by Van   © 2003
—Chapter 4
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Naked, her wrists bound behind her back, the underbrush flailing against her body as she ran, Bess struggled to escape through the forest.  A herd of deer hurried past on either side.  They turned their heads as they came even with the fleeing fugitive, staring at Bess with their big brown curious eyes; then they bounded forward, their tails erect, as if giving the slow, struggling, merely human biped in their wake a mocking salute.  "Wait!" Bess called, but the herd kept going, leaving her behind.  "Don't leave me!  Help!"

Panting and winded, dripping with sweat, her leg muscles burning, Bess ran on.  She had to escape!  They were coming!  She came to the edge of the forest and continued into a vast field of tall sere grass and towards a tall, rounded hill.  She hurried forward, but her pursuers were right behind her!

They were women, tall, bronze, and beautiful.  Manacles and shackles were around their wrists and ankles, but the few dangling broken links of their former bonds were decorations, not restraints.  Their metal faces were cold and indifferent (and beautiful.)  Their churning metal limbs strong and lithe.

There were also the little ones.  They too were bronze, like their much taller companions in the hunt, but they had short hair.  They were children among giants, but were actually outpacing their much taller bronze sisters.  They snapped at Bess' heels, herding her up the hill.

"Leave me alone!  Go away!"

Bess passed a huge oak, and standing at its base, leaning against the gnarled trunk... was Stephanie Canon.  As usual, the busy executive was dressed in one of her hideously expensive power suits.  Bess tried to run towards her, but several tiny bronze jungle girls pricked her legs with tiny spears and herded her away.

"Help me!" Bess called as she ran past.

Steph smiled.  "It's easier with wings," she explained.  "Try the cheese if you find the bald man."

"What?" ...but Bess was already past, leaving Steph and the oak far behind.

Suddenly, Bess was on her bike!  She roared up the hill, leaving her bronze pursuers in the dust.  She reached the top... and suddenly the bike was gone she was flying— for real!

Bess soared through a bank of fluffy white clouds... then another... but then the clouds began clinging to her body.  Bess struggled, but the fluffy white tendrils were wrapping themselves around her, pulling her arms to her sides and her legs together! ...and she was trapped... and falling... falling... and she was caught in the palm of a huge, warm, marble hand!  She looked up and beheld a colossal face and body (and graceful neck, smooth shoulders, strong arms, perfect breasts, flat stomach) and it was Maggie Kilborn!  Her hair was fire, crackling and curling like the flames of a huge torch.  Her eyes were giant emeralds, glowing with green light.  She was a living statue, as tall as an office building! tall as Lady Liberty! ...and Bess was her prisoner!

Like a bored child toying with a captured bug the marble giant prodded the squirming, trapped, cloud enshrouded, tiny, pitiful thing in her palm.

"Stop it!" Bess yelled, as a massive index finger poked her stomach, then began worming its way under the cloud sheets clinging to her lower body.  As Bess struggled the wrappings parted before the huge digit, but the damp, frothy, silky white vapor closed back as the finger passed.  "That's not nice!" Bess shouted.  "We have a Social Contract!  Let me go!"  

The giant's huge stone finger parted Bess' wrapped legs, forcing them apart, then began sliding in and out, in and out, rubbing against Bess thighs and sex.  "Oh, please stop!" Bess begged, but the giant simply smiled, and continued her colossal caress.  "You can't make me!  You can't!" Bess shouted.  "I won't let you!  I...  I...  Oh please!"  Bess' shouts turned to whimpers, and the statue's finger slid in and out, in and out, and—

A loud, raucous, very irritating sound filled the guest room.  Bess opened her eyes, focused on the ceiling, then turned her head to gaze at the clock on the bedside table.  Its digital display was flashing, and read " 6:00."  Bess considered smashing it with her right mitt ( ...trying to, anyway); but tapped the bar on top instead.  The numbers stopped flashing and the alarm went silent.

Glad to finally find something meaningful I can accomplish wearing these damn things.  With some difficulty (mainly caused by her inability to grip anything) Bess extricated herself from the tangled sheets, yawned, stretched, and dragged her naked disheveled self towards the bathroom.  "Bitch!" she muttered under her breath.
—Chapter 4
Bess shuffled into the kitchen with the irritatingly perky Maggie at her heels.  Her mitts were locked together and pinned to the small of her back by an inch-wide strap of black nylon webbing, snug enough to dimple the skin of her waist.  Bess had objected (of course), arguing that the tight strap was unnecessary and uncomfortable; but her hostess, surrogate employer, and captor had insisted.  Maggie had dried and brushed Bess' hair (the captive having already managed the other tasks of her morning toilette), but had vetoed a change of (or rather a return to) clothing.

