A pair of Wellingtons, knee-high rubber work boots, were on
her feet. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back in
a tight ponytail.
Lourdes was led to the "Saddling Room", locked in the "Ponygirl
Dresser", and her sleeping harness removed. At that point the
routine changed. Instead of her "working
harness", a starkly utilitarian and utterly inescapable system
of brown leather straps and stainless steel buckles and clips, she was
dressed in a much more decorative, much more elaborate (but equally
secure) harness of buttersoft, pliant, tan leather with polished brass
fittings. The basic designs were the same, but where the working
harness would have a wide cuff with a single broad strap secured by a
single rolling buckle, the tan harness would have several narrow straps
secured with buckles and tiny padlocks. Dressing took twice as
long as usual.
Lourdes would have taken a discrete opportunity to inquire about the
break in routine, but the first thing
Narelle fitted was the new outfit's cage-like head harness. Its
narrow straps encircled Lourdes' cranium at her forehead, under her
chin and across her crown, and from her cheeks to the
nape of her neck. It anchored a rubber bit with a large,
spherical
plug firmly in her mouth. Narelle added a mane of short, stiff
bristles that precisely matched the color of Lourdes' closely
cropped hair, then began fitting the main harness.
The outfit included thigh boots with horseshoe-shaped soles. They
held Lourdes' heels off the ground and her weight on her toes, but no
more than would a pair of high heels. The harness encased her
hands, wrists, and arms, and kept them folded behind her back.
Brass hoops encircled her breasts (causing them to bulge
slightly) and were anchored by
lateral and transverse straps. A tight corset was cinched around
her waist. Its laces were covered by a buckling flap, then
it was linked to the rest of the harness with a dozen or more locking
snaps. Next, a complicated G-strap was fitted between her legs.
It had a pair of thin, tight chamois ribbons that cleaved her
outer labia and held them apart, and an overlying, much broader and looser
strap that covered her sex. Finally, a long, drooping
"horsetail" of hair was clipped to the back of the strap, where it met
the corset. Like the crest of the head harness, it matched
Lourdes' hair color. (It also tickled the back of her upper
thighs in a most irritating manner.)
Another change in routine: instead of being harnessed to the garden
cart with its balloon tires and padded shoulder yoke, Narelle
attached Lourdes to a light trap. Its design was purely
recreational, with a padded bench
seat for two and a pair of large, spoked wheels with narrow tires.
Narelle climbed aboard, took the reins in hand, and with the
teasing snap of a buggy whip, they were off.
Narelle set a brisk pace, guiding her "pony" down the biosphere's
bridal paths and to the far side of the dome complex. (Lourdes
wasn't following their course very closely. The loose, sliding
G-strap made concentration somewhat difficult.) They slowed as
they passed a quarter acre of green lawn surrounded by large conifers
and clumps of rhododendrons, and Narelle guided the cart off the path.
As they came to a halt, she jumped off the
seat and hitched Lourdes' reins through a ring in a stout post near
the path.
The grinning Aussie Stable Mistress gathered the rather confused (and
aroused) Kiwi Ponygirl in a tight
embrace and nuzzled her left ear. "It's been fun," she
whispered, "but as of today, I'm back to driving electric carts...
until another Sister screws up enough to get herself
sent to the stables, or Margo decides one of her celebrity friends
needs 'Equestrian Sensitivity Training' for a few days." She used
one hand to caress Lourdes' breasts and nipples and the other
to slowly slide the G-strap back and forth against her exposed inner
labia, all the while using her tongue to explore her charge's ear.
Lourdes shuddered in her bonds and stamped her booted feet... then
blinked in surprise. Narelle
was walking away down the bridal path, apparently returning to
the stables... without her. Still shivering from the aftereffects
of Narelle's farewell fondling, the frustrated ponygirl stared at the
blonde's disappearing back and forced a questioning whine past her gag.
"Well, what have we here?"
Lourdes turned at the sound of the familiar, husky, alto voice.
Kat, resplendent in her sexiest, skintight catsuit of gleaming
black leather, was leaning against the trunk of a tall cedar.
