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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jessie & Chelsea: THE  ADVENTURES  OF Shorty & the Cowgirl ———————————————————— by Van © 2003
		Chapter 7

JESSIE'S GUEST BEDROOM,
BRIGHTMAN HALL,
DEDHAM VALE, UK, EU

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Jessie's eyes snapped open.  It took her a second to remember where she was... then it all came rushing back: Brightman Hall (Chelsea's ancestral home), in a guest bedroom (a huge, luxurious guest bedroom), snuggled under the covers of a four-poster bed, and clothed (just barely) in a long, flimsy, very girlie nightie (a gift, not something she would have bought for herself).  So what woke me up?

She lifted her head and scanned the dark bedroom.  The fire was still burning, the dull red light of glowing coals alternating with the the fitful dancing flame of the guttering logs.  The 18th Century guest room looked strangely eerie in the flickering light.  Jessie didn't like the style anyway, and under these conditions it reminded her of something out of an old horror movie.  At any moment Christopher Lee would appear in a puff of smoke, dressed in formal evening wear and a black cape, and—

"Jesus!"  Jessie sat bolt upright, the covers falling down and exposing her thinly veiled shoulders and breasts.  A sinister black figure was standing at the foot of the bed, its face lost in the deep shadow of a hooded cloak.  The figure raised its shrouded arms.  Black gloves slowly reached for the hood... and pulled it back.  At that moment the remaining wood in the fire fell together and flared.

The figure was Chelsea, wearing a black mask and a mischievous grin.  "You should see your face, Cowgirl," she laughed, then stepped forward and lit the candle on the bedside table.

"You little creep!" Jessie scolded (the twinkle in her eyes belying her irritation).  "I almost wet the bed!"

"Didn't I tell you to expect surprises in Brightman Hall?" Chelsea purred.  Her right hand disappeared under the cloak and reappeared with (of all things) a flintlock pistol, which she cocked and pointed in the general direction of her guest and lover.  "Consider yourself my prisoner, you uncultured Colonial Tart."

Jessie eyed the pistol and Chelsea's smiling masked face.  "'Colonial Tart'?  I take it we're playing another game?"

Chelsea pulled out a second pistol, cocked it as well, then struck a dramatic pose.  The first pistol's aim never wavering from Jessie's bemused head, the second pointed at the ceiling, Chelsea declaimed:

"They seek her here;
"They seek her there;
"The King's men seek her everywhere;
"Is she in heaven?
"Or is she in hell ?
"That elusive Wicked Mademoiselle! "

"With apologies to Baroness Orczy," Jessie muttered.  "Juuust great!  I've been captured by The Scarlet Pumpernickel."

Chelsea giggled, then composed herself and became more serious.  "Hands up!  One false move..."

Jessie raised her hands, then flopped back onto the pillows.  "Do we have to do this tonight?  I'm bushed."

Chelsea tucked one pistol under her arm and jerked the covers aside, exposing most of Jessie's transparently clothed body.   "I see your bush," she giggled, gesturing towards Jessie's negligee-covered pubescence with the barrel of a pistol.

"Stop it," Jessie snapped.  "I get nervous when people play with firearms."

"These ol' things?" Chelsea asked, pointing both pistols at the ceiling and pulling the triggers.  The actions snapped but there was no report.  "There aren't any flints in the locks, and I don't even think we have any powder."

Jessie sighed.  "It's still stupid."

Chelsea smiled coyly.  "Then you'll surrender like a good little prisoner and I won't have to use them."

Jessie sighed again.  "What do you want me to do?"

Chelsea motioned for the sullen redhead to roll over onto her stomach, and she did so.  "Hands behind your back, Colonial."

Jessie sighed yet again as thin rope tightened around her wrists.  Chelsea was doing her usual competent job of rendering her completely helpless.  "Just so I have things straight," Jessie muttered, "are you a robber, burglar, or what?"

