STARGÅTE SG-1—Sam & Janet (& Jennifer Hailey) in...
		A WORK OF BONDAGE FAN-FICTION—by Van ©2007
		Chapter 13

IN ORBIT ABOVE PELLUCIGOR
VALA MAL DORAN'S SHIP
(OR SO SHE CLAIMS)

---

Laura and Galina entered the bridge, in response to Vala's summons.  She was in the pilot's chair, busily tapping studs on the communications console.  As they had since beginning the rescue expedition, all three women were dressed in the skimpy, skintight leather costumes Vala insisted were appropriate for their cover as itinerant galactic traders.

"What's up?" Laura asked.  "Have we received a reply?"

Vala tapped a final stud, then spun in her chair and smiled brightly.  "We have, indeed!  In fact, we've received an invitation to land and negotiate a trade agreement!"

Galina settled into the co-pilot's chair and activated the controls.  "What is this?" she mumbled, staring at the console.  She tapped a series of studs, the holographic display rippled, and a number of new symbols appeared.  "Chyort!" she swore.  "Was that an invitation, or an order?"

"Well, Miss-glass-is-half-empty," Vala said, "I prefer to think of it as an invitation, with a squadron of what are roughly the equivalent of Goa'uld death-gliders as escorts-of-honor.  There are also six or eight rather nasty, heavily-armed, fast-looking, Al'kesh-size ships in the outer system, covering all the likely escape vectors."

"They weren't there when I went off watch," Laura muttered.

"Oh, I'd say they almost certainly were," Vala responded, "only cloaked, including the fighters.  Their technology must be quite advanced, to be able to hide things as small as glider-size ships."  Her smile brightened even more.  "And did I mention we're being targeted by what they call their 'orbital defense grid'?"

"You're just full of good news," Laura sighed, "aren't you?"

"Even better!" Vala purred.  "From the details of the reply, I'm now certain the information I gathered earlier about these 'Cat Women' is correct."

"What information?" Galina asked.  "Have you been holding back information?"

Vala nodded.  "Of course, darling.  No need to get your knockers in a tryst.  Need to know, and all that."

"Knickers in a twist," Laura corrected.

"Oh... Now that makes sense.  Anyway," Vala continued, "a few hundred years ago, the Cat Women, or whatever they actually call themselves, sent scout-ships through this part of the galaxy looking for slaves."

"Slaves??" Laura and Galina gasped in unison.

"Slaves or breeding-stock," Vala continued, "depending on who's telling the story—females only; no men need apply.  In fact, whenever possible, they traded only with women, which restricted their market opportunities, believe me.  Anyway, the local System Lords got wind of it and went looking for them.  Legend has it Savarog and Heru'ur lost a few ships, never found anything, and the Cat Women disappeared and haven't been heard from since.  The only thing anyone knows is they were supposed to be from someplace around... well... here."

"Slavers..." Laura said, shaking her head.  "Sam, Janet, and Jennifer... captured by slavers."

"Anyway, ladies..." Vala rubbed her hands together with glee.  "Here's the plan.  I go down as, shall we say, a dealer in choice merchandise, you accompany me as the merchandise in question, and—"

"You are kidding, of course," Galina interrupted.

"But I already told them there would be samples," Vala responded.  "You infiltrate the slave-prison, or whatever they call it, and look for Sam and the others.  Meanwhile, I'll keep them busy with negotiations, and—"

"She's not kidding," Laura said to Galina, then shifted her glowering frown to Vala.  "Are you drunk or high?"

"You don't want to do it?" Vala asked, with a puzzled frown.  "I'd do it myself, of course, but neither of you know enough about the local scene to pose as traders."

"Not gonna happen," Laura answered, and Galina nodded.

"Oh well," Vala sighed.  "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this.  I suppose we'll have to offer them some weapons samples as an alternative.  Hand me that case," she said, pointing to a briefcase-size plastic container stowed on the far side of the bridge.

Laura retrieved the case in question, and Vala popped the latches and opened the lid.  Inside, a half-dozen softball-size spheres of gray metal were nestled in hard foam, as well as what looked like a gold, cuff-style bracelet.

