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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jessie & Chelsea: THE  ADVENTURES  OF Shorty & the Cowgirl ———————————————————— by Van © 2002
		Chapter 1r

THE ATTIC OF JESSIE McQUADE'S TOWNHOUSE
NEAR THE CAMPUS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA
TUCSON, ARIZONA, USA

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Three hours in the hot attic—three hours of excruciatingly tight bondage—three hours of balancing her weight on one foot... for as long as she could take it... then doing the awkward hop to the other foot.  Chelsea was athletic and strong (albeit decidedly petite) and anything but delicate... but even the resilience of youth has its limits.

Chelsea blinked in concentration, struggling to stay focused.  She stared down at her left foot.  Bare, tan, and glistening with sweat (like the rest of her), it was trembling slightly from fatigue, its ankle bound with soft, cotton clothesline (also like the rest of her), its toes squirming as she shifted her weight ever so slightly to maintain her balance.  The short, tan, blonde Brit's wrists were tied behind her back in the "double hammerlock" position, wrists crossed and tied between her shoulderblades.  More rope encircled her arms and torso, and was hitched and lashed into a breast-framing, shoulder-yolking, arm pinning, flesh-dimpling harness.  The pose was as uncomfortable as it was unnatural, the expertly applied bonds as artistic as they were inescapable.  Chelsea could flutter her fingers... but that was about it.  Twisting her upper body only made the ropes around her firm, small breasts pinch, and flexing her arms was altogether impossible.

There was more.  A length of three-quarter inch hemp rope (the stiff, itchy, scratchy kind) had been tied off to one of the attic timbers (about level with Chelsea's breasts), stretched between the captive's legs, and back up to a second timber, leaving Chelsea straddling the taut rope in the middle of the attic, her parted labia at the point of a shallow "V" of hemp.  In addition, a brass ring (riding tack) was hitched through the hemp rope, about a foot behind the petite captive's naked, dimpled rump.  A length of cotton clothesline was threaded through the ring.  One end was wrapped, cinched, and knotted around Chelsea's left ankle, the very ankle in her current gaze.  The other was tied around her right ankle.  The rope in between was insufficient for Chelsea to plant both feet on the attic floor at once... hence the occasional (carefully, deliberately timed) hop, the dry slither of rope through the ring, and the exchange of one tired foot for the other.

As a final touch, a rope was tied from Chelsea's wrist bonds up the the ceiling, but the rope was not particularly taut.  It only served to keep the sweaty, helpless captive from falling to either side if her weight came down on the "V" of hemp (and her sex).  The system had been tested.  About an hour ago, while changing feet, Chelsea had slipped, and the inevitable had happened: her weight had come crashing down on her most intimate anatomy, the coarse hemp prickling like tiny needles, Chelsea's feet scrambling on the hardwood planks.  After several seconds, she finally managed to get one foot planted correctly, and with considerable effort (the position was awkward and she was very tired), she had straightened her leg and resumed her ordeal.  She shook her head, causing droplets of sweat to spin away into the still, hot air of the attic.  I certainly don't want to repeat that, she mused, but how much longer 'til I have no choice... 'til my legs give out completely... and I'm riding this horrid rope, too exhausted to stand?

The question was internal and rhetorical and there was no one present to answer, even if it had been spoken aloud... which was, by the way, impossible.  Chelsea was gagged.  Her panties were stuffed in her mouth, and held there by dermafoam, the TESSERACT Products tape which, once applied in layers, cured in the air and fused into a solid, inseparable mass.  Her face was covered with head-encircling bands of dermafoam from just below her nose to just under her chin.  The fused wrappings were tight, impossible to shift or even move, and pressed her face and stuffed mouth like elastic bandages.

And what cruel sadist had done this to poor, innocent Chelsea?  What despicable villain had tied her naked body in what amounted to exquisite torture?  What inhuman blackguard had ignored her piteous, gagged whimpering and pathetic struggles and abandoned her to this hideous fate?  Why, her new best friend, lover, and roommate, Jessie McQuade, of course.

