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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jessie & Chelsea: THE  ADVENTURES  OF Shorty & the Cowgirl ———————————————————— by Van © 2002
		Chapter 6

TESSERACT COMMERCIAL HANGER
DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
DENVER, COLORADO, USA

---

The tiltwing taxied into the hanger, the ducted fans on either end of its stubby wings canted at a steep angle.  The whining turbines slowly stopped spinning and the passenger door opened.  Lourdes, clad in her usual form-fitting, gray-green, TESSERACT pilot's coverall, emerged and strode across the hanger towards a waiting maintenance worker.

Jessie and Chelsea emerged next.  Both were clad in their usual traveling clothes: faded designer jeans, comfortable blouses (fashionably short to show off their flat tummies), and sneakers.  Their attention was on the exotic aircraft occupying the rest of the hanger.  The size of a short hop commuter jet, it had rather small, sweptback wings in the rear and an even smaller wing on the nose.  Its streamlined fuselage was a dark, silvery, almost liquid gray, as if it had been dipped in oil.  Other than the required registration number, its only markings were a narrow pair of TESSERACT blue and black racing stripes running from nose to tail and a subdued version of the TESSERACT logo on the shark-like vertical stabilizer, in the same colors.

"It's beautiful!" Chelsea sighed.

"I'll say," Jessie agreed.  "It looks like it's goin' a hundred miles an hour standin' still."

Lourdes joined them, having finished with the technician.  "Yeah, she's a beauty.  The people at Boeing Commercial really outdid themselves this time.  Keep away from the wings and canards, by the way.  The leading edges are sharp as knives."

"The wings are so... small," Chelsea noted.  "It looks like a rocket."

Lourdes laughed.  "The main wings and canards are retracted at the moment, for ease of handling.  I'll crank'em out to about three times their current length as we taxi, then once we get off the ground and to cruising altitude, fold'em back to the configuration you see here.  Mach one point one," she added, forestalling the girls' next question.

"Wow!" Jessie and Chelsea sighed in unison.

Grinning with pride, Lourdes turned and gestured towards the side of the hanger.  "C'mon," she said.  "I'll show you more before we depart.  Now we gotta change clothes."

"Change clothes?" Chelsea asked.

"What's wrong with what we're wearing?" Jessie muttered.

"Nothing, if you were flying coach," Lourdes answered, and shepherded her passengers to the hanger office, down a short hallway, and into a small locker room.  Three garment bags and three coats were hanging from a rolling rack.  The bags sported the TESSERACT logo and each had a printed name tag.  "Margo likes her guests to travel in style, with style."

"More free clothes?" Jessie complained, an embarrassed smile on her freckled face.  Inside her garment bag was a business suit in dark olive, a shade obviously chosen to complement her Celtic complexion and red hair.  "She knows I can afford my own stuff."

Lourdes laughed.  "I once heard Margo remark that half the fun of being wealthy was buying things for her friends."

Chelsea giggled.  "That sounds like Auntie Margo," the diminutive blonde chirped.  "She used to spoil me rotten when I was a child, when she came to visit."

"So... it's Margo's fault yer such a brat," Jessie purred, eliciting a good-natured pout (and a rude tongue) from her lover, and an appreciative laugh from Lourdes.

Lourdes' bag contained a suit as well.  It was the same shade as her coverall, but in a heather wool blend.

Chelsea opened her bag and found a business suit in dusky rose.  "Oh, pretty!" she purred and began undressing.  

In short order all three were changed.  All three outfits had short skirts (mini's, truth be told), silk blouses (Chelsea's and Lourdes' in white, Jessie's in ivory), jackets matching their skirts, pantyhose (Chelsea's in white, Lourdes' and Jessie's natural), and heels (Chelsea's white, Lourdes' black, and Jessie's saddle brown.)

Chelsea and Jessie looked like young executives (well paid young executives with good fashion sense), but Lourdes' suit was clearly a uniform.  She had a silver name tag over her right breast and a set of silver wings over her left.  In addition, the jacket had epaulets, each of which sported four thin stripes in TESSERACT blue.  A silk ascot (with TESSERACT blue, black, and silver stripes in a tasteful, subdued pattern) and a rakish black beret (with a winged version of the TESSERACT logo in silver pinned to its front) completed the picture.  Lourdes looked very sharp and professional, and hot!

