STARGÅTE SG-1—Sam & Janet (& Jennifer Hailey) in...
		A WORK OF BONDAGE FAN-FICTION—by Van ©2007
		Chapter 12

"The philosopher's stone and the fountain of youth, spread by a sexually transmitted pathogen," Sam said, repeating Janet's words.

Janet tried lifting her knees and resting the soles of her feet on the soft pallet, but this made the ropes binding her knees and thighs uncomfortably tight.  "Like I said earlier," she sighed, straightening her legs again, "the Goddess Gift is actually a family of retro-viruses—forty-two, to be precise.  I was going for a simple analogy."  She wiggled and squirmed her rope-bound body until she could brace her shoulders against the wall and push with her legs.  Her upper body slid upwards against the wall, and she settled into a sitting position.  The rope binding her toes to the ring still had slack, but not near enough for her to crawl over and reach Sam and her "slave-frame".

"I got the analogy," Sam responded.  "I was just thinking out loud."  She tested the steel clamp-cuffs of the frame, again, seeking escape and a way to relieve her continued state of heightened sexual tension.  The only movements possible were a little squirming and shoulder rolling.  Escape and relief remained unattainable goals.  "Tell me more about the 'perfect health' part."

"Honna and I have been running about three miles every day," Janet said, "as well as doing push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and something they call the crab-crawl.  How 'bout you?"

"Six miles, with Kyna and her warriors," Sam responded, "and add to that War Tower training: rope-climbing, a hellish obstacle course, and underwater swimming."

"All done naked and barefoot," Janet added, "and in the case of us 'slaves-of-war', with our hands tied behind our backs, unless a specific exercise makes that impractical."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.  "It's been brutal."

"Brutal?" Janet scoffed.  "Do you have any shin splints?  Any torn ligaments?  Do you have as much as a single blister?"

"Well," Sam responded, "the first week I thought I was getting blisters on my soles and heels... but they got better."

"Sam," Janet sighed, "back home, only elite athletes and special forces troops do this sort of thing, and I guarantee their feet don't look as good as yours..."  Her eyes traveled over Sam's tan, toned, glistening body, and she shivered in her bonds.  "...or the rest of you."

"Now that you mention it," Sam muttered, "I've never seen you look better, either.  You used to be a dancer, right?"

Janet blushed.  "In High School, Sam.  I dropped the classes.  When was the last time you saw a five-foot-two professional dancer?"

"The world's loss," Sam answered, then cleared her throat.  "Anyway... you look good... too... like a dancer."

Janet's blush deepened.  "And remember those rope-burns you got from the little green guys?  I bet they healed in no time."

"Overnight," Sam confirmed.

"We also have enhanced levels of flexibility and adaptability," Janet continued.

"Really?"

"Sam!" Janet snapped, "nobody sleeps with their hands tied behind their back, night after night, without developing humeral articular trauma."

"I was being sarcastic," Sam huffed.  "No need to bite my head off."

Janet sighed.  "Sorry.  I'm kinda... distracted."

"Same here," Sam whispered in response, and shivered in her bonds.

Silence hung in the close, musk-laden air for several seconds.  Both prisoners were noticeably panting, and they continued to sweat.  As Janet watched, a bead rolled between Sam's heaving breasts.

"Oh, screw this!" Janet cursed, then squirmed and heaved herself onto her knees, ignoring the bite of the tightening ropes.  She leaned close to the iron ring and used her lips, tongue, and teeth to attack the knot Kyna had tied in the end of the rope trailing from her bound toes.

"What are you doing?" Sam inquired.

"Isn't that rather obvious?" Janet mumbled through a mouthful of rope.  She continued gumming, tonguing, and biting the knot.  "I'm coming to help."

"I'm pretty sure all these clamps are locked," Sam said.  "They use some sort of magnetic or electronic technology.  Those pinky rings they wear seem to be what allow them to work the mechanisms.  You won't be able to unlock anything."

Janet didn't answer.  Her assault on the knot was making progress.