You just wait 'til it's my turn, Cowgirl, Chelsea fumed, blinking sweat from her eyes.  After a two day trip from Gondaloo to Cairns to Hong Kong, to LA, to Tucson... they had arrived at Jessie's townhouse (Chelsea's residence as well, now that she was joining Jessie as a University of Arizona student and would be her roommate).  Both were tired and very jet-lagged, but Jessie had decreed there would be no napping 'til after sunset (living by the sun being the best cure for jet-lag).  A tour of the house had ensued (with Chelsea in the role of Naked Kidnap Victim (just to keep things "interesting"))... and then the captive had been placed in her current predicament, in her current location... and the waiting had begun.  It has to be close to sundown, Chelsea thought, twisting in her bonds.  There was a small window in the attic, but it was South-facing, and as the sun dipped towards the horizon, its rays became more direct.  Chelsea wouldn't know it was sundown until the light changed color and then began fading completely.

Chelsea did her next hop (she'd long since lost count)—and her eyes shot wide and she shrieked through her gag in alarm!  She'd almost lost her footing.  Chelsea struggled erect, and now her weight was on her right foot... and her right calf was trembling, threatening to cramp.  Noooo!

"Having trouble there, Shorty?"

Chelsea turned her head to find she was not alone.  The cruel, sadistic, despicable, inhuman, etc., etc., villainess had returned.  Jessie had changed into cutoff jeans and a tank-top, after a refreshing shower, no doubt, the captive groused.  Despite her predicament (and her irritation at having been abandoned for so long), the short, blonde Brit couldn't help but sigh through her gag at the sight of her captor (and lover).  Several inches taller than herself; slender, coltish, toned limbs and body covered with millions of freckles, just a hint of baby fat still on her twenty-year-old frame, just the slightest endearing touch of girlish, adolescent clumsiness still mixed with her athletic, tomboyism demeaner, that glorious head of swaying, straight, copper red locks, the face of an angel, of a Celtic goddess, clever, smart, inventive, delightfully, gawkishly American... Jessie was a treasure...  And she loves me! the petite prisoner mused.

"Used to the Arizona heat yet?" Jessie quipped, then walked to her captive, seized the short prisoner's head in her two, strong, freckled hands... gave Chelsea's sweat-slick forehead a long, languid lick... then smacked her lips, a coy smile on her angelic face.  "Hmm... I guess you're done."  Supporting Chelsea with her left arm, Jessie began untying the prisoner's left ankle.  The tall redhead smiled when her petite friend sighed through her gag and rested her sweat dampened head on Jessie's freckled shoulder.  The left ankle free, Jessie pulled the now free end through the ring, untied the wrist-to-ceiling rope, and lifted Chelsea off the crotch rope.  She cradled the still very much helpless bundle in her arms and looked around the attic.  "This place needs some convenient lashing points," she observed.  "I'll have to find some steel brackets with swivels and rings I can screw into the rafters and framing timbers at strategic locations... maybe a small motorized winch on a track to run along the ceiling peak.  What'cha think? ...now that you've had time to appreciate the place."

Chelsea lifted her sweaty, gagged head, locked eyes with her tormentor (and lover) and rolled her eyes in disgust.

Jessie laughed and reached with her right hand towards the dangling rope still tied around Chelsea's right ankle.  The short, captive Brit flexed her right leg helpfully, to bring the ankle into easy range of Jessie's questing fingers.  The tall American picked at the knot, pursing her lips in concentration, then finally succeeded in negotiating its complexities and unraveling the windings.  The rope slithered to the ground to lay in a loose tangle. 

Chelsea rested her head back against Jessie's shoulder, and her captor/rescuer carried her towards the attic stairs.

The master bedroom of the townhouse had an attached master bath with a large shower, a sunken tub, and a sauna.  (The bedroom that had been tentatively claimed by Chelsea during the tour wasn't nearly as expansive, nor was the nearest unattached bathroom as splendid.  But it beat the heck out of a dorm room, of that Chelsea was sure.)

Jessie carried her tan, sweaty, petite, helpless burden into the master bath and lay her on the floor, then set about untying the rope pinning the blonde pixie's arms and wrists against her torso.  Soon Chelsea's arms, shoulders, and breasts were free, but, having been tied with a separate length of rope, her wrists remained neatly and tightly bound in a crossed position behind her back.  Jessie crossed Chelsea's ankles and used the former chest rope to bind them together, leaving a long, trailing, free end.  Jessie then stood and walked towards one of the sinks.  A liter bottle of sports drink (Mango/Peach) was nestled in crushed ice.  The grinning redhead picked up the bottle, a small pair of stainless steel bandage scissors, and turned.

