~ISLA PARAÍSO~ fiction by Van ©2005 art by Dea ©2005
			Chapter 9

To see the actresses I would cast in an ISLA PARAÍSO motion picture, follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.  (Please ignore characters who have not yet appeared.)

"La Marquesa!"  "La Marquesa!"  The locals were wildly enthusiastic, all of them jumping up and down and waving scarves.  The woman on the ship's stairs waved back, then started down the steps to the waiting boat.

In case I haven't mentioned it, Chrissy, this was the first time I had actually laid eyes on "La Marquesa!" herself.  I'd been hired through a technical services agency back in the States...  (Begin sarcasm—Thanks again for the hot job tip, Chrissy!!—End sarcasm.)  ...and not the Marquesa herself.  There's a big oil portrait of her hanging in one of the castle's sitting rooms (Rosa pointed it out to me), but up 'til then I'd not seen her in the flesh.

Not that I got much of a chance to see her then.  She was still a tiny, distant figure climbing into a boat when I got grabbed from behind—!!!—and hoisted into the air.  It was one of the Asian Women, one of Ulrika's staff from the resort.  I got a glimpse of her face before she slung me over her left shoulder and balanced me on my stomach with my feet to the front.  She muttered something in Spanish, and the four local women who had been with me at the balcony rail laughed and giggled.  "Adiós, Roja!" one of them shouted (in a friendly, teasing manner), as I was carried away.  Again with the redhead remarks!

I didn't struggle.  What was the point?  I was carried through an archway and into one of the towers, down a set of stairs... and down... and down... and through another door... down a long corridor... more stairs, this time of the spiral type... through a gate of iron bars... another corridor...  {Sigh}

Maybe I'd been down there before.  Maybe we were passing the dungeon cell with the infamous "whipping couch".  Maybe not.  You've seen one dimly lit, stone-walled, very sinister set of catacombs buried deep under a huge castle, you've seen them all.  {Sigh}

Anyway, we came to a door of heavy timbers with a big iron bolt and a heavy padlock.  My handler unlocked the lock, threw back the bolt, and pulled open the door, all with me still balanced on her left shoulder.  I tell you, Chrissy, those Asian Women are strong, and good at their jobs.

I was carried into the cell beyond.  It was dark, or I should say, darker than the corridor.  The only light source was one fat, tall, artificial candle with a weakly flickering bulb, set high in a niche above the door.  The woman dropped me into the straw carpeting the floor, pulled a chain from somewhere, and locked it to the front of my collar.  Then she headed for the door.

I would have asked a profound question of some sort, like—"I'm to wait here?"—but I was gagged, as you might recall.  She made her exit from the cell, pushed the door closed, and I heard the bolt and padlock being secured.  And then silence.

Almost.

A chain clinked, and it wasn't mine!  The sound spooked me, but good—wide eyes, raised hackles, goose-flesh, etc.  My eyes weren't adjusted to the near-darkness, yet, but I strained to find the source of the noise.

And then I found it.  There was a second naked prisoner in the cell!  She was bound with hemp rope around her ankles, knees, arms, and torso.  Her wrists were crossed and bound behind her back, and a thick cloth gag was tied through and across her mouth.  Lastly, a steel collar was around her throat with a long chain trailing through the straw to an iron staple embedded in the wall... and it was my Rosa!

Fear turned to joy, then pity.  I yelped through my gag, then sighed in sympathy.  Now that my eyes were adjusted, I could see that her flesh bulged around the tight bands of rope hitched and knotted around her naked body.  Her gorgeous brown eyes twinkled in greeting above her cruel gag, then winced as she struggled towards me.

I flopped, rolled, and did my earthworm imitation until our helpless bodies came together.  Luckily, there was enough slack in our collar chains for us to wiggle and wriggle until we were side-by-side.  She could do nothing to help me (assuming there wasn't a key conveniently dropped in the straw somewhere), but maybe I could help her!

We snuggled cheek-to-cheek and breast-to-breast for a minute or so, then I rolled, scrunched, and dragged myself until my manacled hands could reach a square knot between Rosa's breasts.  It took a while, since I was working more-or-less blind, but eventually I managed to untie the knot.  Much wiggling, writhing, and groping with bound and manacled hands ensued, and eventually, Rosa and I managed to get her out of her wrist bonds and the ropes pinning her arms to her torso.