"Goa'uld shock grenades?" Galina asked, skeptically.  Shock grenades were the Goa'uld equivalent of earthly flash-bangs.  Activated and rolled or tossed into a group of the enemy, they emitted a bright light and piercing sound that rendered all those in the immediate area unconscious.

"Surely these 'Cat Women' know about shock grenades," Laura added.

"Oh these are special!" Vala explained, as she snapped the bracelet around her right wrist.  "They're tuned to a specific band of frequencies, and this bracelet..."  She tapped a stud and a jewel on the bracelet began to glow.  "...emits a nullifying field..."  She picked up one of the grenades, pressed the activating stud, and dropped it to the floor.  "...which renders the wearer immune to the effect."

The grenade went off with a loud, oddly musical ping, and a simultaneous, actinic flash.  Galina and Laura stared at each other in shocked disbelief (quite literally)... there was a pause... then Galina sank into the copilot's chair and Laura collapsed to the floor, like marionettes whose strings had been cut.  Their eyes were closed and their faces were peacefully relaxed, as if they were in deep, untroubled slumber.

"I'm really quite sorry, ladies," Vala purred, deactivating the bracelet and returning it to the case, "but we simply don't have time to argue, and I'm sure it will all turn out wonderfully in the end... eventually... probably."

MEANWHILE, DOWN ON PELLUCIGOR...

---

The door of the slave-kennel slid open and Honna and Kyna entered.  Both were in the final stages of donning their loincloths and bandeaus.

Sam was still inescapably clamped to the heavy steel of the upside-down "Y" that was Honna's "slave-frame".  She was panting, with a somewhat embarrassed, rather satisfied smile on her glowing face.  Janet was sprawled on her side at Sam's feet, still bound from shoulders to toes in Kyna's elegant web of rope, wrists crossed between her shoulder blades in a reverse-prayer, and legs lashed tightly together.  She was panting and glowing as well, but her expression was rather un-satisfied.

"Well," Honna said, shifting her bandeau to settle her breasts in its cups, "there's nothing for it but to sponge them off and fix their hair."

"No time for that!" Kyna snapped.  She had a pair of natural rubber ball-gags in one hand.  She knelt and popped one in Janet's mouth, before the diminutive prisoner could protest, and tightened the buckle at the nape of her neck.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded.  Clearly, something unusual was afoot.  "Kyna?  N'rmfh!"  She glared at the War-Captain as the second gag filled her mouth.  Meanwhile, Honna had begun untying Janet's bonds.

"We've been summoned to a Wise Council meeting," Kyna explained, "and we're taking you along, as possible witnesses."

Sam would have liked to point out the flaw in the logic of gagging one's "witnesses", but clearly, now was not the time.

"No time for anything elaborate," Kyna said, addressing Honna.  "Just a simple coffle-cuff-tie."

As she was being untied, Janet noted the rope-marks around Honna's wrists.  She locked eyes with her captor, handler, and friend, nodded at her wrists, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

Honna blushed as she untied the final knot.  "What, you think I don't feel the need to play now and then, Little Healer?"

"And you think I don't feel the need to practice my prisoner-handling skills, now and then?" Kyna added.  She was busy releasing the clamps around Sam's ankles, knees, and elbows.

Sam rolled her eyes and huffed through her gag.

Kyna smiled at her blond prisoner.  "'Practice turns skill into habit', as my first Squad-Leader used to say."  She released Sam's cuffs, but immediately reattached their locking clip as soon they cleared the frame.

Meanwhile, Honna had helped Janet to her feet and was wrapping rope around her arms and torso, above and below her breasts.  She tied a square-knot behind her back, passed the ends through the rings of her wrist cuffs, took cinching loops between her arms and body, and then pulled the ends together, from the front.  Janet's bonds tightened into a box-tie, with her arms folded behind her back and the ropes locking her elbows to her sides.

