STARGÅTE SG-1—Sam & Janet (& Jennifer Hailey) in...
		A WORK OF BONDAGE FAN-FICTION—by Van ©2007
		Chapter 5

Sam was bound to the twisted mound of gray wood, face down and limbs akimbo in a haphazard spread.  "Let me go!" she screamed again, struggling against the web of braided rope with all her strength.  "Let—me—GO!!"  The branches didn't even creak, and wherever there seemed to be even the slightest possibility of her pulling an arm or leg free, the ropes tightened, additional loops appeared, and all slack disappeared, as if by magic.

Meanwhile, the foot-tall "gremlin" (she didn't know what else to call the creature), was climbing the wood and positioning himself near her head—and more of the little guys had emerged from hiding and were also climbing the pile.  Most were mottled shades of green, like the first, but some were streaked and blotched with other jungle colors.  As she watched, one of the gremlin's markings actually changed!  As it climbed up the gray branches, its skin stopped mimicking leaves and became a tangled riot of light and dark gray stripes, matching the weathered wood in shape and texture.

Chameleons! Sam realized.  They can change their skin color to match their surroundings, like chameleons.  That's why I couldn't see them before.  The gremlins were all wearing tiny loincloths of leather or fur, and as they climbed, Sam could see that their feet were as dexterous as their hands, their big toes as opposable and useful as their thumbs.  She focused on the first gremlin, the one that had first revealed itself.  "Look, you little—Ow!  Let go!"

Three gremlins had clustered around Sam's head, gripping her hair and pulling back her head, and the first gremlin was in her face.  He reached behind his back and produced a tiny knife!  The blade was gray-green flint, pressure-flaked to a keen, scalloped edge, and the handle was bone, wrapped with leather.  "Qui-et!" the grinning little monster ordered, and pressed the blade against the side of her throat.  "No talk!  No move!  Or me kill."

Sam remained silent, and stopped struggling.  It seemed the prudent thing to do.  From the corner of one eye, she saw movement inside the wood pile, and realized more of the gremlins were crawling around in its interior.  They were there all along, she realized.  It's where all the rope came from.  They were hiding under the leaf-litter—or they were the leaf-litter.

A thick, straight stick was passed through the tangle of branches to the waiting gremlins on the exterior.  It was about a foot in length and an inch and a half in diameter, and leather thongs had been braided into a two-inch ball around its center, like a monkey-fist knot.  The ball and bit was approaching her mouth, and her captors' intentions were clear.

Sam decided to risk a protest, even thought the blade was still pressed flat against her left carotid artery.  "No—Urmf!"  Gremlin hands forced the ball and bit past Sam's lips and shoved it forward until the ball snapped behind her teeth.  Immediately, a symmetrical network of rope strands tightened around her head.  They passed around her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, and under her chin, and were cunningly interlaced and hitched to anchor the gag firmly in her mouth.   The leather of the ball tasted terrible!  Drool started dripping from Sam's chin almost immediately.

The first gremlin re-sheathed his knife and sat back on his haunches.  His green camouflage faded to a symmetrical pattern of gray and brown stripes.  He barked a stream of rasping and guttural grunts and growls.  The other gremlins paused to listen, then scrambled to obey what Sam surmised were a series of commands in their own language.

Gremlins clamored over the wood and her body.  Some lashed additional rope around her limbs and torso, but others were just as busy untying the ropes pinning her to the pile.  Chattering and growling as they worked, coordinating their efforts with intelligence and planning, they freed Sam from the wood and maneuvered her to the ground.  Throughout this process, resistance was impossible.  Groups of her surprisingly strong little captors used long rope lines tied to her body and hitched through convenient crooks and bends in the branches to control her arms and legs.  It was a bound and gagged Sam against several large teams of tiny gremlins in simultaneous, multi-dimensional games of tug-of-war.  She never had a chance.