Lourdes' stomach flip-flopped, and a shudder of
pleasure coursed through her already wet
sex. Kat was a beautiful, dangerous predator, and she was
her helpless, bound and gagged prey.
"A pretty pony," Kat purred, answering her own question, "all by
herself, out here in the middle of nowhere, with no one to protect
her." She sauntered forward with feline grace, plucking her
gloves from her hands as she walked. She clutched Lourdes'
harness with one hand and let the other slide over the "pony's" butt
cheeks and outer thighs. "No brand," she noted. "If I steal
you away... who's to know?"
Lourdes struggled in her bonds and under
Kat's questing fingers, reminding herself of her total, complete
helplessness. Her heart was beating like a hammer, and
she was panting through her gag.
Kat's smile became decidedly feral. "I think I'll keep you," she
announced. "I'll have all
your things moved out of your apartment and into a 'Special Suite'
I've prepared in the Katacombs." She embraced her new prisoner,
one hand caressing her sex from behind, the other gently squeezing her
left breast. "When you're not off flying one of Margo's hi-tech
toys, I'll keep you locked away, safe and secure."
Lourdes' excitement reached new heights,
spurred by Kat's wandering hands, but especially by the prospect
of the special attention she was being promised.
"I'd remove your gag and ask if the idea
of becoming a permanent 'Kat toy' is appealing," Kat whispered, "but
your opinion is irrelevant, isn't it?" Lourdes' preference might
have been moot, but her gagged smile and the gleam in her eyes made her
feelings known. "If you're hoping for a chance to
complain to Margo or Elke," Kat continued, "you can forget it.
Harem Keeper and the Red Queen are the ones who talked me into
this."
Lourdes sighed and let her gagged, harnessed head rest on Kat's
shoulder. She was at once frightened and happy, very happy.
Unseen by her captive, Kat's smile became innocent and warm, and her
cheeks blushed. "I've never had a pet before," she said in a
hoarse whisper. "At least you're housetrained." She stepped
back and began releasing the snaps securing Lourdes to the cart.
Of course, none of the harness buckles that rendered Kat's new
"pet" helpless were touched.
Kat gathered Lourdes' reins like a long lead, and pulled her into the
shadow of the trees. As they approached a rock wall, a
camouflaged door opened without prompting, revealing a set of steps
leading down. "Let's get you settled into
your new dungeon... I mean home, shall we?" Kat suggested, and
led her captive into the subterranean darkness.
|
SHORTY
&
the
COWGIRL |
EPILOGUE |
TWO MONTHS LATER
JESSIE McQUADE'S TOWNHOUSE
NEAR THE CAMPUS OF THE UNIVERSITY
OF ARIZONA
TUCSON, ARIZONA, USA
Jessie was glad
she had taken her last midterm, because it was clear she
wasn't going to get much in the way of studying accomplished tonight.
She was currently on her back, on her bed. She was also
nude, her wrists and thumbs cuffed behind her back, her ankles and
big toes cuffed together, and a ball-gag strapped in her mouth.
Chelsea's last midterm was behind her as well. At the moment the
nude pixie was busy celebrating, prone on her stomach, her head bobbing
between Jessie's slightly splayed legs, and her tongue and lips probing
the writhing, mewing redhead's sex. She'd been at this pleasant
task for some time, and both girls were gleaming with sweat.
Jessie was nearing climax,
the latest of several since Chelsea had taken her prisoner. She
screamed through her gag and did a half crunch, lifting her upper body
off the bed, her eyes clinched tightly closed. Chelsea paused
briefly to enjoy the expression on Jessie's gagged, grimacing face,
then extended her tongue and pushed the writhing captive over the edge.
Finally... after an eternity of unbearable pleasure... Jessie opened
her eyes and flopped back, panting and exhausted. Chelsea
slithered through Jessie's legs and up the captive's body on her hands
and knees, her passage eased by the lovers' mutually sweaty conditions.