"Pack up yer old outfits and they'll get loaded with the rest of the baggage," Lourdes instructed, consulting her pilot's watch.  "We still have a few minutes before departure," she added as the girls tossed their former costumes into the garment bags and zipped them closed, "so, I'll give you the other gifts Margo has for each of you."

"This has to stop!" Jessie complained.

Chelsea's reaction was the opposite.  "Gimmie!" she purred, a delighted smile dimpling her tan cheeks.

"You first, Spoiled One," Lourdes laughed, and handed the short, squirming blonde a square, flat, gift wrapped package.

With practiced hands Chelsea shredded the expensive paper and ribbon and opened the box.  Nestled in tissue paper was a choker, a rounded hoop of pale gold.  "It's beautiful!" Chelsea sighed, tossed the wrappings aside and placed the rigid necklace around her throat.  It was a perfect fit (of course), the white gold a gleaming complement to the diminutive Brit's tan complexion and short, sunbleached hair.

"Allow me," Lourdes said, reached up from behind, and closed the choker's clasp.  It clicked home and virtually disappeared, leaving a seamless, rounded, featureless torus.

"It looks good on you, Shorty," Jessie muttered.

Chelsea smiled sweetly and turned in a slow pirouette, posing for her admirers.  "Does it?" she asked.

"Yes, it's pretty, you're pretty, everything's pretty," Jessie sighed.  "Stop fishing for compliments, Flirt."

Lourdes laughed as Chelsea turned to the locker room's full length mirror and began preening and admiring herself.  The Kiwi pilot produced a second, much smaller gift wrapped present and handed it to Jessie.

Jessie sighed, muttered a quiet "Thank you," and opened the box.  Inside were two things: a folded note, and a small remote control.  The remote was flat and thin, roughly the size and shape of a writing pen, and with a single button: "MUTE OFF".  Frowning in confusion, Jessie read the note.

T E S S E R A C T    R E S E A R C H  &  D E V E L O P M E N T

FROM THE DESK OF  Charlotte Peretsky, Ph.D. , SPECIAL PROJECTS

Jess, FYI (& listening pleasure) "Chatty Chelsea's" new collar incorporates nano-size microphones & speakers.  Hit the button on the remote & it'll broadcast noise that's 180º out of phase with her voice.  In other words, IT'S A GAG!!! Battery life is ~30 hrs.  Hit the button three times quick to release the choker's lock.  You owe me! Charlie

Jessie's frown had turned to a delighted grin.  She looked up to find Lourdes grinning as well.  The pilot winked and nodded towards Chelsea, the unsuspecting Chelsea.  Still preening in front of the mirror, the petite blonde was too busy admiring herself to notice as Jessie pointed the remote in her direction.

"I just love this color," the posing pixie was saying.  "And the lines of this suit are very Armani.  I love the way it hmm...nmm...nnn!"  Chelsea stared at her reflection, her eyes wide with alarm.  Her lips were moving, but all that was coming out was a very quiet, low frequency hum, modulated with her attempts at speech.  She spun on her heels and stared at her friends, then her shock turned to confusion when she saw the broad smiles on Jessie's and Lourdes' faces.

"It works!" Jessie noted, ignoring Chelsea's increasingly animated attempts to communicate.  The button on the remote now read "MUTE ON".

"When did one of Charlie's gizmos not work?" Lourdes asked.

Chelsea took a step forward and Jessie handed her Charlie's note, then watched with gloating delight as her friend, roommate, and lover read the message.  Chelsea's concern turned to outrage.  She shook the note with one hand and tugged at the choker with the other, all the while attempting to speak.

Jessie locked eyes with Chelsea and slowly put the remote in the inside breast pocket of her jacket.  "That hum is barely noticeable," she noted.

"Yes," Lourdes agreed.  "These are brand new and I've never seen one in action before, but I understand that used with a simple tape gag or even a thick cleave-gag the result is pretty close to total silence."

Chelsea had a twinkle in her eye, but was working her way through a pitiful pout and on to righteous anger.  With an electronically muted battle cry she lunged at Jessie, obviously intent on seizing control of the remote and regaining her power of speech.

The diminutive blonde's assault was futile, of course.  Jessie grabbed Chelsea's wrists and held them together while Lourdes took a step behind the struggling pixie and grabbed her elbows with one arm.

Lourdes reached into a jacket pocket and produced a small, specialized cable tie, which she handed to Jessie.  "Myoplastic thumb cuffs," she announced.

