THREE MONTHS LATER
COLORADO
SPRINGS, COLORADO, USA
JANET
FRAISER'S HOME
Janet watched
from her front porch as Sam jogged up the street. She
sipped her coffee, and smiled. Sam was wearing running
shoes; anklets; a pair of brief, black, baggy running shorts; a
compact, black nylon waist pack; and a midriff-baring,
body-hugging, salmon-pink sports bra. Sam's body—her
toned, athletic, tan, perfect
body—was shining with sweat; her short, golden, tousled
hair fluttered as she ran, and her breasts... Janet
shuddered as a thrill rippled
through her sex. ...Sam's full, perfect breasts performed a compelling,
oscillating dance as she passed in and out of the dappled shade
cast by the neighborhood trees.
Janet was wearing her usual Summer-weekend-at-home uniform:
khaki-tan shorts and a powder-blue, French-style T-shirt.
Her feet were bare.
As Sam approached, a couple of neighborhood boys rode past on
their bikes. They were young, maybe eleven or twelve, but
old enough to appreciate the sight of Samantha Carter in all her
sweaty, tan, jogging (and joggling)
glory. Both lads stared in open-mouthed wonder, and one
nearly collided with the back of a parked car.
The distance was still pretty great, but close enough that Janet
could see the amused smirk on Sam's face. The flirt, Janet mused,
taking another sip She's
hot, and she knows it.
Sam jogged up the path to Janet's porch and skidded to a
halt. "Okay..." she panted, "what's so... urgent?"
She was only slightly out of breath, and was already recovering.
"I never said 'urgent'," Janet purred, "and hello to you, too."
Sam flashed her trademark dimpled grin. "Hello," she said,
and stretched, full-length, arms overhead and back arched.
That pesky thrill shivered through Janet's sex, again. She
focused on the street, and found that the pair of juvenile
cyclists had doubled back and were passing the front of the
house again, this time at a much slower pace. Janet
couldn't bring herself to frown at the kids, but apparently her
gaze was enough. The bikes picked up speed and Sam's
audience zoomed away.
"How many car wrecks did you cause in the four-point-five miles
between your place and mine?" Janet asked.
Sam laughed. "None. Got any water?"
Janet opened the screen door and led the way into the
kitchen. She filled a glass with ice and chilled water
from the dispensers on the front of the refrigerator, and handed
it to her guest.
"Thanks," Sam said, drank half the contents, then refilled the
glass at the refrigerator tap. "Okay, what's so non-urgent?"
Sam, Janet, and the others kept their on-line and telephonic
discussions of what had happened on PelluciGor to an absolute
minimum, and the full, unedited details were discussed only in
face-to-face meetings, like now.
"Three things," Janet answered, and gestured towards the kitchen
table. They pulled out chairs, sat, and Janet
continued. "One: The list of attendees for the first
treaty conference on PelluciGor is finally approved. They
have all agreed to attend, and all that's left is for you to
contact Kyna and Honna and settle on an actual arrival date."
It had been decided that Sam, Janet, and Hailey would return to
PelluciGor for the treaty signing, and they would be accompanied
by six other women. Since Sam and Janet were the lead
negotiators, and knew the "peculiarities" of Pardesse culture,
the I.O.A. (International Oversight Advisory) had agreed to let
them propose the candidates. Sam and Janet had screened
the dossiers of prominent women who either already had the
required clearance or who had already been selected to be
briefed if it looked like the secret of the stargate program
might become public.
"So, who made the final cut?" Sam asked.
Janet picked up
her iPhone and opened an encrypted file. Actually, the
object in Janet's hand was a modified
iPhone, with a data crystal access port, enhanced memory,
and added security. All members of the "Panther Girl
Club", as Sam, Janet, Hailey, Cadman, Galina, and Vala called
themselves, had identical models.
Janet
cleared her throat. "The first of the six is Elizabeth
Weir, of course. And as far as the I.O.A. is concerned,
she'll be in charge."
"Of course," Sam agreed.
"Number two
is Jenny Shepard, Director of the N.C.I.S.," Janet continued.
Sam nodded. "Good. First female director of an armed
Federal agency... and a redhead. The Pardesse will eat her
up... so to speak, especially
Kyna."
"And speaking of redheads," Janet said, and advanced the
display.