She then rolled to the side, reached out and turned Jessie's
head, and began unbuckling her gag.
"I trust I've made an efficacious and irrefutable argument?" the
gloating pixie inquired. "You now fully appreciate my position
and acquiesce to my proposal?" She reached out and gently rubbed
her palm over Jessie's flushed, erect, right nipple. "Or would
you rather continue the debate?"
"No... no," Jessie gasped when the gag popped from her mouth. "I
give. You can have the basement... to do with as you please...
just let me rest."
"Most excellent," Chelsea purred. "I knew you'd come around."
She snuggled close and kissed Jessie's ear. "And cum, and
cum, and—"
"Stop it!" Jessie growled, turning her face away to hide a smile.
"Henceforth, the basement shall be a chartered colony of the Brightman
Hall dungeons," Chelsea continued. "When I take you down there,
you're officially my prisoner, to do with as I please."
"And the attic is now part of the Copperhead
Canyon Mine," Jessie added.
Chelsea adopted a coy pout. "I still have my doubts about that
part," she cooed. "It's so beastly hot in the attic, far
too hot for a delicate English Rose such as myself."
"I'll have the AC run up there," Jessie conceded, "and add some
insulation while I'm at it. In any case, from now on, once you're
up the folding stairs, your dimpled little ass is mine."
"Vulgar, Cowgirl," Chelsea giggled, then bounded from the bed and
disappeared into the bathroom.
Jessie heard the shower start. She sighed and stretched in her
bonds, as best she could. The cuffs on her wrists and ankles were
of the hinged variety, and those on her thumbs and big toes were like
tiny stocks. She sighed again and peered down her nude,
glistening body at her doubly clamped feet. "Don't worry about
me!" she shouted towards the bathroom, then continued in her normal
voice. "I'll just... lounge around... right here."
Chelsea's shower was uncharacteristically brief. She emerged from
the bathroom in a cloud of rapidly dissipating steam, toweling her mop
of blonde hair. She sorted through the tangle of clothes
littering the bedroom floor and donned her panties, bra, jeans, blouse,
socks, and boots. "I'm off to
the hardware store," she announced, then leaned over the bed and kissed
Jessie's lips. "I have a list of the things I'll need
to start accessorizing my new domain." She kissed
Jessie again, then was out the door.
"Hey!" Jessie shouted at Chelsea's disappearing back, but the bedroom
door slammed without a response. The entire townhouse was
virtually soundproof, and she knew no one
would hear, no matter how much noise she made; not her neighbors, and
not even Chelsea, unless she was standing in the hallway.
"Selfish little sadist," Jessie grumbled, stretching again in her
bonds.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open and Chelsea rushed back to the
bed. "Sorry darling," she chimed. "I can be so forgetful."
"Wha—m'mmpfh!" The ball-gag was back in Jessie's mouth and
the buckle being secured before she could react further.
Chelsea kissed Jessie's forehead, then was gone. "T-T-F-N!" she
called as the door slammed again.
"M'mmrfrf!" Jessie complained, but she was alone. She
waited a couple of minutes to see if she'd be able to hear the front
door slam, then gave up. She squirmed onto her side
for comfort, snuggling against the warm, slightly damp, tangled sheets,
and stared at the far wall. Rotten, selfish, no-good, little
sadist!
About a minute later, the door opened yet again. This time it
wasn't Chelsea, but one of CJ's new robots. The two foot tall,
bipedal automaton resembled a lanky, female doll. It's body was
stainless steel, but was covered with a skin of pink, latex-like
polymer. It was dressed in custom tailored Western blouse, vest,
jeans, and cowboy boots. Its "hair" was a shell of copper-red
plastic, and a red felt cowboy hat sat atop its head. Its
green-eyed, freckled, button-nosed features were similar to the cartoon
version
of "Cyber Jessie" that Teri Fournelle had originally programmed down at
the Lodge.
"Hey there, Jess," the robot drawled in a slightly tinny voice.
The robot was "speaking", but Jessie knew her EVE-6900 AI was
doing the talking. Incredibly strong for
its size, the CJ-bot was carrying a heavy book in its spindly arms.