Eventually, after long minutes of struggle and manipulation, Sam found her ankles bound with wide, thick rope shackles.  They were separated about a foot by a stiff hobble, tightly wound around itself, like the multiple coils of a hangman's knot.  A strong stick was tucked against her back and in the crook of her arms, and her wrists lashed together across her stomach.  The bindings were thick, wide, and elaborate, like the hobble.  Additional rope strands reinforced her helplessness, forming a network of hitched and interlaced loops that yoked her shoulders, passed through her crotch, and encircled her arms and torso, above and below her breasts.  It was a cunning web.  Any attempt to gain slack by tugging or pulling in one direction was punished by ropes tightening elsewhere, and nowhere could her fingers reach, much less untie, any of the elaborate knots.

The last line linking Sam to the wood-pile was released, and multiple slip-knotted nooses were tossed over her head and tightened around her throat.  She mewled through her gag as "King Gremlin" (it seemed an appropriate name) gripped one end of her gag-bit with his left foot, and grabbed her blond locks with both hands.

"Up!" King Gremlin ordered.  "You stand up—or me hurt!"

Sam managed to plant her feet and struggle into a kneeling squat.  While she did so, King Gremlin climbed atop her head, like a rider vaulting into the saddle.  He was just big enough to sit against the crown of Sam's head with his legs straddling her face and his feet gripping either side of the bit, as if they were stirrups.  The front flap of his loincloth slapped against her forehead, and his musky, animal odor filled her flaring nostrils.

"Up!" he repeated, and teams of gremlins shook her multiple leash-lines, to reinforce the command.

Sam struggled to rise.  It was an awkward task, given her bound condition, but she finally succeeded in standing erect.  King Gremlin seemed to weigh about ten or twelve pounds.  He was more a humiliation than a burden.

Suddenly, a handful of gremlins began climbing her body, using her ropes and bound limbs for hand and footholds.  Their tiny knives flashed, and the thongs of her bikini top and bottom were severed.  Sam tossed her head and twisted her upper body, but failed to dislodge King Gremlin or his minions.  In response, the nooses around her neck tightened, cutting off her air!  A gang of a dozen or more gremlins were gripping each of the leash lines.

"No move!" King Gremlin ordered.  He was maintaining her seat with ease, his feet gripping the gag-bit and his hands in Sam's hair.

Her brain starved for oxygen, Sam had no choice but to cease her struggles.  The nooses loosened, and Sam gasped, pulling air into her lungs.

King Gremlin stood on the bit and bent forward to glare into Sam's flushed face between his spindly legs.  "You slave!" he growled, brandishing a tiny whip in his right hand.  His left hand was still gripping Sam's hair.  He cracked the whip in midair, then let the end fall, to slap against Sam's right nipple.  "You go and you stop when me say, or me hurt!"  He snapped the whip again, for emphasis.

Meanwhile, the gremlins still clinging to her body pulled her makeshift bikini free from her bonds, and divested her of her watch, sheath knife, and dog tags.  Sam watched as gremlins folded the bikini into a bundle, with her dog tags and its chain in the center, then scampered away, down one of the game trails.  More gremlins carried away her knife and watch, as well as the radio, G.D.O., and the other "bait" items from inside the wood pile.  They resumed their active camouflage only a few feet from the tangle of branches, fading into the landscape like shimmering ghosts.  But for the occasional shaking branch or fluttering frond, they were virtually invisible.  No wonder we never saw them, Sam thought.

"Gree-zah!" King Gremlin shouted, and two of the gremlin gangs turned and started trudging down the game trail, marching in long lines with one of Sam's leash ropes on their shoulders.  Sam had no choice but to stumble in their wake.  The remaining teams followed, ready to exert control if their "giant" captive tried to bolt.

Bound, gagged, and helpless, King Gremlin riding her head as if she were his pony, Sam was angry, humiliated, and, quite frankly, terrified!  Janet was her only hope.  But would her diminutive friend be able to track her to wherever she was being taken, defeat a veritable army of invisible gremlins, and rescue her?  ...or would she be captured herself?

BACK AT THE CITY...