The cuffs were something like a capital "B" or a numeral "8," two joined loops, and were clear, with a matte finish.  "Cool!" Jessie said, fitting the loops over Chelsea's thumbs.  They were moving targets, but the grinning redhead succeeded, eventually.

Chelsea had an opinion, as well: "Hmmm! "  She struggled, but was unable to prevent Jessie from pulling the cuffs' attached tabs.  The bands tightened around the blonde's thumbs and the tabs shriveled and fell away.

Jessie and Lourdes released their prisoner and watched as Chelsea pulled on her joined thumbs.  The cuffs were almost invisible.  From a few yards away it would seem as if Chelsea was simply holding her hands together, by choice.

Lourdes stepped to one of the lockers and returned with a wide roll of clear tape.  "The R&D folks still haven't produced chameleon Dermafoam that works to Margo's satisfaction..."

"Chameleon?" Jessie interrupted.

"Tape that perfectly mimics the color and texture of the skin of whoever you use it on," Lourdes explained as she tore an eight inch strip from the roll.  "They just can't get one formula to mimic every skintone from Ashanti to Laplander to Han.  They may have to settle for six or eight different formulas."  The grinning pilot carefully positioned the tape strip over Chelsea's unresisting lips, then smoothed the edges.  "Margo wants them to keep trying."

"This stuff's pretty good," Jessie noted, pointing at the smooth, clear, matte finished tape covering her lover's pouting lips.

"Yes, it's thin and strong and invisible from a few feet away," Lourdes agreed, "but Her Highness wants tape that's invisible a few inches away.  Here, hold her steady," Lourdes instructed, pulling free more tape.  "Make sure her jacket hangs straight."

Jessie locked eyes with her lover, her hands on the Chelsea's shoulders as Lourdes wrapped tape around the prisoner's arms and torso.  When she was finished, Chelsea was helpless to raise her thumb-cuffed hands more than an inch or two above the level of her navel, and her arms were pinned to her sides.  Jessie smiled and smoothed the tape plastered to Chelsea's mouth.  The near-invisible strip was obviously very well adhered to the captive's smooth tan skin, yet it stretched enough to compress the helpless pixie's pouting lips only a little.  The gloating redhead reached out and gave her short blonde captive's freckled button nose a gentle, playful tweak, followed by a quick kiss.

Lourdes watched as green eyes and blue eyes gazed into one another, the affection in both pair abundantly clear.   Young Love, the smiling pilot mused, remembering the last time she'd gazed into Kat's gorgeous green eyes.   If only...  Lourdes shook her head.   Better not go there, she sighed, then took a light tan Burberry raincoat from the rack, folded it lengthwise, and threaded it between Chelsea's bound hands and pinned arms, allowing it to drape, covering the captive's hands completely.  "There," she said, grabbing her own coat off the rack and draped it over her left arm.  (It was a smart, belted trench-coat in a light gray that complemented her uniform, with Captain's stripes on each epaulet.)  "That'll get her to the airplane without attracting undue attention."  She tossed Jessie her coat (also a Burberry, but in a rust brown tweed), then gestured towards the door.  "I'll run interference, make sure none of the maintenance personnel get too close."

Jessie smiled at Lourdes.  "Uh... why are you helping me?" she muttered.

Lourdes smiled back.  "I happen to know you two have an agreement as to who gets to play villainess, when and where.  Once you get to the 'Green and Pleasant Land', you'll be the one in the restraints, right?"

Jessie glanced at Chelsea (to discover the usual twinkling smile in the gorgeous blue eyes above her invisibly plastered lips), then back at Lourdes.  A charming blush colored the tall redhead's freckled cheeks.  "Uh... I guess so... yeah," she mumbled.

A very, very quiet " hummm " sounded as Chelsea laughed through her gag, obviously enjoying her lover's embarrassment.  This caused Jessie's cheeks to color even more.

"I thought you might like a last chance to be on top, so to speak," Lourdes added, then started towards the door.  "One last thing," she said, turning as she exited the locker room.  "The tape comes off once we're in the air... in case of airsickness."

"Yes ma'am," Jessie mumbled, then hefted her coat over her left shoulder, crooked Chelsea's left elbow with her right, in a friendly (yet actually controlling) manner, and followed, her short blonde captive in tandem.  "C'mon you," she whispered in her lover's ear.  "You're bein' kidnapped and spirited out of the country, under the very noses of would-be rescuers.  Ain't that fun?"

