STARGÅTE SG-1—Sam & Janet (& Jennifer Hailey) in...
		A WORK OF BONDAGE FAN-FICTION—by Van ©2007
		Chapter 10

A WEEK LATER
A TRAINING CHAMBER IN THE PARAMOUNT TOWER
PARDÉ, FIRST CITY OF PELLUCIGOR

---

The room was brightly lit, by skylights in the domed ceiling and by banks of windows set high in the mirror-paneled walls.  The floor was covered by a thick, well-padded carpet.

Hailey was standing perfectly still in the center of the room.  She was naked, but for the steel chastity belt locked around her waist and through her loins, and the steel slave-collar around her throat.  Her long, blond hair was loose and tangled, with the majority of the glossy strands draped down her back.  Her smooth, pale skin was lightly oiled, and beaded with sweat.  An expression of concentration on her face, her eyes stared straight ahead, focused on a theoretical horizon.  Her breasts heaved and her nostrils flared as she filled and emptied her lungs.  Slowly... her breathing returned to normal.

Charis was pacing a slow circle around her student, her critical eyes on Hailey's glistening body.  She was naked as well, but for her more-decorative belt and collar, and the disk-like shields covering her nipples.  In addition, torque-like bracelets were around her upper arms, and similar twisted bands around her ankles.  Her hair fell down her back in a long, elaborate braid, with the tip secured by a decorative clasp similar in style to her armbands and anklets.  She had a long, straight cane in her right hand, about a-meter-and-a-half in length.  Its handle was wrapped in leather, and it tapered from the width of her thumb to that of a pencil.  It was too flexible to serve as a walking stick, but it made an excellent pointer.  It was also the perfect tool for correcting student mistakes, as Hailey had already learned.

"All right, then..." Charis said, quietly.  "Very slowly, this time, with special attention to graceful transition, hand placement, foot position, and the fall of the hair.  Straighten that straw-tangle, then assume a proper 'stand'."

Hailey leaned forward, ran her fingers through her hair, then flipped her head back.  Her blond locks fanned through the air and gently slapped her back as they fell into a more orderly drape. She raised her chin; slid her left foot slightly forward, bending the knee and lifting her heel off the mat; and placed her hands on her buttocks, palms down.  This was the "standing" slave position.

Charis tapped the mat with the tip of her cane.  "Display!"

Hailey lifted her arms and clasped her hands behind her neck.  Her chin remained high, and the new position rolled her shoulders back and caused her pert breasts to point.

Charis tapped the mat, again.  "Nadu!"

Hailey lowered her chin, dropped to her knees, and settled back on her heels.  Her knees were wide, and her hands rested on her thighs, palms up, with the fingers slightly curled.

Tap!  "Submission!"

Chin still lowered, Hailey lifted her arms, closed her hands into loose fists, and crossed her wrists above her head.

Tap!  "Kneel to the whip!"

Hailey crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward, bending at the waist until her forehead touched the mat.  Simultaneously, her butt was lifted into the air, shifting her weight back on her thighs.

"Better," Charis conceded, "but you must master the head-flip, so the hair forms a perfect, full-length fan on the mat, every time.  Mistress likes to stand on a slave's hair, as she uses the whip."  Tap!  "Obesience!"

Hailey brought her hands from under her body and extended them forward, full length, with her hands palm-down on the mat.

Charis walked a slow circuit around her student.  "Much better, Little Flower," she said.  "You make me proud."

"May I speak, slave-teacher?" Hailey asked.  Her words were slightly muffled by the proximity of the mat.

Charis grinned.  "Apparently, you may," she purred.  "What is your question, slave-student?"

Hailey lifted her head and turned her face towards Charis.  "Why—Ow!"

Charis had delivered a stinging blow to Hailey's buttocks.  "I said you may speak," she stated, "not move."

Hailey lowered her pouting face to the mat, resuming her former position.  "Why this moving from position to position at different speeds?" she asked.  "Or is it just for exercise?"

"No, slave-student," Charis answered.  "The basic slave positions are also the basic elements of the slave dance.  These positions are the foundation on which we will build the house of pleasure that will be Hay-lee the slave.   Do you understand?"

"I..."  Hailey sighed.  "I guess... slave-teacher."

Charis lips curled in a sad smile.  She tapped the mat with her cane.  "Bara!"