---

Hailey yawned.  She was lying on her back, on a soft bed, with a sheet over her body.  The ceiling overhead was plaster, with a skylight, like others she'd seen elsewhere in—

Her memory came flooding back.  She was a prisoner!  She'd been captured, bound and gagged, then transported in a cage, dangling above the clouds against the side of a fantastic airship, to a mountaintop city.  She was strapped to a terrifying interrogation table—and then her memory failed her.  She remembered Honna's face hovering above her... but everything was distant... as if it had happened to someone else.  Drugs, she surmised, or some form of mind control.  Whatever they'd done to her—she couldn't remember any more.

The room was rectangular and large, and, to Hailey's surprise, it was not a cell.  The bed had a stout wooden frame, with four round posts.  There was also a low table, across the room, and under it was a stack of rectangular, pillow-like cushions.  Everywhere the colors were light and airy.  The walls were a pleasant sand color, and the bed linen and cushions were in washed tones of saffron, bronze, and rust.  The floor tiles were glazed terracotta.  And the woodwork—bed, table and door—were like blond oak.

Door!

Hailey threw off the top sheet and rolled off the bed—then immediately froze in place!  A steel chastity belt was locked around her waist and through her crotch!  She also had a collar around her throat!  She examined the collar with her hands.  It was steel, and had smooth edges, inside and out.  A steel ring dangled from the front, just like the one she'd seen on the collar locked around Charis' beautiful throat.

Charis!  A thrill rippled through Hailey's sex and up her spine at the mere thought of her name.  Charis!

Hailey could feel no hinge or seam around the entire circumference of the collar; nor could she find seams, hinges, or even a locking mechanism on the chastity belt.

The bitches! she fumed.  Bitch-bitch-BITCHES!!  She tugged on the belt's waistband, but it was on to stay.  Bitches!

Other than the collar and belt, Hailey was naked, as naked as she'd always been since first waking up to find herself captured.  Door!  She padded to the wooden portal.

It was closed, of course, and there was no sign of a doorknob, handle, or any other way of causing it to open.  Other doors she'd seen in the city had opened via a switch on the wall—but here there was no such switch—not on her side of the door, anyway.  I guess this is a cell, she realized, and walked back to the center of the room.  She looked up at the skylight.  The glass was clear, set in a wooden frame, without any apparent mechanism for opening.  Through it, she could see the edge of the gas giant, floating in a blue sky behind a slow-moving white cloud.  In any case, the skylight was too far for her to reach, even if she dragged over the bed, put the table on top, climbed up, and jumped.

Suddenly, the door opened, sliding into the wall with a quiet swoosh.  Hailey flinched in surprise, then turned to face the open portal.

Charis entered the room.  (Charis!)  She was dressed—no, the costume was too skimpy to be called clothing—her body was decorated with a near-transparent loincloth and bandeau of black silk, little more than a pair of broad, gossamer ribbons.  They did nothing to conceal her underlying nipple-shields and chastity-belt, or the curves of her perfect body.

Following in her wake were two women, both brunette and both attractive... (like everyone on this frakkin-frakkin planet, Hailey fumed).  Their only clothing were loincloths of black-dyed linen, and steel collars were locked around their necks.  They were carrying trays laden with numerous covered bowls, a ceramic bottle, and a pair of crystal goblets.

Hailey waited until they were well into the room—then made her break.  She sprinted past Charis, who made no attempt to stop her, and through the door.

She found herself in the middle of a long, straight passageway—and there were four guards, one pair at either end of the passage.  They were dressed in black linen bikinis and black leather harness and boots, similar to the "uniforms" of the guards and warriors she'd seen before.  The only things new were the bronze pistols holstered on their right hips.  As Hailey appeared, all four heads swiveled in her direction.  One guard nodded towards the open door and patted her weapon with her right hand.

Hailey sighed, turned, and walked back into her cell.

The two "serving-slaves", or whatever they called themselves, had arranged the bowls, bottle, and goblets on the table, and were pulling out the cushions and making two piles.  Dinner is served, Hailey surmised.  Come to think of it, she was hungry.

"I will see that you get exercise later, Jenny-fur," Charis said, in a slightly gloating tone.

Hailey glared at Charis (suppressing the wave of attraction she felt for the incredibly beautiful slave).  "I demand to speak to someone in authority.  I am a peaceful explorer and—what did you call me?"

