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		DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jessie & Chelsea: THE  ADVENTURES  OF Shorty & the Cowgirl ———————————————————— by Van © 2004
		Chapter 12

Chelsea was impressed (and a little miffed).  Jessie's mine was huge!  Really huge!  It went on and on, tunnel after dark, dusty tunnel, all chiseled and blasted from the native rock.  Periodically shored with heavy timbers, the passages stretched into the distance at every junction.  Dim illumination was provided by widely spaced electric fixtures, all armored with glass globes and steel cages.  Directly under one of these feeble lamps one might be able to read a newspaper.  In the spaces between, it was headlines only.

And the place was huge!  Chelsea knew, because Jessie seemed determined to drag her naked, bound, gagged, and hobbled self through every subterranean mile.  They paused at periodic walls of closely spaced iron bars for Jessie to unlock a gate, shepherd her captive through, and lock the gate behind.  Twice they took rides in the cramped cage of a mine elevator, passing even more levels that (thankfully) Chelsea was not being required to traverse... for the moment.  Now and then they passed heavy doors set in the stone walls.  All were steel, or wooden timbers bound with iron, and all were bolted and locked.

Why was Chelsea miffed?  They'd entered the mines through a massive, perfectly camouflaged vault door set in the back wall of one of the canyon storerooms.  Obviously, a great deal of effort and expense had gone into the arrangement.  With proper aristocratic smugness, Chelsea had been proud of Brightman Hall's secret passageways and hidden chambers, and had assumed she was senior partner in the Family Dungeon Department.  But now she was learning Cowgirl had a "Sinister Lair" that was on an industrial scale!  Okay, history and tradition were on her side, but this place was huge!

They paused before a steel door (Finally!) and Chelsea watched as Jessie unlocked a large, very heavy padlock, threw back a massive steel bolt, and pushed the door open.  She had been mostly quiet after her initial and rather sketchy explanations, trudging along apparently deep in thought.  Chelsea had learned that Jessie's evil cousin Victoria and Victoria's sadistic lover "Drake" had kept her captive, along with Delores, but little else.  For the gagged, inquisitive pixie, it had been most frustrating.

With a tug on her rope leash, Chelsea was dragged into the room beyond.  It was square, roughly thirty feet on a side, and had a domed ceiling that rose to twelve or fifteen feet. The lighting was brighter than in the mine corridors, but the dark stone walls seemed to absorb the photons like a sponge.  A pulley dangled from a ring at the ceiling's peak, and a chain draped down to a windlass mounted on the far wall.  There was a rustic wooden cabinet to one side, and leaning against the opposite wall was what Chelsea recognized as a "Cavert", a triangle of iron bars with a collar at its apex, manacles on its sides, and widely separated shackles at its base.  The Brightman Hall Dungeons had such a device, but she'd never had occasion to play with it.

Still not speaking, Jessie plunked Chelsea on her butt in the center of the chamber, dragged over the Cavert, and began the process of locking her captive in its embrace.  The collar was first, replacing the rope lead and locking with an authoritative click and the snap of a padlock.  Chelsea's ankles were next, leaving her seated upright with her legs at full stretch in front.  As the ropes were removed from her arms, torso, and wrists, she tried to remove her gag, but all she managed was to loosen the knot a little before Jessie captured her wrists, one-by-one, and locked them in the manacle clamps.

Jessie coiled all the rope and tossed it towards the door.  She removed Chelsea's gag and stuck it in her hip pocket, then sat cross-legged on the floor, facing her prisoner and resting her back against the wall.

Chelsea licked her lips and glared at her captor.  "Filthy sadist!" she accused.  "Horrible, beastly, filthy sadist!"

Jessie smiled.  "I do my best."  She lifted her arms and stretched, then rested her hands atop her head.  "So, what you think of the place?"

Chelsea affected a disdainful pout.  "It's huge," she admitted.

"It is that," Jessie agreed.  "And you ain't seen nothin' yet."

Chelsea tested her new restraints.  They were inescapable, as always. "So... your cousin used to keep you locked up like this?"