Hailey extended her legs, full length, then crossed her ankles and pointed her feet.  She also slid her arms back and crossed her wrists atop her buttocks, with the palms up; then turned her head to rest the side of her face on the mat, with her eyes towards Charis.  She watched as her slave-teacher walked to a small table beside the door, and returned with two lengths of silk cord.

Hailey sighed, again, as Charis bound her ankles, and then her wrists.  She had given up, long ago, trying to figure out why her slave-teacher felt the need to tie her up, lock her in chains, or otherwise keep her restrained for most of the day and night.  She certainly wasn't going to escape the slave levels, or the tower, or the city—she sighed, again—or the planet, for that matter, even if they gave her back her P90.

Charis went back to the table beside the door.  This time she returned with a stoneware bottle and a cup.  She gracefully settled on the carpet, sitting with her legs crossed, then hauled Hailey's bound form onto her lap, arranging her student so that she was resting with her bound arms against her body, and her head and shoulders against her breasts.  She filled the cup, and held it to Hailey's lips.

Hailey drank.  It was more of the slightly fizzy concoction the Pardesse liked to consume after exercise... sort of a Gatorade wine cooler.  This time it was green in color, and reminded Hailey of apples and peaches.  "Thank you," she said, and drank the rest.

Charis refilled the cup and took a drink herself.  "You are most welcome, slave-student."  She set down the cup, then combed her fingers through Hailey's hair, clearing errant strands from her face.  "Oh, Hay-lee," she sighed, "your mind is attentive, your memory quick, and your body..."  She kissed Hailey's lips.  "...your strong, precious little body, has grace and power."

Hailey blushed.  "Thank you, slave-teacher," she whispered, turned her face, and kissed the side of Charis' right breast."

"You still need much work," Charis continued.

"Yes, slave-teacher."  Hailey kissed Charis' breast, again.

"My flirting Little Flower," Charis cooed, and resumed running her fingers through Hailey's hair.

Hailey closed her eyes and snuggled her bound body against her beloved Charis.

"Yes, body and mind are willing," Charis sighed, "but the spirit..."

Hailey considered giving a flip answer, then decided now was not the time.  "I know you can break me," she said, quietly, "but I am not a slave... not on my world, and not on yours.  I can act like a slave, but I'll never be a slave."

"I fear this is true," Charis whispered.  Seconds passed, as she continued combing Hailey's hair.

In the distance, a slavegirl laughed, somewhere beyond the closed doors of the training chamber.  Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the skylights.

Finally, Charis spoke.  "Our Mistress orders me to train you," she continued.  "I must, and I will.  Keep the warrior in your heart, Little Flower, but let the world see a slave.  I have heard the call of the collar for as long as I can remember... in crèche, in war training—"

"War training?"

"All Pardesse are warriors, Little Flower," Charis explained.  "If men invade, all will fight.  It has always been so.  I am a slave by vocation.  Obedient service to my Mistress, in all things, is my life.  This has nothing to do with my duty to PelluciGor."

"I... I see," Hailey said.

Charis smiled, and kissed Hailey's forehead.  "Keep the warrior in your heart.  I will speak to Mistress, at the appropriate time, should that time arise.  I will suggest that a little straw-haired warrior might serve her better than a tiny, awkward slave."  She kissed her slave-student again.  "Keep the warrior in your heart... and keep hope, as well."

Twin thrills coursed through Hailey's bound body—the familiar arousal caused by Charis' musky perfume—and the possibility of at least some form of freedom.

THE WAR TOWER
KYNA'S QUARTERS
EARLY EVENING

---

Sam wiggled her toes and sighed in frustration.  She had had a full day.  Roused from her captor's bed at the crack of dawn, she had been untied, allowed (ordered) to use the sanitary facilities, then her hands were bound behind her back, this time with a ribbon-like, leather thong.

Long ago, Sam had learned that resistance was useless—physical resistance, anyway.  Kyna was a highly trained martial artist, and Pardesse combat forms were well-adapted to the capture and manipulation of prisoners.  Further, her aides and orderlies were numerous and never far away, and on the one occasion she had managed to wiggle out of her rope bonds and make a break, she almost immediately encountered a large and well-armed guard patrol.  They cut short her escape with depressing efficiency.

Sam sighed, again.  Goa'uld ships and buildings always seemed to have convenient side corridors and alcoves that might as well have been designed to allow entire squads of fugitives to elude capture.  Pardesse architecture suffered from no such shortcomings.  Strangely, she wasn't punished for the escape attempt, but Kyna's aides did take additional precautions to ensure it would never happen again.