I lay on my side and watched as she sat up, her hands went to the nape of her neck, and she attacked the knot of her gag.  It turned out to be a long strip of cotton cloth that first cleaved her lips and then covered her lower face.  Much unwinding and unhitching later, it came away and she extracted a big wad of cloth from her mouth.

She worked her jaw and licked her lips, muttered something en español under her breath, then smiled in my direction.  "My Lorelai!" she cooed, then reached out and attacked my gag.

Her strong, brown fingers made short work of the many buckles, and the hated straps, flap, and ball came away.  Now it was my turn to stretch my jaw and lick my lips.  "Rosa!" I whispered, and our mouths met.

That was what you call a "kiss", Chrissy.  All the fear and anxiety of the last several hours poured out and was magically transformed into pure affection.  Sure we were helpless (some more than others) and the future was uncertain, but we were together!  The lip smacking and tongue wrapping continued for a modest eternity, then we pulled back.

"You're a mess," I teased, smiling up into Rosa's face.  Straw was in her long, dark, tangled hair; her mouth flushed and creased from the gag, her body covered with dirt, sweat, rope marks, and more straw... and she was never more beautiful!

She muttered something, too low for me to understand, and we kissed again.

Lips, tongues, saliva, eternity, etc., etc.

Eventually, we came up for air again, and Rosa used the occasion to bend down and untie her knees and ankles.  "I am sorry I cannot release your bonds, my Lorelai," she sighed, then ran her hand over the crotch of my chastity belt.  "Very sorry."

I squirmed in my bonds, smiling into my precious Rosa's eyes.  "That's okay," I whispered, then made a significant glance at her crotch.  "Open your legs," I whispered.

Instead, Rosa sighed and pulled me into a close embrace.  "No, we rest," she whispered back.  Our naked skin rubbed together.  My Rosa was warm and a little slick with sweat.  I was starting to sweat as well, as our dungeon was mildly overheated.  Our breasts pressed together as her arms hugged me close.  She smelled like... Rosa!  {Sigh}

I was content to be in her arms.  I suppose we could make love later, but I was too anxious to rest.  "Rosa, what's happening?  The Marquesa's arrived on her yacht, or ship, or whatever it is."

"La Sirena?" Rosa asked.

I nodded.  "Uh huh.  What are they going to do to us?"

Rosa hugged me even tighter.  "Oh, Lorelai... I do not know.  Many horrible and wonderful things, I imagine.  I told you La Marquesa enjoys her games."

"But... she has no right!"

"She has the right of power," Rosa whispered, and kissed my forehead.

I pulled on my inescapable bonds.  Cold fear was a knot in my stomach.  "I... we must escape!"

"Unthinkable," Rosa purred.  "Impossible."

"Nothing's impossible!" I answered.  "We'll wait, and watch, and find a chance, and—mmf!"

Rosa's tongue was in my mouth.  We kissed for several seconds, then she pulled back.  "Hush," she whispered, and we kissed again...  And again she pulled back.  "Be silent, my brave, wonderful Lorelai.  Be silent and rest."

"But—"  Her finger was at my lips.

"Rest.  We will need our strength.  Rest, or Rosa spank."

I was still scared, but I was also tired, in spite of the nap I'd "enjoyed" in my box, during the trip back to the castle.  I sighed, and snuggled against Rosa's side.  She hugged me again, and I closed my eyes.

"Rosa spank," I muttered in a mocking, teasing whine.  "That's what I get for untying you."  Her only answer was a tired little laugh.

Several seconds passed.

"I'll never surrender," I whispered.

"Hush," Rosa whispered back.  "Sleep."

And sleep we did...  until we were jolted awake by the cell door being unlocked, unbolted, and thrown open.

Still in each other's arms, Rosa literally, myself figuratively, we squinted in the sudden, brighter light of the corridor's artificial torches.

"And who gave you permission to play with your bondage?"  It was Ulrika!  She was silhouetted in the doorway, hands on hips, and all four of her Asian Women minions were waiting behind her in the corridor.  The women were wearing their resort uniform smocks, but Head Mistress was wearing a very kinky, very sexy, latex and leather costume—black leather thigh boots; a red latex strapless leotard with cutouts between her breasts and over her hips.  It had stays and laces, like a corset, but was one garment, covering (in a manner of speaking) her strong, athletic form from under her shoulders to her boot tops.

