STARGÅTE SG-1—Sam & Janet (& Jennifer Hailey) in...
		A WORK OF BONDAGE FAN-FICTION—by Van ©2007
		Chapter 9

Janet groaned and opened her eyes—"Ahh!"—then closed them again, immediately.  She was lying on a soft surface, covered with a linen sheet.  Her head was throbbing, and she ached all over.

"This will help," a female voice announced.

Janet opened one eye.  The soft surface was a bed... a bed in a brightly lit... too brightly lit... room.  The decor was spartan but tasteful, in pastels and earth tone colors.  Sunlight streamed in through a skylight.  She turned her head to the side.  A woman in a white linen robe was offering her a stoneware cup.  The woman was very beautiful, with long brown curls, sparkling brown eyes, and a dimpled smile.

"W-what is it?" Janet croaked.  Her mouth was dry.

"It will ease your pain," the woman explained, "and quicken your mind."

Janet reached for the cup, and was alarmed to find that her wrists were locked in steel manacles!  "What the...!"  The cuffs were about three inches in width, but light in weight, with smooth, well-rounded edges.  They were separated by about a foot of light chain.  She had to admit they were more or less comfortable, but—they were manacles!  "Why—?"

"I must take precautions," the woman purred, "for protection.  Drink."

Janet took the cup and gave it a cautious sniff.  The contents were a deep red, and had a delicious, fruity odor.  "Wine?"

"Drink," the woman repeated, bracing the back of Janet's head and steadying her hand.

Janet took a sip.  Whatever it was, it was delicious, sweet without being syrupy, and had a tart, refreshing aftertaste.  She drank a little more.

"All of it," the woman urged, still smiling.

Janet drained the cup, and the woman took it from her hand.  Janet focused on the manacles, again, and frowned.  "Why am I a prisoner?" she demanded.

"I told you," the woman responded, "protection.  I am Honna, High Polymath of the Wise Council.  I believe you would call me a... 'science-tift'?"

Janet gave the manacles' chain a snap, then sighed.  "Do you mean scientist?"

Honna nodded.  "Yes, that's the word.  You are called Jay-net Fraz-ur, no?"

"Janet... Janet Fraiser."

"Ja-net," Honna said, carefully.  "Yes, that's the way it was spoken.  Now I remember.  Much prettier."

Janet's head felt better already.  She tossed the sheet off her body and discovered, or rather confirmed, that she was naked.  Also, shackles were locked around her ankles.  They were similar in weight and style to the manacles locked around her wrists, and were also joined by a one-foot chain.  She lifted her captive hands and extended them towards her hostess.  "Really, these aren't necessary.  I'm not dangerous."

Honna's smile broadened.  "According to reports, you are quite dangerous, especially to the Grimbor."

Janet frowned.  "You mean those little green things that captured my friend and tried to capture me?  That was self-defense."  Janet's eyes widened.  "Where is she?  Where's Sam—Colonel Carter?"

"Your warrior friend, with her lovely, short hair like gold in the sunlight, and her eyes the color of the sky, is a guest of the War Tower," Honna answered.  She indicated their present surroundings with a graceful gesture.  "This is the Dome of Learning.  We are in Pardé, First City of the Pardesse."

"And... the other?  Our other companion?"

"Hay-lee, the tiny one," Honna confirmed, "also with hair like pale gold.  She is in the city as well, in the Paramount Tower, the palace of the PardaUbar."

Janet nodded, then lifted her manacles, again.  "Please, I promise to behave."

Honna shook her head.  "There are things you do not understand, Janet.  True foreigners, aliens, are very rare on PelluciGor.  There is... dispute as to what should be done with you and your friends.  One faction of the Wise Council wants you treated as slaves-of-war, like Pardesse who have rebelled against the Paramount Tower and must be adjudicated, then disciplined or enslaved.  Another faction wants to learn as much we can of your... 'earth'?"

Janet nodded.

"As much as we can," Honna repeated.  "This is an ongoing conflict, between those who look outward, and those who look in; between those who desire progress, and those who would have all things remain forever unchanged."

Janet nodded again.

"This disagreement crosses all lines of duty, scholarship, and artisanship.  Both opinions may be found in every tower, dome, holding, and encampment.  Things are... complicated."