Chelsea laughed.  "I suppose I'm an 'or what', a notorious Highwayman, or Highway-woman.  The people call me 'The Wicked Mademoiselle'."  She rolled Jessie off the bed, turned her around, and positioned her on her knees and facing the bed.

"You do the Robin Hood thing?" Jessie asked,  "or do you keep all the loot for yourself like a typical member of the Predatory Class?"

Chelsea tightened rope around Jessie's arms and torso, framing her breasts above and below with a half-dozen bands each.  "The people love me, so I suppose I only keep enough to finance by nefarious schemes... and to keep myself in the lifestyle appropriate for my noble station, of course."

"Of course," Jessie agreed, wincing as her bound wrists were hitched to her chest bonds and pulled up to the small of her back.  "Where on the time-line are we talkin' here... George-III?"

Chelsea hobbled Jessie's bare feet, then spun the captive around and sat her on her rump with her bound wrists against the bed. She stood over her captive and smiled down, idly stroking the side of Jessie's freckled face with one gloved hand.  "Such a pretty thing you are, Colonial," she murmured, then walked to the dresser and opened a drawer.  "In answer to your question, yes, it's the reign of George-III.  The wretchedly ungrateful American Colonies are in revolt, France is taking advantage of the situation, and foreign spies and adventurers are roaming the countryside, thick as fleas."

"So why're you kidnapping me?  What the hell have I done to offend 'The Wicked Mademoiselle'?"

Chelsea gathered a pair of neatly folded silk scarves and ambled towards her prisoner.  "Why, you're a rebel and a spy, not to mention a painted harlot posing as a gentlewoman.  I intend to question you and then leave you for the King's men.  I do that sometimes, you see.  While one set of King's men are chasing me around the highways and byways, I'm working for another."

"Duplicitous and dubious," Jessie observed, then watched nervously as Chelsea crumpled a large white scarf into a distressingly large wad.  "I only have one thing to say: 'Taxation without representation is' —M'mmpfh! "

"Keep the noise down, you treasonous trollop!" Chelsea scolded as she stuffed the scarf in Jessie's mouth.  "You'll wake the household!" She pursed her lips in concentration as she packed the smooth silk with her fingers.  "This should help."  She used one hand to keep the wad in place and used the other to shake out the second scarf and fold it into a narrow bandage.  This went between Jessie's teeth, around her head, and was knotted under her hair at the nape of her neck, tight enough to make her cheeks bulge.

Chelsea then hauled Jessie to her feet, planted one foot on her hobble, and pushed her down onto the bed.  Jessie shrieked in alarm through her gag as she fell, then bounced on the bed and glared up at her captor.  The masked little blonde smiled and climbed onto the bed, settling her weight on Jessie's squirming tummy.  She set the pistols on the bed, one on either side of Jessie's still glaring face, then leaned down and kissed her captive's gagged lips.  

Jessie fought her bonds and her captor's weight, but Chelsea squeezed the prisoner's waist and bound arms with her strong thighs, clutched the thrashing prisoner's head with her hands, and continued the kiss.  Eventually Jessie went limp, and Chelsea raised her head enough to gaze into her captive lover's eyes.  Even the pretense of hostility was gone, replaced by smoldering desire.
 
Chelsea gave Jessie's face right cheek a slow, languid lick, then grinned down at her prisoner, watching her shudder and twist in her bonds.  "You were very cruel to me at Copperhead Canyon," she said, using one hand to straighten Jessie's tousled locks.  "I know I told you you hadn't broken me, when we got to the cabin... when you left me tied to that hard nasty post at the corral while you took a refreshing dip?"  Jessie nodded gravely.  "I was lying... a little.  You very nearly found my limit back there, Cowgirl."  She leaned close and gazed into Jessie's eyes.  "And tonight... we're going on a quest for your limit."

