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by Van ©2008---
Chapter 11_
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Petra continued gazing at Amanda's helpless body.  "My goodness," she purred, "you're quite the dirty little girl, aren't you?"

It was true.  Amanda examined what she could see of her naked, elaborately bound body.  From her bound toes, to her grubby knees, to her smudged and streaked thighs, to her soiled stomach and breasts... she was a filthy, damp, greasy mess.  She shook her head, trying without success to free the tangle of wet, oily curls plastered to her scowling, gagged face.  She twisted her body and tested her bonds, again.  The ropes were some sort of braided microfiber, off-white in color and about a quarter-inch in diameter.  Whatever the material, they were soft and pliant, didn't seem to have much stretch, and held a knot as well as anything Amanda had ever encountered.  Worse yet, they had been applied with that perfect union of practicality and aesthetics that Amanda had come to expect from Petra La Roque.  The visible pattern was symmetrical and balanced, and the placement of the key knots was depressingly flawless.  The bands were tight where they needed to be tight and were hitched and cinched so they couldn't be worked loose, no matter how Amanda struggled.  Yet, if she was willing to surrender to their embrace, she was more-or-less comfortable.  Amanda shook her head, again, and glared at her captor.

Petra sat on the floor in a graceful half-lotus, near Amanda's head.  "That was a lot of fun," she said, and held her helmet so Amanda could examine the goggle-shaped section over the eye region.  The lenses were comprised of thousands of tiny hexagonal panes of glass or plastic and glistened with all the colors of the rainbow.  It was like examining the eyes of a dragonfly under a magnifying glass.   "The latest breakthrough in night vision electronics," Petra explained.  "It uses what they call 'Balanced False Color'.  Infrared and two other carefully chosen light frequencies are processed, amplified, and used to paint a full-color image on an anamorphic screen.  There's a little bit of chromatic distortion, but no strobing or loss of perspective.  The image is far superior to what's available in the best civilian devices currently on the market."  She set the helmet on the floor, reached out, and straightened Amanda's hair.

Amanda growled through her ball-gag and turned her face away.  Petra grabbed a handful of her captive's hair and took a tight hold.  Amanda winced and continued her angry glare.

"Settle down, Grubby Girl," Petra ordered, and released her hold.  "I'm very proud of you, Amanda," she said.  "You're the first of my 'Specials' to make it out of one of the newly renovated Tower cells."  She smiled, sweetly.  "Of course, you never had a real chance of escaping... and no... I won't tell you anything about any of my countermeasures you haven't already encountered; but you made a valiant attempt, and I'm very proud."

Amanda was unmoved.

"Once we determined your ultimate destination..."  Petra made a graceful gesture, indicating the entire room.  "...I was waiting for you.  You were blind, in the total darkness, of course; but thanks to my new helmet, I wasn't.  You entered this place, and I closed the door before you could tell you'd walked into a trap.  The shower removed the worst of the synthetic lubricant from that delectable body of yours, making you easier to handle.  By the way, you didn't swallow any of the stuff, I hope?"

Amanda continued to glare.

"No matter," Petra continued.  "If you did swallow more than a gulp, you'll be getting a ferocious case of the runs in a few hours.  Not to worry.  My staff will be giving you a preemptive enema well before that time, just in case.  The shower also covered any sound I made as I moved around and prepared my lasso-snares for your capture.  And don't feel bad for getting curious about my firefly lure and perfectly positioning yourself for the first snare.  If you hadn't done so, I simply would have waited until you blundered into me.  Wrestling is also fun, especially with you naked and blind and myself with 'normal' sight and in invulnerable armor.  Maybe next time we'll give it a try."

Amanda sniffed in disgust, and shivered in her bonds.  Now that the warm shower and her capture were memories, her wet skin was beginning to dry and she realized the air was quite cool.

Petra's gaze settled on Amanda's breasts.  Her nipples were hard, and the wet, soiled, rope-framed globes were covered in goose flesh.  "Yes, it is a little cold in here, isn't it?" Petra purred.  Amanda continued shivering, but her eyes were still angry.  "I'm afraid I have to keep the temperature rather low.  Otherwise, I get too hot in all this rubber.  Again, not to worry.  As soon as I leave, things will get nice and toasty."  She picked up her helmet, then stood.  "And speaking of which... you've kept me up long enough.."  She ripped open a velcro-secured rectangle on her forearm, pressed a button on the small keypad revealed, then closed the flap.