For her morning exercise, it was Kyna's habit to accompany a different, apparently randomly selected unit of the Jannisary Guard, dragging her "guest" along for the fun.  It was obvious that the "Panther-girls" were a disciplined and fit lot.  Even the support units set a brutal pace on their morning runs.  Sam had trained with Air Force Spec Ops, Army Rangers, and even Royal Marine Commandos, during visits to various bases, and had to admit, the Pardesse physical conditioning program was first rate, on any planet.

This morning, after a run of about six miles, nude, and with her skin lightly oiled—all the Pardesse exercised in the nude—Kyna went her way, and Sam was taken to an interrogation chamber for yet another question and answer session.  She was strapped to a well-padded chair, contacts were strapped to her temples, lights began to glow—and then she awoke to find that most of the day had passed.  It reminded her of the technology the Tok'ra used for their mind scans, only their probes didn't cause unconsciousness.

Sam could never remember exactly what was "discussed" during these interrogations... although, for hours afterwards, she would experience déja vu-like flashes: images of different weapons systems, diagrams illustrating tactical concepts, and elements of historical battles.  There was little doubt what her captors wanted to know, and she very much feared her mind was the proverbial open book.

After interrogations, Sam was usually returned to Kyna's quarters and either locked in the slave kennel, chained to a wall, or, like today, strapped to Kyna's "pleasure-rack".  The device could be used in a variety of different configurations, and this time, Kyna's orderlies had secured her on her back, reclined at a forty-five degree angle, with her arms raised and wrists secured behind her head.  Her legs were usually splayed and secured at the knees and ankles, but this time, they had been raised to waist level, strapped together, and her ankles locked in a heavy, rigid clamp.  It was as if she was comfortably reclined on a lounge chair with her feet up and her hands behind her head—only there was no chair, and in its place was a fully-adjustable, minimalist, wood and metal framework.

Sam squirmed in her bonds, testing the padded clamps around her wrists, and the leather straps above and below her breasts, around her waist, and across her thighs, knees, and calves.  She tried to move her feet, but the clamp around her ankles wouldn't budge, no matter how she twisted and strained.  It didn't even shake.  A little toe wiggling was all the stock-like device would allow.  At least I'm not gagged this time, she thought, ...yet.

Kyna always made her wait—sometimes for hours—and then she would return from her council meetings, inspections, briefings, and whatever else had consumed her day... and they would make love—share a meal—make love some more—share the bed, for more love-making... and then, finally, slumber would come... and the next day would begin.

Sam sighed.  As captivity went, this wasn't bad.  It beat the hell out of a Goa'uld prison or a naquata mine, that was for sure—but why wasn't she outraged by the things Kyna had done to her... by what she continued to do to her?

Kyna could be a generous lover—but she could also be playfully cruel.

Sam had always considered herself to be completely heterosexual, but her affection for Kyna was undeniable.  It was more than "Stockholm Syndrome"—more than the fear-based, misplaced infatuation of a prisoner with her captor—much more.  She wasn't disgusted or ashamed, and she certainly wasn't repulsed; but she was confused.  Sam strained against her bonds with all her strength...  "Eee-yah!"  ...but all she accomplished was a slight oscillation of her breasts.

The door opened.  Kyna had arrived, at last.  She was dressed in her usual green and brown bandeau, loincloth, and leather harness, but this time she was also wearing an open, linen robe.  It was printed in the same stylized camouflage pattern as the rest of her uniform, but the sleeves were hemmed with broad stripes of maroon silk and embroidered with gold thread.  Sam surmised the stripes were badges of rank, the use of which the Pardesse military seemed to keep to an absolute minimum.

"Council meeting?" Sam asked.

Kyna entered a closet, without answering.  Seconds passed... and she returned, barefoot, and without the robe or harness.  "I hate those formal meetings.  No real work is accomplished."  A grin on her face, she walked to Sam and gave the helpless captive's left breast a gentle squeeze.  "Did you know the terrace fields at Tall Rock would benefit from an artesian irrigation system?  And did you know this topic required two hours of briefings and discussion by the Wise Council?  Did you know the well excavation alone would consume more energy, labor, material, and other resources than the renovation of 1,000 low-level apartments?  ...that only seven agricultural holdings would benefit from the added water, and it would only extend their growing season by two to three weeks, thus adding to the abundance of luxury crops that are already in surplus?"