Kyna had exited the kennel, leaving Sam to watch as Honna tied her final, decorative knot between Janet's breasts.  She left one long, dangling free end, appropriate for a leash.  Honna gestured towards the main apartment and Sam led the way out of the kennel.  Kyna had found a second coil of rope, and proceeded to bind Sam's upper body to match Janet's bonds.

"I suppose you better do something with Little Red's hair," Kyna remarked.  "We don't want to frighten the rest of the Council."  Honna chuckled and went to get her brush and comb, while Janet glared at the War-Captain.  "Oh, if her thoughts were blades, I would be bleeding," Kyna laughed.  Sam's eyes were twinkling above her gag, and Janet favored her fellow-earthling with a displeased scowl, as well.

Honna returned and began brushing Janet's hair.  "Hobbles?" she suggested.  Both captives had steel cuffs around their ankles, but at the moment, they were unattached.

"No time for shuffling," Kyna answered.  "We'll have to run as it is."  She tied the final knot, then caught the brush, stepped behind Sam, and began brushing her short, blond hair.  Meanwhile, Honna retied Janet's "Healer-red" ribbon around her hair at the nape of her neck, enforcing a tight ponytail.

"A loincloth for Sam?" Kyna asked.

"Hmm... best they should be the same," Honna said, and pulled Janet's white, red-trimmed loincloth from her body.  "Oh, poor Little Healer," Honna purred, holding the linen band so all could see the large, damp stain where Janet's former crotch-rope had pressed the cloth against her sex.  "Burning with Gift-need, and now she shall have to wait even longer."

Janet's cheeks were bright red, and she shifted her glare to Honna—but, clearly, she was burning with more than resentment.

Honna kissed Janet's flushed forehead, and then the top of her head.  "The meeting won't last forever, Little Healer," she said.  "Be strong."

Kyna tucked her neatly folded robe under her left arm, took the end of Sam's bonds in her right hand, and walked towards the main door.  The line snapped taut and Sam had no choice but to follow.  "Little Red will have to wait for her turn," she said, "and we'll all have to wait for our supper.  Now, let's go!"

Honna grabbed her folded robe, and they were off.

The sprint through the city drew a few curious looks from passersby, not because of the rapid pace Kyna and Honna were setting for their naked captives, but because the War-Captain and High Polymath were both fully dressed.  The Pardesse exercised in the nude.  The city could tell something was happening.

The Wise Council Chamber was on the top level of the city, roughly equidistant from the Paramount Tower, the War Tower, and the Dome of Learning.  They entered through a side entrance and were led to a small chamber by an attendant clad in gray.

Janet noted a bas-relief carving above the threshold.  It depicted a kneeling prisoner and some Pardesse characters she translated as "Slave Parking".  There were waist-height, steel rings with attached chains at regular intervals, and below each ring was a small cushion.  More gray-clad attendants hustled them to neighboring rings, attached clips at the end of the chains to their ankle cuffs, then handed tokens on small thongs to Kyna and Honna.

"Bind them close," Kyna said, as she passed her left wrist through the the thong of Sam's token.  "No contact."  Then, she was through the door.

Honna gave the earthlings an amused and slightly apologetic smile, slipped Janet's token on her wrist, and followed.

The attendants manipulated the captives until they were seated on their cushions with their legs crossed.  They then threaded the free end of their former leash lines through the terminal link of their ankle chains, and pulled.  Sam and Janet were forced into crunch positions, bent forward at the waist with their ankles linked to their chest ropes.  Quick-release knots were tied, and the attendants headed for the door.

"The little red-haired one is full of Need," one remarked.

"No, really?" another responded sarcastically.

"The War-Captain must really have it in for her."

"That, or she has plans for later."

The attendants paused in the open doorway.  "I wouldn't mind taking that one to bed, mad with Gift-fever and eager to please."

"The yellow-haired one could be fun as well.  Did you see her eyes?  Blue as the sky at double-noon."

"They say the PardaUbar has another alien in her harem, even shorter than the red-hair.  She has yellow hair, but her eyes are normal."