There was an echoing clang, and one of the chamber's steel doors swung open.  Petra walked towards the hatch-like portal.  "I'm going to try and sleep in," she announced, "but I'm afraid you only get a short nap."  She paused in the doorway.  "We have to get you ready to travel.  Ta-ta, Dirty Girl."

Petra stepped across the threshold, the door closed with another loud clang, and Amanda was alone.  What did she say?  'Travel'?  Travel where?

The overhead lights began to change color.  In a matter of seconds, their former actinic glare had shifted to a dim, orange-red glow.  Amanda shivered in her bonds, but she could feel the infrared radiance bathing her body.  Very soon she would be "nice and toasty", as Petra had promised.  I just hope I don't get too toasty, Amanda thought, and closed her eyes.

Damn!  I never had a chance... just like I don't have a chance against these ropes.  With conscious effort, Amanda willed herself to relax, surrendering to neither rage nor despair nor to any other emotion.  Okay, my first try was a bust, and the Bitch's first 'mistake', letting me get hold of those paper clips, was actually a trick... maybe.  I'll be ready for the next opportunity... whenever or wherever it comes.  I just hope it's genuine.

They came for her some time later.  Amanda had dozed, for a while, so she couldn't be sure how much time had passed.  In any case, a door opened and a dozen female drones entered the chamber.  All were clad from head to toe in latex catsuits of different colors, with the usual matching boots, gloves, and helmets with full-face, reflective shields.  They wheeled a gurney into the chamber, lifted Amanda's bound, helpless form onto the padding, and tightened thick, wide, nylon straps across her breasts, waist, thighs, shins, and ankles.

Amanda didn't struggle.  What was the point?  She was wheeled towards the door, there was a jarring moment as the spring-loaded scissor mechanism of the gurney's legs negotiated the elevated threshold, then she was being wheeled down a concrete corridor.  Amanda sighed and watched the industrial-style light fixtures pass overhead.

Her destination was a large room lined in shining white tiles.  Rubber hoses with stainless steel nozzles dangled from reels mounted on tracks in the ceiling.  Amanda's straps were released and she was transferred to a stainless steel table.  Her handlers then used shears of some sort to sever her rope bonds and the cable-tie strap of her ball-gag.  She was then doused with warm water and scrubbed with soapy mitts from head to toe.  Her hair received a thorough shampoo and rinse.

The latex drones turned her body on the table and lifted and manipulated her limbs, as needed.  Amanda remained relaxed, and let the drones do their work.  In the first place, she very much wanted to be clean.  And in the second place, she could tell by the way the drones maintained strategic holds on her limbs that they would be able to control any hypothetical struggles, regardless.

The promised enema was next.  Amanda was lifted off the table and her feet planted on the floor, then she was hustled towards a stainless steel commode.  The deed was accomplished, with a half-dozen drones continuing to maintain physical control.  Then, it was back on the gurney, which had been washed down and fitted with a clean sheet.  The straps were tightened, one of the drones held her head steady, and another plastered a wide strip of translucent tape over her mouth.  Her hair and skin were clean, but still wet.  Amanda lifted her head and watched as the drones used large, white towels to dry their costumes.  The air was warm, but evaporation was cooling Amanda's skin and her nipples were erect... again.  She wished her handlers would use a warm, thirsty towel to dry her body, but it didn't happen.

Amanda was wheeled from the tiled room and down the corridor, leading a parade of all twelve drones.  Several turns and one brief elevator ride later, the bizarre procession arrived at yet another room.  This one had concrete walls, ceiling, and floor, all flat-black.  In the center, brightly lit by a grid of pinspots in the ceiling, was a rather sinister piece of furniture.  It was like a full-length dentist's chair, with headrest and armrests, but with more than a dozen padded clamps and dangling straps waiting to secure an occupant in place.