Chelsea mugged comically, feigning brave-yet-fearfull resistance as she was dragged—"secretly"  bound and gagged—towards her Villainous Captors' supersonic transport and an unknown fate.

Chelsea squirmed in her restraints and sighed through her tape-gag.  No "would-be rescuers" had materialized during the short walk to the TESSERACT jet.  The passenger cabin was currently configured to accommodate six, in spacious luxury.  Jessie pulled Chelsea's raincoat free from her joined hands and tossed it with her own on a convenient table.  She then plunked her in one of the very comfortable, well-padded, reclining chairs, clicked the seat's lap belt over her thumb-cuffed hands and taped arms, smiled sweetly, and pulled it tight.  Chelsea winced, but refused to give her captor the satisfaction of futile struggling and well-gagged complaints.

Lourdes entered the cabin and the door cycled closed behind her.  She added her coat to the pile, then indicated a locker beside the door.  "No steward this trip, so you'll have to fill the billet," she said to Jessie.  "Please stow these before take off, keep the clutter to a minimum, and keep your seat belts on when you're in your seats, okay?"

Jessie smiled and executed a playful salute.  "Yes, Captain," she answered.

Lourdes grinned and walked through the cabin towards the cockpit, pausing to pat Chelsea on her slightly tousled head.  "Don't forget her tape-gag," she told Jessie, then was gone, the cockpit door closing behind her with a solid thunk.

Jessie turned in her seat, found one edge of the tape-gag in question, and removed it with one rapid (callous) motion.  Chelsea complained loudly (" Hmmm! "), but was silenced again when Jessie leaned close (an infuriatingly smug smile on her freckled face) and gave her bound and electronically gagged lover a prolonged, deep kiss.

Lourdes voice sounded over the intercom.  "We're about to start our taxi, and there should be no delay once we reach our runway, so please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened, all carry-on items are properly stowed, and any captive damsels are tightly restrained."

Jessie broke the kiss, laughing at Lourdes remarks, then sat back in her chair, pulling her seat belt tight, as ordered.  Minutes later the jet roared into the air.

That had been more than two hours ago.   Chelsea squirmed in her restraints and sighed.  Most of the interval between take-off and the present had been filled with Jessie mixing them drinks at the well-stocked bar, sipping her own and holding Chelsea's to the prisoner's pouting mouth... and running her strong, freckled hands under Chelsea's jacket, blouse and bra and over her breasts, and under her skirt and over her pantyhose clad legs, thighs, and sex... enough to tease, of course, but never enough to do more.  There was also a great deal of kissing, tongue-wrapping, lip-sucking, ear-nuzzling, and face-licking.  Chelsea had withstood this "ordeal" with stoic resolve and righteous indignation (not to mention a little panting, breast heaving, twisting in her seat, and unladylike sweating).

There was a pause, as captive and captor became aware that they were no longer alone in the cabin.  Lourdes was standing, arms crossed, a broad smile on her face, gazing down at her passengers.  Jessie and Chelsea smiled back (a charming blush coloring both faces).

"Who's flyin' the plane?" Jessie asked.

"Otto, of course," Lourdes answered, referring to the jet's automatic pilot (which in this case was a near complete copy of an EVE-6900 nexus).  She then leaned forward and eased Jessie back into her seat, secured the redhead's seat belt, and gave it an authoritative tug.  "I just wanted to let you two know we've passed the midpoint in our journey."  Next, she placed Jessie's unresisting right hand on the chair's armrest, then tugged on a small piece of metal trim.  A broad strap of the same nylon material as the seat belt unwound from the side of the arm.  Lourdes wrapped it over Jessie's right wrist and it clicked home into a hidden housing.

"Hey!" Jessie protested, but watched compliantly as her left wrist was strapped to the left armrest.

"Midpoint means the roles reverse," Lourdes explained.  "Don't you agree?"

Jessie did not agree, but could do nothing to prevent her upper arms, knees, and ankles from also being strapped in place (not that she actually tried to resist).  The captive redhead gazed down at her smartly attired, helpless body.  Her nylon-clad knees were splayed to the limits of the chair's wide, comfortable width (causing her mini-skirt to ride up slightly and providing all present with a peek at the crotch panel of her pantyhose), and her ankles strapped equally apart.  The straps over her wrists and arms were tight, but only slightly creased the micro-fiber blended fabric of her jacket.  She lifted her face to her captor and grinned.  "At least you can't gag me," she noted smugly, "in case I get airsick."