"And unless you free me first," Sam continued, "there's no way I can untie you..."  She fluttered her fingers.  "...not with my hands like this.  And even if somehow we do get loose, we'll still be locked in this 'slave-kennel'."

"Hah!" Janet muttered, in triumph.  She pulled the last of the knot free, flopped onto her side, and began crawling towards Sam, inchworm-fashion.  "I know all that."

"So what's the point?" Sam sighed, as the tightly bound, diminutive doctor squirmed ever closer.

Finally arriving in Sam's proximity, Janet managed to work herself up onto her knees, again, bringing her grinning face level with her fellow prisoner's sex.  "This is the point," she purred, leaned close, and gripped the edge of Sam's loin-cloth with her teeth.

"Janet!" Sam squealed.  Her "rescuer's" nuzzling face and hair were sending all sorts of unwelcome (welcome) sensations coursing through her aroused and helpless body.

"No need for both of us to suffer," the diminutive doctor mumbled, and began tugging on the narrow linen band in earnest.

"What are you going to do?"

"Talk about your stupid questions," Janet remarked, and gave the end of the cloth a final pull.  It slithered free and fell to the floor.

"Janet, stop!"

Janet paused, rocked back on her heels, and lifted her face to lock eyes with her helpless, and now naked, friend.  "Stop?  You really want me to stop?"

"I..."  Sam shivered in her bonds.  "Yes."

"I'm a doctor, Sam.  I can't watch someone suffer and do nothing... especially not someone I love."

"You... you love me?"

Janet's smile became rather shy—in a panting, fully-aroused sort of way.  "We're both into guys, I know, and you already know I love you as a friend.  I can't watch you suffer, Sam."

"I... I love you too, Janet," Sam responded, "but this is... against regs."

"So leave it out of your report."

Sam sighed, and forced a smile.  "It's not like I can stop you.  If nobody asks... I won't tell."

"You always were a good patient," Janet chuckled, and leaned close—then paused, again.  "You know, Sam," she mused, "our love is a lot like the feelings the Pardesse have for one another—more than Platonic, and sort of like the Greek 'philia'—or maybe it's an intense philial love that blurs the line with 'erotas'.  At least that's how I feel, and—"

"Janet!" Sam interrupted.  "Why are you channeling Daniel?  Just do me, already!  We'll over-analyze it later!"

Janet grinned, extended her tongue, and set about her prescribed therapy.

Sam's body went totally rigid.  "Oh—Janet!!"

---

Out in the bedroom, Kyna lifted her head.  "What was that?"

Honna was naked, spread-eagled on her bed, and held in that position by taut, soft ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the bedposts.  "I believe that was Colonel Sam screaming 'Oh, Janet'," she responded.

"I recognize the voice!" Kyna growled.  She was also naked, was kneeling on the bed between Honna's splayed legs, and was very much not bound.  "We told them to keep quiet."

Honna giggled and tugged on her bonds.  "Stop being jealous and continue playing with your guest-gift, or I'll take it back."

"I'm not jealous!" Kyna huffed.  "And a gift, once offered, cannot be withdrawn... especially when giver and gift are one in the same, and both are a helpless captive."  More noise drew their attention back to the kennel-chamber door.  This time, Sam's soprano scream was totally inarticulate.  "Discipline is important." Kyna intoned.  "Empty threats are a sign of poor leadership and are an insult to ones subordinates."

"Ever the warrior," Honna cooed.  "It is their first time together, free of the bizarre man-rules of their planet, and new to the Gift.  Don't you remember our first time?"

Kyna smiled.  "Two stumbling, bumbling neophytes, just out of the crèche, burning with the Gift, and not at all sure what to do about it.  I remember."

"As I recall," Honna intoned, "you were anything but unsure."

"As a Junior Warrior of the Probationary Officer Cadre," Kyna laughed, "I was taught to be assertive.  I was also taught the value of discipline, the hard way."

Honna affected a coy smile.  "We can punish them later.  I give you permission to spank the Little Healer's butt.  She really hates that.  But only if you make her cum, afterwards."