"Jenny-fur," Charis answered.  "Your name, is it not?"

"Jennifer," Hailey confirmed with a nod.  "I usually go by Hailey."  Starting with her days at the Academy, Hailey had fallen into the habit of answering to her last name, to the point that she used "Jennifer" only during visits home or in unusual circumstances. 

"Hay-lee.  Jenny-fur."  Charis laughed.  Your people have such amusing names."  She nodded to the serving-slaves, and they bowed and exited the room, smiling at Hailey as they passed.  The door slid closed behind them and locked with an audible click.

"Come," Charis said, sitting on one of the piles of cushions.  "You have been sustained by Honna's healing machines for more than a hand of days.  You must be ready for some real food."

Hailey remained standing and glaring at Charis.  "I demand—"

"I demand you sit and eat," Charis interrupted, still smiling.

"It's my duty to..."  Hailey paused.  Her mouth was watering.  Charis had begun uncovering the various bowls.  Meat, vegetables, sliced wedges of fruit, slices of bread, small cakes... it was a feast.

"Your duty to your home world is over," Charis announced.  "You are now a slave of the PardaUbar."

Hailey bristled.  "I'm no one's slave!  I'm an officer in the United States Air Force and—"

"You were a warrior," Charis interrupted.  "You are now a slave.  Only the Pardesse-born may refuse the collar."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Charis sighed, un-stoppered the bottle, and filled the goblets with a pink, effervescing liquid.  "Only those born of Panther stock may choose their role in life.  Warrior or slave, scholar or artisan, hunter or farmer... only the Pardesse may choose.  Captives and criminals have no choice."

"I'm not a slave!" Hailey shouted.

"You are a slave," Charis answered, "a hungry slave."  She lifted a goblet to her lips and took a delicate sip.  "Sit and eat, and we can continue our fellowship in these pleasant surroundings.  Continue to be difficult, and other methods of indoctrination and education will be employed."

Hands balled in tight fists at her sides, Hailey continued her angry glare.

Charis smiled.  "You begin a journey down a path many have taken before—most willing—and a very few, not.  Resist if you must, but you will be trained.  I promise it."

"I won't be... 'trained'," Hailey muttered, "and no matter what you do to me, I won't tell you anything."

Charis laughed.  "Oh, Hay-lee, the Wise Council already have the answers to all of their questions.  I will be the one to do the telling, and you will be the one to do the listening, and learning."

"I'm not a slave!"

"You don't want to learn?" Charis asked, lifting a eyebrow in mock surprise.  "You don't want to learn of the thirteen slave positions, how to dance in chains, how to serve food and paga, the forty-two ways to pleasure your Mistress?"  Charis paused to sample a bowl of roasted vegetables.  "You are not even a little curious about the fates of Sam-anta Car-tur and Jaw-net Fray-zur?"

Hailey blinked, and her anger faded.  "Samantha Carter... and Janet Fraiser."

Charis chuckled.  "Yes, I have read the written records of your interrogation; but words that do not directly transcribe, like personal names, can be a problem."  She patted the second pile of cushions with one hand.

Hailey sighed, padded over, and sat.  "Please," she said, "tell me about my friends."

"As we eat," Charis responded, and handed the second goblet to Hailey.

Hailey took a sip.  The pink beverage was sweet, without being too sweet, and had a bit of a kick.  "Delicious," she conceded.

"It is called cher-pagesh," Charis instructed.  "Flirting cher-pagesh, to be precise, because of the pink blush.  Not as strong as paga, but strong enough.  Limit your intake until you have something in your stomach."

"Tell me about my friends," Hailey asked again, "please."

"Poor Little Flower," Charis cooed, leaned close, and kissed Hailey's lips.

Hailey shuddered with arousal.  There was that perfume again, Charis' musky, intoxicating perfume.  "Please," she whispered.

Charis chewed and swallowed a morsel of roasted meat, then answered.  "The Air Armada searches for them, even now.  They are in the wilderness, transported to one of several of the PardaUbar's seldom-visited hunting preserves.  They will be found, eventually."