"Politics always are," Janet mused, then lifted her hands a third time.

"You are under the Dome of Learning because you are a healer," Honna said, shaking her head, "but the Council has decreed that you are to be my prisoner, and you must be seen to be my prisoner.  Do you understand?"

Janet sighed, and lowered her hands.  "I guess.  What of my friends?  When will I see them again?"

Honna leaned close and kissed Janet's lips.  "I cannot say."

Janet shuddered and her nostrils flared.  Honna's musky perfume triggered memories of the journey in the airship, of the things her amazon captors had done to her—of the things they'd done to Sam—of the things she'd done to them!  Janet blushed bright red, aware that her nipples were suddenly fully erect and her sex was tingling.  "What... I... What have you done to me?  Have I been drugged?"

Honna's smile was kind.  "The Goddess Gift is new to your body.  Do not be alarmed."

"The Goddess Gift?"

Honna stood and shrugged out of her robe.  Underneath, she was wearing a bandeau and loincloth of white linen woven in a floral pattern and embroidered with gold and silver thread.  "We must reach a better understanding of language.  Later, you will explain to me, in detail, your knowledge of the science of life, and I will do the same for you.  Only then, when we have the same words for the same concepts, will I attempt to explain the Gift."  She removed her bandeau, and then her loincloth.

Janet gasped, and shivered with arousal.  Honna's body was... perfect.  Her skin was smooth and tan—her muscles toned—her breasts firm.  She was... "Perfect."

"Thank you, Janet," Honna responded.

"I-I said that aloud?"  Janet's blush returned.  "I guess I did.  What are you going to do?"

"I am going to welcome a guest to my chambers," Honna answered, tossing her bandeau and loincloth away, "as is our custom."

Janet tried to squirm away, but Honna was too quick.  She climbed onto the bed, seized the connecting chain of Janet's manacles, and pulled her into a tight embrace from behind.

"No!" Janet moaned.  "Let me go!"

Honna nuzzled Janet's neck.  "Hay-lee said you were explorers," she whispered in Janet's ear.  "Don't you want to... explore?"

"No!" Janet moaned again, but her protest was weak and unconvincing, even in her own ears.

"Zanta the Cruel has her tiny slave," Honna mused, "and now I have a tiny captive of my own.  Welcome to my bed, Little Healer."

Janet shuddered.  Honna's legs were scissored around her thighs, her warm breasts were pressed against her back, and the manacle chain was still firmly in one of her hands.  The other hand was squeezing her breasts... and sliding down her tummy... and caressing her sex.  Janet thrashed and struggled and kicked her shackled feet, but Honna controlled her easily.

"No!" Janet gasped, then turned her head—and kissed her hostess-jailer-lover, thrusting her tongue into her mouth.  Janet knew she shouldn't be acting this way, that something had been done to her—but understanding would have to wait.

Sam was in a cage, lying on her side.  She was naked, and her wrists were secured behind her back.  She squirmed and craned her neck, and discovered the restraints were cuffs of heavy steel, thick-walled and wide, joined by a six-inch bar to form one rigid unit.  The cage was a cube, about a meter and a half on all sides.  Its bars were as thick as her thumbs and spaced about six inches apart, arranged in a vertical and horizontal grid.  The floor was covered with a thick, rug-like pad.  One face of the cage was a door, vertically hinged on one edge with the opposite side secured by a padlocked bolt assembly.  The cage, itself, was centered in a small, plain room with plastered walls.  Opposite the door of the cage, a wooden door was set in one wall.

A skylight in the ceiling admitted an abundance of daylight, so Sam surmised some hours had passed since...  She remembered being on the airship, with Kyna and her troops holding her down and doing things to her.  Okay, why be delicate, she mused.  They gang-raped me! ...didn't they?  Things had just been getting underway—she was being held down, groped, fondled, licked... and then she had passed out.

Anyway, here she was. 

Sam tucked and rolled into a kneeling position.  It would be difficult, but she was sure she could ease the cuffs past her butt and under her ankles, then pull her legs through.  That would put her hands in front, where she could give the cuffs a closer look, and maybe even figure out a way to get them off.  She began to squirm—and suddenly, the wooden door opened.