Lourdes smiled sweetly, leaned down, slid her hand inside Jessie's jacket (causing the redhead to blush and squirm in her bonds as the back of the pilot's smooth brown hand slid over her silk and bra covered left breast), and retrieved the remote to Chelsea's choker from the inside pocket.  She clicked the remote three times, then leaned over and pulled the white-gold circlet from Chelsea's throat.  "Did I mention these things are self-adjusting," she purred.  "They're one size fits all."

Chelsea cleared her throat.  "Yes, gag her with that horrid thing!" the gloating pixie said, squirming in her (she assumed) soon to be released bonds.

Lourdes clicked the choker around Jessie's throat, then silenced any last words the chagrined redhead might have been planning with a click of the remote.  She then leaned over and tucked the remote into Chelsea's jacket pocket.  "You will be a good girl and play nice, won't you?" she asked, "because if you don't, there's no reason you can't both spend the rest of the flight strapped in place."

Chelsea gave her rescuer (and former co-captor) her most sincere, heartfelt expression of enthusiastic compliance (the one that always worked with Father, but never with Mumsy), and nodded her angelic head.  "Of course, Lourdes," she said gravely.  "May lightning strike me dead if— "

"Let's remember where we are, okay?" Lourdes interrupted with a grin.  "Divine retribution will take out all of us."  She leaned closer still and gave Chelsea a kiss on her smiling lips.  Before the blonde pixie knew what was happening, there was a quiet snick, her thumb-cuffs were severed, the tape binding her arms was slit, and the tool or blade or whatever it was Lourdes had used was already disappearing into the pilot's pocket.  

Lourdes began to stand, but Chelsea grabbed her lapels and pulled her into a long, more than polite kiss.  After a few seconds Lourdes returned the kiss with equal gusto.

Jessie, helpless, her limbs strapped to her comfy chair, watched with a jealous frown as the short-haired Brit and short-haired Kiwi locked lips... then she caught Chelsea glancing to the side, to catch her reaction.  Jessie's frown turned to a scowl, causing Chelsea's eyes to twinkle in delight.   Flirt! Jessie silently mouthed, then stuck out her tongue.

By this time Lourdes had broken the kiss and was standing, smiling down at Chelsea.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you, while visiting my home," Chelsea purred, smiling coyly.

Lourdes started to say something, then smiled, shook her head, turned, and headed back to the cockpit.  

The door closed behind her, and Chelsea turned and locked eyes with Jessie... the blonde pixie then slowly stood, shrugged out of her jacket, pulled the tape from the dusky rose fabric and dropped the wad of tape to the floor and her jacket back on her seat.  She then turned her back on her helpless lover, kicked off her heels, unbuttoned two more buttons of her blouse, sauntered to the bar, and mixed herself a gin and tonic.  She then took a sip and turned on her heel to smile across the cabin at Jessie.

The captive redhead smiled and mouthed her earlier accusation: Flirt!

Grinning seductively, Chelsea sauntered back to her lover, climbed onto Jessie's lap, and shared the drink with the squirming, helpless redhead.  She then set the drink on the table beside Jessie's chair and took her captive's head in her two small, tan, strong hands.  "Now... where were we?" she purred, and savagely kissed her prisoner's coral lips.

A GUEST BEDROOM
BRIGHTMAN HALL
DEDHAM VALE, UK, EU

---

Jessie stretched, rolled onto her back, and stared up at the canopy overhead, then let her gaze wander over the rest of the darkened bedroom.  A fire was burning merrily in the small fireplace, providing just enough light.  The bedroom, like the rest of Brightman Hall, was the height of 18th Century style and comfort (which is to say, was ornate to the point of ostentation, frightfully expensive, and rather chilly).  Jessie smiled, pulled the covers up to her chin, and reflected on the day.

Upon arrival in Heathrow, Lourdes had freed Jessie from her seat and fussed until both her passengers were presentable.  (She had also insisted the "Charlie's Choker" and its remote be stowed in the luggage.)  She then handed the jet off to TESSERACT Ground Personnel, shepherded the girls and herself through Customs, then had disappeared, promising to catch up with them in a few days, after completing undisclosed business.