Rosa and I had little opportunity to appreciate Ulrika's primal, dominating hotness, 'cause the Asian Women were on us in a rush.  We didn't have a chance for so much as a syllable of protest before ball-gags were in our mouths.

You might be asking yourself, Chrissy, why didn't brave and/or valiant Lori put up a fight?  What's her excuse this time?  Well, in the first place, I was still waking up, so cut me some slack.  And in the second and third places—shock and awe!  The Asian Women provided the shock, and Ulrika the latex/leather goddess provided the awe.

Anyway, the chains were unlocked from our collars, and we were dragged to our feet.  One of the women flipped me over her shoulder and carried me away.

I lifted my head, and watched them drag Rosa in our wake.  Except for her ball-gag and the steel collar still locked around her throat, Rosa was free; but either she didn't have the will to resist, or she'd encountered the Asian Women before.  In any case, she simply walked between two of our handlers, not seeming to want to resist at all.  Of course, they had her by the arms and wrists and could have controlled her with ease, whether she resisted or not.  Count on it.

Anyway, we got dragged and carried down the corridor, up the spiral steps, and into a tiled chamber.  There was a hose coiled on a reel mounted on one wall.  I was planted on my feet, and hosed down.  I squealed through my gag and cringed in my bonds.  The water was cold (if you haven't guessed).  I was scrubbed with a soapy sponge from head to toe, then rinsed with the hose.

I stood there, shivering and dripping, and watched as Rosa got her bath.  She stood still, arms raised, and allowed herself to be rinsed, soaped and scrubbed, and rinsed again.  I say "allowed", but it was obvious neither one of us was in control of anything, especially ourselves.

Rough towels were used to give us rub-downs and make us more-or-less dry; then one of the women used a key to separate my shackles.  She then locked a set of links attached to a large ring to each shackle and the back of my chastity belt.  As far as my feet were concerned, the arrangement was identical to what I'd been wearing when I woke up back at the resort, only instead of being attached to a wrist ring in front, the chain was attached to the back of my belt, like my manacles.  She then attached another chain to the front of my collar.  This one ended in a ring that dangled down my front, between my breasts, and pinged against the front of the belt.  Like I said before, it was all part of some modular system.

As I watched, Rosa got her own set of steel hardware.  With cool efficiency the women made us sisters in bondage: shackles with walking chains, chastity belts, wrists manacled behind our backs, ball-gags, and collars with dangling chains waiting to become leads... or coffle chains... or to tether us to dungeon walls... or all the other depressing things that might happen in the immediate future.

The women made us kneel on the wet tiles, then they used brushes and combs to get the straw out of our hair.  Rosa took no time at all, but not so for myself, 'cause they had to unravel the French braid Ulrika had given me back at the resort.  They really didn't do much for us, coiffure-wise, and I think it was intentional.  We were two naked, chained slavegirls, with wild, tousled manes, straight from Central Casting.

Rosa was taking things okay, but I was getting a serious case of despair.  You know what I mean?  It was getting to be just too much.  I must have had some sort of look in my eyes, something Rosa could see, 'cause she shuffled on her knees to my side and leaned close until we were cheek-to-cheek and gag-to-gag, almost in a kiss.

Then something funny happened.  One of the women put her hand on Rosa's shoulder, to pull her back into place.  That wasn't the funny part.  Rosa shrugged her shoulder and remained where she was, and the woman let her get away with it!   That was the funny part.

I cringed, and tried not to cry.  Any second now, Ulrika would produce a riding crop, or a bullwhip, or maybe a big ol' stick, and start putting us in our places, right?  Instead, she unbuckled Rosa's gag and let it dangle around her neck... then unbuckled mine... and took several steps back.  And the Asian Women joined her!

"Don't be afraid, Lorelai," Rosa whispered to me, her beautiful face still inches from my own.

"Don't be afraid?" I hissed.  "Why the hell not?"  I was fighting tears, Chrissy, and was seriously afraid I was gonna start hiccuping, which I really hate, as you know.

"I told you, it is all games," Rosa whispered.

"La Marquesa, you said," I whispered back.  "It's all a game to La Marquesa."  My eyes darted to Ulrika, who was watching us with a sly, rather evil smile.

"What?" Rosa giggled.  "You are scared of Ulrika?"  She glanced to the side, towards the beautiful, terrifying, domineering amazon in question, and laughed.  "Hey, Ullie," she said, an impudent grin on her beautiful face, "Lorelai is scared of you, you big meanie."