Tiny, helpless, her blonde bob a tousled, sweat-dampened mop—her tan, toned, glistening skin seeming to glow in the late afternoon/early evening light—Chelsea squirmed weakly in her bonds, on her side, her short body in a semi-fetal tuck.  Jessie gazed down at her lover, friend, and momentary prisoner, drinking in the sensuous, sinusoidal curve of perfect skin flowing from neck to freckled shoulder to tan ribs to hips to thighs to calves... to strong, tiny feet.  Chelsea gazed back at her captor with sleepy blue eyes, and twisted in her bonds.

"Flirt," Jessie snorted, embarrassed by her naked appreciation of her naked friend.  Carrying the sports drink and scissors the grinning redhead sauntered towards Chelsea, settled gracefully to the floor, and hauled the naked bundle's head and shoulders onto her lap.  "Hold still," she ordered and carefully snipped through the dermafoam band encircling Chelsea's lower face and neck.  She then set the scissors on the floor, peeled off the tape and tossed it away, then helped the mewing, blinking captive expel her panties from her mouth.

"Yuck," Chelsea complained with a grimace.  "You beastly sadist!  How dare you—"

"Hold that thought," Jessie interrupted, popped the top on the sports drink and held it to Chelsea's suddenly smiling lips.

"Oooh—gimme!" the blonde pixie purred, and drank with gusto, guzzling the entire contents.  Jessie set the empty bottle on the floor as Chelsea licked her lips.  "Thanks... now, where was I?  Oh yes!  You beastly sadist!  How dare you leave me up there all afternoon!  I have half a mind to—"

Jessie leaned down and silenced her prisoner with a savage kiss, thrusting her tongue into the diminutive Brit's mouth.  Chelsea mewed in surprise, then returned the kiss with gusto.  The kissing continued for some time, as Jessie's hands roamed over Chelsea's breasts, tummy, thighs, and sex.

Chelsea turned her head to the side.  "Sadist!" she accused, then returned to kissing her captor, thrusting her hips against Jessie's hand.

Jessie took a pause of her own.  "Flirt!" she purred, and kissed Chelsea's neck, nibbled her left ear, then returned to her lips.

Chelsea broke away again, squirming in her bonds.  "I have half a mind to—oh!—to..."  Jessie's hand was inside her dripping sex, and was expertly massaging the helpless captive's clit.  "I... when it's my turn, when...  I'll—oh!—Stop it!  Stop!  Oooh... Nooo!  AhhhHHH—MMPFH!!!"

Chelsea's scream was silenced by her captor/tormentor/lover's lips and tongue.  The pixie captive bucked against her bonds and the grip of Jessie's strong arms and hands, writhing in orgasm.  Finally, flushed, panting, and glistening with sweat, Chelsea lay in Jessie's lap, gazing up at the redhead's freckled, smiling face.  "Sadist!" she whispered.

Jessie laughed.  "That's one you owe me, Flirt," she said and stood, stripped off her tank-top, shorts, and panties (her still panting prisoner watching the perfunctory striptease with an appreciative smirk), then picked up her bound captive and carried her towards the shower.

After a rinse, a thorough soaping, and a final rinse, Jessie carried her prisoner into the master bath's large sauna.

"Oh please, darling," Chelsea whined, "not more heat!  The attic was bad enough.  It must be a thousand degrees in here!"

Chelsea set her helpless burden down on her stomach on a towel stretched over a wide, wooden bench.  "Trust me, Shorty," the grinning redhead purred, "this is just what you need."  She then sat next to her prisoner, oiled her hands from a small bottle, and began kneading Chelsea's shoulders.

"Too hot!," Chelsea complained.  "Ow!  Stop it!  Stop.  Stop it right... there .  Lower, stop it lower.  Yesss... oooh... stop.   Stop it harder... ooooh!  I'm... too... hot."

Jessie's grin widened to a wry smile.  "Ya got that right, Short Stuff."

"Huh?  Oooh... stop!"