Chelsea kissed her captive's forehead, retrieved her pistols, then climbed off Jessie's bound body and the bed.  "On your knees, Colonial Strumpet."  Jessie sat up and settled forward onto her knees, then settled her rump back on her hobbled ankles.  "I want you to escape for me," Chelsea said.  Jessie gave her captor a puzzled look as the cloaked blonde settled her rump on the "deportment bench" in front of the makeup table and crossed her pistols across her lap.  "Do it!" she ordered.  "Escape my ropes.  Do it, and I'll let you tie me up.  I guarantee that before the night is through you'll wish you had ...had escaped, that is."

Jessie twisted her wrists in their bonds, then her entire upper body.  Her fingers fluttered, reaching for any knots that might be in reach.  There were none, her fingertips encountered the bottom most ropes encircling her arms and chest... but there was nothing she could work with.  She decided to concentrate on the chest ropes.  Perhaps she could twist and generate some slack, transfer it from one strand to the next...  It didn't work.   Nothing worked.  She tried anyway, flexing her pinned arms and rotating her shoulders, pulling on her wrist bonds and groping with her fingers.  Nothing worked at all.  Finally, panting through her gag, her rope-framed breasts heaving, Jessie lifted her head, shook her tangled hair from her glistening face, and glared at Chelsea.

"The Wicked Mademoiselle" had been watching her prisoner's ineffective escapology exhibition with leering attention.  She clapped politely with her gloved hands for several seconds, then lifted her pistols and they disappeared under her cloak.  Grinning sweetly, she reached behind and found the hairbrush on the table, then walked over to her kneeling captive.  She stepped behind and began slowly, gently pulling the stiff bristles through her lover's long, straight, copper-red hair.  "So..." Chelsea gloated, "Houdini you aren't.  You're helpless, aren't you?"  Jessie nodded.  "You aren't pretending to be my prisoner... you are my prisoner, aren't you?"  Jessie nodded again.  "I guess you're completely in my power, then... completely at my mercy."

Chelsea tossed the brush aside, grabbed a handful of Jessie's hair, and smiled into her upturned face.  "Is that a hint of fear I see in those pretty emerald eyes?  Are you wondering if maybe our games have gone too far... and maybe I don't have any mercy?"

Jessie panted through her gag and her breasts heaved.  She was a little afraid... but it was the squirming in your seat waiting for the scary movie to start kind of afraid.  Then, her eyes popped wide when Chelsea's right hand appeared from under her cloak with a length of thin silver chain, with a silver alligator clamp dangling from each end!   She wouldn't!  Jessie stared at the swinging clips, then locked eyes with Chelsea.   You wouldn't!

Chelsea smiled sweetly, knelt in front of Jessie, and gently pulled the flimsy fabric of her lover's negligee from her right breast, then manipulated the nipple until it was flushed and erect.  Jessie whined and twisted in her bonds.  "Be brave!" Chelsea scolded, and slowly closed one of the clips on the nipple.  Jessie shuddered and went very still, then whined again when her left breast was bared and massaged and the other tiny set of steel toothed jaws approached.  "You little thespian," Chelsea scolded.  "I've tried these on myself.  I know what they feel like."

Jessie shuddered and mewed through her gag as the toothed jaws of the left clip closed.  She twisted her torso and the clips' connecting chain flashed in the firelight as it swung to and fro.  The clips burned a little... but didn't really hurt.  Chelsea smiled, grabbed the center of the dangling chain and gave it a tug.  Jessie's eyes popped wide.   Now that hurt!

"Up!" Chelsea commanded, and Jessie scrambled to her hobbled feet.  "There's the fear," the gloating blonde purred, gazing into Jessie's eyes.  "The nip-clips are just an alternative to a rope around the throat... or maybe a rope clipped to a ponygirl harness?  That's been done to death... attaching ropes to helpless innocent captives who never did one any harm up and dragging them up and down mountains and such?  Don't you agree?"

Jessie would have liked to remind her captor that she had been the first to start dragging around "helpless innocent captives", specifically, Jessie herself, on Gondaloo, on the trail from Far Beach to Margo's resort.  Of course her gag made that impossible, and truth be told, most of her attention was on the chain clutched in Chelsea's gloved hand.