Kyna smiled.  "Softy!" she accused, leaned close, and nuzzled Honna's sex, probing with her lips and tongue.

Honna shivered, bit her lower lip, and tugged on her bonds.  "Oh, Kyna!" she whispered.

IN THE PARAMOUNT TOWER

---

Hailey was roused from Charis' bed in the pre-dawn hours, well before the normal time for daily exercise.  Charis was absent, but before Hailey was awake enough to make any inquiries, the several slaves who were present bound her wrists behind her back, slipped a blindfold over her eyes, and tied a cloth cleave-gag in her mouth.  Her initial alarm turned to stoic resignation.  Apparently, the slave-training curriculum had dealt her a wild card.  A slave-student learned to go with the flow (as did a warrior pretending to be a slave-student).

She was led to one of the communal slave-baths.  She recognized the warm, humid air and the pattern of splashing sounds echoing off the vaulted ceiling.  Her wrists were untied, but her captors maintained control by noosing her wrists and holding her arms extended, to either side.  Next, her blindfold and gag were removed and she blinked in the sudden light.  "Keep silent," one of her slave-captors warned.  She was dunked, lathered, scrubbed, dunked again, then led from the water to one of the "grooming-alcoves".

There were eight slaves with her in the alcove, all much taller than Hailey, of course, and all with the tan, well-toned bodies of all Pardesse.  Like Hailey, they were totally naked, but for their slave-collars.

While two slaves maintained a tight grip on the wrist ropes, a third slave knelt, removed Hailey's chastity belt, and used a basin and washcloth to clean her loins.

"Stop that!" the slave cleaning Hailey's sex ordered.

"Stop what?" Hailey gasped.

"Stop stinking the air!  Show some control."

"You should talk, Laru," another of the slaves laughed.  "You leak love-honey while you scrub the floor."

"Silence!" yet another of the slaves barked.  She had been watching the others work, and was the only one present not wet from the baths.  By the beaded charm dangling from the ring of her collar, Hailey could see that she was one of the Paramount Tower's "slave-shepherds".  In appearance, she was a very fit, very attractive fifty, with a shock of gray running through her otherwise brown hair.  If all Charis had told her about the effects of the Goddess Gift were true, that made her substantially older than any living human being on Earth.  The other slaves all looked to be only a few years older than Hailey, so, in earth-years, they could be anything from in their thirties to well past their eighties.  "The very young cannot always control their feelings," the slave-shepherd continued, glaring at the slave who had laughed, "just as the very stupid and lazy cannot control their tongues."  She pointed at Hailey's former gag, lying on the wet floor where it had been dropped.  "Put that to its proper use!"

The no longer laughing slave knelt, retrieved the gag, and tied it between her own teeth, pulling the cloth tight until her cheeks bulged.

Hailey's grooming continued.  She was dried with warm, fluffy towels, then, her entire body was oiled.  Self-control was now very much an issue.  She remained as still as she could, cooperating with her handlers, but the scent of her musk filled the humid air.  Is it even possible to control it? she wondered.  She struggled not to shiver and fidget as first the soft towels, and then the slaves' oil-slick hands, slid over every square-inch of her body.

Her hair was next.  It was lightly oiled, brushed, combed, and carefully dressed.  Two long, thin braids were plaited to either side of her face.  The inner braids were allowed to dangle, their ends secured with narrow, black ribbons tied in decorative, rosette bows.  The two outer braids were pulled back and plaited around the rest of her hair, enforcing a loose ponytail.  Two more ribbons and a silver clip in the form of a leaping panther secured the arrangement.

Then came the restraints.

An arm-sheath of black leather was held against her back.  Hands palm-to-palm, her fingers slid into individual channels in the mitten-like end, and then a series of buckles were secured from her wrists to her upper arms.  Each buckle was attached to a web of thin, interwoven straps, and as they were closed, tightened, and then re-tightened to remove all slack, her arms were pulled together until her elbows touched.  A pair of thin straps were dropped over her shoulders, crossed above her breasts, pulled between her arms and torso, and buckled to the sheath.