The massage continued.  Jessie worked around Chelsea's bonds, kneading and manipulating the short blonde from head to toes.  By the time she was pressing her thumbs into the firm soles of Chelsea's tiny feet, the captive's protestations had become inarticulate moaning, her weak struggles had given way to slow squirming, and both prisoner and masseuse were flushed and dripping with sweat.

"I think we're both done," Jessie purred, and carried Chelsea back to the shower.

The shower was followed by a fluffy toweling for both (administered by Jessie, of course), followed by Chelsea being tucked into the master suite's king-size bed, followed by a supper of wine, cheese, and finger sandwiches.  The sleepy blonde's wrists and ankles remained crossed and bound the entire time, as they did afterwards, when Jessie turned out the lights and climbed under the light covers, snuggling her naked body against her naked prisoner.

Soon both were fast asleep.

Chelsea woke in the middle of the night.  The bound, naked blonde lifted her head and scanned the near-darkness of the master bedroom.  It felt like some time after midnight, but she couldn't find a clock she could read.  Jessie had rolled away at some point.  Starlight from a skylight overhead gave the redhead's fair, freckled face a ghostly glow.  Chelsea sighed.  Her American friend, lover, and (for the moment) captor looked so young, so innocent... her coral lips slightly parted... a few strands of her straight, copper red hair lying in sinuous, elegant chaos across the left half of her face... the covers were pulled down to reveal one strong, white, freckled shoulder... the firm, perfect globe of her right breast... the relaxed coral bump of her right nipple. 

Chelsea lay her head back her the pillow... and sighed.  She felt rested and ready for the new day... only the new day in question was still hours away.  I'm never gonna get back to sleep, she mused.  Damned jet-lag!  If only I can... 

A mischievous grin on her face, the wrist and ankle bound pixie sloooowly flexed her legs, until her fingers could touch the rope bands around her ankles.  All the while, her attention was on the still slumbering Jessie.  The redhead neither stirred nor moved nor gave any indication she was anything but fast asleep.  Chelsea's ankles were crossed and bound (to make hopping difficult if not altogether impossible), but her Yank captor had been a little sloppy in her technique: the key knots were within easy reach of Chelsea's fingers, and she had neglected to use the long, free end of the ankle rope to secure her prisoner to the bed.  Probably you're more jet-lagged than you believe, Cowgirl.  The ankle rope came free and Chelsea slowly eased her feet and legs out from under the covers.  And now you pay!  Chelsea planted her feet on the carpeted floor and slowly... very slowly... slid herself to the floor.  She lay listening for several long seconds... for a minute...  There was no change in Jessie's breathing. Then, the redhead rolled onto her side, causing Chelsea to flinch in alarm.  Biting her lower lip (a nervous habit), the still wrist-bound Brit eased herself to her knees, her heart hammering.  Jessie had rolled towards her... but was still asleep.

Chelsea watched her captor's slumber for several more seconds... then, grinning in anticipation, tiptoed silently into the master bath.  She eased the connecting door closed, then padded to the center of the room and eased herself down onto the cold tiles.  Grimacing in concentration, Chelsea bent at the waist, struggling to pass her wrists from back to front, past her hips and buttocks.  She was young and flexible, but jumping or rolling or wiggling her bound wrists past the obstacle of her own pelvis was not easy.  The struggling Brit knew it was possible.  Years earlier, on one of the rare occasions when she'd managed to maneuver her older sister Penny into being the bindee (for once), her tall, athletic, slender (unkind younger sisters might say skinny, scrawny, or beanpole ) sibling had accomplished the feat before her captor's (Chelsea's) astonished eyes.  Having lost the seminal wager, Chelsea and her friend Connie had then spent the remainder of the night bound and gagged and locked in Penny's closet.  The incident had inspired Chelsea to take up yoga (like Penny) and she knew what she was attempting ought to be possible, ...dammit!

The naked, bound pixie struggled on.  After several long minutes (and only after working up a little lubricating sweat) Chelsea finally succeeded in sliding her joined hands past her hips.  She then eased her feet through the hoop of her arms and bound wrists... and slowly, gracefully, stood erect.  Her wrists were still crossed and bound, but now they were in front!  Smiling in triumph, she used her lips, teeth, and tongue to attack the key knot.  It was stubborn, but eventually succumbed to Chelsea's assault.  The windings uncoiled, the rope slithered to the tiles... and she was free!