"I heard she has white skin, like snow, and—"

The door closed before Sam and Janet could hear more.  Both were still panting and sweating from the sprint to the Council Chamber, but they were returning to normal... well, Sam was, anyway.

Janet was feeling decidedly desperate.  Gift-fever, she mused.  An appropriate term.  She noted Sam's concerned expression, and tried to calm herself.  Never a cold shower around when you really need one.

They could hear indistinct voices through the closed door.  A single voice would speak, then others would interrupt to agree or disagree.  The actual council chamber must be quite close.  The speakers droned on and on.

Eventually, Sam found her eyelids drooping.  She relaxed in her bonds, as best she could... and dozed off.

Janet, on the other hand, continued to fidget in her bonds; her nipples hard, her sex flushed, and her skin glowing.

Sam snapped awake.  The attendants had returned and were releasing them from their crunch-ties.  The ball-gags remained in their mouths, their arms were still folded behind their backs and bound, but their ankle-cuffs were now unattached.  They were helped to their feet and hustled through the door.  The leash-ropes were handed to an attendant clad in silver silk.  She parted a curtain, and led the captives into what was obviously the main council chamber.

The room was large and circular, with a domed ceiling.  The central well was about twenty meters across and was surrounded on all sides by concentric rings of marble desks and seats.  In total, the stadium-like arrangement could accommodate more than a hundred council members and their assistants, but the lowest ring was comprised of only twelve stations.  One was entirely of polished black marble, and the others were of various colors.

The chamber was relatively empty, with only about a couple of dozen Pardesse present.  The central seat of the black station, more throne-like than the rest, was occupied by a woman in an open, sleeveless, black silk robe.  Honna and Kyna were standing in the well, next to a woman in bronze silk.

The attendant led Sam and Janet into the well and brought them before the black station.  "Nadu before Zanta, PardaUbar of Pan-PelluciGor," she intoned.

Janet dropped to her knees and lowered her head.  Sam stole a glance at Kyna—the War-Captain nodded—and Sam followed suit.

Zanta smiled down at the captives.  "The Healer and Warrior, from the world of men," she mused.  "I have heard good things about you both."  She passed her hand across her mouth and pointed towards Sam.  The attendant loosened Sam's gag-strap and plucked the ball from her mouth.  "You are a War-Captain of your planet's warriors, is that correct?" Zanta inquired.

Sam licked her lips, raised her head, and nodded.  "I am a 'Lieutenant Colonel' in the Air Force of my country.  That is a senior rank, roughly equivalent to 'War-Captain', but my level of responsibility is not as great as War-Captain Kyna's.  In my service, she would be a 'General'."

"Yes," Zanta purred.  "That is consistent with the transcripts of your probe-trance interrogation."  She nodded towards the woman in the bronze silk.  "This is Saba, Guild-Mistress of the Council of Artisan-Engineers."

The woman stepped forward, and smiled.  "I have some questions," she announced.  "If you are a warrior of honor, you will answer truthfully."  She pulled her right hand from the pocket of her open robe.

Sam's eyes popped wide.  Saba was wearing a "Goa'uld hand device"—a glove-like, metal apparatus of linked finger-tip cups, rings, and cuff-bracelet.  They were used by the System Lords as a weapon, or to torture and kill, and she had felt the intense pain produced by such a device, before.  Sam took a deep breath, stood, and braced herself.  "There are times for deception and evasion.  I don't believe this is such a time."

Saba nodded, then leaned close.  "The Council is already in agreement," she whispered, quietly, so that only Sam could hear.  "This is a drama, to placate the traditionalists.  All you need do is tell the truth."  The hand device began to glow, and she continued in her normal voice.  "The writings of Bashasti teach that pleasure and truth are one.  Answer, now, the questions of the Wise Council."

Sam nodded—then gasped, as Saba brought the device in contact with her sex.  The sensation was incredible—tickling, titillating, teasing—but it was not torture, as she had expected.  In fact—Sam gasped again, as a shudder of pure delight rippled through her sex and up her spine—it felt good.  It felt very good!

"You came to PelluciGor as a scout of invasion," Saba asked, "did you not?"