Chelsea slowly started backing towards the night stand and Jessie had no choice but to shuffle after her.  The masked pixie picked up the lit candle in its pewter holder and walked towards one of the bedroom's paneled walls, her captive in tow.  She released Jessie's chain and fumbled with the elaborate border on one of the panel sections.  There was a quiet click... and the entire section of paneling opened soundlessly inwards like a door.  Beyond was a featureless, claustrophobically narrow corridor.

Chelsea smiled sweetly and crooked the index finger of her free hand through Jessie's nipple chain, and took in the slack.  Jessie panted through her gag and her clipped nipples bobbed as her breasts heaved.  "Try not to step on any rats we may encounter," Chelsea teased.  "It makes them ill tempered and liable to nibble one's toes."  She stepped through the secret door, still holding the chain.   "Stay close."

Like I have a choice? Jessie thought, and followed her captor into the secret passage.

The passage continued for several yards, then branched in either direction.  Without hesitation "The Wicked Mademoiselle" led her "Colonial Captive" to the left.  Apparently the passages were all claustrophobically narrow and low, barely shoulder width and with only a few inches of headroom for the relatively tall captive.  "Careful on these steps, darling," Chelsea whispered, and they negotiated a steep set of treacherously worn stone stairs, dropping at least a floor.  Three more turns, one more set of stairs, and Chelsea called a halt while she fumbled with the wall on her right.  There was a dry whisper of stone scraping on stone, and a section of wall pivoted inwards.  "Scrunch sideways," the smiling blonde instructed, and eased herself through the dark narrow slot.  Jessie had no choice but to follow the insistent nipple chain still cluched in her captor's hand.

The fabric of Jessie's nightgown caught on the rough stone as she negotiated the secret doorway and ripped with an audible tearing sound, the right seam opening from hem to hip.  The hem and its lace were now hanging in tattered ruin.  Jessie found herself in a slightly larger room, but it was still rather close quarters.  She shivered in her bonds.  It was rather frigid in Brightman Hall's secret passageways, especially for trussed-up damsels in frilly, ripped nighties and their bare feet who were more used to the dry heat of Arizona than the damp chill of England.

"Trying to leave clues for would-be rescuers?" Chelsea accused, indicating the ripped hem, "eh, Colonial?"  The grinning pixie plucked a piece of lace from the stone frame of the doorway.  The door rumbled closed and she took a step back, eyeing her bound and gagged lover's plight appreciatively.  "Oh... very nice," she cooed, " very distressed damsel."  She reached out and ripped the sleeve of the nightie off Jessie's left shoulder, then ripped the cup fabric under the captive's already exposed right breast.  "I think we can dispense with these nip-nippers," she announced and removed Jessie's nipple clamps.  The helpless redhead shuddered in her bonds and mewed a well-gagged complaint.  "Poor helpless Cowgirl," Chelsea cooed and kissed her captive's nipples, giving each a wet lick.  Jessie shuddered again (of course) and watched as her captor (and lover) fussed with her nightie and restored the covering over her left breast (if "covering" is the proper term for the slight protection afforded by the negligée's gossamer fabric).

"There," Chelsea teased, "très déshabillé, Mademoiselle.  Très chic."

Jessie twisted in her bonds, torn for a response between Brave Defiance and Maidenly Disdain.  She finally settled on the role of Freakin' COLD Brave Defiant Disdainful Maiden and shivered in her bonds, glaring at her diminutive captor.

"Poor Cowgirl," Chelsea chuckled.  "Just look at all that delicious goose flesh.  Pity you don't have the foresight to bring a nice warm cloak, like mine."  Jessie growled through her gag, and Chelsea laughed.  "You won't be cold much longer, darling."  She fumbled with the far wall and another secret door opened.  "Now that we're behind the secret portals, there's no need for tethers or leashes, is there, Colonial?" she purred.  "If you don't keep up, you'll be lost... trapped in this dark, frigid labyrinth... forever."