"Dana Scully!" Sam exclaimed. "I was afraid the blockheads
at the Bureau still had her on their shit-list."
"They probably do," Janet muttered, "and think this as a
possible way of getting rid of her. The F.B.I. has always
been an over-politicized boy's club; but how do you know
Scully?"
"How do you know
Scully?" Sam countered. "Oh, never mind. I'll tell
you my story later... and then you can tell me yours."
"Okay," Janet purred, with an enigmatic smile. "Next...
our favorite Marine... not counting Laura Cadman."
"Sarah Mackenzie!" Sam and Janet had met Lt. Col. "Mac"
MacKenzie when she had visited the SGC as the legal member of a
Department of Defense inspection and audit team.
Janet grinned. "Brown hair, brown eyes, built like the
proverbial brick outhouse... Mac is more Pardesse than most
Pardesse."
"It'll be good to let them know they haven't cornered the entire market on hot
brunettes with pretty brown eyes," Sam purred.
Janet
laughed, and displayed the next file. "Dr. Temperance
Brennan. Have you met her?" Sam shook her
head. "I met her during a trip to D.C., last year," Janet
said. "She's... interesting. Bright as... well... as
you are, Sam, but not
nearly as well-socialized."
"Huh?" Sam said with a frown.
"She's a nerd, Sam," Janet explained.
"A drop-dead gorgeous nerd
with gorgeous blue
eyes," Sam muttered, staring at the tiny screen.
"Yes, well, number six is..." Janet changed the
display. "...Jenny Lerner."
"The reporter," Sam said. "I'm kinda surprised she made
the cut—pleased—but surprised."
"Pleased we'll have an embedded member of the fourth estate, or
pleased she's a drop-dead gorgeous
honey-blond cutie with gorgeous
blue eyes?" Janet asked.
Sam's smile was enigmatic. "Yes. Anyway, I'll
schedule a time to contact the Pardesse. I can't wait to
see everybody's reaction to the 'welcoming ceremony'."
Janet smiled, and nodded. The "official" cover story was
that the Pardesse had a highly formalized culture, and all
potential attendees had been warned they would be required to
take "ritual baths" upon arrival. What they hadn't been told, of
course, was that each of the newly-arrived earthlings would have
about a dozen, highly skilled "attendants" in the water with
them, scrubbing them down in intimate detail. Once the
inevitable pheromone overload worked its magic... all six would
return to Earth with the Goddess's Gift, and the Pardesse would
get six new sets of cell samples.
"Two flaming redheads," Sam noted, "two blondes, two brunettes,
and four of the six have blue or green eyes... but all are of
European stock. Next time, we'll have to introduce some
diversity."
"I agree," Janet said, "but, as Honna and Kyna suggested, it's
best to let the Pardesse conservatives get used to 'exotic'
earthlings before they encounter anyone they'd be tempted to
label as truly alien.
We'll insist on at least one African-American and one
Asian-American in the next group."
"Agreed," Sam said. "Now, the approved list of attendees
is already waiting in my e-mail queue at the SGC. You
didn't have to make me haul my ass over here for a preview."
Janet affected her most seductive, saucy grin. "But it's
such a nice ass."
Sam laughed. "Shut up! You said there were three things to discuss?"
"Yes, there are two more closely
related things," Janet said. "Both have to do
with the Gift."
"I
take it the virologists at Area-51 are making progress?" Sam
asked.
"Not really," Janet answered. "They agree there's no
easily identifiable marker for a Gift-infected individual, but
that's about all they agree on. They aren't even sure how
many distinct retro-virus strains are involved, or even if they
have any actual physiological effects on the host. The
group consensus is that the 'Gift effect' is probably
psychosomatic."
"That's ridiculous!" Sam scoffed. "We're living proof the
Gift is real."
"Yes," Janet agreed, "and if you don't want to spend the rest of
your life as a test subject, you won't bring that up
again. As we agreed, I'll
take the lead on Gift-related research, and I have more news."
"Yes?"
Janet took a sip of coffee. "Using Pardesse technology,
I've confirmed that forty-two retro-virus strains are involved,
just as Honna said, and... infection can be airborne."
Sam gasped. "Airborne? I thought it was sexually
transmitted."