Ulrika sighed.  "I told you not to call me that," she said with an amused sigh, stepped forward, and grabbed Rosa by her left nipple.  "She has reason to be scared.  You've led her down the path of disobedience and sloth, and now the righteous wrath of La Marquesa is about to fall upon you both."

Rosa favored Ulrika with a saucy, irreverent grin.  "Oh, I am so afraid.  I—Ow-ow-ow!!"  Ulrika's grip had tightened into a full-blown nipple-pinch.  "Okay, okay, I'm afraid, I'm afraid!  Ow!"  Ulrika released her grip, and Rosa shuddered in her bonds.

I stared at Rosa's breast with wide eyes, watching the blood flow back into the nipple.

Ulrika favored me with one of her spine-tingling, stomach-fluttering smiles, then turned and took a couple of steps away.  Meanwhile, one of the Asian Women had stepped forward, popped my gag back in my mouth, and buckled the strap.

"You have a cruel streak, you know that!" Rosa yelled at Ulrika, "even for a dominatrix!"  The woman had finished with me, and was reaching for Rosa's gag.  "Wait," Rosa said, and the woman paused.  (Funny part number two!)  She leaned close again, and kissed my right cheek.  "Remember, it is all a game.  Be brave."

I nodded my gagged head and watched as the woman restored Rosa's gag.  I gotta tell ya, Chrissy, I was one confused and distressed little damsel.  They may think it was a game, Rosa might call it a game, but my chains were real!  My captivity was real!  And so was my fear.

We were pulled to our feet, and Ulrika led the way out of the shower room and back out into the catacombs.  More stairs (up, this time), more corridors, with Rosa and myself being hustled along between a pair of handlers... and then we were back in the open air of a castle courtyard.

Night had fallen, and the usual dome of a billion stars was wheeling overhead, silhouetting the castle's towers and turrets.

And by the way, there was a full-blown party going on!

The castle courtyards were brighter than usual.  When it had been just Rosa and myself, only the required aircraft warning lights atop the towers and a few dim footlights had been the norm at night.  Now, festive lanterns and strings of colored lights were everywhere.

Music filled the air—Mexican music—Folklorico-type stuff with guitars, strings, flutes, and horns.  It was good music, too.

People were milling around, some in formal wear—evening gowns and dinner jackets; and some in what (in my ignorant manner) I'd have to call "traditional Mexican costumes"—long, frilly skirts, low-cut blouses, and lace shawls on the women; and short, embroidered jackets with waist sashes, lace-front shirts, flaring pants, and boots on the men.

There was dancing, drinking, and conversation, but mostly there was staring at the spectacle of Ulrika leading Rosa and myself in chains.  The Asian Women had remained behind at the last doorway, so it was a parade of three: our latex and leather-clad Mistress, and the naked, chained and ball-gagged captives in her wake.

I was blushing like crazy, but Rosa seemed unfazed.  The crowd reaction wasn't the embarrassed shock you might have expected, or the leering grins of a crowd of jaded hedonists.  We were met with polite indulgence, mild amusement, some sympathy (mostly directed towards Rosa, a fellow islander), and a little leering.  (I probably would have been insulted, on some level, if somebody hadn't shown some appreciation of my naked charms.)

We left the courtyard and entered one of the more intimate sitting rooms.  Ten guesses who was waiting for us (and the first nine don't count).

I'll start with La Marquesa, Chrissy—'cause you have to start with La Marquesa.

She's a mature woman, in her fifties (maybe), and tall.  Even sitting at a desk, you can tell she's tall.  Her hair is long, straight, and black.  I know I said it was brown before, but that was in the sunlight.  By artificial and candle light, it's black as the darkest night.  She was wearing a white, lacy evening gown that hugged her strong, tan, perfectly proportioned body like a glove.

Beautiful?  Oh yeah!  But not "classic" beauty.  Her features are balanced and well-proportioned (which some people say is the technical definition of beauty), but her lips are too big, her chin too prominent, her nose too broad, and... she's beautiful!

Charisma?  Oh yeah!  With La Marquesa in the room, everyone else is an afterthought—which is quite remarkable, considering Ulrika and Rosa were present.

And speaking of other people being present, standing about a yard to La Marquesa's right was a woman; a woman in a rather unusual costume.

She was about my height and build, although not as gifted in the boobilage department.  And that's about all I can tell you about her as a person, because she was totally encased in a skintight catsuit with a full hood!  It was blue-green latex, and not so much as a fraction of a square inch of skin or a single hair was exposed.