As it came closer, Jessie could see the book was her Cultural
Anthropology text. "I'd love to let you go," CJ said, "but you
know I can't."
Jessie sighed. House rules were that CJ
could interfere in Jessie and Chelsea's games only to
prevent injury, in the event of fire, flood, etc., and when a formally
designated "Priority Event" on one of the participant's academic or
personal calendars was imminent. This did not, however, prevent
CJ from being helpful in a non-rescuing capacity.
"I suspect you might want to use this lull in
the action to start reading the new chapters for Anthro 210,"
CJ announced, her robot body opening the book and setting it on
the floor.
Jessie sighed, rolled onto her stomach, and wiggled until her head was
at the edge of the bed. She sighed again, squirmed in her bonds,
and settled her chin on the crumpled sheets. Carefully
positioning herself so any drool from her gag wouldn't
drip to the floor, she focused on the book below. CJ was getting
good
at
anticipating
her
needs,
she
had
to
admit.
A
second
CJ-bot
entered the bedroom. It was similar to the first,
but was wearing a frilly country dress and a straw boater festooned
with flowers. It stepped forward and shone a light on the book's
pages. Yep, she's gettin' real good, Jessie mused, and
started reading.
|
SHORTY
&
the
COWGIRL |
EPILOGUE |
FOUR MONTHS LATER
GONDALOO ISLAND
GREAT BARRIER REEF
QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA
Jamie
luxuriated
under the shower, working shampoo through her red locks and scrubbing
her scalp with her fingers. It had been a long, strenuous day,
diving up and down the face of the outer
reef, removing and replacing sample capsules from the myriad of
"artificial barnacles" that let her monitor the plankton drifting
around the island.
The Zodiac had been hoisted into the air and was being serviced by the
boathouse's automated maintenance system. Her rebreather harness,
mask, fins, and reef suit were rinsed and serviced, and were ready for
another dive. Her sample case was plugged into an autoanalyzer,
its individual tubes being extracted one-by-one and passed through a
battery of tests by the robotic machine. And now she could relax
for a couple of days, until the next set of samples needed collecting.
Jamie toweled herself dry. She combed out her hair, but left it
slick and wet, falling down her back. Her copper-red locks would
dry soon enough in the tropical sun. She double-checked the
progress of the data collection, then stretched and left the boathouse,
headed for the verandah
between the resort's main swimming pool and the lagoon beach. As
was her custom after a long dive (and when none of Margo's guests were
visiting the resort), Jamie didn't bother donning any clothing.
She stretched again as she walked. The sun felt good.
"Hello," Penny called as she approached. The tall, tan blonde was
also nude. Glistening with lotion, she was reclined on one of the
verandah's many lounge chairs. "Finished for the day?"
"I'll check the initial analysis in a couple of hours," Jamie answered,
"but I'm done diving, if that's what you mean." She leaned close
and planted a warm kiss on Penny's smiling lips. "How's your
day been?" she inquired, settling into a neighboring lounge chair.
"Still having trouble with our 'Special Project'?"
Penny sighed. "Connie was a spoiled
little brat as a kid, and now she's even worse."
"So send her back to the 'time-out cage'," Jamie suggested.
On a secluded beach about two miles from the main resort there was a
cage of closely spaced, dull gray, steel bars. It was a ten meter
cube, half sunk in the sand and situated just below the tidemark.
Its only amenity was a stainless steel, hi-tech toilet emerging
from the sand in one corner. The cage had been Connie's "home"
her first month on Gondaloo. Naked but for the steel "obedience
collar" locked around her throat, the "transported convict" (as Jamie
delighted in calling her) had been left to rant, rave, and weep, with
only the seabirds and crabs for an audience. Robots had provided
daily freshwater showers from
a hose and reel, and had made regular deliveries of food and drinking
water. The ocean had delivered itself, on
occasion,
rising to a depth of several inches with the highest tides. These
infrequent wet periods made relaxation difficult, but neighboring palms
provided adequate shade, and the tropical weather was kind.