"And then?"

Charis smiled, and popped a chunk of meat into Hailey's mouth before answering.  "And then... they will begin training programs of their own, Little Flower."

"SHEENA" & "TARZANA'S" TREEHOUSE

---

Janet was curled up on her side in a pile of loose leaves.  It was night—and Sam hadn't returned—and she was alone.

Sam's supper—more cooked coelacanth, this time with roasted nuts and a banana-like fruit for dessert—was nearby, wrapped in several large leaves and hanging from a cord of twisted vines tied to a convenient branch.  Janet knew that if she'd left it down below, on the ground, the local critters would have long since carried it away.

Sam—where the hell are you?? Janet thought, for the millionth time since sunset.  The P90 was at her side, its sling around her body—but it was cold comfort.

Sam...  Janet mentally chastised herself.  Despair led to disaster.  In a survival situation, morale was as important as food and shelter.  She couldn't give in to her worst fears—Sam lying someplace with a broken leg—dying!  Herself alone, facing either slow starvation or years of solitary misery—until, finally, she ended her days as some grizzled, old, barely human, jungle animal.

No!  Janet steeled herself, and clutched the P90.  I'll find Sam, no matter what it takes, and everything will be fine.  We'll get back to the stargate, and back to earth!

She knew she needed at least some sleep.  She'd catnap a few hours, then leave camp.  The light of the stars would be more than enough to help her find the waterfall clearing.  By then the sun (or suns) would be on the rise, and the real search could begin.

And if Sam doesn't have one very good excuse for missing supper and making me worry myself sick—I'll slap her silly!!

"HAY-LEE'S" CELL

---

Hailey's stomach was full, the "cher-pagesh" bottle was empty... and she felt a little tipsy.  Charis was gazing at her with hooded eyes, sipping the last of the pink liquid in her goblet.  Hailey had learned, during the meal, that her men—Rasmussen, Beecroft, and Perry—were back on earth, and alive!  Charis claimed her people, the "PelluciGoreans", had a way to shift the plane of a wormhole's event horizon across several dimensions, effectively defeating any physical barrier blocking a stargate, like SGC's titanium iris.  Charis couldn't provide a full explanation of the physics or technology—which Hailey found to be very frustrating—not because the self-described slave wasn't well-educated, but because she wasn't a "wise-artisan", which Hailey took to mean a scientist or engineer.  In any case, it lifted a huge weight from Hailey's shoulders.

"Why were you worried about those... men?" Charis asked.  Her distaste was evident.

Hailey downed the last of her drink, then turned to answer.  "They were my men.  I was responsible for them."

"They were your slaves?" Charis gasped.  "The interrogation script suggests your world is run by men, like all worlds outside the Pardesse."

"I am a First Lieutenant in the United States Air Force," Hailey growled, "an officer in the armed forces of my country.  Those men were my subordinates and comrades.  I was their leader."

Charis shuddered in disgust.  "To associate with male animals," she whispered, then smiled.  "Well, all that is behind you, Hay-lee.  Now you begin a new life, a life free of such unpleasantness."

Hailey returned Charis gaze with grim determination.  "Whatever you have in mind," she said, "I'll fight you."

Charis laughed.  "That is one aspect of pleasure, Hay-lee!" she said with vigor.   "Many a Mistress enjoys conquering a 'rebellious' slave.  It is a taxing game for the slave... even more so, if it becomes the slave's specialty."

Hailey could hear the quotes around "rebellious".  She surmised she meant a slave that was pretending to rebel.  She resolved to teach Claris—to teach all of them—the true meaning of the word.

Suddenly, Charis was springing towards her—and before Hailey could plant her feet and react, the smiling slave was in her face.  Hailey balled her hands into fists—but then, to her infinite surprise, all thought of resistance vanished.  Charis was kissing her face and nuzzling her neck.  Her hair was caressing Hailey's breasts and shoulders.  And her perfume—that glorious, musky perfume!  It was a fog, a poisonous, wonderful fog, that sapped her strength and destroyed her will to resist.  Hailey returned the kisses with enthusiasm, thrusting her tongue into Charis' sweet mouth.