So, how do I know she was a live woman, and not a mannequin or statue?  Well, once I got closer, I could see the nostril holes of the hood move as she breathed; but mostly, she made these small, restrained comfort movements, and they were too graceful and natural to be anything but human.

And speaking of restrained, she was... very.  Her waist was cinched in a tight corset.  Her arms and hands were behind her back, and encased in a single-sleeve armbinder.  Her elbows were touching, like they were welded together, Chrissy!  (Owie!)  Leather cuffs connected with steel chains were around her ankles, and the center ring was connected to the tip of the armbinder.  It was a similar arrangement to the shackles and chains limiting the steps of Rosa and myself.

A leather collar encircled her throat, and an elaborate, head-caging system of straps was buckled over her latex-encased head.  It anchored a wide panel across her lower face and over the telltale bulge of an underlying ball-gag.  The head straps also anchored a pair of swimmer's goggles with blue-tinted lenses, completely covering her eyes.

A body-harness of narrow straps was over everything, buckled around her arms and torso and through her crotch, and clipped to rings in the corset, armbinder, and collar.  A chain, similar to our leads, was clipped to a ring on the front of her collar, and its terminal ring was dropped over a decorative knob on the back of La Marquesa's chair, acting as a tether.

All of the many straps and panels of her bondage were leather, dyed the same blue color as the underlying latex bodysuit.  All the buckles and chains were stainless steel, as were the countless tiny padlocks that secured every buckle, clip, and fitting.  Her latex-covered breasts were pinched by the straps of the harness and supported by the top shelf of the corset, and her erect nipples were clearly visible, bulging under the blue latex.

You can tell only so much by the body language of an encased and bound captive, Chrissy, and it's not like I have a lot of experience with such things; but my impression was she was a fellow captive, rather than a sniveling slave.  She had spirit, Chrissy, and I think she was checking me out, like I was checking her out.  It was hard to tell, given the blue goggles shielding her eyes.  Maybe she was one of La Marquesa's celebrity "friends".  Who knows?

Anyway, we were still several feet from La Marquesa and the blue prisoner when Ulrika stopped and dropped our leash chains.  Rosa dropped to her knees.  I stared at her for a second, then did the same.  (I figured I could always rebel later, if and when there seemed to be some point to it.)

It was then that I noticed the journal in La Marquesa's hands.  It was my journal, the very journal you're reading right now, Chrissy!

This ticked me off.  What right did La Marquesa have to read my journal??  Oh, yeah, the same right she had to keep me stumbling around naked and in chains—the right of power.  {Sigh}

La Marquesa slipped a marker between the pages, set the journal, my journal, on the desk, and made a languid, graceful, beckoning gesture towards Rosa.  I watched as Ulrika stepped forward, loosened my Rosa's gag, pulled it from her mouth, and let it dangle around her throat.  Rosa licked her lips, swallowed, and crawled forward on her knees.  Her chains rattled and clinked, her tousled hair fluttered, and her breasts bobbed as she approached La Marquesa.

Our hostess and employer smiled warmly as Rosa drew near, and Rosa didn't stop until her breasts touched La Marquesa's knees.  She then straightened her back and lifted her chin, and La Marquesa leaned forward.  They kissed—and a thrill of jealousy passed through my helpless body.  Rosa was kissing La Marquesa like she kissed me, Chrissy.  Okay, so they had history, and I was being silly.  It's not like there wasn't an infinite supply of Rosa-kisses waiting until our lips were together again.  Still... she's my Rosa, right?

Ulrika stepped forward and placed a hand atop my head.  Somehow, she made it clear her touch was meant as comfort, and not a threat.  She gave my head a little pat, then squeezed my shoulder.  Ulrika, being nice??  Go figure!  I suppose I should have looked up and given her a grateful smile (ball-gag, rattling collar chain and all), but I couldn't take my eyes off what was happening at the desk.

La Marquesa was running her hands through Rosa's hair, and they were talking, or I should say, they were whispering.  I could hear enough to tell they were speaking Spanish, but even if it had been English, I wouldn't have been able to follow the conversation.  But there were some things I could understand—They were good friends, as in lovers, platonic if not physical—La Marquesa wasn't angry—Rosa wasn't afraid—and at least part of the time, they were talking about me.