At the end of her month of isolated captivity, Connie had emerged from
the cage with a healthy tan, blonde roots showing through the auburn
remains of her now scraggly pageboy, bored to tears, and with a much
more polite attitude, more than ready for some human
company. She had expressed a sincere desire to join the resort
community. Lately, however, she had begun to backslide.
Penny sighed again. "If I threaten to put her back in the cage...
I'll have to do it."
Jamie sighed as well. "There is that," she agreed.
"I had to gag her again today," Penny added, "and paddle her bottom.
She called me a rude name after I asked her to sweep the main
lobby."
"Asked her, or ordered her?"
Penny smiled. "There's a difference?
"Eve," Jamie said, addressing the island's omnipresent AI, "I thought
your last report had our 'guest' progressing according to plan."
"Psychology is hardly an exact science," Eve's voice answered, "but
the intervention is on track. This is a temporary setback.
Connie's dominant side is asserting itself."
Penny's smile faded. "When I agreed to this, I didn't think it
would be so... difficult. I thought Connie would be our
involuntary guest for a few months, then depart a chastised, chastened,
but better person. If I'd realize we'd be reprogramming
her psyche..."
"She's rebelling," Jamie said. "I'd cause trouble too, under
similar circumstances."
Of course, causing actual trouble or making a serious escape
attempt was impossible for "poor, innocent Connie". She was under
constant surveillance by Eve, including the monitoring of her biometric
responses to everything that
happened. Gondaloo was isolated geographically, and all
communications were under Eve's complete control. Finally, as a
last resort, Connie's irremovable, tamper-proof, TIKLER contact-lined
collar could render her unconsciousness. (It could also deliver
"corrective reminders", from an irritating tickle to sharp pain.)
"Maybe we need to play Good Cop and Bad Cop," Jamie continued.
"One of us plays the Evil Bitch and the other the Kind Mistress.
It might make her open up a little."
"This could be a sound strategy," Eve agreed.
"I have too much early history with 'Little Connie'," Penny said, then
smiled broadly at her redheaded lover, "so maybe you should be the one
to offer tea and sympathy."
"Oh, I'll offer more than that," Jamie muttered with a feral grin.
"Don't you have guests from Hong Kong next week?"
Penny nodded. "Yes. As planned, we'll keep Connie
sequestered." Penny's smile returned. "I know, I'll
personally chain her
up in one of the lower storerooms in a most cruel manner. You can
'sneak down' later, ease her situation, then visit regularly during the
week and 'brighten her day'. After the guests leave, I'll keep
being
mean, and you can keep being her saviour."
"It's a dirty, rotten, miserable job," Jamie sighed (a twinkle in her
green eyes), "but somebody's gotta do it."
"I'm sure you'll soldier through," Penny purred. "Best not start
immediately. We don't want to make her suspicious. How
about a drink?" Jamie nodded and Penny retrieved a pager from
a nearby side table. "Connie, darling, be a dear and bring
a pitcher of margaritas to the verandah. There's a good girl."
She set down the pager, then picked it up again. "Oh, and
some crab puffs."
"Super," Jamie purred, then turned onto her stomach.
Penny smiled, reached for a bottle of sunscreen, and began applying it
to her lover's freckled body. It took several minutes to give
Jamie a thorough coating, front and back. As she finished, they
heard a tinkling noise approaching from the kitchen area.
Connie came into view. She was wearing a very skimpy, very
tight string bikini, in semi-opaque, black spandex. Black heels
were strapped (and padlocked) on her feet. A tiny, white, frilly
apron was tied around her waist, and a black ribbon and white lace
maid's cap was pinned atop her hair. In addition to her collar,
she was restrained by steel manacles and shackles, all joined in front
by light chains in the traditional "serving slave" arrangement.
Finally,
she was gagged, a white rubber ball with a black leather strap. A
tiny padlock dangled from its buckle at the nape of her neck.