Kyna had arrived.  She was dressed in a bandeau and loincloth of linen, printed in a stylized leaf pattern in shades of green and brown.  A harness of polished brown leather hugged her torso, matching boots clad her feet, and a bronze pistol was holstered on her right hip.  Her dark hair was loose about her shoulders.

"None of that," the War-Captain scolded.  "Keep those hands behind your back, or I'll add the collar and bar that will keep them there."

"If this is how you treat your prisoners who have given their parole," Sam growled, "I'm hate to see how you treat the others."

"You would, indeed," Kyna laughed.  "How do you feel?"

"Hungry, thirsty, and my shoulders are sore.  Otherwise, peachy keen, thanks."

"Peachy keen," Kyna repeated.  "I'll take that as something good.  The Grimbor's marks are healed, I see."

Sam looked down at her breasts, stomach, and thighs.  The rope-burns left from her bondage ordeal at the hands of the gremlins had vanished!  "How long have I been out?"  It couldn't have been that long, or her shoulders would be in agony... but the marks were gone.

"Long enough for us to reach the city and carry you to the War Tower," Kyna replied.  She looked around the room.  "They cleaned the dust before locking you away, I see.  I've never had occasion to use the command quarter's slave kennel before.  Since my last promotion I've rated a personal kajira, but never found one I wanted to buy.  I've used the brothels since taking the Janissary Oath, like most warriors.  Slave-wives are for city-dwellers."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

Kyna smiled.  "Rest, Sam.  You took the Gifting hard.  That happens, sometimes.  A girl comes of age, and it's like she catches swamp fever.  It passes.  The healers say you'll be fine."

"What?"

"Just rest," Kyna continued.  "I have a council to attend.  I'll be back in a few hours."

"Look, War-Captain," Sam said, "I want out of this cage, and these cuffs!"

"I imagine you'd like some clothing, as well," Kyna said, a mocking smile curling her lips, "but you're getting none of those things.  You are my personal captive—and perhaps, someday, depending on how the council decides your fate—you will be my personal slave."  She stepped forward, reached through the bars and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair.  She then pulled Sam's face to the bars and kissed her lips.

Sam gasped and sputtered, then shivered in her helplessness as Kyna's tongue explored her mouth.  Her captor's musky odor filled the air—and a thrill of pure, animalistic lust rippled through Sam's body.  She found herself returning the kiss with passion, her own tongue rolling and sliding, her face pressed against the cold steel of her cage, struggling to reach her strong, beautiful lover.

Kyna released Sam's hair and backed towards the door.  She wiped a hand across her smiling lips.  "It's either my bed or the pleasure rack for you, warrior... when I return... depending on my mood."  The door closed with a solid thud.

Sam sat in her cage, shivering and panting.  Her arousal slowly faded.  What the hell just happened? she wondered.  What the hell is the matter with me?

Suddenly, the door opened, again.  Kyna had returned.  She had a small, stoneware bowl in one hand, and a stoneware bottle in the other.  She slid the bowl between the bars of Sam's cage and a pair of steel flanges on the back snapped in place, securing the bowl about a foot above the cage floor.  Sam looked into the bowl.  It was filled with small chunks of brown, dried... something.

Kyna inverted the bottle and dropped it between the bars of the cage ceiling, near one of the corners.  It was stopped, halfway, by a bracket and a set of steel flanges.  The end of the bottle was capped with what appeared to be a thumb-sized rubber nipple.

Sam watched a drop of clear liquid form on the tip of the nipple.  "What am I, a hamster?" she complained.  "Look, War-Captain—"  But Kyna had already stepped back and the door was closing.  "Hey!"  Sam heard a bolt being thrown and a key turning in a lock... then silence.

"Just peachy," Sam muttered.  Now she was sore, hungry, thirsty, horny, and humiliated.  Kyna was playing headgames.  She sighed, and surrendered to her body's requirements... some of them, anyway.  She took the bottle's nipple in her mouth and sucked.

Water!  It was cool, clean, humiliating water.  She continued suckling on the rubber teat.  Can't wait to try the kibble, she fumed.

Hailey woke with a start.  She was in total darkness, and was naked.  She was lying on a soft surface, probably a bed with silk sheets.  There was someone with her, and whoever they were, they were also naked.