Finally, after what was probably only a minute or two (but seemed like forever), Rosa let her head rest on La Marquesa's lap and smiled in my direction.  La Marquesa favored me with a smile as well, then nodded at Ulrika.

My ball-gag was loosened, pried from my drooling mouth, and allowed to dangle from my throat.  Then, I got another pat on the head.  Okay... my turn to crawl forward and make nice—lick a few noble-born fingers and toes, maybe gaze into La Marquesa's beautiful brown eyes in total surrender and open worship, right?

In a pig's eye!!

I staggered to my shackled feet and stomped forward.  Okay, I minced forward, but it was an angry mince!

La Marquesa had an amused, slightly surprised smile on her full lips.  Rosa was staring at me with a startled expression (and god she looked beautiful).  I tossed my head to get the hair out of my face, and took the occasion to gauge Ulrika's reaction.  The Teutonic amazon was amused as well (like La Marquesa).

"I demand to be set free," I growled.

"I see," La Marquesa answered.

Her voice is a sexy alto, Chrissy; deep, husky, and musical; and she has this really cool accent; European, but I can't get more specific.

"I didn't come here to play kinky games," I continued.

"Well, apparently, you did," La Marquesa countered, with a charming smile, "although you signed a contract to integrate the control systems of my castle."

I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it.  Rosa was smiling up at me as well, apparently recovered from the shock of watching poor-helpless-me trying to be defiant and brave.  "I've made good progress," I mumbled.  "I can have the bulk of the remaining code work done in a week; but the testing and documentation will take... another month?"

"None of which explains why you felt free to seduce my resident housekeeper and tamper with valuable family heirlooms."  The smile was still on her lips.  It was infuriating.

"Set me free," I repeated.  "If you want to fire me, fine; but I won't leave without documenting what still needs to be done."

"Things you'd like to do to Rosa?" La Marquesa teased.

"Or things you'd like Rosa to do to you?" Ulrika added.

I felt my cheeks burning in anger (and/or embarrassment).  "Things the next info-tech person you lure down here will need to finish my work," I clarified.

"Very professional," La Marquesa commented, pausing to run her hand through Rosa's hair.  "Actually, I am very pleased with your labors.  In fact, I invoke the options clause of your contract, and make you a permanent member of my staff."

My eyes popped wide (as you might imagine)!  "What??"

"The options clause," La Marquesa purred.  "You initialed the many paragraphs of your employment agreement.  Didn't you read them?"

"Of course I did!" I sputtered.  "The part about the possibility of permanent employment?  That's standard.  I don't accept!"

"Increased salary?  Pension and health plans?  Stock options?"

"I don't accept!" I repeated, stomping a bare, shackled foot for emphasis.  The smack of my foot on the tile, the rattle of my chains, and the bob of my breasts made the effect more pathetic than defiant, unfortunately.

La Marquesa's smile was warm and kind, and (surprisingly) devoid of anything you could call gloating; but it was clear who was in control of the situation (and myself).  "You've already accepted, Ms. Meriwether, by signing the contract.  The option exists, and I chose to exercise it."  Still smiling, she made a gesture to Ulrika.

I opened my mouth to protest, but all I managed was an outraged squawk before Ulrika returned my ball-gag to my mouth, tightened the strap, and forced me to my knees.

"I will remain on the island for the next month," La Marquesa announced, her eyes focused on my own.  "I expect your integration of the castle systems to be completed before my departure.  After that... we shall see.  I have many estates and properties that would benefit from your expertise."  She lifted her gaze to Ulrika.  "Remind me to have a shielded data-port installed in Sirena's brig."

Huh?  Sirena had a brig?  On second thought, I guess it makes sense.  Her castle has dungeons, so of course her mega-yacht has a brig.

Ulrika nodded.  "The required workstations, desk, and paperwork are being moved into one of the North Tower chambers," she explained.  "Slavegirl Lorelai will be able to work unimpeded, not counting the long chain that will link her collar to the wall, of course.  I will keep her naked, and provide the required motivation, as needed."

"And how will you motivate Ms. Meriwether?" La Marquesa asked.

"Her infatuation with Slavegirl Rosa makes that trivially easy," Ulrika purred.

All eyes settled on Rosa, who swallowed nervously.