Daily exercise (rigorous and mandatory) was giving Connie's
muscles additional tone. Her smooth, flawless skin was deeply
tanned, and her growing hair had been dyed to its natural color, a dark
blonde with sun-lightened streaks. She was carrying a tray with a
frosted glass pitcher, two salt-rimmed glasses, and a dish of the
requested hors d'oeuvres. Her expression carefully
neutral (but unable to disguise her humiliation and smoldering
resentment), she set the tray down, poured the glasses full, handed
them to her "hosts", then took a step back and stared at the
theoretical horizon.
"Thank you, Connie," Jamie said, taking a
delicate sip.
Penny popped a puff in her mouth and mumbled something that might
have been an expression of gratitude.
"The maid outfit your idea?" Jamie asked Penny. The smug, amused
blonde nodded, sipping her drink. "She looks smashing," Jamie
continued. "Next time, I suggest
a garter belt and stockings."
"Sheer... or fishnet?" Penny inquired.
Frustrated and helpless, Connie "ignored" the exchange, but her hands
closed into tight fists. Laugh it up, ladies, she fumed
silently. You'll get your comeuppance... someday.
|
SHORTY
&
the
COWGIRL |
EPILOGUE |
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Jessie
|
|
Victoria
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SIX MONTHS LATER
COPPERHEAD CANYON LODGE
ARIZONA, USA
Jessie trudged
down the Canyon, away from the Lodge and towards the ghost town
and badlands beyond. Chelsea was in Tucson. Cody had
gone home for the day. Doc and Delores were up in the Lodge,
playing
chess. It was well after dark, and the wintry desert air was
still, cold, and clear. Jessie was dressed in her usual jeans,
Western
shirt, and boots, but had added a Navajo blanket-patterned wool coat.
As she came to the tall fence of iron bars that protected the
start
of the canyon, a quiet chime sounded, a red light flashed, and the gate
slowly rolled open. She passed through, out of the canyon and
into the badlands. The gate rolled shut behind her.
The moon was rising, lending a silver gleam to the sere, rocky
landscape. Overhead, countless stars
filled the sky from horizon to horizon, the Milky Way glowing like
a river of diamond dust. Far in the distance she heard the
yipping
call of a gray fox, from the general direction of Twin Butte.
Most
people found the desert lifeless and empty, but Jessie knew better.
It teemed with life, even in late winter. You
just had to know where, when, and how to look. Beautiful, she
thought,
watching
the
moon
shadow
of
a
single,
lonely
cloud
ripple
across
the silver and black jumble of boulders, buttes,
and cliffs.
Jessie sighed, remembering the task at hand. She turned towards
the ghost town and made her way to the "guesthouse", the closest
structure to the canyon entrance. It was the only intact building
in the town, but fit in perfectly with the neighboring ruins of
teetering gray timbers and tumbled adobe walls. In point of fact,
a great deal of effort had gone into making it so.
The guesthouse had been completely rebuilt years
before, and it was as strong and secure as a bunker (or a prison).
Iron rebar and bolted steel frames had been erected inside all
of
the
structure's
exterior
walls,
then
shotcrete
was
blown
into
the
frames
and trowled smooth, adding an additional two feet
of thermal mass (and making the structure very
secure). The roof had been similarly reinforced, and the handful
of windows were retrofitted with steel frames and double pane,
bulletproof
glass. Steel shutters, faced with the original timber, and an
inch-thick steel door, also faced with timber, provided security and
privacy. Central heat and air, a simple but modern bath, and a
small kitchen completed the renovation.
Inside, all the modern work was carefully camouflaged behind skim coats
of adobe plaster and the artful use of distressed wood trim. The
decor was elegantly spartan: Navajo rugs, rustic wood furniture, old
leather, and a few Pueblo ceramics. The entire house was under
CJ's automated control: doors, shutters, kitchen appliances, bathroom
fixtures, heat, light, and water.
The front door opened as Jessie approached, then closed behind her with
an authoritative clang and the snick of several bolts snapping into the
frame. Everything in the living room and
kitchen was neat and tidy, the floor swept, stoneware dishes drying in
a wooden rack, cooking pots and utensils hanging from hooks or stowed
in their proper places. Jessie continued into the bedroom.