"Sexual contact results in instant infection with all forty-two
strains," Janet confirmed. "Airborne infection is
piecemeal."
Sam nodded. "So... individuals are infected by each
strain, one at a time and independently, but once they encounter
all forty-two strains, they become fully Gifted."
Janet grinned. "You're wasted on Astrophysics," she cooed.
Sam blushed. "Shut up again! Now, it might be
difficult to set the parameters... it'll be guesswork, at
best... but there are some AMRIID biological warfare simulations
we can run to—"
"Done that," Janet interrupted. "The most optimistic
predictions are that 100-percent infection of the entire
population of the planet will take less than a decade, and we
crossed the pandemic threshold within days of our return from
PelluciGor. The spread of the Gift simply can't be
stopped."
"Because there are no overt symptoms
or
markers,"
Sam said. "We can't isolate infected individuals, 'cause
we can't identify infected
individuals."
"Not unless we start locking up anyone who starts acting horny."
Sam laughed. "You mean every
teenager? We agreed that sharing the Gift was a
good thing... but I never thought we'd be sharing it with everybody."
"It's still not clear what the effect on the male population
will be," Janet added. "Two X-chromosomes seem to be
required to fully manifest all of the Gift's bio-engineered
benefits, but there ought to be some benefit for males... increased
longevity, disease resistance, enhanced healing, etc.
We'll just have to wait and see."
"Well, there's no use crying over spilled retro-viruses," Sam
sighed. "I always knew the stargate program would change
the world..."
"But not like this," Janet agreed. "Anyway, as a Gifted
individual, in every sense of the word, I need your help with my virus research."
"Of course," Sam agreed. "What do you need me to do?"
Janet smiled, sweetly. "Strip!"
"Janet!"
Sam muttered, blushing deeply.
"I'm serious," Janet responded, still smiling. (She was
obviously enjoying Sam's
acute embarrassment.) "I've found a way to harvest the
retro-virus in high enough concentrations to be useful for
research. Unfortunately..." Janet's smile turned
disturbingly evil. "...it requires the subject to maintain
a level of physiological arousal
not normally sustained for more than a few seconds."
"Let me guess," Sam said, still blushing. "You need me to
cum for you."
"Actually, I need you to not
cum," Janet clarified, "until I let you. Apparatus is involved."
"Apparatus?"
Janet rose from her chair and retrieved a suitcase-size packing
container from the pantry. She set it on the table, popped
its latches, and lifted the lid.
Sam looked inside, and gasped in surprise. "You stole
medical restraints from the SGC clinic?" she demanded.
"Borrowed, Sam," Janet
corrected her soon-to-be research assistant.
"Borrowed. I have influence with the Chief Medical
Officer." She reached into the case and pulled out a
canvas and leather garment. "This is one of those
reinforced Poseys we developed, after we discovered the Goa'uld
symbiote gives its host phenomenal strength."
Sam eyed the straitjacket with apprehension. "Do you
really have to..."
"Do you trust me, Sam?" Janet asked, softly.
There was a pause of several seconds, then Sam grinned and
pulled her sports bra over her head. "It's not a matter of
trust, Short Stuff. It's a matter of control."
"And the Mighty Galactic Warrior Samantha Carter hates losing control,"
Janet purred. Her eyes were on Sam's breasts.
"You're getting tan-lines," she observed. "One of the
disadvantages of not exercising in the nude."
"I'm probably going to regret this," Sam sighed.
"In the short term," Janet agreed, "but in the long term?"
Still smiling, Sam removed her shoes and anklets, then peeled
down and removed her shorts and panties. "Now what?"
"Close your eyes," Janet instructed.
Sam heard the tinkling of steel buckles, then Janet was pulling
the stiff, rather scratchy canvas garment over her arms and
shoulders and around her torso.
"Can you feel the rubber channels in the end of the sleeves?"
Janet asked.
"Yeah," Sam answered. "They're to immobilize the fingers,
right?"
"Uh-huh," Janet answered, and zipped the jacket closed down
Sam's back.
"It's tight," Sam noted. "Why are my eyes closed?"
Janet was busy buckling leather cuffs sewn into the jacket's
sleeves around Sam's wrists and upper arms. "It heightens
the sense of touch." She closed a leather collar around
Sam's throat, and tightened the buckle. "This isn't too
tight, is it?"