Maggie herself was dressed in faded jeans, cotton tank top, and a rather disreputable and frayed shawl sweater.  While Bess plunked herself into a chair, the redhead spooned a large glob of oatmeal into a flat-bottomed ceramic bowl.  "I hope you slept well," she said, sprinkling raisins and brown sugar on the oatmeal.  She walked to the table and set the bowl before her "assistant."

"Well enough," Bess muttered, eyeing her breakfast.  "This is a dog dish," she observed, "and I hate oatmeal."

"Captured Star Rangers eat what their Slaver captors give them," Maggie responded, "grateful that they aren't being left to starve in their holding cages while being transported to the Training Planet.  And the dish is clean, I assure you."

Bess eyed the steaming oatmeal uncertainly, then lifted her gaze to her captor.  "Well... aren't you going to—"

"Smash your face in it?" Maggie interrupted.

Bess glared at the grinning redhead.  "Feed me?"

"Feed yourself, Star Ranger scum!" Maggie responded, laughing with theatrically evil glee.

Bess continued staring.

"Seriously," Maggie added, "feed yourself... or go hungry."

"Bitch!" Bess mumbled under her breath, her gaze back on the bowl.

"What did you call me?" Maggie asked quietly.

Bess lifted her gaze, and felt a thrill or genuine fear.  All humor was gone from Maggie's face.  The redhead's beautiful, high-cheeked features were hard, her emerald eyes flashing.

"Uh... 'bitch'," Bess admitted, "but I meant it in a nice way."

Maggie continued staring for several long seconds... then laughed.  "Gotcha!" she chuckled, the twinkle back in her eyes.  "Tell you what.  Why don't I help you get in the proper 'Captured Star Ranger' mood?"  She grabbed a handful of Bess' hair and lifted her from the chair.

"Ow!" the naked captive complained.

"Silence Human!" Maggie snarled and shoved Bess towards the outside door.  She picked up the prisoner's breakfast, opened the door, shoved Bess across the threshold, and followed.

The sun was still below the surrounding hills and the air rather brisk; but the morning was bright, with not a cloud in the sky.  Five long strides from the door Maggie set the bowl down on the patio flags and forced Bess to her knees.

"Maggie!" the captive complained.

Maggie produced a bandana from her hip pocket.  It was turquoise, with orange, purple, and dusky rose details in a Southwestern motif.  She folded it point-to-point, then into a narrow strip, then gathered Bess' dark hair, and used the bright cloth to bind it in a tight ponytail.  She turned and walked back to the door.  "Eat or don't eat.  Your call."

Bess watched the door close.  Its glass was painted with stylized graphics (like all the windows and doors of Maggie's earth-sheltered warren) so Bess couldn't see into the kitchen... but she knew Maggie could see out.  At this very moment the redhead was no doubt standing at the glass, a smug smile on her gloating face, watching her captive... naked, bound, kneeling on the hard flags...   Bitch!

Bess eyed the surrounding landscape.  The grass of the hillsides was damp and under the trees a swirling eerie mist was hanging in the air, a few inches off the leaf litter.  As she watched, the direct sunlight reached the very top of the nearest south facing slope.   Beautiful.  She dropped her gaze back to the bowl of steaming oatmeal.  At least it's hot, she conceded, shivering in the still, cool air (aware that her flesh was covered with that gooseflesh Maggie found so attractive, and that her nipples were rock hard and pointing.)   Well... I can't win any of her damn head games, not as long as I'm locked in these damn mitts.  She gets to gloat and giggle and be a Prize Bitch... regardless.  If I'm going to be her plaything... I might as well be a plaything with a full stomach.  Bess lowered her face to the oatmeal and began eating.
—Chapter 4
Maggie was indeed watching Bess eat.  Her left arm was draped across her breasts, her right hand gently caressing the front panel of her jeans.  "Why don't you quit skulking around like a timid little mouse and come on in?" she called back over her shoulder.