A pixie with a purpose, Chelsea tiptoed back into the bedroom.  Her former wrist rope was in her hands, a slip-knot with a long free end tied it its center.  The grinning blonde approached the bed, carefully felt under the covers until she found her former ankle rope... and slowly pulled it free.

Jessie, her target, was lying on her back, slightly to the right side of the large bed, her head turned to the left, her right hand raised slightly.  As Chelsea watched, Jessie's eyes rolled under her closed lids, her lips twitched, and the fingers of her right hand fluttered, ever so slightly.  Aw... sweet dreams, Cowgirl , Chelsea whispered silently, and slowly, carefully, eased the noose of soft, braided cotton around Jessie's right wrist, and slooowly pulled it closed.  The grinning blonde watched her friend's slumbering face as she tied the rope off to the headboard.  Unsuspecting, her red-haired "victim" dreamed blissfully on.

Chelsea tiptoed to the other side of the bed, tying another centered slipknot in her former ankle rope as she went.  She then paused, chewing her lower lip in concentration, examining what she could see of Jessie's position, the lay of the covers, planning the next (and critical) phase of her attack.  Jessie had several inches of height on her, and the coltish tomboy was strong.  Even with one of Jessie's wrists tied, victory in a wrestling match with the "Cowgirl" was anything but a sure thing for "Shorty".

Chelsea lifted the edge of the covers until she found Jessie's left hand.  Luckily, it was not pinned under the sleeper's body.  She eased the second noose of rope over Jessie's left hand, tightened the loop, passed one free end of the rope around the post of the headboard... then took a deep breath... and gently but firmly lifted Jessie's wrist and arm and tied off the rope to the post.

Jessie didn't come fully awake until Chelsea was just finishing wrapping the free end of the left rope several times around the prisoner's wrist and tying a hitch through the slipknot.  "Wha'th...? Hey!  Lemme-GO!"  Jessie pulled on both wrists.  The headboard shook very slightly, but that was all.

"Don't do that!" Chelsea scolded, "not until I finish binding your wrists.  If you tug on that noose you might hurt yourself."

Jessie struggled and bucked on the bed, churning the covers and bringing more of her naked self into view, but not achieving her freedom.  Meanwhile, Chelsea sauntered to the right side of the bed and began wrapping her captive's right wrist in more rope, as she had the left.

"You little twerp!" Jessie growled, shaking her head and trying to blow errant strands of red hair from her freckled face.  "When I get free I'm gonna—ow!—get off my arm!!!"

Chelsea had climbed onto the bed and was using her weight to pin her prisoner's right arm as she untied the right rope from the headboard and repositioned it to the right headboard post.  When she was finished, Jessie was pinioned on her back in the center of the bed, her arms raised and outstretched.  "There!" the grinning blonde said, repositioned herself to straddle Jessie's hips, and settled her naked weight on her naked captive's pale, flat tummy.

"Get off me, you horse!" Jessie complained.

"Dermafoam."

"I said... What?"

"Dermafoam," Chelsea repeated, an infuriatingly sweet smile on her pixie face.  "Where's the nearest roll of that delightful product you used on me earlier?"

Jessie growled like a captive she-wolf (although Chelsea could just see the hint of a twinkle in her prisoner's green eyes).  "When I get free, I'm gonna—Ahhh!!"

Chelsea had casually cupped Jessie's breasts in her hands and was giving the left nipple a rather unkind twist!   "Dermafoam?"

"Ah!  Bottom drawer!  Nightstand!  Ahhh!—Left nightstand!"

"Good little Cowgirl," Chelsea cooed, preparing to pinch Jessie's right nipple.  "And more rope?"

"Same!  Same place!"

Chelsea leaned down and gave each nipple a rather wet, prolonged kiss, then smiled when she noted the coral nubbins were now rather flushed and erect.  She gave each a playful flick (causing her prisoner to wince and growl in complaint) and climbed off the bed.  "Don't go anywhere," the grinning, naked pixie admonished.

Three hours spread-eagled on her own bed—Three hours pulling on her taut, inescapable bonds—Three hours with her rump on a stack of pillows, making her hips and sex her most prominent feature...  Jessie sighed through her gag and tried to ignore the persistent, irritating, delightful buzz of the club-like vibrator snugged against her flushed and elevated sex.