The bed was neatly made. The adjoining bathroom was
spotlessly clean.
Jessie noted there was still a little moisture lingering in the
air, and the neatly hanging bath towel was slightly damp. She
surmised
someone had taken a shower quite recently. In Arizona, nothing
stayed damp for very long, even in winter.
Jessie returned to the bedroom and entered the walk-in closet.
All four walls and the ceiling were lined with aromatic cedar,
and a full-length mirror was mounted opposite the door. Clothing
hung from rods and hangers, or was folded and stowed in a steel
framework of sliding wire baskets. All were in muted earth
tones, with sage green and sandstone-red dominating; and most were
field
clothes: work shirts, jeans, sweaters, a gortex jacket, etc. All
sported
the Copperhead Canyon Archeological Institute shoulder patch or logo.
The
underwear was simple and drab. A few pair of boots, sneakers, and
sandals
were neatly arrayed on a shoe-rack.
Inspection complete, Jessie faced the mirror and pulled a brush from
her coat. She ran it through her hair, returned it to her pocket, then
removed the coat and hung it on a hanger. She straightened the
front of her blouse, and sighed. "Okay, CJ," she whispered, "I'm
ready."
The
mirror slid to the side, revealing itself to be the front face of a
thick, solid, steel panel. Beyond was a long, narrow, concrete
passage, dimly lit by small industrial fixtures recessed in the
ceiling. It was straight for several yards, then turned to the
right and ended in a gated wall of vertical steel bars. On the
far side
of the bars was a small, windowless room. It was bare, but for
a low couch upholstered with brown burlap. Reclined on the couch,
full-length on her stomach, was Victoria McQuade. Manacles and
shackles
were locked around her wrists and ankles, and linked to the back wall
by long, stainless steel chains. But for a choker around her
throat,
she was otherwise completely nude.
"Hello,
Victoria," Jessie said quietly. A ghost of a gloating smile
curled her lips, despite her desire to mask all of her emotions.
"Hello, Jessie," the captive answered. She was clearly
nervous—nervous and at least a little afraid.
"You usually sleep like this?"
Victoria stirred, causing her chains to clink and slide. "Not
usually. Not these days. Doc wanted you
to see me like this." She rolled onto her back and carefully
arranged her chains, then sighed and continued speaking. Her
voice was low and even, as if she was reciting a rehearsed speech.
"The first few days after I got back from... that place...
they kept me in here all the time. After a while, Doc let me out
during the day, to work in the labs. She put Delores in charge,
and she kept me in serving chains. I swept the floor, dusted—"
"Why are you telling me all this?" Jessie demanded.
Victoria sighed. "Doc told me to make a full
report, and to answer all your questions... or I'd be punished."
Jessie nodded. "Continue."
"I was, shall we say, a little difficult at first." Victoria said, "but
I learned." Her hand went to the choker around her neck. It
was Native American in design, like a Plains
Indian bone-bead necklace, only the cylindrical elements were a dull
silver, and the round beads turquoise. It had a silver ring
dangling
from the front. On close inspection it could be seen the ring
was cast in the shape of a tightly wound spiral, a traditional design,
but it was still a functioning ring to which one could attach a leash
or chain. "I learned," Victoria repeated.
Jessie knew the choker was crafted of wire and bone-bead cylinders of a
nearly indestructible alloy. It was loaded
with nano-circuitry and lined with TIKLER contacts that could deliver
unpleasant, even debilitating sensations, and was under CJ's radio
control.
It insured Victoria could never leave the immediate area of
Copperhead Canyon, and made it possible to correct any misbehavior on
her part.
"Go on," Jessie said.
"At first, I wasn't allowed to wear any clothing,"
Victoria said. "Then they let me work in a shirt... only a
shirt,
unbuttoned,
with
the
sleeves
rolled
all
the
way
up.