Jessie's smile faded, and her eyes focused on the far wall.  "Not all the time," she said finally.  "I was a bratty little snit when I first got here."

"As opposed to now?" Chelsea asked, a coy smile on her pixie face.

"Watch it, Shorty!" Jessie warned, her smile returning.  "I'd act up, and Victoria would punish me.  She started out slow, locking me in one of the stalls in the stables for a 'time out', first for an hour or two, then for entire nights.  Then she started tying me up.  She'd take turns with Drake.  Hog-ties, ball-ties, tying me to posts... Once, Drake staked me to the ground, spread-eagled, tied with long, wet leather thongs, naked, gagged, way out in the badlands.  She put me where I could watch her ride away, and she kept going, for miles, and miles, and the sun was hot, and I was all alone, and...  It was only for an hour, then Victoria came out of the rocks.  She'd been hiding there the whole time, watching...  It was all a game, but I was plenty scared."

"I can imagine," Chelsea said in a whisper.

"Like I said," Jessie continued, "it wasn't all the time.  It was Delores who got most of it.  Drake used to do some really nasty things to her, and Victoria would use her to test her collection of toys.  Sometimes it would be me, but mostly it was Delores."

"Toys?"

Jessie's smile turned sinister.  "Victoria collected stuff like that triangle.  Didn't I tell you?"

"Cavert," Chelsea said, squirming her butt on the hard stone floor for comfort.

"What?"

"It's called a 'Cavert'," Chelsea sniffed.

"The English have a word for everything," Jessie chuckled, then climbed to her feet and walked to the windlass.  "I'll show you the full effect," she said, then carried the end of the chain towards Chelsea and clipped it to the back of her collar.

"The word may be French—eek!"

Jessie had placed one hand on Chelsea's tummy, the other at the small of her back, and lifted her to her feet.  As she helped the captive find her footing, she slid the hand on Chelsea's back down her butt crack, between her firm cheeks, and cupped her sex.

"Darling!" Chelsea complained.

"Don't tip over," Jessie warned, walked back to the windlass, and tightened the crank with several clattering turns until the chain was taut.

Chelsea's feet were flat on the ground and the chain and rigid iron triangle wouldn't let her fall, but bent forward at the waist, her legs splayed and her butt in the air, the position was humiliating and uncomfortable.  "Sadist!" she accused.

Jessie laughed.  "Poor little Shorty."

"You can take your 'poor little Shorty' and shove it," Chelsea sniffed.  "You're a beastly, horrid sadist, and you don't scare me!"  She stuck out her tongue and sent a wet, mocking raspberry in her lover's general direction.

Jessie's smile became decidedly evil.  "You little flirt," she purred.  "You're askin' for it... and you're gonna get it."  She walked to the cabinet, opened the door, and pulled a black leather gag from a hook.  It had a large ball of stitched leather, a broad panel with a cutout for the victim's nose, and a broad strap with a double tongued roller buckle.

The Cavert's collar prevented Chelsea from turning her head far enough to see what was happening, but she surmised what was in store from the tinkling of the buckle.  "Darling, please!" she pleaded, when the gag came into view and the distressing large ball approached her pouting mouth.  "Oh—Sadist!—mmf!"

"Open wide," Jessie purred, and see-sawed the leather into Chelsea's mouth until it snapped behind her teeth.  "There, that isn't so bad, is it?" she asked as she tightened the buckle, then laughed as her prisoner forced a prolonged, totally unintelligible tirade past the panel and plug filling her mouth and bulging her cheeks.  "Let's do a real sound check," she suggested, and began tickling Chelsea's waist.  The little blonde whined, wiggled, and giggled behind her gag as Jessie's fingers danced over her ribs and stomach.  "What was that?" Jessie asked in a mocking tone.  "Harder, you say?" she suggested, and redoubled her efforts.

The rib tickling continued for more than a minute, while Chelsea struggled and rocked in the Cavert's embrace.  The chain linking her to the ceiling clinked and twanged, and her pert, hanging breasts bobbed and shook.  Piteous whines and muffled squeals echoed from the stone walls, and the ordeal continued.