"No," Sam whispered, shuddering with excitement. "Oh!"
Janet had threaded the long, stout straps at the end of the
sleeves under a vertical strap running down the front. She
stepped behind, threaded the sleeve straps through much smaller
loops on the back, just below her shoulder blades, and
tugged. The sleeves slithered through the straps and Sam's
arms crossed under her breasts in a self-hug. Janet
stepped to the front, threaded the still lengthy sleeve straps
through loops in the upper-arm cuffs, and tugged again.
Sam's self-hug tightened, and stayed
tight when Janet buckled the ends of the straps together
below her breasts and under the vertical strap. The
vertical strap was tightened, and then straps linked to the
bottom hem of the jacket were buckled around Sam's thighs.
Sam heard Janet step away, and the tinkling of more
buckles. "Can I open my eyes, now?" she asked.
"Not just yet."
Sam felt leather cuffs tighten around her ankles. Janet
tugged on the buckles, Sam took a cautious step, and discovered
she was hobbled.
Janet grabbed the strap between Sam's breasts and pulled her
several short steps to the right. "Okay, open," Janet
purred.
Sam opened her eyes, and found that her captor had positioned
her before an open closet door, and mounted on its back was a
full-length mirror. Sam gazed at her reflection. The
straitjacket was bleached canvas, the leather was a light
saddle-brown, and the buckles were stainless steel, with locking
clasps. Her breasts were pressed against the canvas.
In fact, there was very little slack in any of the fabric.
The straitjacket was a perfect fit, and Sam very much doubted
this was by chance.
"Do you know what this is for?" Janet asked, holding up a steel
key.
"I have a pretty good idea," Sam sighed.
Janet worked her way from buckle to buckle, inserting the key in
each of the snap-covers, and each time giving it a full,
counterclockwise turn.
"Why do you need to lock everything?" Sam asked. "I can
barely wiggle my fingers, much less pull my hands out of these
sleeves, and these straps are squeezing me like a love-sick
python."
Janet smiled. "Even if you dislocate your shoulders,
there's no way you could wiggle out of one of my 'Special
Poseys'." She walked to the refrigerator, stood on a
step-stool, lifted the lid of a cookie jar, and tossed in the
key. "Why lock everything? Why, to make you feel
even more helpless,
of course."
"It's working," Sam whispered.
Janet's smile turned rather... shy. "Sam?" she said.
Sam smiled. "Janet?"
"Uh, you know how you used to wear those muscle shirts under
your uniform blouse?"
"Muscle shirts?" Sam asked.
"Those sleeveless T-shirts, like Teal'c wears all the time?"
Janet clarified. "And don't tell me they're not an
authorized uniform item. The SGC plays fast and loose with
the uniform regs all the time."
"Yeah." The climate control in some parts of Cheyenne
Mountain, like sub-level 21, the location of Sam's lab, was
notoriously unstable. Rather than let things get too cold,
Sam generally set the thermostat controlling her zone a little
high, so it cycled between warm and too warm, and she often worked in a
T-shirt. "You want me to wear muscle shirts?"
"Uh-huh," Janet nodded.
"But... why?"
Janet's shy smile returned. "'Cause I like the way you
look in them... that's why."
Sam blushed. "Okay... I'll wear muscle shirts—"
"And tank-tops," Janet added, quickly.
"Don't press your luck," Sam laughed, "but there's a price."
"Yes?"
"Pixie cut." Sam whispered.
"Huh?"
"I've always liked the way you look in a pixie cut," Sam
clarified.
"A pixie cut..." Janet's right hand went to her hair,
which was currently loose, and fell down her back to the level
of her shoulder blades, the longest she'd had it since she was a
teenager. "It is more
practical." Air Force regs required that a woman's hair
not reach past her collar, so, unless it was cut short, it had
to be kept coiled in a bun. "Okay, it's a deal."
Janet extended her right hand. "Let's shake on it."
"Hilarious," Sam huffed. She attempted to kick Janet's
shin, but her hobble didn't even let her come close.
"C'mon," Janet said, with a pert smile. "I have something
to show you down below." She gathered up Sam's shorts,
panties, anklets, and sports bra and led the way to the
basement.