"You're finally awake, Little Flower."

"Charis!"  Hailey cried, and hugged her slave-teacher's body.

"Easy," Charis chuckled.  "I'm still a little sore."

Hailey relaxed her grip but maintained the embrace.  "I'm sorry."  She let her hands slide over Charis' smooth, warm body.  It felt good.  It felt very good.  She blinked in the darkness.  "Hey, I'm not tied up..."  She explored Charis' arms, and felt her wrists.  "And neither are you."  Her hands slid to Charis' crotch.

"Yes, and we are without our belts," Charis confirmed.

Hailey gave each of Charis' breasts a gentle squeeze.  There were studded posts through Charis' pierced nipples, but the nipple shields were gone.  Hailey could tell her slave collar was still around her throat, and a quick inspection confirmed that Charis' collar was still in place, as well.

Charis kissed Hailey's lips.  "How do you feel, Little Flower?"

"I..."  Hailey's eyes welled, and she hugged Charis, again.  "I'm sorry," she sobbed.  "I'm so sorry."

"My Little Flower," Charis sighed.

Hailey could tell Charis was also crying.  "What about you?  D-did I hurt you?"

Charis laughed.  "Hurt?  Is too much of a good thing the same as being hurt?"

Hailey laughed as well.  "Stop it."

"I'm surprised you can talk," Charis teased.  "I imagine your lips and tongue must be quite tired, especially your tongue."

"Stop!"   Hailey delivered a weak, playful punch to Charis' ribs, then kissed her lips.  "They let me rest.  They made me rest."

"And they made you eat and drink," Charis sighed.  "Tests of stamina are a part of every slave-student's journey.  The requirements of your body are well-understood by your teachers, Hay-lee, and will always be respected, even during punishment."

Hailey shuddered and tightened her embrace—and the hug was returned by Charis.  "Where is Zanta?" Hailey whispered.  "Is she going to punish us some more?"

Charis chuckled, then reached down and gave Hailey's left butt cheek a light slap.  "Respect, slave-student!" she cautioned.  "For you, Zanta the Cruel, PardaUbar of Pan-PelluciGor, has only one name, and that name is...?"

"Bitch?  Ow!"  Charis had delivered another slap, and this time it was quite a bit harder.  "Okay," Hailey groused, "Mistress.  She's Mistress."

"Very good," Charis purred, her hand rubbing Hailey's tingling butt cheek.  "Now, go back to sleep.  I will resume your training when the suns rise—or would you rather I find some rope and teach you the first of the thirty basic slave-ties, right now?  That way, at least I'll get some sleep."

"I'm sorry, Charis," Hailey whispered, and snuggled her head against Charis' breasts.

"That's 'I'm sorry, Slave-teacher'," Charis corrected.  "Are you even trying to absorb my lessons?  Hay-lee?  Little Flower?"  Charis sighed, kissed the top of her slave-student's head, and closed her eyes.  Hailey was already asleep.

ROUGHLY 900 LIGHT-YEARS FROM PELLUCIGOR

---

Vala Mal Doran—former interstellar soldier-of-fortune (meaning thief and con-artist), and present member of SG-1—gave the surface padding of the control console an affectionate caress.  She was in the pilot's chair of a Goa'uld ship, resplendent in one of her black leather costumes of knee boots, skin-tight pants, and a corset-bustier with thin straps linked to a high collar.  Her black hair was plaited atop her head in an elaborate beehive coif.  "It's good to have my old ship back," she announced, smiling at the two junior members of her rescue team.

"So you keep saying," Laura Cadman sighed.  The young Marine Lieutenant was dressed in the gray digital camouflage uniform of the Atlantis Expedition security force, but her red hair was loose about her shoulders in a very non-regulation manner.

"What is the class of this vessel?" Galina Tolinev asked.  "It is bigger than the Tel'tak but smaller than the Al'kesh."  Galina, a Major in the Russian Army, was dressed in the camouflaged fatigues of her service, and her dark hair was in a tight bun.

"I've heard them called Tel'nash—long-range fighting-scouts," Vala responded, "but the Lucian Alliance upgraded the shields and weapons, after they stole it from me—"

"After you stole it from Tefnut," Laura interrupted.