The gag had come first.  After waking to find herself a prisoner, Jessie could do nothing to prevent her infuriatingly perky captor from slapping a single piece of dermafoam over her lips, "...so you won't disturb my new neighbors," Chelsea had quipped.  Jessie was then abandoned to several minutes of futile struggling when her captor padded into the bathroom.  Jessie pulled and groped, but her fluttering fingers couldn't reach the knots at her wrists or at the bedposts.

Then Chelsea returned, smiling sweetly.  She held up the thong panties Jessie had worn on their two day journey from the other side of the world.  "Look what I found in the hamper," Chelsea said, giving the thong a delicate shake.  "Not much of a gobstopper, though, is it? Whatever shall we do?" she sighed, frowning in mock concern... then her expression had brightened.  "Oh, I know!"  She brought her other hand from behind her back.  In it were her own panties, the pair she had worn during the trip, the pair Jessie had stuffed in her mouth earlier in the day.  They were still crumpled (and no doubt still slimy and damp with Chelsea's saliva).  Jessie moaned and rolled her eyes in disgust as (still smiling sweetly) Chelsea turned Jessie's thong inside out, and wrapped it around her own balled panties.  "Now there's a gobstopper!" the naked nymph crowed in triumph.

Chelsea then climbed onto the bed and Jessie, settled her rump and weight on Jessie's tummy, thoughtfully gathered her prisoner's red locks atop her head and away from her neck, leaned close, and (without warning or preamble) ripped the tape from Jessie's lips.

"Ow!  You little—m'mmf! "

Chelsea had given her "victim" a long, deep, wet kiss... then pulled her lips away and rolled the wadded panties and thong into the redhead's mouth.  Jessie mewed in protest, but then the strip of dermafoam was back over her lips and Chelsea was reaching for the roll.  She pulled several inches of tape free (the fruity scent of the dermafoam's catalyst filling the air) and began wrapping her prisoners lips, face, and neck, not stopping until Jessie's lower face was completely, neatly covered, from bulging cheeks to chin.

"There," Chelsea had purred, climbing off her friend and pulling more tape free.  "I want you to reach up and clutch your wrist ropes for me, would you please?"  Jessie had growled through her now very effective gag and glared at her cute, naked captor.  Chelsea sighed.  "Well... I can always pinch your nips for you some more, if you're going to be difficult."  Jessie had sighed... then grabbed her bonds as ordered.  "Good Cowgirl," Chelsea said with a giggle, and began wrapping Jessie's right wrist with dermafoam, rope bonds and all.  She continued winding more tape until wrist, hand, fingers, and rope were mummified.  She then walked around the bed and Jessie's left wrist, hand, and fingers received identical treatment.

Chelsea then fluffed a pair of pillows and with Jessie's cooperation (coerced by the threat of more nipple pinching) placed them under Jessie's rump.  Finally, wide bands of rope from the nightstand drawer were tied around each ankle, the free ends were looped around the posts of the footboard... Chelsea smiled brightly... and she hauled in the slack, first on the right, then on the left.  A flurry of knots were tied, and Jessie was tightly, stringently spread-eagled, as never before in her young life.  (Her cousin Victoria had tied her to her Spanish Inquisition Rack replica and left her for several long hours once, but the apparatus hadn't been cranked as tight as this, as tight as Chelsea's ropes.)

The short blonde climbed onto the bed and settled into a semi-lotus, between Jessie's splayed legs.  "Why look, darling," the gloating pixie had said, lifting a tuft of her prisoner's coppery red pubic hair, "your mons venus is now your apex!  How delightfully apropos."  She then leaned close, pursed her lips, and playfully blew on the "apex" in question.  Jessie shuddered and pulled on her bonds.  Chelsea then leaned forward and stretched one petite hand towards Jessie's belly button.  "The wind was howling around the summit..."  Chelsea blew on Jessie's sex again.  "...as we left our final base camp."  The giggling blonde walked her fingers up the slope of her captive's tummy towards the "summit."