"Sounds like a bridge-to-nowhere," Sam answered.

Kyna frowned.  "A what?  That doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me about it," Sam muttered.

"Two hours!" Kyna swore, shaking her head.  "It should have taken two minutes."

The door opened and two of Kyna's orderlies entered.  One deployed a folding table near the pleasure-rack, and the other deposited a covered tray on its surface.

"Thank you," Kyna said, absently.  Most of her attention was on the continuing massage of Sam's breasts.  The orderlies left, closing the door behind them.

"Your hair has started a fashion," Kyna stated.

"W-what?"  Sam was distracted by her captor's gentle, kneading hands, and the throbbing in her now fully-erect nipples.

"A few of the more daring junior warriors have cropped their hair to finger length," Kyna explained.  "They claim it is more practical, and is cooler in hot weather."  She continued her massage.  "I must admit, I do not find the style... unattractive."

The massage stopped, and Sam watched as Kyna removed the cloth cover from the tray, revealing the usual array of covered bowls, bottle and cup—their evening meal.  Kyna smiled, and picked up a small bowl and a wooden spoon.  "I have a surprise for you, Sam."  She removed the bowl's cover and held it so Sam could see the contents.

Sam frowned.  The bowl contained small, blue, transparent blobs of...  "Jell-O?"

"Do you think war-craft is the only topic of discussion during your probe-trance sessions?" Kyna purred.  She turned the glistening mass with the spoon.

Sam was... touched.  "You had them ask me about my favorite dessert?"

Kyna loaded the spoon.  "Clear, cool, sweet, berry-flavored, and blue.  The War Tower cooks took it as something of a challenge.  Taste."  She held the spoon to Sam's lips.

Sam locked eyes with her captor, opened her mouth, and Kyna deposited a blue glob on her tongue.  It was cool, and sweet, and had a fruity flavor.  It was not "Blue Jell-O^TM".  She let the gelatin melt in her mouth, then swallowed.  "Delicious."

Kyna frowned.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam responded.  "It's fine."

Kyna took a taste, herself.  "This is sweet as honey," she said, still frowning.  "How can you like it?"

"It's... fine."

"They didn't get it right, did they?"

Sam smiled.  "We have a saying on earth: it's the thought that counts."

Kyna turned the faux-Jell-O with the spoon, again.  "I don't know how they thought they could just mash up some berrys and—"

Sam was surprised to see that her captor was actually... blushing.  "Kyna," she said, quietly, and the War-Captain met her gaze.  "Thank you."

Kyna smiled, restored the bowl's cover and set it back on the tray.  "You're welcome, Straw-hair.  Now, I need to unwind a little, before we eat.  First, let's complete the evening ritual, shall we?"

Sam sighed.  "Kyna, please let me go.  Please stop keeping me tied-up all the time.  Please?"

Kyna struck a pose, as if considering her answer.  "Hmm...  Let me see...  No!  There, ritual over."  She walked over to a work table and returned with a wooden stool, then sat at the foot of the pleasure-rack.

Sam lifted her head, but her knees and feet were in the way.  All she could see was the top of Kyna's head.  Apparently, she was rummaging for something, near the floor.

"Ah, here it is!" Kyna said.  She straightened up, bringing her smiling visage into view, then raised her right hand to reveal... a feather!  It was peacock green, with tufts of fluttering down at the base.  Its stiff, blade-like, six-inch length tapered to a slightly rounded point.

Sam swallowed nervously, and tried to keep the dread and horror from her voice.  "Kyna, you wouldn't..."

Kyna's smile turned truly evil.  "You've told me I'm not very 'funny', Sam..."  She twirled the feather between her fingers.  "...but how would you like to hear a joke?  Have you heard the one about the drunken warrior-student and the three slavegirls?"

---

In the outer chamber, an orderly was using a hand viewer to scan the evening drop of official reports, deciding which would be filed for reference, and which would be forwarded to the War-Captain's workstation for review and action.  Another orderly was sweeping the floor.

Suddenly, peals of giggling, girlish, soprano laughter emanated from Kyna's private quarters.  It was somewhat muffled by the thick wood of the door, but the nature of the continuing noise was unmistakable.

"It would appear the War-Captain has suddenly developed a sense of humor," one orderly stated, perfectly deadpan.

"At least Straw-hair thinks so," the other observed.