There was never any question about who that occupant would be.  The drones released Amanda from the gurney, lifted her onto the soft cushions of the chair, and secured her in place.  Heavily padded clamps closed around her wrists, above and below her elbows, around her ankles, and above and below her knees.  Straps were cinched across her waist, and across her arms and torso above and below her breasts.  In seconds she was completely immobilized, with her legs slightly splayed and her arms at her sides.  Her neck and head were cradled and supported by pillow-soft cushions, but unrestrained.

The last buckle was snapped shut, its strap pulled taut enough to dimple her skin, and the drones were wheeling the gurney out the door.  The steel portal swung closed, the lock engaged with an audible click, and again, Amanda was alone.  She lifted her head and looked around; but there was nothing to see but the closed door, the black walls, and the glare of the overhead lights.  She let her head drop and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes of rest, she methodically tested her bonds, twisting her wrists, arms, ankles, legs, and torso.  There was nothing she could attack, with the exception of the snap-buckles securing the straps, and they were well beyond the reach of her questing fingers.  Amanda was helpless, and her bonds were inescapable... again.

A quiet hum sounded, and something lowered from the ceiling.  It was a wide-screen TV monitor on an articulated framework.  It positioned itself for optimal viewing angle—from Amanda's point of view, of course—the lights dimmed, and the screen began to glow.

Amanda found herself staring at the image of what was either the very same room she currently occupied, or its twin; however, the prisoner strapped to the chair was Gloria, rather than herself.  Amanda was pleased to see her assistant and best friend; but was not pleased by what was happening, and neither was Gloria.  Several latex-clad drones were wrapping the helpless Latina's hands, feet, arms, and legs in what appeared to be elastic bandages.  Gloria was squirming and struggling for all she was worth, but to no avail.

It was now clear why the couch-chair had so many clamps to secure its victim's limbs.  The drones could cause specific clamps to open and retract, and the underlying section of padding to drop several inches, allowing them to work, unobstructed.  The remaining restraints were more than enough to immobilize the relevant portion of Gloria's anatomy.  The drones stretched and wrapped the bandages over and around Gloria's body, releasing and re-securing Gloria's bonds as required.

Amanda sighed through her gag and continued to watch.  Gloria's legs, arms, and torso were completely covered, then her arms were pinned against her sides and secured with an additional layer of bandages.  Mummified from the neck down, Gloria continued to wiggle and squirm.

The drones stepped back, a motor hummed, and the legs of the chair pulled apart, splaying Gloria's bandage-wrapped and clamped legs in the process.  A white-clad drone stepped forward and used instruments from a small, stainless steel stand to open a slit in the bandages over Gloria's sex.  She inserted a speculum, gave its handle a squeeze, the ratchet clicked, and Gloria's labia were stretched apart and held.  The drone then inserted a catheter, followed by a flaccid rubber dildo with an attached cable.  The speculum was relaxed and withdrawn, and a conical rubber plug was inserted into Gloria's anus.  The white drone stepped back, and the chair legs slid together.  The other drones stepped forward and began wrapping Gloria's feet and legs together with more bandages.

Gloria continued to resist, but her her struggles were now very feeble, indeed.  The tape was peeled from her mouth, but, immediately, a dental spreader was used to pry her jaws apart.  A large, perforated rubber ball with an attached hose was inserted in her mouth, then more tape was used to seal her lips.  The white drone reappeared and inserted plastic plugs with an attached airline in Gloria's nostrils; then the drones began wrapping her head with bandages.  As Amanda watched, the final wrappings were made over Gloria's darting, desperate eyes—and she was completely covered, from head to toe.  The neat, tight wrappings were broken only by the tubing and cable from her crotch, the hose from her gag, and the breathing-line.

The clamps and straps were released, and Gloria squirmed like a cocooned butterfly, struggling to break free.  The drones lifted her legs, and began pulling some sort of stiff, black, fabric tube over her body.  It was a sheath of "Darlex", neoprene rubber sandwiched between layers of spandex fabric, and it was at least twice as thick as the Darlex bodysuit Amanda had donned, way back in the dressing room of Petra La Roque's Donjon showroom.  Amanda sighed through her tape-gag.  It seemed like a lifetime ago... not something like... three days?  It was a bit of a tight fit, but in short order the drones had the sheath stretched completely over Gloria's form, including her head.  Amanda watched as the drones threaded the hose, cable, and lines through reinforced openings in Gloria's sheath, then zipped it closed.