"Say," the grinning pixie said brightly, locking eyes with her prisoner, "you don't have a sewing kit, do you?  I could make a little Union Jack and tape it to a pin and..."  She pressed her index finger down on Jessie's mons.  "...plant the flag."  Jessie's eyes popped wide and she mewed through her gag.  "What?" Chelsea demanded in mock confusion.  "Isn't that what mountain climbers do? ...plant their flag?"  Jessie growled and pulled on her bonds.

Chelsea laughed and leaned lower, directing a playful breeze towards her prisoner's labia.  "Not to worry, Cowgirl," she purred, licking her lips like a hungry kitten, "I think I'll forego mountain climbing tonight and do a little spelunking."  Several looong minutes of tongue and lip and finger manipulation followed, until Jessie was pulling on her bonds with all her strength and was screaming through her gag, her gagged face, throat, breasts, stomach and sex flushed and beaded with sweat.  Finally, with the help of her captor's skillful, carefully timed ministrations, Jessie climbed a peak of her own and crashed into the valley of blissful orgasm.

"I believe we're even now, aren't we Cowgirl?"

Glistening with sweat, pulling weakly on her stringent bonds, Jessie blinked and stared at the ceiling, her flattened breasts heaving and nostrils flaring as she panted for air.  She lifted her tired head to find Chelsea rummaging through her nightstand.

"Eureka!" the short Brit crowed in triumph, holding up Jessie's wand-style vibrator, its long cord (with attached extension) uncoiling from the open drawer.  "I knew something... shall we say... interesting... had to be around here.  After all, you've lived here more than a year... without my charming self to provide entertainment."  Jessie growled weakly and tugged on her bonds, too exhausted to show the proper outrage.

Chelsea chuckled and climbed back onto the bed, the half-depleted roll of dermafoam in one hand, the vibrator in the other.  Biting her lower lip in concentration the naked pixie carefully arranged the broad, business end of the wand against Jessie's glistening labia, then lashed it in place with strategic bands of tape around the squirming redhead's upper thighs and waist.

"There," the gloating Brit said, climbed off the bed, and plugged in the extension cord.  Immediately a loud buzz filled the dark room, Jessie squealed through her gag and bucked in her tight bonds.  "Oh, this won't do," Chelsea cooed, and thumbed the sliding switch on the vibrator from "H" to "M" to "L".  Jessie relaxed in her bonds... but her hips continued squirming and grinding atop their perch of pillows.  "That's better," Chelsea said with a gloating smile, and stroked Jessie's sweat-slick stomach and breasts.  "Now... you stay here and play with your toy, while I go to my room and unpack."  Jessie mewed through her gag and shook her head, weakly.  "I would have unpacked this afternoon," Chelsea continued, ignoring her captive's exhausted protests, "but as you might recall... I was otherwise occupied."  She leaned close and kissed Jessie's left nipple, right nipple, and sweat beaded forehead.  "Have fun, Cowgirl."

Jessie lifted her head and watched her tormentor leave.  Horrible... The vibrator buzzed on.  ...or was it wonderful?

Three hours... three long, dark, horrible, wonderful hours...  I'll get you for this, Shorty!

Eventually, Chelsea returned.  Jessie heard a spoon clattering in a bowl and lifted her head to find the diminutive Brit standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a frilly, baby-doll nightie, and eating a bowl of ice cream.  "Miss me?" Chelsea inquired around a mouthful of Very Berry Vanilla (the only thing Jessie had in the freezer, if she remembered correctly).  Jessie pulled on her bonds in frustration.  The ropes were still taut and inescapable, her gag still tight and effective, and the vibrator still merrily (if weakly) buzzing away.  She hadn't managed to sleep (or cum), but had eventually settled into an exhausted half-doze, drifting in a miasma of sexual frustration and helplessness... and now her torturer had returned.

Chelsea climbed onto the bed (still spooning ice cream into her smug, tan, freckled face), and resumed her former position between Jessie's splayed legs.  "This is... yummm... good," she said, "but it needs something... hmm... maybe some sauce that's been simmering for a while, perhaps?"  She set the bowl down, used the bandage scissors from the bathroom to snip the bands of tape securing the vibrator, switched the wand off and set it aside, then picked up the bowl and (a coy, infuriating, gloating smile on her pixie face), loaded the spoon with ice cream.  "Brace yourself, Cowgirl," she cooed.