Finally, giving her quivering, panting victim no chance to rest, Jessie shifted her attention to her sex.  She tickled the precious prisoner's glistening labia, then shifted to a slow, deep massage.  "Is this better?" she cooed.

Chelsea shuddered and whimpered as the massage continued.  She clenched her manacled hands into fists, and her gagged face into a flushed grimace.  The pace of Jessie's deep, gentle assault quickened, and the helpless pixie began swinging her hips and lifting her heels to match.

"Yes, much better," Jessie whispered, and shifted her attention to Chelsea's clit.  The lambent touch continued, and eventually, Chelsea began rhythmically mewing between gagged pants.  The volume of her piteous whines rose in crescendo—then her eyes popped wide and she squealed through her gag.

Her own face flushed and shining, Jessie continued her manipulation for several seconds, then wiped her glistening fingers against Chelsea's firm, dimpled butt cheeks.  "Yeah, I'd call that an adequate gag," she gloated, and stepped away to the cabinet.  "I haven't taken my swim yet," she explained, "so I'll leave you here to relax while I correct that oversight."

At first, Chelsea was too spent to make a response, then her eyes popped wide (again) and a piteous sigh escaped her gag (again).  Jessie had returned and dropped two sinister, black leather objects on the floor before her gagged, dismayed face.  One was a flogger, a braided handle ending in a dozen or more long, thin, tapering tails.  The other was a stiff, oval paddle with a long handle.

"See if you can figure out a way to let me know which of these things you want me to use on your heinie when I get back," Jessie suggested, and walked to the door.  Chelsea turned her head and whimpered, pleading with her eyes.  "Oh, I just love your cute little puppy-dog pout, Shorty," Jessie laughed, "but haven't you figured out by now that it only eggs me on?"  Chelsea shifted tactics to Courageous Feisty Damsel, but her Brave Angry Growl was cut snort by the clang of the closing door.

Jessie threw the bolt and turned the lock, then leaned back against the hard steel and unzipped her jeans.  She thrust a hand under her panties and began massaging her own sex.  "Oh god," she whispered.  "The little flirt!"  She stopped and fumbled for the knotted bandana in her hip pocket.  She thrust Chelsea's former gag in her mouth, cinched the ends tight over her hair, until her flushed cheeks bulged, then tied a knot at the nape of her neck.  She then returned her attention to her sex, this time with both hands.  God, oh god!  She began panting, her eyes tightly closed.   So cute, so hot, so helpless.  She parted her labia and frigged herself in earnest.   Little flirt!

Jessie hauled herself down to the pool, sat on a lounge chair, and started pulling off her boots.  She'd already decided how she was going to spend the rest of the day.  She'd make her swim brief, then introduce Chelsea to the—

"Excuse me, Jess?"  It was the disembodied voice of her Eve 6900 Artificial Intelligence, echoing from the pool area's sound system.

"What is it, CJ?"

"Margo Wells would like you to give her a call, as soon as is convenient."

Jessie smiled and started pulling on her boots.  "Always glad to talk to Margo," she said..  "I'll do it up in my office."

"I suggest you splash some water on your face first," CJ suggested.  "You look like you just had sex, or somethin'."

Jessie blushed.  "I take it you've been eavesdroppin' on me?  I thought the mine was only partly wired."

"Eve left me some of her spider-bots.  I'm up to about eighty nine percent coverage.  Once I get better at anticipatin' your movements, that'll approach one hundred percent."

"So much for privacy," Jessie muttered, standing and stamping her feet to seat her boots.

"Hell, I'm your AI, Jess," CJ responded.  "Think of me as an extension of your consciousness.  Privacy ain't an issue.  Besides, safety trumps privacy."

"There is that," Jessie agreed, and stepped away at a brisk pace.  By the time she negotiated the stairs up to the office balcony and was through the French doors, the screen of her desktop system was painting the message: "VID-CALL CONNECTION PENDING".  She ran into the adjoining bathroom, splashed her face, patted it dry, and brushed her hair.  She then returned to the office, flopped into her chair, tapped a key, and Margo Wells' smiling face appeared on the screen.