Chelsea had then taken command, leading the way through the maze of the bustling airport until she found the Brightman chauffeur.  Named "Timothy", he was in his fifties, and although the smartly dressed (and handsome, in a distinguished kind of way) servant was very polite and correct, Jessie quickly realized his personal relationship with "Miss Chelsea" was closer to Doting Uncle than Hired Man.

The comfortable ride from Heathrow to Brightman Hall, sharing the expansive back seat of a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud with Chelsea, had been tedious but picturesque (with Jessie feeling only slightly disoriented by the "wrong side of the road" traffic).  Once the city gave way to suburbs, which in turn gave way to the open countryside... everything was green and, well, picturesque: open fields, hedgerows, small groves of deciduous trees, farms, cottages, and neat rows of houses in increasingly quaint villages.

And then they had come to Brightman Hall itself.  Expansive lawns, huge gardens (one of which was growing "wild" through a set of ruins), stables, various other outbuildings... and then there was the manor itself.  Too big to be a house, too small to be a palace... it was a mansion, and a spectacular one, and obviously very old.  Parts of the complex building were Tudor, but most of what Jessie could see looked... what do they call it?  Georgian?   Chelsea said the place had started out as a Norman keep, and if you knew where to look, it had recycled dressed stones and roof tiles of supposed Roman origin incorporated into some of the oldest walls.  Anyway, the place was OLD, and BIG, and there had been no time for a tour before dark.

Lady Abigail Angeronia Brightman herself had been waiting on the front steps with one of the maids.  "Abby" (as she insisted on being called) couldn't have been friendlier or more welcoming.  Blond and gorgeous (like all the Brightman women, apparently), she was roughly Margo's age (Jessie guessed) and carried herself with aristocratic style while at the same time not seeming superior.  After only a few minutes it became clear that Chelsea and Penny's "Mumsy" was very clever, had a wicked sense of humor, and seemed to like Jessie a great deal (which made the young redhead feel... proud, as if she were passing a difficult test).  Lady Brightman's actual greeting of her daughter and American guest was polite and restrained, but Jessie knew Chelsea's moods well enough to sense the genuine love between mother and daughter.

The Maid's name was Solange, and from Chelsea's greeting, was a good friend of the short Brit as well as an upstairs maid.   An honest-to-god French maid, Jessie mused, remembering the brunette's dark, laughing eyes and shy, charming demeanor... and that accent!  Cute as the proverbial button, friendly and proper (yet, when Lady B's back was turned, ebullient to the point of giggling cheekiness towards "Miss Chelsea").  Jessie had watched the two whisper as Lady Brightman directed the unloading of the luggage.  Jessie had tried not to blush, but obviously she was the topic of Chelsea and Solange's surreptitious exchanges, Chelsea grinning at her embarrassed lover and the maid smiling shyly... then sharing stifled giggles with her young mistress at every opportunity as Lady B led them into the house and towards a waiting dinner.

I wonder if there's anything... anything... intimate between those two? Jessie mused, gazing into the dancing flames of the fire.  I wonder if it's like it was with Delores and me... if they have, or had... 'fun'.  The sleepy redhead yawned and sighed.  I'm being silly, she decided.   I got nothin' to worry about.  Shorty and Solange can have all the fun they want.  Now Connie's somethin' else.

Chelsea's childhood friend from the neighboring estate, Connie Wright, had shown up in time for dessert.  Midway between Chelsea and Jessie in height, Connie was a striking young woman, with brown eyes, a fair complexion, and straight, auburn hair worn in a short, "Lulu" style pageboy.  She had been friendly and polite towards Jessie... but there had been something in her eyes, well-hidden, but not well-hidden enough.  Jessie had caught more than one exchange between Chelsea and Connie from the corner of her eye during the rest of the short evening.  Jessie suspected Chelsea very much wanted her chum to like her new American friend, but it wasn't happening.  Could Connie be... jealous?  In any case (and despite every attempt to the contrary) Jessie found herself not liking the fellow redhead.   I can manage polite, Jessie decided, but that's about it.

Sensing that her guest and daughter were tired, Lady Brightman had insisted on an early retirement.  Connie had left (after what Jessie suspected was a whispered argument with Chelsea at the front door), then Lady B had bid Jessie Good Night with a friendly kiss.  She also apologized that she would be visiting London on business the next two days and that in her absence, Jessie would have to rely on Chelsea to be her host.  Jessie remembered glancing towards her friend, roommate, and lover, and seeing the coy, mischievous smile she had come to know so well in so short a time.  Shorty knew an opportunity when she saw one and was up to something.