Next, steel cuffs closed around her ankles.  They were wide, but thin-walled and relatively light, and their outer surfaces were embossed with the profiles of leaping panthers.  A trio of short, equal chains, all linked to a central ring, were used to join the ankle-cuffs to a ring attached to the tip of the arm-sheath.  This hobbled her steps and kept the chains off the floor.

Most of the slaves began cleaning the alcove, but the slave-shepherd's attention was still on Hailey.  Two slaves assisted, holding ornately carved boxes of ebony-stained wood. The first box was opened, and the slave-shepherd extracted a small, silver brooch, in the shape of yet another leaping panther.  She attached it to the crossing point of the straps above Hailey's breasts.  By its shape and the arrangement of the locking clips on its back, it was clear that it had been designed for this very purpose.

Next came a series of tiny, silver bells.  They were clipped to the rings of her ankle-cuffs, to the central ring of the hobble-chain, and to the ends of her dangling braids.  There were two final bells, and they dangled from short chains attached to small, matching charms, again, in the shape of leaping panthers.

The second slave opened her box, and the slave-shepherd withdrew a small glass vial.  She used its applicator top to paint a clear liquid on Hailey's already erect nipples and the captive felt a glowing warmth in the tender flesh, followed by a slight... numbing sensation.

"Be brave, youngster," the slave-shepherd whispered, and squeezed the body of one of the panther-shaped charms.  Its mouth opened and the gap between its forepaws widened.

It moved towards her nipple—and Hailey realized it was a nipple clamp!  She gasped—then reasserted her self-control.

The slave-shepherd positioned the clamp, and slowly released her grip.  The claws of the panther's forepaws closed around the base of the nipple, and the teeth of its jaws closed over the tip.  The tiny silver points pinched and pricked her skin, but not enough to draw blood.  Hailey was surprised by how little it hurt, but that was probably thanks to the effect of the "nipple-novacaine".

"Very good," the slave-shepherd purred, applied the second clip, then took a step back and smiled.

Hailey shuddered, with arousal and in response to the nip of the clamps—and smiled, shyly, in return.  For some reason, the approval of the venerable slave-shepherd was important.  It made her feel proud.

A cylindrical tin and a soft puff emerged from the second box.  The slave-shepherd used the puff to apply a light dusting of powder to Hailey's breasts, shoulders, tummy, thighs, and buttocks, leaving a silvery sheen on her pale skin.  Satisfied, the slave-shepherd returned the puff and powder to its box.

The slave-shepherd pulled something else from the first box, something that made a handful, but she held it cupped in her fingers and Hailey couldn't see what it was.  The two slave-assistants closed the lids of their boxes and carried them away, while the slave-shepherd thumbed a wall switch.  A door opened, and she entered the dark corridor beyond.  "Follow me, youngster," she called back over her shoulder, and Hailey padded in her wake, her bells tinkling with every hobbled step.

"Please," Hailey said quietly, "can you tell me—"

The slave-shepherd turned and held a silencing finger to her lips, then the journey continued.  Hailey kept silent, as ordered.

They threaded their way through a veritable maze of corridors, the tinkling music of Hailey's bells marking their passage, until finally they came to a large door of polished black marble.  It was framed by two huge, leaping panthers, also of black marble.  The door opened... and beyond was a steep staircase.

The slave-shepherd smiled, leaned close, and kissed Hailey's lips—sending a shuddering thrill through the tiny prisoner's body.  She opened her hand to reveal a clear, handball-size sphere.  Attached to the sphere was a short chain and another panther charm and bell.  "Keep a steady pace, but not too fast.  We don't want your powder to wash away, but we do want it to mingle with your sweat and start collecting into beads.  The sparkling effect is most attractive."

Hailey eyed the steps, then locked eyes with her handler.  "Where—r'mm."  The ball was in her mouth.  She had thought the sphere was a solid crystal, but could now tell it was hard rubber.  The chain dangled to just past her chin.