"At the start of each work day," Ulrika continued, "after the usual maintenance and exercise, Slavegirl Lorelai shall witness Slavegirl Rosa being secured in one of your... how did you put it, 'valuable family heirlooms'? ...down in the lower chambers.  The workings of the torture engine or device will be explained, and Slavegirl Lorelai will be returned to her tower.  If, at the end of the day, she cannot demonstrate sufficient progress towards completing the established milestones..."

All eyes returned to Rosa.  She swallowed again, but managed a brave little smile that just about broke my heart.

La Marquesa nodded.  "They are to be allowed to sleep together," she ordered, "if both are diligent and obedient."

Ulrika nodded.  I looked up at her, and she had this funny little smile on her hard, beautiful face, almost like... envy?  Then it passed, and she was her usual powerful, dominant self.

La Marquesa lifted the ball of Rosa's gag.  Rosa kissed her fingers, then took the sphere in her mouth, gobbling it like it was a doggie toy.  Our employer's aristocratic fingers tightened the buckle, then she kissed the top of Rosa's head, and motioned towards Ulrika and myself.

Rosa shuffled over to my side, on her knees, then favored me with a wink!  (Note to self: At first opportunity, smack Rosa on the fanny... hard!)

I was one confused little slavegirl, Chrissy!  How much of these "games" were "games"?  How much was real?  One thing was for sure—in the current round, my degrees of freedom were zilch and nada.

Ulrika hauled us to our feet; first Rosa, then myself; and clutched the rings at the end of our leash chains.

"One last thing, before you retire," La Marquesa said.  Her right hand was patting my journal, and her eyes were on me.  "Tomorrow, I want you to finish your correspondence with your friend, Chrissy.  I give you my word she shall receive it.  Be honest and complete, as you have been, up to your last entry."

Ulrika began leading us towards the door.  I looked over my shoulder as we shuffled in Ulrika's ever-graceful, ever-dominating wake.   La Marquesa continued smiling, and the blue prisoner continued being her helpless self.

Well, we were dragged back through the still raging party and down to the dungeons.  After the usual winding, turning, descending journey, we arrived at one of the ubiquitous timber and iron doors.  I'm glad I'm not in charge ot La Marquesa's castle dungeons, Chrissy.  I don't know how anyone finds their way around that maze.  I'd spend all my time searching the apparently infinite corridors and chambers for wherever I'd left the last slavegirl.  Anyway, the door was unlocked and opened.

The chamber beyond had a high, vaulted ceiling, and was quite large.  In the center was what I'd have to call an oversized bird cage.  It had a domed top and straight sides, and was about ten feet across and in height.  A raging rhino might have been able to bust through its inch-thick iron bars, but not any bird I'm aware of, including Rosa and myself.

Ulrika unlocked and opened the cage, ushered us inside, forced us down onto the thick layer of straw on the cage floor, and rearranged our chains.  She then gave us each a kiss, Rosa on her right breast, myself on the left shoulder, exited and locked the cage, then left the chamber.

We lay in the straw for a few seconds, until the last echo of the chamber door being slammed and locked had faded, then worked in concert to remove our gags.  About the changes Ulrika had made in our chains—we were face-to-face, the crotch plates of our chastity belts had been removed, and we were chained together, manacle-to-manacle, shackle-to-shackle, belt-to-belt, and collar-to-collar, with about six inches of slack at each connection.

Bitch!  And I don't care if she does read this.  You try making whoopee with the love of your life when you're like two mimes doing a mirror routine!

All I can say is, Rosa was very kind to me that night.  She comforted and reassured me when I most needed it, and we made love when I most needed it—and I needed it, Chrissy!  Not only was I horny as hell—Thank god that crotch plate thingie was gone!!—but I was back in Rosa's hands, kissing her lips, pressing her breasts against my own, grinding our thighs together, etc., etc. Suffice it to say, we learned to be cooperative and creative that night, and I love her more than ever.

The next morning—breakfast, morning run (in chains), Rosa gets locked in a dungeon cell, and Ulrika drags me to that chamber in the North Tower she promised.  There's a desk and my journal, and I start writing...  and writing... and writing... and now my hand's tired, as in gonna-cramp-any-second tired, so I'll spare you any more details and wrap this up.

I'm scared, Chrissy; scared, and excited.  This will be the start of a great adventure...  I hope.

 A word of advice:  If you're reading this in a public place, Chrissy; if they didn't lure you someplace private before giving you this journal—watch yourself!  Don't let them get their hands on you!  Don't let them talk you into joining me!

Unless you want to.