Smiling sheepishly Jane straightened from her "stealthy" crouch in the kitchen doorway.  "I thought you wanted me to stay hidden," she muttered.  The young brunette was nude and was still bound with the same thin cord Maggie had first laced around her crossed wrists approximately forty hours earlier.  Blushing shyly, she pattered towards her captor.  Maggie's only response was to take a step back, allowing Jane to take her place at the glass.

Maggie put her arms around her young prisoner, then settled her chin on Jane's left shoulder.  She squeezed and Jane snuggled close.  In the door's reflection Maggie watched Jane watch Bess.  "I told you she was a looker," the smiling redhead whispered.

Jane nudged Maggie's denim-clad crotch with her bound hands.  "She's beautiful," Jane conceded, "...if you like 'em scrawny and tall."

Maggie chuckled.  "Personally, I like 'em scrawny and short ."

"I'm not scrawny," Jane complained.

"Neither is Bess," Maggie responded, nibbling on Jane's left ear.

"I see what you mean about the whole adding up to more than her parts," Jane huffed.  "Her mouth is kinda funny and her arms too thin and..."

Maggie chuckled.  "Poor jealous little Punkie," she cooed, hugging her prisoner even closer.

They watched Bess consume her breakfast for several seconds.  "She's hot," the pouting brunette finally admitted.

"Yes," Maggie agreed, "smoldering hot... but Bess doesn't get a present this morning."

"I just said she was 'hot,'" Jane muttered.  "I didn't say... a present? ...for me?"

One arm around her captive, Maggie maneuvered Jane towards the kitchen island.  She stooped, opened a cabinet, and placed a gift-wrapped box on the island.

"Pretty paper!" Jane said as Maggie untied her wrists.  "What's the occasion?"

"It's Spoil Your Slave Day," Maggie answered.

Jane giggled.  "Goodie!  Normally I'd kick you in the shins for calling me your slave... but I like getting presents."

Maggie laughed.  "That's my Punkie."

Jane rubbed her cord marked wrists for a few seconds, then ripped off the paper and opened the box.  Her glee turned to... open-mouthed wonder.  Inside the box, nestled in tissue paper, was a chastity belt.

The device was gleaming steel, its edges rounded and smooth, its design elegant and streamlined.  The waist belt was in two halves joined at the back by a triple hinge.  The bands were preformed to follow the curves of a narrow, athletic waist... like Jane's.  The crotch section depended from the third rear hinge and was in two hinged parts.  The after section was pierced by a nine-pointed star; the longer, curved, front section by a long slot lined on both sides by symmetrical rows of well-rounded sawteeth.  A flush housing at the forward tip of the crotch panel waited to accept locking flanges from the two halves of the waist belt.

The design was stylish, but the belt's most remarkable feature was the finish of the metal.  Crystalline, subtle, irregular shapes covered every surface, mottling the belt like burnished tortoiseshell.

"Wh... What is it?" Jane said, running her hands over the smooth, cool metal.

Maggie smiled.  "You know what it is, Little One."

"No, no," Jane said with a giggle, "the finish!  It's beautiful!  How did you do it?"

"Do you really want a lecture on mineral sulfates and damasking techniques this early in the morning?"

"It's beautiful," Jane repeated.

"Well... put it on," Maggie urged.

Jane picked up the belt.  "It's heavy," she whispered, then set it back down.  She took a step away from the island, placed her hands atop her head, and smiled shyly.  "I... I want you to do it... okay?  It's better that way."

Maggie gazed at the short, naked brunette.   Young enough to be my daughter, the smiling redhead mused, not for the first time.   So beautiful... So full of life...

"Please?  That's how it should be," Jane continued.  "You should put it on me, and keep the key.  Pretty please?"

Maggie bit her lower lip.  Her eyes were welling.

Jane smiled.  "Maggie... Stop that... or I'll start crying.  Please?"

Maggie wiped her eyes, then stepped forward and picked up the belt.  It opened smoothly and soundlessly on its cunning hinges.  The two halves of the waist belt were like a shallow sideways "C" in her hands, the dangling crotch panel like the vertical of a "T."  She stepped behind Jane, reached around the naked brunette, and whispered in her right ear, "Open your legs, Punkie."

Her breasts heaving as she panted through her slightly open mouth, Jane shuffled her bare feet until they were about two feet apart.

"That's enough," Maggie whispered, kissed Jane's neck, and closed the belt.  Holding the belt bands together around Jane's waist, she reached between Jane's legs from the back and lifted the crotch panel, nestling the star opening against Jane's anus and the toothed slot against her flushed, glistening sex.