Then, Charis' mouth was gone, and Hailey found herself face-down on the soft cushions.  Her hands were behind her back, and something was tightening around her crossed wrists.  "Hey!" she protested.  Charis was sitting astride her buttocks and thighs, and was using the black silk ribbon of her former bandeau to bind her wrists.  "No!"

"Quiet, Little Flower," Charis cooed, reversed direction, and used her loincloth to bind Hailey's ankles.  She then climbed gracefully to her feet, cradling Hailey in her arms like a baby, and carried her to the bed.

Hailey struggled, weakly.  Her head was spinning.  She watched as Charis removed her nipple shields and chastity belt.  She couldn't see exactly how this was accomplished.  Nothing like a conventional (earthly) key was involved, but the tapping and sliding of a ring on Charis right pinkie against the surface of the belt and the sides of the shields seemed to serve the purpose.  The now naked slave, naked but for her collar, leaned close, and removed Hailey's belt as well.

"Untie me," Hailey whispered.

"You must learn your place, Little Flower," Charis chuckled, climbed onto the bed, and snuggled against Hailey's writhing form.  Their breasts pressed together, and Charis' legs scissored around Hailey's bound legs, exerting a mild pressure.  Her right hand slid down Hailey's back, between her buttocks and caressed her sex.  Her left hand gripped the tangle of Hailey's blond locks, exerting gentle control of the prisoner's head.  "My Little Flower is blossoming," Charis whispered, wiggling her fingers between the folds of Hailey's labia.  "She is dripping with nectar."

Hailey moaned as Charis' tongue invaded her mouth.  At first, she returned the kiss with gusto—then she twisted her head to the side, breaking contact.  "No!  I'm not a lesbian!"

Charis frowned.  "A what?"

"I'm not homosexual."  It was not exactly an enthusiastic protest.  Hailey continued grinding her bound body against Charis's perfect form.  "I don't make love to women."

Charis laughed.  "Oh, Little Flower, on PelluciGor, that means you do not make love at all, and that is too sad to even consider."  She kissed Hailey's lips and continued teasing her sex.  "And besides, what does gender have to do with pleasure?"  She nuzzled Hailey's neck, nibbled her earlobe, and thrust her tongue into the captive's ear.  "We can speak of this later," she whispered.  "For now, banish all thoughts of men, and of making love... to men."  Charis shuddered delicately, before continuing.  "Think only of pleasure, Little Flower."

Charis removed her hand from Hailey's sex, slid her index finger into her own sex, then used the wet, musk-laden digit to trace Hailey's lips and nostrils.

Hailey's mind exploded with lust.  She struggled against her bonds, not to escape, but so she could embrace her captor.  Charis' hand slid between their bodies, and resumed its intimate caress.  Hailey thrust her hips forward, in response.  She rubbed her hard nipples against Charis' breasts.  Charis' tongue was in her mouth, once again, and they kissed—and Hailey's entire body erupted in orgasm—and it went on and on—and then she collapsed against the now sweat-dampened sheets, rolling onto her back and bound arms.

Charis lay on her side, resting the side of her smiling face in the palm of her left hand.  Her right index finger traced slow, lazy circles around Hailey's right nipple.  "I told you I would see that you got exercise," she purred, then slid down the bed and thrust her head, shoulders, and arms between Hailey's bound legs.  Her forearms kept Hailey's legs spread with pressure on her thighs, and her fingers gently spread the prisoner's glistening, flushed labia.   "That was your warm-up," Charis announced, and delicately blew on Hailey's pink flesh.

"No!" Hailey moaned, writhing and shivering with delight.  "Stop!"

"And now," Charis continued, "the true exercise shall begin."  She gave Hailey's sex a slow, languid lick, and the captive shuddered and squirmed.

"Nooo!"  This time, her protest was a weak and decidedly un-convincing squeal.

"This is your first lesson in the basic use of the tongue and lips," Charis instructed.  "Pay close attention, for you shall be required to demonstrate what you have learned, very soon."