"Do not lose that," the slave-shepherd ordered, "and keep your lips closed.  We don't want any unsightly drool spoiling the appearance of your breasts."  She kissed the top of Hailey's head, and made a sweeping gesture towards the stairs.  "Go, youngster."

Hailey stepped through the door, and it closed.  She began to climb.  What else was she to do?

Hailey stopped counting after the first hundred.  The treads were narrow and somewhat steep, especially for someone who was only four-foot-nine.  It was technically what she would characterize as a "spiral staircase", but there were only a few straight vertical runs.  The overall course seemed to slope first in one direction, and then another, in a helical fashion, as if her path had been tunneled into the massively thick walls of the tower, dodging rooms and chambers as it climbed ever-upwards.

The stairs finally ended, and Hailey found herself on a small landing before another black marble door.  A panel slid closed behind her, sealing off the stairs, then the black door opened.

Okay, very dramatic, Hailey thought, pausing while the massive slab slowly rumbled to the side.  Actually, she had to admit, it was very dramatic.

The chamber beyond was circular and vast, with a domed ceiling.  Polished black marble with gold and silver veins was used throughout.  Long, narrow, vertical windows draped with panels of teal and violet silk pierced the dome at regular intervals.  To Hailey's right, a generous alcove contained a large desk flanked by a pair of workstations.  To her left, a matching alcove contained a low circular table surrounded by teal and violet cushions, an arrangement for the reclined dining style favored by the Pardesse.  In the center was a very large, circular bed with a billowing canopy of teal and violet panels stretching to the very top of the dome.

A figure stepped into view from around the bed, and Hailey's blood ran cold.  It was the PardaUbar, herself, Zanta the Cruel!  She was wearing a very long, sleeveless robe of gossamer-thin, black silk—and nothing else.  Her long, brown curls were loose around her shoulders and trailed down her back, nearly to her waist.  The robe dragged the mirrored floor, trailing like a train of black smoke.

Hailey knew what was expected of her.  Head respectfully bowed, she slowly, carefully padded forward, her many bells tinkling.  She went up on her toes and paused, ever so briefly, with each step, in the stylized form of the basic slave dance.  She then sank to her knees, wincing as her hobbling chains and bells clattered on the floor in a less musical manner than she would have liked.  She leaned forward until her forehead touched the cool marble, snapping her head as she did so, to make her ponytail flip forward so the unrestrained end could form a fan.  There was the final clatter of her braid, nipple, and gag bells striking the floor, then silence.

"Obesience-while-bound," Zanta intoned.  "An adequate display, but you still need work.  There are ways to deal with the bells.  Observe."

Hailey lifted her head, shook her hair to the side, and watched as Zanta shrugged out of her robe, took three steps back, paused, then settled into the Obesience position.  She mimicked the restriction of hobbling chains and having her arms bound behind her back, but she executed a curious, and incredibly graceful kick, as she knelt.  Her forehead kissed the floor and her hair formed a perfect fan.  There was a pause of several seconds... during which Hailey couldn't help but admire the sublime curves of Zanta's perfect body... then the PardaUbar flowed to her feet and resumed her former stance.  She didn't retrieve the robe, but stood on it, as if it were a silky rug.  "With timing, the bells can be made to fall in series, making the noise a prolonged chorus of discord, a counterpoint to the grace of the dancer's final movements."

Hailey stared at Zanta's smiling face, blinking in surprise.

"What?" Zanta laughed.  "Did you think I was born PardaUbar?  I am a slave-dancer, silly girl, and when my sentence as shepherd of squabbling bureaucrats and breaker of tie-votes is finally ended, I shall reclaim my collar and my audience."

Hailey blinked one last time, then resumed her obesience, snapping her head in a futile effort to restore her hair to an acceptable arrangement.

"Oh, Hay-lee," Zanta chuckled, "you are a treasure, clumsy as a panther-kit and just as adorable.  You may lift that trembling little chin and gaze upon your Mistress.  I give you permission."