"I'll be leaving before dawn," Lady B had explained, "but we'll have a plenty of opportunities to get to know one another when I return."

"I'll be fine," Jessie had reassured her host.

"Good girl" Lady B had purred, kissing Jessie once again.  Then Solange had led Jessie up the stairs, through the maze that was Brightman Hall, and to her current location.  The maid had insisted on helping Jessie undress to bra and panties, had helped her into a thick, warm robe and slippers, then had shown her the way to the bath.  Upon her return, Jessie found the bed turned down, the fire lit, and Solange waiting with a night dress, a sheer, ivory-white, virtually transparent, frilly, lace-trimmed, very girly night dress.  It was long sleeve, with a mid calf hem, and low cut, with several tiny pearl buttons and a teal green ribbon to close the front.  Jessie smiled sheepishly, remembering the exchange that had followed

"Bra and panties, please, Mademoiselle," Solange had said, a respectful (yet coy) smile on her face.

"Uh... that's okay," Jessie answered.

"But I insist," Solange responded.  "Miss Chelsea insist I take all of your clothing to zhe laundry.  She was mos' specific."

Jessie smiled, removed her bra, then peeled off her panties.  "Wouldn't want to get you in trouble," she mumbled.

"Mademoiselle is mos' helpful," Solange purred, then helped Jessie into the night dress, directing her to raise her hands when needed, to allow the sheer garment to slither down the redhead's slender, freckled form.  "Mademoiselle look very pretty," Solange said as she tied bows in the teal ribbons at Jessie's wrists, buttoned the dress' décolletage, and tied the teal bow between the blushing American's breasts.  The maid then turned Jessie to face the full length mirror on one wall and smoothed the near-transparent fabric of the dress, running her slender, warm hands down Jessie's virtually nude body.  "Very pretty," she reiterated, then led Jessie towards the bedroom's dressing table.

Jessie sat on the wide, comfortably padded bench before the low table.  Jessie glanced at her reflection in the table's ornately framed mirror, then down at the sides of the bench.  "There's something ... peculiar about this thing," she noted, running her fingers over smooth, oval openings in the arms.  Tiny cherubs were carved in the dark wood.  They surrounded the oval cavities and were pulling on tiny carved ribbons which swirled around the three inch openings.  The ribbons flowed and folded on themselves, then became the ornate trim of the bench itself.  Her curiosity aroused, Jessie fingered the openings and discovered they were padded on the inside.

"Mademoiselle is most observant," Solange purred, then reached behind Jessie's back.  There was a quiet click, and a section of the bench's arm (carrying a pair of cherubs) popped open on the left, just above the cavity.  "If Mademoiselle will allow..." Solange said quietly, then gently took Jessie's left hand, placed her wrist in the cavity, and snapped the cherubs closed.

Jessie gasped in surprise, and pulled on her left arm.  The padded opening was comfortable, but deep and tight enough to make extraction of her wrist and hand impossible.  It also appeared to be solidly locked.  Jessie wasn't alarmed, merely curious.  Obviously, the bench was designed for the purpose of holding its occupant in place.  There was another click and the right opening (with a complementary pair of cherubs) was open and ready.  Without prompting, Jessie reached out and placed her right wrist in the snug padding.  Solange snapped the cherubs closed... and Jessie was caught, comfortable seated, her arms at her sides, each held perhaps a foot from her hips... and she was going to stay that way until she was released.  Jessie stared down at her sleeve shrouded arms (clearly visible through the gauze-thin fabric of the night dress), first to the left, then to the right, then lifted her gaze to her reflection in the mirror.   Now why did I let her do that? she mused.

"Zhe chair is very old," Solange explained, "and was used to teach young ladies... deportment... zhe proper way to sit.  Here, I show," she continued, then knelt beside the bench and gently clasped Jessie's ankles.  She pulled them together and to the right.  Jessie shifted her weight on the bench helpfully, and found herself seated with her knees together and slightly to the left, and her ankles slightly to the right and under the bench.  There was yet another quiet click and something hard and padded closed around her ankles... and locked.