Jane shuddered.  "It's cold," she whispered, then started as the waist bands locked into the crotch panel's front flange with two authoritative clicks.  Maggie kissed Jane again, then took a step back.  Jane turned, her hands still atop her head.  Her eyes were on the belt.  "It's beautiful!" she said, and lifted her gaze to smile at Maggie.

Maggie smiled back, wiping her eyes.  "It won't be cold for long," she muttered.  The fit was perfect, just dimpling the flesh of Jane's narrow waist, but not excessively tight between the posing, preening brunette's shapely legs.

Now Jane was crying.  "I love you!" she said, and hugged the sniffling redhead.

"I love you too, Punkie," Maggie whispered, and returned the naked youngster's embrace.  The two kissed... then became aware of a quiet pounding sound.  They turned to face the outside door, and broke into conspiratorial giggling fits.

Still outside (of course), Bess was attempting to gaze through the thick, double glazed glass of the door.  Her mouth, lower face, and the tip of her nose were covered with oatmeal.  She lifted her left foot and lightly kicked the door frame.  Her lips were moving, but the door was sufficiently soundproof to render her effectively mute.

Maggie released Jane and wet a kitchen towel at the island sink.  "Duck out of sight," she instructed Jane, then scrubbed her face with the towel and stepped towards the door.
—Chapter 4
Maggie opened the door, but blocked the threshold.  "May I help you?"

"Very funny," Bess muttered, and tried to push past the grinning redhead into the warm kitchen.

"No you don't, Grubby Face," Maggie laughed, pushed Bess back a step, and pulled the door closed behind her.  She lifted Bess' chin and began scrubbing away the remnants of her breakfast.

"Can we do this inside please," Bess groused.  "It's cold out here."

"Now that the sun's up it'll warm up fast," Maggie reassured the pouting prisoner.  "There... all clean.  Wait here."

"Hey!" Bess complained as Maggie stepped back into the kitchen, taking the towel with her and closing the door.  " Hey! " the frustrated captive shouted.  "Let me in! "

The door opened and Maggie reappeared, a pair of sports sandals dangling from her left hand.  She closed the door, knelt, and arranged the sandals at Bess' feet.  "These should fit," she said, smiling up at the dazed, naked prisoner.  "C'mon... step in."

Bess complied.  The open-toed sandals did fit.  They were predominantly black, with their nylon straps woven in a vaguely Native American pattern of muted earth tones.

Maggie snugged the straps close for a proper fit and seated the velcro closures, then stood.  "There.  Now... I won't be needing your services this morning, so why don't you look around the grounds 'til noon, get a little exercise, enjoy the sun—"


"Don't interrupt!" Maggie barked.  "I'll find you for lunch and—"

"You're going to leave me out here?  No way!"

"I said don't interrupt!"  Maggie reached into the pocket of her sweater and produced a roll of wide, translucent tape.  She ripped off a six inch length, and before Bess could react plastered it over the startled brunette's lips.  Bess stamped her feet and mewed a complaint.  "There, now I can get a word in edgewise," Maggie purred as she smoothed the tape.  Bess' slightly squashed lips were clearly visible under the milky rectangle.  "Don't worry.  This is medical stuff... hypoallergenic."  

Bess tugged on her bonds and complained.  The tape-gag wasn't very effective, but it made articulate speech impossible.

"One last thing," Maggie said, reached behind Bess head, and removed the bandana.  The captive's dark locks tumbled free.  "I like your hair loose like that," Maggie purred, "especially when it's all tousled and tangled and blowing across your face."

Bess glared at her captor and shook her head, then huffed through her flaring nostrils to clear errant strands from her eyes.

"Yes, just like that," Maggie cooed.  "Don't touch the fence... unless you like getting shocked.  It's not dangerous, but it's not very pleasant.  If I didn't have it, the cattle would wander up here and poop all over the place."  Bess continued to glare.  "Don't look at me like that!" Maggie ordered.  "You know I could just lock you in a store room or tie you to a tree, rather than let you wander around uncaged and happy... like a free range chicken.  Have fun."

Bess' eyes popped wide and she screamed through her tape-gag... but Maggie was already back in the kitchen with the door closing behind her.
—Chapter 4
Maggie closed the door and Jane popped up from behind the kitchen island, hopping on her bare feet and giggling.  "Look at how pissed she is!"