Hailey raised her head and shook her hair from her face, struggling to keep the anger from her eyes.  Her burning resentment at being treated as an erotic plaything warred with the effect of her captor's intoxicating presence; but she knew she must maintain control, less for her own sake than to prevent the punishment of her precious Charis.

Zanta walked gracefully towards the bed, on tip-toe—then executed a cartwheel—which led to a somersault—and ended in her landing in a split on the bed's center, proving she was the dancer she claimed.  She tucked her legs and settled into a comfortable, semi-reclined pose.  "Do you know the 'crawl-of-need'?" she asked.

Hailey shook her head, causing her gag-bell to tinkle, as if emphasizing her response.

"Hmm... best not to try," Zanta decided.  "Your panther-clips might injure those pretty pink nipples or scratch the floor.  Nadu-crawl to your Mistress."

Cheeks burning with humiliation, Hailey eased herself up onto her knees, then flipped her hair to restore its drape down her back.  Her braid-bells swung and tinkled, but remained in front, framing her bowed head.  Keeping her knees splayed, she slowly, awkwardly, shuffled towards the bed.  When she finally reached the bed itself, she managed to ease herself up and onto the soft surface, maintaining the nadu pose with a modicum of grace.  She continued forward, until she was within Zanta's reach.

Zanta extended her right hand and caressed the underside of Hailey's left breast.  She used the nail of her index finger to trace the margin of the areola, then grasped the body of the panther-clip, paused, and gave it a squeeze.

The silver beast released Hailey's nipple, and a shudder rippled through her body.  The elixir the slave-shepherd had used to ease the application of the clips had long since faded, and Hailey had grown accustomed to the ache of their bite.  Removal, however, was another matter.  The sharp pang of the sudden release had been a surprise, and it had taken all her control not to scream through her gag.

Zanta's hand slowly moved towards Hailey's right breast.  Knowing what to expect only made things worse.  Hailey steeled herself... the clip was removed... and this time she managed to suppress her reaction completely.

"My brave little warrior," Zanta cooed, then plucked the ball from Hailey's mouth.  She tossed it away, together with the nipple clips.  The bells rang and clattered on the marble and the ball bounced and rolled a short distance before its bell and chain dragged it to a halt.

Hailey licked her lips, but kept prudently silent with her eyes lowered.  Unfortunately, this left the breasts, tummy, sex, and thighs of her "Mistress" in full view, and did little to ease the struggle to control her arousal.  With Zanta this close, her musk was overpowering.

"Do you know why you are here, Hay-lee?"  Zanta inquired.

"I... I don't know, Mistress," Hailey whispered.

"But you suspect."

Zanta's tone was mocking.  Hailey knew she was being teased, but the threat of Zanta's cruelty was there as well, just under the surface.  "I... I am here to please m-my Mistress," she responded, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

"Your very existence is for my pleasure, slave," Zanta intoned.

"I..."  Hailey bit her lower lip.

"You may speak freely," Zanta said.

"I don't know why I was brought here.  I was told nothing."

Zanta laughed.  "Oh, Hay-lee—awkwardly graceful and prudently rash—you truly are a treasure.  And to think, Charis had the effrontery to suggest I should release you to the War Tower, for training as a Panther Guard."

Hailey lifted her gaze.  "She did?"

Zanta nodded.  "Indeed she did, my Little One, and she did so knowing full well I would have no choice but to punish her for her impertinence.  You have bewitched my First Pleasure-Slave, making the finest kajira of my court behave like a bumbling, besotted girl, new to the Gift."  Her smile turned evil, and she lifted a hand to point towards the ceiling.  "Behold the consequence."

Hailey raised her gaze—and gasped.  "No!"

Near the top of the dome, the teal and violet panels of the bed's canopy depended from a steel ring.  It was about ten-feet in diameter, and it framed a taut network of linked chains, like the web of some huge, orb-weaving spider—and spread-eagled on that web, face down, was a human form, mummified with countless ribbons of teal and violet silk.  Only a slit over the eyes of the victim was exposed, and the tight, intricately woven bands hugged her body like a second skin.  The distance was too great for Hailey to be sure, but from her perfect, exquisite shape...