Jessie locked eyes with her lover... and shivered.   She's really getting into this, the prisoner realized.   What an actress... at least I hope she's an actress.

Chelsea's grin turned even more feral, and captor and captive entered the new passage.  "Stay close to the center," Chelsea said, and Jessie realized they were in a circular staircase, leading down (of course.)  Down they went... and went... and went!  Jessie had to be careful on the steep narrow treads.  Her hobble made for slow going.  Chelsea ignored her captive's difficulty and outpaced her prisoner, until Jessie had to scream through her gag to attract the black-cloaked pixie's attention.

The Wicked Mademoiselle turned and regarded her captive, her grinning face shining in the light of the candle.  "C'mon, Slow Coach," she teased, and continued down.

Sadist! Jessie fumed, and negotiated the cold treads as quickly as she dared.
 
Finally, they came to a circular chamber with several heavy wooden doors.  By the time Jessie caught up to her captor, the blonde had used a skeleton key to open one of the portals.  She indicated Jessie should precede her with a grand gesture, and locked the door behind them.

Jessie sighed through her gag.  Another passageway.   How big is this damn place?  The journey continued, past several side passages and more doors of ancient oak and iron straps.

Finally, they stopped at one of the doors.  "Your destination for the evening," Chelsea announced, and set the candleholder on the floor.  "Kneel, Colonial," she ordered.  Jessie's response was a defiant glare (and a delicate shiver.)  "We have ways of making you obey," Chelsea purred, then backed her prisoner against the wall and gave her fabric-covered sex a gentle caress with her gloved hand.  "Those nipple clamps can be used to pinch other things, you know," she whispered, and eased her index finger between Jessie's labia to nudge the captive's clitoris.  "Will you be a good, compliant captive... or do I have to demonstrate?"

Jessie shivered again, and shook her head, then, carefully, as her captor's finger was still between her nether lips, she eased herself down to her knees.

Chelsea pulled something out from under her cloak, shook it out, and Jessie beheld a bag of black silk.  She mewed in complaint (knowing what was coming) but could do nothing to prevent Chelsea from dropping the bag over her head and cinching it around her neck.  "There's a surprise waiting on the other side of this door," Chelsea confided in a gloating whisper.

Jessie heard the door in question being unlocked, then mewed in complaint when Chelsea (she assumed it was Chelsea) grabbed her left nipple in a authoritative pinch, and hauled her to her hobbled feet.  Hinges creaked... and a wave of blissfully hot air washed over Jessie's helpless body.  

"In we go, Colonial," Chelsea purred and stepped forward, her gloved fingers still clutching Jessie's nipple.  Jessie mewed through her gag and hood, and followed.

The heat of the new room was most welcome, but the continued presence of the silk bag covering Jessie's head was not.  The fabric was tight and the drawstring cinched around her neck tighter.  She wasn't getting enough air!  The silk was ballooning and plastering itself to her face with every breath, and the trapped air was getting more and more stale.

Meanwhile, Jessie felt Chelsea maneuvering her up against something solid and hard.  "I know that hood is dreadful," the short blonde said, "so please keep in mind that the more you cooperate the sooner I can take it off.  Now, be a good prisoner and allow me to make you nice and helpless."

Like I'm not helpless now? Jessie continued panting for air.  She found if she exhaled strongly but inhaled as slowly as she could manage, more fresh air leaked past the neck string and through the fabric... but she was still oxygen-starved.

Jessie's hobble was untied, her right foot pulled to the side a few inches and against something wide and padded, and it clicked closed, imprisoning her ankle.  Her left foot received similar treatment, then Chelsea began untying the ropes binding her prisoner's upper body.  As soon as Jessie's hands were free they went for the hood and her fingers fumbled with the drawstring, managing to release the slip knot and pull it loose, admitting blessed air around the broken seal.

"Naughty Colonial!" Chelsea scolded, grabbed Jessie's right hand, and wrenched it down to her side.  A clamp clicked closed and locked, keeping it there.  