Gloria was now doubly encased, and the drones weren't finished.  They began fitting a complex harness of nylon straps over the smooth, Darlex mummy.  They secured buckles and tightened the broad, thick straps until the black material bulged between the network of horizontal and lateral bands.  One of the drones used some sort of ratchet to lock each of the buckles, working her way down Gloria's body, fitting the tool into a socket and giving the handle several quick, noisy turns.

Meanwhile, several of the drones wheeled a coffin-like container close to the chair.  It had a brushed aluminum exterior, heavy-duty reinforcing bands of stainless steel, and locking latches.  The drones popped the lid and opened the case, revealing an interior lined with medium density foam.  There was a human-size hollow in the padding, and they lifted Gloria and deposited her inside the container.  Her breathing-line was plugged into a fitting near the interior hinges, as were the hose from her gag, the line from her catheter, and the cable from the thing in her sex.  All of the excess lengths were carefully coiled and secured with velcro straps, precluding the possibility of kinks when they closed the lid.

Amanda shuddered with despair as the lid of Gloria's container was closed and the latches secured.  One of the drones opened a small hatch at the foot of the container, revealing a compact keyboard and a flatscreen monitor.  She tapped several keys.  The words "LIFE SUPPORT" appeared on the screen, above several lines of smaller text and a series of green rectangles.  Amanda couldn't read any of the smaller writing, but she surmised the drone was running some sort of diagnostic program.  More keys were tapped, and the words "EROTIC STIMULATION" appeared.  The drone made a series of selections from a series of menus, then tapped a final key and closed and locked the hatch.

Gloria's container was rolled through the door... seconds passed... and a second gurney was rolled into the room.  Strapped to the gurney was a naked, tape-gagged, black woman.  Amanda recognized her instantly.  It was Fiona Lassiter.

The entire, sad drama repeated itself.  Fiona was transferred to the "wrapping chair", secured in place, then slowly, methodically, her smooth, dark skin disappeared under tightly stretched layers of elastic bandages.  Catheter, dildo, gag-hose, and breathing lines were inserted, a Darlex mummy-sheath and a harness of straps were added, and she was transfered to a second coffin-container.  The only difference was the level of resistance offered by the victim.  Fiona did struggle and complain through her tape-gag, but she seemed much more resigned to her fate than had Gloria.  In any case, the drones completed her encasement without difficulty, and Fiona was rolled away.

A cold knot of despair continued growing in Amanda's stomach.  Petra had told her she would be made "ready to travel".  Had she just witnessed Gloria and Fiona being converted to cargo?  Would Chessy be next?  ...and then Amanda, herself?

As if to answer at least one of her questions, the door on the screen opened and the drones wheeled in a third gurney.  Strapped down on that gurney was a nude and apparently unconscious Chessy Golden.  One of the drones threw a series of switches on the wrapping chair and all the clamps and straps retracted into the cushions, leaving a more-or-less smooth, padded surface.  Several drones released the gurney straps and lifted Chessy onto the chair, then other drones immediately began mummifying the sleeping redhead's toned, freckled body.

The process was only a third complete when the door opened—the actual door, not the door in the image on the screen—and Petra strolled into the room.  She was dressed in yet another of her off-white power suits, with matching heels, taupe hose, white blouse, and a string of pearls.  Behind her came her "Precious Pair" of petite maids, Keira and Hime.  Both were naked, except for steel chastity belts, steel cuffs on their ankles and wrists (this time without connecting chains), and the same full-face masks Amanda had always seen them wearing before, gold and vaguely Celtic in the case of the freckled redhead, and in the classic Noh style for the black-haired Japanese.  Keira was carrying a folded chair, and Hime was pushing a cart laden with a silver coffee service.