Both went back to work.

UNDER THE DOME OF LEARNING
HONNA'S APARTMENT SUITE

---

Janet removed one crystal from the workstation's data tray and inserted another.  The holographic display rippled, then resolved into a rotating matrix of symbols and characters.  Janet's SGC-issue laptop was linked to the workstation by a jury-rigged set of power and data transfer cables.  A language translation program developed by Sam and Daniel Jackson was making a valiant effort to transcribe the Pardesse text into English, but with only limited success.

Janet took a sip of tea, and began the laborious task of trying to make sense of the half-translated information.  She was alone in the apartment, and was dressed in a loincloth, bandeau, and robe of white linen, all trimmed with narrow bands of blood-red silk.  This was the normal attire of a Pardesse healer.  However, the cuffs around her wrists and ankles were not normal.  The steel bands had dangling rings, set in ball and socket joints, but the connecting chains she was required to wear when Honna took her out of the apartment were unattached.  They dangled from a hook beside the closed and locked door.

The crystal was entitled "War of Sorrows—The Revolt of Queen Egeria".  Janet's eyes popped wide.  "Interesting!" she muttered, under her breath.  Unless her memory was wrong, Egeria was the founder of the Tok'ra, the Goa'uld resistance movement.  Although technically Goa'uld, themselves, the Tok'ra were one of earth's most valuable allies against the System Lords!  Daniel Jackson would give an important body part for a chance to study this particular work.  The first line read "Egeria, beloved of Bashasti—"

The apartment's outer door opened and Honna entered.  She was dressed like Janet—without steel cuffs and anklets, of course—but her robe was trimmed with white silk.  The white-on-white colors reflected her status as a "High Polymath" and her mastery of what, on earth, were considered to be several different academic fields.

"How was the council meeting?" Janet asked.

"The usual," Honna answered.  She walked to the work station and kissed the top of Janet's head.

Janet took one of Honna's hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, then indicated the stoneware tea service on a nearby tray.  "It's fresh," she muttered, continuing to read.

Honna poured herself a cup.  "How go your studies?"

Janet tapped a key on the laptop and the screen went blank.  She looked up at Honna, and sighed.  "I wish I had more of a head for languages.  I probably have half of it wrong."

Honna took a seat.  "Don't pout, Little Healer.  You will learn our writing.  Tell me what you've discovered, today.  Your intent was to study our history, yes?"

Janet nodded, sipped her tea, then leaned back in the chair.  "PelluciGor is, or was, a female pleasure planet.  It was a place for high-ranking Goa'uld women to hunt game, engage in athletic contests, and otherwise relax, away from their men; and it was the domain of Bashasti-the-Wise."

Honna nodded.  "Also called Bashasti-the-Kind."

"Bashasti, uh, recruited your ancestors to act as her retainers."  Janet pointed at the workstation display.  "I only just now found an actual history of the Great Downfall, but there was enough in other sources to tell the tale.  There was a civil war among the System Lords, right?"

Honna sighed.  "Before the war, there were no 'System Lords'.  The winning side invented the 'honor'.  Bashasti was killed in battle, far from PelluciGor.  This place was always a minor outpost, but it was also more than a pleasure planet.  It was a center of knowledge and learning.  Our ancestors used Bashasti's wisdom to cloak the system, then sent agents among the enemy.  In the chaos after the war, we succeeded in deleting all reference to PelluciGor's location from all known archives.  It took many years and cost many brave lives."

"The SGC got the gate address from an Ancient database," Janet said, "from the gate builders; not from a Goa'uld source."

Honna smiled.  "There was great consternation when you and your friends... and those men... appeared.  The Pardesse have always thought themselves safe, confident that we were invisible and forgotten.  We did not even have a formal watch on the chap'ai, itself.  That has since changed."

"It's because we don't use a DHD, isn't it?" Janet said.  "We were able to get past your safeguards because we created our own dialing device."

"Yes," Honna agreed.  "Otherwise, our stealth algorithms would have prevented you from opening the portal.  Anyway, back to the War of Sorrows... With the death of our beloved patron, the Pardesse resolved to continue the pursuit of knowledge, to keep ourselves ready for war, and to remain hidden."

Janet frowned.  "One thing I don't understand: why didn't Bashasti make your ancestors Jaffa?"  Most System Lords used their human retainers as hosts for the larval form of their Goa'uld offspring.  This gave the "Jaffa" great strength and healing abilities, and made them formidable warriors.