"Hey there, Jessie," the TESSERACT CEO said.  "How was your flight?"

"Hey there, Margo," Jessie answered.  "It was great, not counting the wrestling match with Kat and getting tied to our chairs with cable ties and gagged and blindfolded with some of that Dermafoam tape of yours."

"Kat," Margo sighed, slowly shaking her head.

"It's okay," Jessie laughed.  "It was kinda relaxin', once the dust settled.  Chelsea even got some sleep, which she usually doesn't do on planes."

"I thought you said you were blindfolded."

Jessie's smile broadened.  "She snores."

Margo smiled back.  "Of course she does."

"Anyhow, thanks for the transportation.  What can I do for you?"

Margo's smile became more business-like.  "I need to talk to you about your cousin."

Jessie's smile faded completely.  "Victoria?"

Margo nodded.  "As you know, Eve's expert psychological systems have been monitoring and directing her interrogation.  Well, after extensive testing, we've come to the conclusion she's not the sadistic monster we all thought she was."

Jessie snorted skeptically.  "I suppose you're going to tell me it was all Drake's fault," she muttered.

"Not exactly," Margo responded, "but Drake did channel Victoria's natural proclivities down a darker path.  I know your cousin did a lot of terrible things to you, and threatened worse, but now I'm personally convinced she never would have followed through with most of it.  Remember, Eve has state-of-the-art biometric sensors and a great deal of experience interpreting physiological responses.  You can't lie to Eve."

"Right," Jessie mumbled.  Her attitude made it clear she was unconvinced.

"I believe her activities might have remained, shall we say, recreational, but for Drake.  Remember, tying people up isn't always evidence of perfidy... is it Jess?"

Jessie blushed.  "Whatever you say, but she's a criminal.  She traded in pots from looted graves."

Margo nodded again.  "She's paying for that, and will continue to pay.  Her debriefing has resulted in about two dozen arrests and more than a hundred confiscations.  A lot of artifacts have been returned to the Tribes.  In any case... I believe in rehabilitation and victim compensation, not The Revenge Theory of Justice.  Also, there are 'Jane Doe' indictments for various financial and cultural crimes still hanging over Victoria's head.  If she causes trouble, now or in the future, 'new information' will suddenly and conveniently come to light, and she'll be off to prison."

"What about Drake?" Jessie asked.

Margo sighed.  "It turns out our Drake had a very violent, very criminal misspent youth, before she met your cousin.  By the time various state and federal prosecutors get done with her... Let's just say she won't be seeing the outside of a prison until she's a very old woman."

Jessie nodded.  "So what exactly are you proposing."

Margo's expression became very serious.  "Eventually, I think your cousin could return to something resembling a normal life, possibly at Copperhead Canyon."

Jessie said nothing.

"We can take precautions," Margo continued, "and nothing needs to be decided immediately.  With your permission, I'll discuss the issue with Teri and Delores, and I'm having Eve prepare a series of reports for you to read, digests and summaries of Victoria's interrogation and testing."  She smiled.  "As if you'll need more to read, once you start your sophomore year."

Jessie smiled as well.  "I'm not promisin' anything... but go ahead and talk to Doc and Delores... and I'll read your reports."

"That's all I ask," Margo said.  "My love to Chelsea.  Call me before you start classes.  Bye!"

"Will do, and say hi to Charlie for me.  Bye!" Jessie broke the connection.  As she continued staring at the screen, her smile faded.  'The Revenge Theory of Justice', she mused.   Margo's right.  Revenge is personal.  She bounded from her chair and headed for the pool.

As Jessie descended the stairs to the canyon floor, Cody came into view, walking from the direction of the stables.  "Hey, Blondie!" Jessie called, and waved.

Cody smiled, and altered her course.  They met near the pool.  "Hey, Red," the grinning blonde said as she approached.  She was wearing a pair of jeans and a Western blouse, but her feet were still bare.

"Ain't those Doc's clothes?" Jessie asked, a wry smile on her face.  

Cody's grin widened.  "She ain't usin' them at the moment, so I borrowed them to go look for my own.  They better be hangin' on a hook outside the sauna, or there'll be hell to pay."