Now that the ropes were gone, a decidedly uneven wrestling match ensued, but Jessie's position was hopeless.  She may have had a height, weight, and strength advantage over her perky blonde adversary, but it wasn't enough to offset the disadvantage of three clamped limbs.  The struggle see-sawed for several seconds, but then Jessie's left hand was dragged to her side and clamped in place.  Jessie squirmed in her new bonds.  Whatever she was against, it was holding her at a slight angle, inclined a few degrees from the vertical.

Chelsea jerked the hood from the prisoner's head.  Jessie shook the hair from her face and looked down her body.  The clamps pinning her ankles and wrists were steel, the surface she was pinioned against a collection of bars and threaded pipes.  There were several steel hand wheels visible in heavy steel bracket-mounts.  She pulled on the fetter and manacle clamps and shook her body.  The steel device (whatever it was) didn't even quiver.

"This particular rack was added to the Brightman Collection in the 1920's," Chelsea stated.

Jessie tugged on her bonds again.  Rack?

"Mother still hasn't given me free access to the family archives," Chelsea added as she removed her gloves, "but I was able to sneak a peek at a few of the volumes."

Jessie looked around.  The chamber was reasonably large, with stone walls and a vaulted stone ceiling.  It was also very dark.  The heat already causing Jessie's torn nightie to adhere to her increasingly sweaty body was provided by two braziers full of glowing coals.

Chelsea continued her lecture.  "This technological beauty was state-of-the-art at the time," she said, running one gloved hand along the side of the "rack."  She clicked a switch, and a quiet electric hum filled the chamber.  "Let me make you more comfortable."  Another click sounded and the rack began to pivot, dropping her upper body and raising her legs and feet.

Jessie's heart was hammering, but she suppressed the urge to struggle with her obviously solid and inescapable bonds.  She turned her gagged head and watched as Chelsea removed her gloves, then released the clasp of her cloak.  By the time the rack (and Jessie) reached the horizontal and the motor stopped, Chelsea's gloves, cloak, mask and boots were a heap by the door.  Her remaining costume was a lacy bustier, garter belt, and stockings, all in silky white.

"That's better," Chelsea said with a gloating smile, and went to warm her hands at one of the brasiers.  "It is dreadfully hot in here, isn't it?  I know these look like live coals, but they're really lava rock heated by an electric coil.  No carbon monoxide poisioning danger that way, you see?"  She strolled back to the rack and ran her small, tan hand over Jessie's silk-covered stomach.  "What a sweaty Cowgirl," she cooed.  "Let me make you more comfortable as well."  She locked eyes with her captive, grabbed a handful of silk, and ripped the tattered night gown from Jessie's body.  The pinioned redhead writhed in her implacable bonds and glared at her captor.  "Is that better?" Chelsea inquired, then gave the damp, flimsy, ruined garment in her hand a delicate sniff.  "Not too stinky... but then, you haven't had time to marinate in the heat, have you?"

She flicked another switch on the side of the rack and tossed the ruined nightie in the corner.  Motors whined and Jessie's legs began to separate and her arms to move away from her sides.  She looked down her nude, glistening body and from side to side.  Heavy gears under her shoulders and hips were turning.  She tried to resist the relentless process... but it was pointless.  The machinery easily defeated her struggles.  Finally, she surrendered to the inevitable and relaxed in her bonds as she was pulled into a loose spread-eagle.

Chelsea fumbled with something on the side of the rack and Jessie heard an authoritative click.  "There," the pert Brit said, her irritatingly gloating smile hovering several inches above Jessie's angry (scared) gagged pout.  "I've meshed all the gears so we can adjust all four limbs at once.  Isn't this device marvelous?"  She began turning the hand wheel at the end of the rack's right arm, and all four clamps began slowly traveling outwards, pulling Jessie into an ever more stringent spread-eagle.

Jessie pulled on her wrists and ankles, but it was hopeless, and as her predicament became ever more serious, she lost all trace of leverage.  Finally, her struggles reduced to mere quivering of her muscles, she closed her eyes... and waited for the pain.   How far will she go?