"Bashasti did not believe in making Jaffa," Honna answered.  "Her Gift is more than enough of an advantage for the Pardesse."  She noticed the impatient set of Janet's jaw.  "Not to worry, Little Healer," she said.  "You have reached the point in your studies that I think I can explain the Goddess Gift in detail, and you will understand."

Janet waited, expectantly.

"But not tonight," Honna continued.  "Oh, do not pout, Little Healer," she laughed.  "We will discuss the Gift tomorrow, after the morning run.  I have cleared my schedule through the mid-day meal.  Tonight, however, we have a dinner commitment.  Remove your robe and top."

"Don't tell me," Janet huffed, "you want me to impress another member of the boneheads who want the Pardesse to keep their collective heads buried in the sand."  She folded the screen of the laptop, rose, then walked to the bedroom and into its walk-in closet.

Honna followed.  "Hence you must arrive at her door as my captive—"

"—wearing only my loincloth," Janet interrupted, "to put her at ease."  She removed her robe and bandeau and hung them on a hook in the closet, then turned and faced Honna.  "Good enough?"

Honna shook her head, a coy smile on her lips.  "Not this time, Little Healer.  Our hostess-to-be—an engineer of legendary intellect, by the way—is notoriously difficult to convince.  We must put her completely at ease, and you may expect her to question you... thoroughly."

The Pardesse believed it was impossible to tell falsehoods while sexually aroused, and the closer one was to orgasm (supposedly) the greater was one's sincerity.  Janet could expect a great deal more than polite conversation during the upcoming visit.  It wouldn't be her first such "dinner party" since becoming Honna's captive.

"Politics," Janet muttered, then her eyes popped wide when she saw what was in Honna's hands.  "What the hell is that?"

Honna had opened a drawer and produced some sort of... garment.  It was made completely of what appeared to be natural, translucent rubber.  "A means of restraining dangerous invaders," she answered.

Janet sighed, but made no resistance as Honna "dressed" her in the garment.  Something like an open-cupped bra tightened around her breasts and was clipped closed behind her back.  It supported her breasts while still leaving them almost completely exposed.  Broad straps tightened around her upper arms and pinned them to her torso.  Honna folded Janet's hands behind her back and threaded narrow rubber straps through the rings in her steel wrist cuffs.  The straps were tossed over her shoulders, crossed between her breasts, and passed through a loop in the "bra".  They were then tucked under her elbows and secured between her shoulder blades.  Finally, Honna tightened a flap over Janet's forearms, at the small of her back, then tightened all the straps, one by one.

Janet rolled her shoulders and flexed her arms.  The rubber... thing was skintight.  She didn't know whether to call it a minimalist straitjacket or an overly enthusiastic harness.  Her flesh bulged between the milky rubber straps and panels.  "I'm sure as hell not dangerous now," she muttered.  "Now you do my hair?"  Honna usually plaited Janet's hair into something like French braids, before taking her out.

Honna hugged her prisoner, from behind, and nuzzled her neck.  "That would be premature, Little Healer.  We aren't expected for more than an hour."

"Then why did you..."  Janet's nostrils flared.  Honna's arousal, her delicious, musky odor, filled the close air of the closet.  "Oh," she said, quietly.  She shivered as Honna reached around her helpless body and cupped her breasts.  She moaned, softly, as Honna's fingers played with her erect nipples.  "I take it you have some questions of your own, and wish to conduct a preliminary interview?"

Honna released her embrace and reopened the drawer from which she had produced the rubber "strait-harness".  This time, she produced a rubber ball-gag.  Both ball and strap were translucent, like the harness.  "The only question I have, Little Healer," Honna purred, "is how many times I can make you cum without making us late for dinner."

A sly smile on her lips, Janet eased towards the closet door.  "Yeah?  You have to catch me, first."

Honna smiled and blocked Janet's path.  "With those stubby little legs?  No problem."  She lunged, but the diminutive doctor ducked under her arms and scurried out the door, giggling as she went.

Honna removed her bandeau and loincloth and dropped them to the floor.  "The outer door is locked, you know!" she called.  "You aren't going anywhere!"  Janet's giggling laugh echoed back into the closet, from somewhere in the apartment suite's outer chambers.  Honna smiled, stretched, and began her search for the "escaping fugitive", the ball-gag swinging from her left hand.