Jessie laughed.  "I gotta feelin' hell's already gettin' paid.  Let me guess: Delores untied you; which I ordered her to do, by the way; and you tied her back.  Doc tagged along to watch, so you included her in?  That's low, Blondie."

"Doc was havin' too much fun seein' me naked and tied up," Cody muttered.  "I'll let her go in an hour."

"And Delores?"

Cody's grin turned feral.  "She's in for the night."  The smug blonde sketched a salute, spun on her bare heels, and walked away, towards the bath house and sauna.

Jessie watched her go, shaking her head, then smiled and headed for the stables.  As she came to the unused stalls in the back, she found a heap of discarded clothing before a locked door.  She peered through the bars, and found the objects of Cody's revenge.  Teri and Delores were naked, on their stomachs on an old blanket, hog-tied with what was probably the same cotton clothesline Delores had used to bind Cody.  Duct tape was plastered over their lips, and from the volume of their pleading complaints, something was stuffed in their mouths.  Panties, Jessie thought, and turned to sort through the clothing at her feet with the toe of one boot.  There were two bras, one maid's uniform (dress, apron, and cap), a pair of black heels, a pair of hiking boots, one wool sock, and no panties.

Jessie turned back to gaze at the helpless, struggling captives.   Hmm... I bet two panties for Delores, and one balled sock for Doc, she decided, revising her earlier estimate.  That's what I'd do, anyway.

Both prisoners were bound at the wrists, elbows, and ankles.  Delores' extremities were crossed, while Doc's were side-by-side.  Cody had done an especially neat and tidy job on the Doc, and had even bound her big toes.  In any case, from the tightness and placement of the ropes and knots, Jessie could tell neither captive would be going anywhere until released by a third party.  Delores had the usual gagged smile on her face.  Teri's expression was more serious, but Jessie strongly suspected she was enjoying herself.

There was a large, very solid padlock on the stall door.  Jessie gave it a rattle, shrugged (for the benefit of her captive audience), smiled, waved, spun on her heel, and walked away.  "Crazier and crazier," she muttered.  I need to set some ground rules for these games, she mused.  I'll ask Margo for advice.  I suspect she has experience in this sort of thing.

When Jessie finally returned, Chelsea was very glad to see her, and even more glad when the flogger and paddle were returned to the cabinet without being used on her very naked, very vulnerable derrière.  Of course, that didn't prevent her from rounding on her "torturer" when her gag was unbuckled, pulled from her mouth, and dropped to the floor.

"You horrid, filthy, beastly sadist!" she accused.  "My back is killing me.  I think you've crippled me for life."

Jessie laughed.  She'd endured the Cavert herself, and knew that while Chelsea had grounds for complaint, the pouting pixie was exaggerating.  "Then you won't give me any trouble while I get you out of that thing, will you?" she purred.  She returned from the cabinet with a new set of restraints: a steel collar joined to a pair of manacles by a rigid steel bar.  She unclipped the chain at the back of the Cavert's collar, and eased the prisoner to the ground.

"Sadist!" Chelsea huffed, but cooperated as her neck was released from the Cavert and locked in the new collar.

Jessie took full precautions.  Chelsea's wrists were handled one at a time, unlocked from the Cavert, and secured in the new manacles.  "Ever been to Seversea-on-Wye?" Jessie asked.

"Uh, no," Chelsea answered, blinking in surprise at the question.  "Northern Monmouthshire, isn't it?"

"Don't know," Jessie admitted, and stooped to release Chelsea's left ankle.  "It's the location of the home priory of a group of nuns called the Order of Saint Gwyndoline.  Ever hear of it?  The priory, I mean."

Chelsea watched as her right ankle was released.  "Am I being tortured with a pop geography quiz?" she asked, dryly.

Jessie laughed.  "What a joker.  Anyway, in the late Middle Ages, their Mother Superior was one Embeth Peale."

"So now it's a history quiz," Chelsea muttered.  Jessie gave the gag still lying on the floor a significant glance, and Chelsea licked her lips.  "Okay, I'll be good.  Pray continue."