The stretching stopped and Chelsea threw another lever.  "There... all locked up tight and secure... all that sweaty pink skin stretched out like a virgin canvas... waiting for me to make beautiful music."  She bit her lower lip coyly.  "Oh dear!  I do believe I've mixed my metaphors.  Well... no matter."  She leaned close and kissed Jessie's gagged lips.  "Not too tight, is it darling?  I have enough experience to know when to stop... before your joints start pulling apart."  She stepped away and returned, twirling a large feather.  "You shouldn't be in any pain, just totally unable to move.  Is that correct?"  Jessie stared at the feather in dread.  "I asked you a question!" Chelsea barked, and Jessie tore her attention from the twirling quill and locked eyes with her blonde tormentor.  "Pain?"  Jessie shook her gagged head.  "Are you sure?"  Jessie nodded.  "Super!" Chelsea said, then reached to the side of the rack and clicked another switch.

  A motor hummed to life, but Jessie couldn't feel any change in her predicament.  Then Chelsea glanced towards the lower half of her prisoner's body and Jessie lifted her head to follow her gaze.  A pink dildo on the end of a steel bracket was rising on a lever arm between her legs!  She stared at the pointed, stake-like device as it clicked into place, in the perfect position for penetration of her sex, then turned her head to stare at Chelsea.

"Rubber, vibrating, motor-controlled penetration, electro-mechanical timer... years ahead of its time," Chelsea explained.  The gloating Brit began twirling the feather again, gazing at her captive with sadistic glee (or at the very least a remarkable imitation of sadistic glee).  "All that defiant anger is gone," she whispered.  "This is the best part of the game... isn't it, Jessie darling?  The anticipation?"  She savored the sight of her stretched, helpless lover for several seconds, then stepped away to a nearby table, dropped the feather, and returned.  She smiled and stepped between Jessie's legs.  

The pinioned prisoner watched as she turned the hand wheel at the base of the dildo arm.  The blunt point of the pink missile slowly approached her labia... then she felt the tip nudge the swollen lips... then part them and begin to penetrate her sex.

"That's enough," Chelsea said, tightened a small clamp, then reversed direction and cranked the dildo back out and down its track as far as it would go.   She then stepped back to the table and picked up a shiny steel instrument, a pinwheel on the end of a slightly recurved handle.  Playfully toying with the wheel, making it spin with her tongue, then stopping it with her teeth, she strolled back to loom over her helpless captive.  "Yessss..." she cooed, "anticipation."   Jessie stared up at her, helpless and gagged.

"A prisoner in a foreign land," Chelsea whispered, leering at her captive's naked, glistening body, "in the deepest, most secret torture chamber of the most secret dungeon of a mad, merciless, sadistic noblewoman's castle...  Isn't that a delicious fantasy, Cowgirl? ...or is it reality? "  Chelsea reached out and slowly, delicately tapped Jessie's right nipple with the needle-like spokes at the end of the pinwheel.  Jessie shuddered and mewed through her gag.  "Yessss... sharp, aren't they?  Here's what's penciled in our social calendar for the next few days.  I'm going back to my warm, comfortable bed, slumber like the righteous little country girl that I am, then rise in the morning, enjoy a nice breakfast, maybe a stroll through the gardens... then come back down here to play with my new toy.  You, on the other hand, the 'new toy' in question, are staying right here, exactly as you are now, thinking about all the fun things I can do to your helpless body with my feather, my nasty little pinwheel... I can't wait to play connect-the-freckles with this thing... my riding crop... feet, titties, your smelly Colonial twat, there are all sorts of things one can whip with a riding crop... not to mention the entire tray of antique surgical instruments over in the corner."  Jessie craned her neck to follow Chelsea's glance.  "Don't bother, darling," Chelsea cooed.  "You can't see them from here."  She stepped back to the table, dropped the pinwheel, and returned.