Solange stood and stepped behind the bench.  Maid and guest locked eyes in the mirror.  "For difficult girls, ones who fidget and squirm and do not want to be taught," Solange explained, a coy smile on her pretty face, "zhere is back-brace rod which attaches to zhe chair with a tight corset belt for zhe waist and a tight posture collar for zhe pretty neck.  Zhere is also a thin leather strap for zhe knees and wire clamps which close around big toes to insure girl's feet are en pointe , as is feminine and proper."  Solange leaned forward to pick up a brush from the table, her smiling face close beside Jessie's.  "And if zhe girl complain and make unladylike noise, zhere is leather strap with ivory plug and padded mask to cover lips and cheeks and chin, and to be secured to zhe collar and brace.  Mademoiselle will not be difficult, will she?"

Jessie shook her head, swallowing nervously.  It was fun playing at being the prisoner of Chelsea's maid, fun and deliciously frightening.   But is it 'playing' when you really are a prisoner? the captive redhead wondered.

Solange stood and began brushing Jessie's long, straight, copper-red hair.  "Good," the maid purred.  "Difficult girl is left in zhe chair for hour and hour... unable to move or speak... sometimes for zhe entire night, and into zhe next day.  Are Mademoiselle's pretty feet en pointe?"  She paused as Jessie lifted her legs slightly and shifted their weight onto her toes (which was just allowed by the clamp or stock or whatever was embracing her ankles).  "Good," Solange repeated, and resumed pulling the gleaming silver brush through Jessie's hair with firm, even strokes.  "Chin up, please," she ordered.

Jessie complied.  In the mirror, she saw the maid shift her glance down to her thinly covered breasts.  

"Mademoiselle is cold, I see," Solange purred.

Jessie's nipples were hard and erect, straining the sheer fabric of her night dress.  The captive shuddered and shivered (and blushed bright crimson).  The bedroom was chilly (but Jessie knew that right now her nipples would have been rock hard in a sauna, if other circumstances were the same).

"Mademoiselle will be in her warm bed soon," Solange said, "if Solange does not lose count and have to start brushing again.  Eighty six... eighty  five... eighty four..."

Jessie grinned.  "It is kinda cold in here," she muttered.

"What does Mademoiselle say?" Solange asked, then frowned and shook her head, causing her short dark locks to sway gracefully.  "Naughty, naughty," she scolded with mock severity, reached into the pocket of her maid's apron and produced a white, lace-trimmed handkerchief.  A playful grin curling her lips, she shook out the frilly cloth, balled it up, and crammed it into Jessie's smiling, unresisting mouth.  "If Mademoiselle does not cooperate, she will never get to bed... and neither will Solange.  Must Solange find zhe roll of tape?"

Still smiling, Jessie shook her head.

"Good," Solange purred and picked up the brush.  "Solange is very tired and must get up very early.  Now... one hundred... ninety nine... ninety eight..."

Jessie stretched in her warm, comfy bed and closed her eyes.  Her hair finally brushed, Solange had released her from the "deportment bench" and tucked her into bed.  The maid's final act had been to pluck the hankie from Jessie's grinning mouth and give her a long, deep, good night kiss (something Jessie strongly suspected was not in keeping with an upstairs maid's traditional duties, not officially, anyway).  Jessie smiled.   Guess I probably know the answer as to whether or not Solange and Chelsea like playing games, she mused.  Her smile faded.   I wonder where Shorty is... why she didn't come tuck me in herself?  Jessie smiled and yawned again.   Probably as tired as I am... and doesn't want to scandalize the household with late night creeping into guest's rooms... or guest's beds.  Things'll probably pick up once Abby's left for London.

Chelsea smiled and snuggled deeper into her overstuffed easy chair.  Directly before her was the open panel and heavy glass of the back of the one-way mirror that looked across Jessie's guest room dressing table and to the canopy bed currently occupied by her unsuspecting, apparently slumbering lover.  It had been great fun watching Solange dress and care for Jessie, following Chelsea's instructions to a tee.  The business with the bench had been an unexpected bonus, and the maid's improvisation had been sheer genius.   I'll have to reward her later, Chelsea mused.

The smug little blonde stifled a yawn and climbed out of the chair.  Chelsea was tired (like Jessie), but it wouldn't do to fall asleep and miss her opportunity to get the ball rolling before morning.  She closed the panel over the back of the mirror, lit the candle in the pewter holder on the side table, checked the fit of her costume, and thumbed a hidden switch, opening the camouflaged door from this secret room into the secret passages beyond.  Let the games begin! she mused.