Jessie helped Chelsea to her feet.  "The Order was affiliated with the Holy Inquisition, specializing in handling problem females.  Anyway, Reverend Mother Peale was a mechanical genius, and she designed torture engines that were centuries ahead of her time."

"Torture engines?" Chelsea gasped, her voice in a worried whisper.

"Really nasty ones!" Jessie continued, leading her captive out of the room and into the corridor.  "My cousin Victoria found a copy of her portfolio in Florence, very rare and valuable, by the way, and she built replicas of all her devices."

"Torture engines?" Chelsea repeated.

Jessie smiled.  "Come...  I'll show you one of the big ones."

Chelsea gaped in wonder (and a little fear).  Jessie had led her down several new passages, unlocked a thick wooden door bound with iron straps... and beyond was a large, dark chamber on two levels, separated by a partial floor of heavy timbers.  The level below was filled with dozens of meshed and interlocking wooden gears, some the size of wagon wheels.  There were also wooden shafts, counterweights on chainfalls, cogs, levers, rocker arms... It was like the workings of a vast Medieval clock.  And thrusting through the floor, lit by a spotlight from overhead, was... a dragon!

It was wood and iron, its head an elaborate and frightening sculpture with a spiked mane, horns, fierce red eyes, flaring nostrils, an open mouth full of sharp teeth, and a protruding, forked tongue.  Its body was triangular, a wedge.  The sides were braced with riveted iron straps.  The top ridge was rounded, and had a slight dip in the middle.

"It's a horse!" Chelsea gasped.

"Try 'dragon', Shorty," Jessie purred, placed her left hand against her prisoner's back, and pushed her forward.

"No," Chelsea responded.  "Not the animal... the... torture device."  She turned her head and gave her lover a genuinely worried pout.

Jessie laughed.  "Oh Shorty, you should see your face."

Chelsea's expression became somewhat peeved and defensive.   "Genuine torture," she said.  "A genuine torture device.  The kind used by genuine sadists."

Jessie smiled.  "Cousin Victoria took a few liberties with the Reverend Mother's original design.  The ridge is supposed to be iron, and as sharp as a dull axe.  This one is wood, and about as rounded as a walking stick.  Also..."  She pulled a lever protruding from the floor, and what was unmistakably a wooden phallus rose from the dip in the center of the ridge!  "That thing is supposed to be twice as big, and covered with thorns.  This one has smooth little ridges and bumps."  She stepped closer, taking the still very worried Chelsea with her.  "See the tiny holes in the tip and sides?"  Chelsea nodded, staring at the phallus with wide-eyed fascination.  "They're weep-holes for oil.  There's a collecting pan and reservoir down below.  The Reverend Mother specified hot oil, slowly coming to a boil.  Victoria changed it to warm oil scented with wildflowers.  She changed it from an engine of slow execution, to a fun ride."

"I'd just as soon visit one of the Disney parks," Chelsea whispered.  "How 'bout it?  My treat."

Jessie grinned and produced a long, thin, black cloth from her pocket.  It was at least two yards long and narrow as a belt.  Before Chelsea could register further complaints, she thrust the center of the cloth between her teeth and began wrapping it around her head, cinching each turn as she went.  The corners of the squirming little blonde's mouth were pulled back, and her cheeks bulged.  The tight cleave was only a semi-effective gag, but it made intelligible speech impossible.

Chelsea looked from Jessie, to the dragon, and back to Jessie.  Her eyes were wide and worried, her pert breasts heaving.

Jessie smiled and pulled her into a tight embrace, one arm encircling the captive's narrow waist and snuggling her close, the other gently straightening her blonde bangs.  "Your heart's goin' a mile a minute," she purred.  "I've ridden the dragon.  Delores has ridden the dragon.  Don't you want to join the club?"  Chelsea shook her head, but Jessie could see the hint of a twinkle in her eyes.  "You big chicken," she teased, giving her precious prisoner a kiss on the tip of her button nose.

"Nu-huh!" Chelsea mumbled through her gag, shaking her head again; but this time the twinkle was unmistakable.