She yawned, gracefully and politely covering her mouth with one small hand.  "Ahh...  Excuse me.  I am rather tired.  Well, off to bed."  She started for the door, then shook her head.  "Silly me, I almost forgot to turn on your entertainment."  She flicked a switch on the side of the rack and the dildo began to vibrate.

Jessie's eyes darted from the quietly buzzing pink rod, to Chelsea, then back again.  The wheel at the end of the bracket arm was slowly turning... the dildo creeping closer and closer to Jessie's sex.

"It will takes several minutes to reach the end of the track... where I set the clamp to make it reverse... then double that time to creep back and return.  I have no idea how long the tip will be in contact with your flushed little petals during each cycle... but my guess it'll be far short of the time required for a nice, proper orgasm..."  She reached out and ran her left hand over Jessie's sweat glistening inner thigh.  "...even for a slutty Colonial such as yourself."  She used her index finger to trace the margin of Jessie's swollen labia, dragging her nail across the pink, sensitive flesh.  Jessie shuddered and moaned through her gag.  "It won't go anywhere near your clit, you see. That's why I made those careful adjustments."  She continued her teasing massage as the dildo slowly crept closer.  "It should be very frustrating... I imagine."  

Chelsea donned her boots and cape, then retrieved her candle from the table.  It the time this took, the dildo had still not advanced more that a quarter of the distance to Jessie's sex.  Chelsea smiled, leaned close, and gave Jessie's right breast a slow, languid lick, pausing to tease the erect nipple with the tip of her kitten-like tongue.  "Salty," she murmured, then leaned close to Jessie's face.  "There's a jug of ice water on the table, if you get thirsty," she whispered, then kissed Jessie's forehead.  "I'll be back in a few hours, Cowgirl," she whispered, then strode to the door.

Jessie lifted her head and locked eyes with her captor, trying to convey a wordless plea for mercy.  

"There are other entertainments waiting in other chambers," Chelsea announced, a feral grin on her angelic face.  "We're going to have a lot of fun."  Then the door closed.  

Jessie heard the key turn in the lock... and she was alone.

Jessie dozed fitfully in the stifling torture chamber.  The only light was the soft, orange glow from the electric braziers.  Her attempts at slumber had been interrupted five times, so far, by the relentless, teasing attention of the merrily buzzing pink dildo.  Chelsea's prediction had proved correct: the periods of partial penetration and vibration were nowhere near enough to bring her off... not even with the added mental stimulus of her current predicament.  I'll get her for this, the miserable prisoner promised herself, stretching in her bonds for the millionth time, trying to ignore her growing thirst and the sore ache of her pinioned body.

Jessie wasn't enjoying herself, but she had to admit there was a titillating edge to her torment.  The fantasy was delicious (albeit the reality was not exactly a picnic).  I was pretty mean, she admitted to herself, draggin' her up the trail to Kettle Lake.  Just then, the tip of the buzzing dildo touched her labia for the sixth time, and all thoughts of guilt vanished.   Just wait 'til I get you in my torture chambers, Shorty!

Suddenly, a key rattled in the door, and it swung open on squealing hinges.  Two dark figures entered the chamber and loomed over Jessie.  Both were females, had black masks over their faces, and were too tall to be Chelsea, but the squirming prisoner could see few details, especially after the lead figure produced a flashlight and shone it directly in her grimacing face.

The second figure gripped the first figure's shoulder with a black gloved hand.  "Please, mademoiselle, she is not as you say," a quivering voice whispered.  "She is a good person, I swear!"

Jessie blinked and mewed through her gag.  Solange?

The first figure shrugged off the second's hand.  "Shut up, you," she hissed in a soprano whisper.  "Hold the light."

The glaring light jiggled, then something soft, wet, and acrid was pressed to Jessie's face.  Chloroform!

"Go to sleep, slut," the first figure whispered, "and be prepared to wake up in hell!"

Jessie squirmed and tried to hold her breath, but the end was inevitable.  The cloying fumes filled her lungs... and all went dark.