"Wh-what?  No!  Ahhh!  No!" Sam responded.  "We're p-peaceful explorers!"

"You came as a prelude to conquest!" Saba growled.  "Admit it!"

"No!" Sam gasped.  "We came in search of knowledge, and allies."  It was becoming very difficult to maintain control, and to breath.  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed as the sensations sizzling through her sex increased.

"You swear that you wish only peace between Earth and PelluciGor."

"Yes, p-peace!"  Sam answered.  "Yes!  Yes!  Yesss!!"  Sam opened her eyes—and it was as if she were suspended in space and time, in a universe of infinite pleasure—and then she found herself collapsed on the chamber floor, in Saba's arms.

"Easy, brave warrior," Saba whispered, then raised her gloved hand and addressed the council.  "Let all bear witness that this one has spoken the truth."  A murmur of approval filled the chamber, and the council members thumped their desks with open palms.  Meanwhile, Saba, Honna, and Kyna helped Sam to her feet.

Sam's gaze settled on Janet.  She was still on her knees, but her head was now raised.  Sweat beaded her face and body, her skin was flushed, and her nostrils flared as she panted for breath.

Zanta's gaze was also on Janet.  "Yes," she said in a gloating tone,  "it would appear our little, red-haired healer would very much like to answer a few questions, herself."  Laughter swept the chamber as she shifted her gaze to Honna.  "Bringing your charge to this Council in such a state of Need-sickness?" she asked.  "What were you thinking?  Should we call you 'Honna-the-Cruel' from now on?"

Honna chuckled, placed her right hand atop Janet's head, and locked eyes with the still panting doctor.  "Sorry, Little Healer," she said, then raised her voice to answer Zanta.  "I acknowledge only 'Honna-of-the-Bad-Timing'.  The summons was urgent."

"So it was," Zanta chuckled, then turned to Sam, "which brings us to more specific and timely issues."  She touched a stud on the armrest of her chair, the lights dimmed, and a holographic image appeared, hovering in the air above the well of the chamber.  "This was recorded by one of our scout-ships, yesterday."

Sam looked up, and tried her best to mask her reaction.  The image was of the bridge of a Goa'uld ship, possibly an Al'kesh, seen from the outside, looking in. The resolution wasn't perfect, but the identity of the pilot was unmistakable: Vala Mal Doran!  She was wearing one of her extensive collection of provocative leather outfits.

"Do you know this woman?" Zanta asked.

"No, I don't" Sam responded.

Zanta touched another stud.  "Or these others?"  The hologram rippled and resolved into a new image.  Vala had been joined by two additional leather-clad women.  Sam recognized Major Galina Tolinev, and the other woman, a redhead, might be one of the Marines assigned to the Atlantis Expedition, but she wasn't sure.

"I don't know them, either," Sam answered.

"That is most curious," Zanta said, "as their ship has made repeated attempts to activate your communication devices.  She tapped another stud and a voice echoed through the chamber.

"Samantha?  Samantha, are you there?  Samantha?"

Zanta tapped the stud, again, and the voice stopped.

Sam sighed.  It had been Vala's voice.  "All right, they are from Earth."

Zanta frowned.  "So, you lied."

"We are your prisoners," Sam responded.  "I won't help you take more prisoners."

"Any of my Janissary Guard would do the same," Kyna growled, "or I'd order their names stricken from the rolls."

"Oh, I know, I know," Zanta responded.  "Well, what to do?  Your friends in orbit wish to trade for slaves."

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Yes," Zanta said, shaking her head.  "A suggestion quite at odds with the principles you espoused under probe-trance."

Oh Vala, Sam thought, could you just once try and play things straight?  "It's a trick," she suggested.

"Of course it is," Zanta agreed, "a most amusing trick.  Honna, Kyna, you may retire with your charges and make them aware of the proposals authorized by this council.  The ship will be ordered to land on Parley Mesa tomorrow, at midday."  She rose from her chair.  "We are adjourned!"