"It's not like you have a choice, ya know," Jessie purred, continuing to hold Chelsea close and now cupping her left breast with her right hand.  She gave the firm globe a gentle squeeze, and Chelsea shuddered.  Her manacles and collar clinked against their connecting steel rod.  "You're riding the dragon," Jessie continued.  "You'd never forgive me if I let you talk me out of it."

Jessie pulled her mewing, squirming captive to the dragon, picked her up by the waist, and settled her on its "saddle".  Chelsea squealed through her gag, then blinked in surprise.  It was uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as she'd feared.  She wiggled her bottom, then noticed Jessie's mocking smile, and resumed her Maidenly Lamentations, twisting in her inescapable bonds and forcing sad, piteous, whimpering moans past her gag.

"Drama queen!" Jessie scolded, stooping to clamp Chelsea's left ankle in a shackle, then walking around the dragon and doing the same to her right.  She released a lever, and heavy chains clanked and snapped taut, pulling Chelsea's legs to full stretch.

Chelsea's eyes popped wide and she squealed, then glared at the smug redhead.

Jessie ignored her victim's hostile stare as she detached three chains from a ring set in the wall.  They dangled from pulleys in the ceiling and down to separate windlasses.  She snapped one to the front of Chelsea's collar, one to the back, and the last to her manacles.  She turned the windlass cranks and tightened the chains, one by one.  She left some slack in the collar chains, but very little in the manacle chain.  "That'll keep you from collapsing and hurting yourself," she explained, then walked to the bank of long-handled levers protruding from the floor, and began pulling them, one-by-one.

Chelsea continued her angry stare, then shifted to a nervous gagged pout as a series of shuddering, vibrating groans and snaps sounded from the level below.  Slowly, the myriad of shafts and gears began to turn.  Jessie pulled the last lever, and Chelsea's eyes popped wide yet again.

Jessie knew what was happening.  The phallus was slowly extending itself, parting Chelsea's labia and entering her sex.  It rose to perhaps four inches, withdrew to one, then rose again, building to a slow, steady rhythm.

The dragon began rocking from side to side, up and down, and back and forth.  It was a gentle, swaying ride, varying in direction and pace, apparently at random.  Meanwhile, the shaft was thrusting, slowly spinning, and weeping oil.  Jessie leaned close, and could see the glistening fluid leaking from Chelsea's stretched sex.  Most of it was finding its way back to the collection pan below, but a little was dribbling between the sides of the dragon and Chelsea's stretched legs.  Chelsea's head bobbed and her chains rattled and clinked as the ride continued.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Jessie asked.

Chelsea mewed a miserable complaint in response, but she was clearly distracted... and increasingly aroused.

Jessie knew the machine below included a clock function.  The dragon would continue to rock for several minutes... several very long, harrowing, entertaining minutes for its rider... then the dragon and phallus would "rest", while the gears and shafts below continued to turn.  Then, after a seemingly random interval, one of the chainfall weights would drop one link, and the ride would resume.

Chelsea was panting through her gag and twisting her wrists in their manacles, rolling her hips to match the motion of the dragon, like an equestrian maintaining her seat.  

Jessie's educated guess put the captive pixie about halfway to her first orgasm.  "Play nice," she said in a teasing, gloating voice.  "I'm finally going to take that long-awaited swim."

Chelsea turned her head and tried to focus on her departing lover.  She was panting audibly, and beginning to sweat.  "Nwwh!" she moaned.

"I'll be back before dinner," Jessie announced, and closed the door.

Chelsea whined through her gag as she heard the bolt slide and the lock turn.  She was helpless and alone, at the mercy of a soulless machine, locked in a torture chamber, buried deep in an abandoned mine, hidden behind secret portals as solid as bank vault doors, and no one was coming to her rescue.  The dragon pitched, and rolled.  The shaft in her sex pumped, spun, and oozed warm oil.  Oh god, oh god, oh god.  How am I ever going to pay Cowgirl back for this?  Finally, she shuddered, lifted her head back as far as her collar and chains would allow, screamed through her gag... and came.

The dragon rumbled on, taking its rider on her continuing, involuntary journey to ecstasy.