Jessie screamed through her gag when the cold spoon parted her labia, pressed against her erect clitoris, and the lump of half-melted ice cream slid into her sex.  The first spoon was followed by a second... then a third... then Chelsea set down the bowl, leaned forward, and slid her tongue between her quivering prisoner's glistening, flushed nether-lips.

"Yummm!" Chelsea purred, sucking and slurping hungrily.  Jessie moaned and struggled weakly.  The cold/hot feast continued, with Chelsea replenishing her captive's most intimate recess with more ice cream... slurping the creamy, soupy vanilla goodness... and replenishing again... until the bowl was empty.  "Vanilla ice cream with Cowgirl Sauce," the gloating pixie quipped.  "I should market it."

Chelsea set the bowl and vibrator on the nightstand, pulled the pillows out from under Jessie's rump, and climbed back onto the bed.  "You didn't cum, did you?" Chelsea inquired.  Jessie squirmed in her now somewhat looser bonds and pointedly ignored the question.  "Was it the ice cream itself... the cold spoon... or did I eat too fast?"  The gloating Brit gave Jessie's hip a playful pat.  "Poor Cowgirl," she cooed.

I'll 'Poor Cowgirl' you, you little sadist! Jessie fumed, pulling on her ropes.

With her hips (and "ice cream bowl") no longer elevated, Jessie's bonds were somewhat looser... but her struggles confirmed she was still inescapably bound, her mummified hands still impossibly out of reach of her tape-covered lips, no matter how she contorted or stretched her pinioned limbs and body.

"I got a good start on my unpacking," Chelsea explained, snuggling against Jessie's naked side, "but now I'm kinda sleepy.  Let's sleep in... shall we?"  Jessie rolled her eyes in frustration and tugged on her bonds.  "We can go out for a late breakfast," Chelsea continued, "and then you can show me the campus.  ...or maybe we can do something else when I wake?  ...something... fun?"

Jessie relaxed in her bonds and stared at the ceiling.  Now I can't sleep, she mused. Damn jet-lag!

Chelsea lifted her sleepy head and locked eyes with her captive.  Blue eyes gazed into green as the smiling pixie traced the lower curve of Jessie's right breast with one finger.  Jessie quivered as the finger's nail gently slid across her skin.  "So strong and smart and full of fight... and totally helpless," the gloating blonde mused in a girlish, soprano whisper.  "This is the best part of the game, isn't it Jessica?  You're tied up... and gagged..."  Chelsea's arm lifted and the finger traced the point of Jessie's chin, along the margin where dermafoam met skin.  "...and your bonds have been tested..."  The finger traced the side of Jessie's throat, pausing to feel the strong, regular throb of the captive's carotid artery.  "...and you know yourself to be totally helpless, completely in my power... and I can do anything I want to you... and no one will be coming to stop me...  and no one even knows what I'm doing to you..."  The finger continued down and explored the freckled skin over the captive's sternum.  "It's not a matter of trust right now, is it Jessica?  Trust is irrelevant.  You're helpless..."  The finger returned to Jessie's lower right breast.  "...totally helpless."

Jessie resisted the urge to pull on her bonds.  She didn't need to.  Chelsea had said it, and it was true: 'helpless'.  A thrill passed through her body, and her lover smiled, her blue eyes and tan, freckled face shining in the weak starlight.  She knows, Jessie mused, the thrill shuddering down her spine and through her loins again.  I love you, Shorty.

"That's how it was for me this afternoon," Chelsea continued, her expression turning slightly... wistful.  "...up in that hot attic, suffering in your tight, cruel ropes, knowing I was beyond rescue, beyond hope..."

Jessie couldn't help but smile above her gag.  Drama queen!

Chelsea sighed.  "Well... enough... I'm sleepy."  She dropped her head and snuggled her tousled, blonde mop against Jessie's side, then cupped Jessie's right breast, gently squeezing the pale, freckled globe in her strong, tan fingers.  "Hmm... poor Jessie," she purred.  "I certainly hope you can sleep with that icky, sticky, melted ice cream mess drying in your cunny," the short blonde mumbled... then gave a huge, kittenish yawn and released Jessie's breast.  "G'night, Cowgirl."

Jessie sighed and tried to relax in her bonds.  Just you wait, Short Stuff, she fumed, just you wait... little sadist!