"Wait!" Sam cried.  "Lieutenant Hailey.  May I see her?"  Janet forced an imperious noise past her gag.  "May we see her?" Sam amended.

"Ah, Hay-lee..." Zanta purred.  "I knew I was forgetting something."  She focused on Kyna.  "Add my Little Treasure to the negotiations."  She shifted her gaze to Honna.  "And for the love of Bashasti, would you please see to the needs of your Little Treasure before she explodes?"

The council members laughed and began to disperse.  Zanta disappeared into a tunnel behind her station.

Honna gazed down at Janet.  "I suppose we better do something," she said, then turned to Saba.  "Since you're already wearing the Glove of Truth, would you like to do the honors?"

Saba's smile was coy.  "So, you're admitting you need my help?"
 
Honna laughed, then grew serious.  "I want to thank you for helping to place Colonel Sam's interrogation on the council record," she answered.  She then knelt and pulled Janet into a tight embrace, from behind.  Janet tried to kick and squirm from her grasp, but Honna controlled her easily, sitting on the floor and intertwining her legs with Janet's, forcing her knees apart.  "Settle down, Little Healer," she whispered.

"Do you have to do it here?" Sam complained.  "Can't we—m'mmpfh!"

 Kyna had restored Sam's gag, and was tightening the buckle.  "Quiet, Sam," she whispered, and embraced her from behind, as Honna had Janet.  They remained on their feet.

Saba knelt between Janet's knees.  The glowing hand-device was approaching Janet's glistening sex.  "She's such a pretty little thing," Saba remarked.

"Isn't she?" Honna agreed.

"But why is she reluctant?" Saba asked.  "She is obviously burning."

"Her people disapprove of public displays," Honna explained.  Her lips were less than an inch from Janet's right ear, and her right hand was gently squeezing Janet's left breast.  "I know your need is great, Little Healer," she whispered, "but try to resist, for as long as you can.  The release will be all the sweeter."

Saba's glowing glove had reached Janet's sex.  She struggled and squirmed as Saba began a slow, gentle massage.  "She's strong, for one so small," Saba remarked.  "Most who are new to the Gift or just come of age have no control under the glove."

"My strong Little Healer," Honna cooed, nuzzling Janet's neck.

Sam yelped in alarm.  Kyna was squeezing her breast and stroking her sex.

"You are strong, as well, Straw-hair," Kyna whispered in Sam's ear.  "I'm going to miss you."

Sam's eyes popped wide.  Miss me?  Are we going someplace?  She forced a questioning sound past her gag, but Kyna didn't respond.

Half the council members had lingered in the chamber, and were enjoying the impromptu "questioning" in the well.  Janet continued to struggle and strain against her bonds and Honna's grip, still trying her best to resist the irresistable pleasure flowing into her most intimate being from the glove.  All in the chamber had felt its touch at one time or another in their lives, and knew what Janet was going through.  They felt pity and envy.  Her Gift-need was obviously very strong.

They watched, impressed, and frankly, aroused, as the small captive's struggles became quicker and more desperate—before she finally closed her eyes, her body went rigid, and she whined through her gag.  Janet surged against her restraints and Honna held her even tighter—she surged again—and finally collapsed in the High Polymath's arms.

"Now, wasn't that worth the wait?" Honna whispered in Janet's ear.

IN THE PARAMOUNT TOWER

---

Hailey tossed and turned on Zanta's bed for several long, frustrating minutes, to the limits allowed by her single-sleeve, hobbling chains, and the loose, four-point chains linking her to the bed frame.  Charis was high overhead, spread-eagled on a web of taut chains, and helpless in her tight cocoon of silk ribbons.  The distance was such that Hailey could only see that her slave-teacher's eyes were open.  They moved now and then—the only thing that could move—but Hailey couldn't read her expression.  She could guess; however: frustration... sexual frustration... the same burning tension Hailey herself was feeling.

Sleep seemed impossible, but eventually, Hailey's eyes closed—she began to experience an indistinct, disturbing, wonderful, half-waking dream—and then her eyes re-opened.  Zanta had returned.