Vala gasped in outrage.  "Who told you that lie?" she demanded.

Laura smiled and pointed at the Goa'uld inscriptions covering the nearest bulkhead.  "Tefnut is all-wise and all-powerful," she translated.  "All the people worship Tefnut.  All blessings flow from Tefnut.  The bounty of a thousand worlds is not enough to express the love of the people for—"

"Okay, okay," Vala huffed.  "I didn't steal it.  It was a prize of war.  Anyway, with the new shields, weapons, and stealth generators, she's a match for almost anything."

"The armored cruiser concept," Galina nodded, "faster than the strongest, but stronger than the fastest."

"More like a super-frigate than a cruiser," Laura said, "but the idea's the same."  She tapped a stud on the co-pilot's console and a star map appeared in the holographic display.  "So... where to begin?"

Vala tapped a series of studs, and twelve stars on the map began flashing bright red.  "These are the binary systems that most closely match the P69-758 gate address."  She tapped another stud, and all but one of the stars stopped flashing.  "This is the most likely, and our first destination."

Laura shook her head.  "I still don't understand this part.  I thought gate addresses were actual astronomical locations."

"They are," Galina answered, "but this close to the galactic core an address is more like a neighborhood.  We now believe the gate network is even more sophisticated than was previously understood.  The standard DHD compensates for stellar drift, as Colonel Carter first discovered, but now it is thought the regular updates that ripple through the network share information we have not yet deciphered."

"But... it works," Laura objected.  "We've been dialing addresses for almost ten years.  And we've also been using gate addresses to locate planets."

"Most addresses are not in dense clusters," Galina countered, "and the natives of P69-758 seem to have done something to their stargate.  Even off-world bases with DHD's can no longer get a lock on the address."

"Yes, yes, children," Vala said, impatiently, "and hence the need for Vala to call in favors, gather information, recover her ship—"

"Steal her ship," Laura interrupted, winking at Galina.

"Recover her ship," Vala continued, "and lead this rescue expedition."  She smiled brightly and leaned back in the pilot's chair.  "I feel so very heroic, self-sacrificing, and brave!"

Laura exchanged an amused smile with her Russian colleague.  "So, what's the transit time to our first destination?"

"Three days, seven hours, and..."  Vala leaned forward and tapped another stud.  "...four minutes."

Laura sighed.  "And if it turns out not to be P69-758?"

"The worst case scenario," Galina answered, "is three weeks to visit all twelve candidates, factoring in one day to survey each system.  Then we must decide whether to widen the search or wait for the availability of a vessel with more sophisticated sensors."

"By the way, ladies," Vala purred.  "You should stop calling our goal P69-758, and start calling it 'PelluciGor'.  It's the 'Legendary Lost Pleasure Planet of the Amazons', according to my sources.  And you should change into the costumes I provided, so you can get used to them."

Laura frowned.  "Do we have to?"  She'd already looked in the duffel containing her designated "costume".  It was similar to the "dominatrix drag" Vala was wearing, but in rust-brown leather.  However, her "pants" were more like fishnet stockings woven from leather ribbons, and the bustier had a large, oval cutout that looked like it would be centered over her navel.  "I can't believe I gave up my annual leave from Atlantis to volunteer for what you insist must be an all-female rescue team—"

"The PellucGoreans hate men," Vala reminded the redhead.

Laura nodded.  "—and now I've got to dress like some kind of kinky video game heroine."

"I suppose it is for the best," Galina sighed.  "We must let the leather stretch."  Her costume was saddle brown, with a pattern of rather large cutouts in the pants and the sides of the bustier.  "I am sure General Landry will grant you extra leave, when we return," she added, then left the bridge, heading for the spiral ladder that led to the tiny staterooms on the next deck.

Laura glared at Vala, then turned and followed.

Vala smiled as she returned to scanning the piloting displays.  Her companions were unaware of the full details of her plan for making contact with the PelliciGorean Amazons, assuming the "Cat Women", as one of her sources had called them, did exist, and weren't legendary in the fictional sense.  If any of the rumors about the inhabitants of the Lost Pleasure Planet were true, she would be expected to come bearing gifts—and a pair of beautiful female slaves would do quite nicely.