"Stop that!" Maggie said, suppressing a smile.  "Put on an apron and start cooking."

"Apron?" Jane complained, "But then I won't be able to see my pretty new present."  She grinned seductively and rubbed the damasked steel locked around her loins with wanton glee.

"I thawed some of that thick-sliced peppered bacon you like so much," Maggie explained.  "Now put on an apron so you don't get your pretty tits spattered with hot grease and cook us some omelets... or I'll lock you back in your cage and we can try it again tomorrow. "

Jane sent a coy air-kiss Maggie's way and donned a kitchen apron as ordered; then turned and wiggled her steel cleaved buttocks at her lover and captor.

Maggie shook her head and turned to watch Bess stomp down the hill towards the fence.  Suit yourself, Bess.  You were warned.  She focused on Jane's reflection in the glass.  

The short brunette had lifted the front of her apron and was admiring her steel encased loins.  Jane gazed at the gleaming steel for several seconds, then noticed the reflection of Maggie's amused gaze and her smile turned rather sheepish.  She blushed coyly and allowed the apron front to drop, then turned, opened the refrigerator, and leaned forward to get the bacon from the meat drawer.

A shivering thrill shuddered through Maggie's body as she drank in the reflection of Jane's firm, dimpled bottom, and strong, toned legs.   Wait 'til I finish the matching collar and chains.
—Chapter 4
Bess picked her way down the hill to the fence.  'Free range chicken', she fumed.  I'll show her 'free range chicken! '   The fence was far too high for Bess to jump, even if her hands hadn't been bound to the small of her back.  It ran unobstructed in both directions.   I wonder if there are any gates other than out at the road?  There have to be.  Bess' long-in-the-making PLAN was finally taking form.   (1) Find a gate; (2) Find that neighbor I saw out running yesterday; (3) Get her to untie me and loan me some clothes; (4) Borrow her phone and have a heart-to-heart with 'Boom-Boom'; (5) Find Maggie and START OVER from a position of slightly more power (and considerably more freedom.)

Bess made her best guess as to the direction in which she had seen the running woman in question, and started walking.  After several dozen dew dampened but picturesque yards she came to the start of a gentle rise.  She followed the fence upslope, shivering as she trudged through the tall wet grass.  Her surroundings were beautiful, but her thoughts kept turning to the forty-something redhead responsible for her plight.   Bitch!  She looked up, and ten yards ahead was an inconspicuous pedestrian gate between two wooden posts.

Bess smiled behind her gag.  I love it when a plan comes together!

On the far side of the fence there was a trail leading from the gate and into the woods, and now that she looked Bess could see the trail was on this side of the fence as well, snaking up the hill towards Maggie's hilltop warren.  She turned back to the gate.  There was no evidence that it was electrified; no wires, no insulators.  By all indications it was just a standard chainlink gate held closed by a simple leaf spring latch.   Bess sighed.  And how the hell do I open it?  She gave it an experimental kick.  It rattled but remained closed.   Damn!  She kicked harder out of frustration; and to her great surprise the latch clicked and the gate swung outwards!  It banged against its hinges and began closing, but Bess was able to block it with her body.  She eased through and the gate swung closed behind her, the latch snapping home with an authoritative click .

Somewhat belatedly it occurred to Bess that getting back through the gate wouldn't be nearly as easy.  Oh well.  Guess I'm an 'off-the-range chicken' now.  She looked around and decided she had seen the running woman slightly further around the slope of Maggie's hill, and trudged in that direction.  The day was warming up, but Bess' sandal-clad feet and bare legs were dripping wet from pushing through the dewed grass and she was shivering.

The shallow valley where Bess had seen the woman came into view.  She looked upslope and sure enough, there was the bank of windows through which she had watched the woman run (while bound in a standing spread-eagle to Maggie's "Interrogation Frame.")   Let's see... Bess had observed the woman close to sunset.   If I were going for a late afternoon run, I'd time things so I'd be heading home at sundown.  Bess took a careful look around to memorize local landmarks, then pushed off.

No problem, Bess mused as she trudged into the wood, following the Running Woman's very cold trail (cold in two meanings of the word.)  I'm naked, freezing, bound and gagged, and she has a twelve hour head start.  Not a problem!  I'll find her.
—Chapter 4

Chapter 3
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