The PardaUbar was nude, and was releasing the pair of chains locked to the central ring of Hailey's hobble.  As they were released, the chains automatically retracted into their housings, slithering across the sheets like glittering steel snakes.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" Zanta purred.

Hailey gazed at her captor through sleepy eyes.  She didn't bother to try to answer.  She was gagged, after all, which rendered the question rhetorical.

Kneeling on the bed, Zanta straddled Hailey's stomach, and unlocked the remaining pair of chains locked to her collar.  They slithered away, and Hailey was "free" to roll on the bed... but for the weight of her captor and her inescapable bonds.

Zanta leaned close and kissed Hailey's forehead.  "Charis calls you her 'Little Flower'," she said.  "I can see why."  She cupped Hailey's breasts and gently squeezed.  "Your hair is like the silky petals of a Sunset Lily... your pale skin like an Ivory Orchid."  She turned Hailey's head and released the knot in the ribbon securing her gag, then plucked the wadded silk from her mouth and tossed ribbon and scarf away.  "I simply can't resist sampling your nectar before letting you go."

Hailey licked her lips, then her eyes popped wide.  "Y-you're letting me go?  You're sending me to the War Tower for training?"

Zanta's lips curled in an enigmatic smile.  "Something like that," she answered.  "For tonight... you are still my slave.  You will use all the skills you have learned from your slave-teacher to pleasure your Mistress, to the best of your bumbling, naive, adorable ability."

Hailey focused on Charis' mummified form, then shifted to her gloating, undeniably beautiful Mistress.  "Please don't punish her," she said.  "I-I'll do my best, but please don't punish her."

Zanta's gloating smile became surprisingly kind.  "How little you understand us," she sighed, "even now."  She gently arranged the pair of narrow braids framing Hailey's face.  "Charis is correct.  You are not a slave.  Your concern for my First Pleasure-Slave is that of a warrior for her squad-mate."

"No!" Hailey blurted.  "I... I love her."  Her eyes welled.  "I love her."

Zanta paused... then kissed Hailey's lips.  "I know, Little Flower.  We all love her."  She rolled to the side and reclined on the bed, then pulled Hailey into her arms.  "The evening meal will be delivered in less than an hour.  Are you hungry?"

Her eyes still wet, Hailey nodded.  "Uh-huh."

Zanta hugged Hailey, then relaxed.  "We'll rest until the food arrives.  You can demonstrate your skill afterwards."

"And Charis?"

Zanta kissed Hailey's cheek and squeezed her left breast.  "I'm sure she is hungry as well, and burning with Gift-need.  She shall watch us share our time together... and later, sometime tomorrow... she shall be released, and she shall know what we call the Joy-After-Testing.  It is what Saraid, Mother of the Pardesse, and Bashasti, Goddess of Rescue, knew after their battle.  You know the legend, do you not?"

Hailey nodded.  "But... she's suffering."

"She is earning the favor of the goddess, Hay-lee," Zanta whispered.  "Now, rest."

Hailey snuggled her head against Zanta's breast, and willed herself to relax.  She looked up, and her eyes followed every delicious, helpless curve of her slave-teacher's perfect body.  The teal and violet ribbons weren't simply wrapped around Charis' limbs, torso, and head; they were plaited and interwoven in an elaborate, symmetrical pattern.  It must have taken a very long time, she thought, imagining Charis naked and bound to the web of chains, with a dozen or more of her fellow-slaves wrapping, pleating, and pulling ribbons around her body; the interlaced bands slowly, inexorably creeping up her arms and legs, covering more and more of her tan, toned, perfect skin, until only her eyes remained exposed to the air.

"I told you to rest," Zanta chided, "not shiver and quake with Need."

"I-I'm sorry," Hailey responded.  Arousal coursed through her body—and she realized Charis' condition must be much worse.  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, speaking more to her mummified lover, high overhead, than to the beautiful Mistress cradling her with her arms and holding her against her body. 

Confused, aroused, and exhausted, Hailey closed her eyes and tried to rest, as she'd been ordered.