Then
they
let me wear jeans or a sports kilt, sneakers
or sandals, and eventually... underwear... and eventually I didn't
have to wear the chains. Eventually, when I returned to the
guesthouse at night, I was allowed to sleep in the bed. Now I
only have to strip and sleep in here, locking myself in these
chains—"
She lifted her hands, then let them drop. "—when I'm bad.
When
I'm very bad, Delores comes and ties me up. Hog-tie,
frog-tie,
ball-tie... she usually decides I'm bad two or three nights a week.
She
ties me, gags me, fiddles with my cunt 'til I can't stand it... then
leaves
me 'til morning. I have to work the next day, regardless... no
matter
how stiff and sore... no matter how little sleep I managed to get."
"Just like you used to do to her," Jessie observed.
Victoria nodded. "I wasn't bad today," she whispered. "I'm
in chains tonight for you, so you can see."
Jessie nodded. "So you said."
"I'm going to be more than a janitor," Victoria said, her expression
brightening a little. "Doc's training me in conservation.
Eventually, I'll be a lab tech."
Jessie nodded again. "And eventually I'll find a way to forgive
you for what you and Drake did to me and Delores."
Victoria sighed. "I'm sorry, Jess," she whispered. "I...
I've learned."
Jessie turned her back, hiding the tears welling in her eyes.
Emotions warred in her heart: pity, resentment, and (to her
infinite surprise) love.
"Tell me about Chelsea," Victoria said softly.
Jessie spun to face her cousin and wiped her eyes. "Never you
mind about Chelsea," she growled. "She's up in Tucson, working on
a project with her study group. You'll meet her
when I decide you're ready, and—"
"Do you love her?" Victoria asked in a hoarse whisper.
Jessie opened her mouth to bark a scathing rebuke, then paused.
"Like I've never loved anything in my life," she
said finally. "Like she is my life. Like she's
oxygen. Like I'll die without her."
Victoria smiled. "Good," she said. "I'm
glad. Glad for you both." Her expression was kind,
and a little sad.
"Are you cold?" Jessie whispered.
"A little. CJ adjusts the heat after I fall asleep... so I don't
get sick. I can't work if I'm sick."
Jessie walked away, then returned with a light blanket. The
barred gate slid to the side, Jessie tossed the blanket to her cousin,
and the gate closed with a hollow clang. Jessie
tried to remain cold and detached, but failed. "Are you
depressed?"
she asked.
Victoria's face brightened, and she actually laughed. "You mean
clinically? You'll have to ask your automated shrink."
Jessie continued staring, and Victoria's smile faded to a wry
grin. "I was a little spooked at the prospect of seein' you
again... a little ashamed... a little scared."
"You should be scared," Jessie mumbled.
Victoria's grin faded. "I know I gotta long way to go to earn
your trust, but do I have a chance? You really think you can
forgive me for what I did? ...for what I was?"
Jessie was silent for several long seconds. "We'll find a way,
Victoria," she said finally. "You and me. We'll find a way
to be a family." The McQuade women locked eyes, then Victoria
nodded. Jessie spun on her heel and walked away.
Victoria heard the closing thud of the mirror panel, the lights in the
passage winked out, and the lights in her cell dimmed to a feeble
orange glow. She pulled the blanket over her naked body and
snuggled against the burlap cushions. The wool and burlap were
scratchy, but at least she was warm. More importantly, the
blanket was a
kindness, from Jessie.
"Vicky?"
It was CJ's familiar voice, the voice of the AI that monitored her
every action and emotion, locked and unlocked her
chains and cell door, and punished her disobedience. "Yes,
CJ?" the prisoner whispered.
"You were a good girl," the AI continued. "You may play with
yourself tonight. One time."
Victoria sighed and rolled onto her side. "Thank you, CJ," she
said. "Maybe later." Victoria yawned and stretched, her
chains clinking and clattering. "Probably later," she
ammended, a ghost of a smile on her pale lips.
|
THE
END |
of Shorty & the Cowgirl —
EPILOGUE |
| THE END |
of
Shorty & the Cowgirl
|