"Charis!" Hailey wailed, then glared at Zanta.  "You bitch!  It isn't fair!"  She twisted in her bonds, and fought back tears.  "It isn't... fair."

Zanta pulled her into a close embrace.  "Oh, Hailey," she cooed.  All mockery was gone.  Her tone was—to Hailey's utter astonishment—maternal.  "You don't understand us at all."  She dropped and rolled onto the soft mattress, taking Hailey with her.

"No!" Hailey objected, doing her best to squirm out of Zanta's arms.

"Stop it," Zanta ordered.

Her eyes welling, Hailey sighed, and willed herself to stop struggling.  "I-I'm sorry I'm such a bad slave," she sobbed.  "I'll try harder.  P-please don't hurt her.  It's not her fault."

"Hush," Zanta whispered.  "She is not in pain, but is simply helpless.  Her punishment is to watch, unable to participate or turn away.  She is not the first of my slaves to ride the ring through a long night of frustration."  She sighed, released her hold, and lay back, gazing up at Charis in her silk cocoon.  "But pleasure," she continued, "long denied, is all the sweeter.  Sometimes I'm not so sure the ring is punishment at all, but simply a form of foreplay."

Hailey gazed up at her helpless slave-teacher, at her precious Charis.  "It's punishment," she said, in a hoarse whisper, then gasped as Zanta began caressing her sex.

"Now," Zanta purred, "as to whether or not I intend to release you from the collar—"

Suddenly, a melodious chime sounded, a door slid open, and a single slave entered the chamber.  Clad in the black silk loincloth of the court, she hurried to the bed and dropped to the position of obesience.

Zanta eased herself up onto one elbow.  "This had better be very important," she warned.

"The War Tower has issued a planetary warning," the slave explained, maintaining her pose.  "A cloaked ship is attempting to scan the city from orbit, and it is broadcasting a message."

"And the Space-wing has not captured or destroyed the intruder because...?"

"Forgive me," Mistress, the slave responded.  "The Tower says further details are for the Wise Council.  The Officer-of-the-Tower has called an emergency conclave of the First Ring."

Zanta sighed.  "Oh, very well." She climbed off the bed, leaving a very confused (and aroused) Hailey still sprawled on the rumpled sheets.  "Secure that one to the bed while I am dressed," she said, pointing at Hailey.  "Make it loose so she can rest and gather her strength."

Several additional slaves appeared.  They gave their Mistress a quick sponge bath, combed and brushed her hair, then clad her in a loincloth, bandeau, and open-sleeved robe, all of black silk.

Meanwhile, the first slave pulled four chains from equally spaced housings around the bed.  The first two were locked to the ring of Hailey's collar, and the other two to the central ring of her hobbling chain.  All four chains had significant slack, enough to let Hailey squirm and roll a couple of feet in any direction.

Next, the slave knelt on the bed, stuffed a large, violet silk scarf in Hailey's mouth, then cleave-gagged her with a broad, teal silk ribbon.  She took three tight turns around the prisoner's head, tied a flat knot at the nape of her neck, then restored the drape of her hair.

The slave stole a quick glance at the PardaUbar, then leaned close to Hailey's left ear.  "Lucky girl," she whispered, kissed her forehead, and hurried to assist in the final dressing of her Mistress.

In seconds, the PardaUbar and her slaves were exiting the chamber.  Zanta never even looked back.

The door rumbled closed, and Hailey was alone... but for her precious, helpless lover.  She gazed up at Charis' mummified form... and a thrill of frustrated arousal coursed through her body.

Hailey suppressed all feelings of sex (or tried, anyway) and contemplated what had just happened.  A cloaked ship in orbit, she thought.  Could the SGC have diverted a ship?  As far as she knew, Prometheus and Odyssey were in the Pegasus Galaxy, and Korolev was in the yards, in the middle of a major overhaul.  Could it be the Tok'ra, or a vessel from the Free Jaffa Nation?  Could it be—dare she even think it—rescue?