Petra stepped to Amanda's side and smiled down at her "employee's" nude, restrained body.  "Dirty Girl no more," she purred, reached out, and gave Amanda's right breast a gentle squeeze.  Amanda simply stared up at her captor, her tape-gagged face devoid of emotion.  Keira deployed the folding chair, and Petra sat.  "Well..." she sighed, "I suppose it's just as well our first encounter is being cut short.  I hate it when my 'Special Apparel Consultants' enter their all-too-predictable 'ennui' phase.  It's not nearly as much fun as 'angry-feisty'."

Amanda turned her gaze back to the screen.  Chessy's mummification continued.  The only change in routine was that the insertions of her catheter, anal plug, dildo, gag-hose, and breathing-line were made before her bandage cocoon was complete.  Chessy's unconscious condition allowed the drones to work with greater efficiency.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Petra said, giving Amanda's breast another squeeze.  "And so intelligent."  She reached out and slowly, gently, pulled the tape from Amanda's lips.  The translucent film stretched Amanda's lower face as it surrendered its adhesive grip.

Amanda licked her lips and stretched her jaw.  "I thought you were sleeping in?" she asked, quietly.

Petra smiled, and accepted a cup of coffee from Hime.  "No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid," she purred, and took a sip.  "Ah, that's good.  I'd offer you some, but we must keep your stomach as empty as possible.  Anyway... business concerns require my presence in Europe, so I'm afraid our first encounter must end."

"What are you talking about?"

Petra took another sip of coffee.  "I'm flying to France, and you're flying elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

Petra's smile turned playfully sinister.  "You don't want me to ruin the surprise, do you?"  Amanda didn't answer.  After a few seconds, Petra continued, gesturing at the screen.  "You'll be traveling with your companions, in containerized luxury."

Amanda sighed, not having the energy to offer her usual brave, angry front.

"Each module has an onboard computer that controls everything," Petra explained.  "I'm really quite proud of the system.  The dildo segments vibrate in sequence, at carefully chosen harmonic frequencies.  The effect is... remarkable, even at low intensity.  The gag and nostril lines are part of a re-breathing system that scrubs carbon dioxide, replenishes oxygen as needed, and dispenses carefully metered doses of various anesthetic gases.  The mix produces an effect similar to absinthe—and I'm talking real absinthe, not that watered down legal stuff.  Together, the dildo and gases engender vivid, erotic, and somewhat hallucinogenic dreams—nothing the conscious mind will remember, of course, but the overall experience has... lingering effects."

Amanda said nothing, but simply continued staring at the screen.  Chessy's mummification was complete, and the drones were moving on to the Darlex sheath and overlying harness.

"Don't worry about your assistants," Petra purred.  "Their container systems put them to sleep almost immediately, as soon as the lids were closed.  They'll slumber and dream all the way to their destination, as will Chessy..."  Petra set down her coffee, stood, leaned close, and kissed Amanda's nipples—first the left, and then the right.  "...as will you.  I've given you a bonus for your escape attempt, by the way.  An additional 100-thousand dollars is already in your accounts—and that's 100-thousand after taxes.  I always have my money people attend to such details with due diligence.  You'll find all your finances to be in perfect order, with absolutely nothing a forensic accountant would flag as anything other than... lucky."  Petra took a sip of coffee, then leaned close.  "Just wait 'til our next encounter.  How does something with a medieval theme sound?  The challenge of escaping from an authentic dungeon?  Cold iron?  Hemp rope?  Wooden stocks and pillories?  Complex, exotic torture engines that combine all three?  Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Just then, the door opened again, and a white-clad drone pushing a steel cart entered.  Amanda lifted her head as the cart drew near, and beheld a clear plastic breathing mask with an attached plastic line leading to a small gas cylinder; and a hypodermic, a stack of cotton swabs, an alcohol dispenser, and a small glass vial.  Anonymous behind her reflective face shield, the drone began preparing the syringe.

Petra lifted the breathing mask and pressed a steel flange on its side.  There was a quiet hiss, cut short when she released the flange.  "Well, this is au revoir, Amanda," Petra said.  "I hope you've enjoyed yourself as much as I have."

"I hate you," Amanda said, quietly.

"Yes, I know," Petra answered, and placed the mask over Amanda's nose and mouth.

Amanda could hear the hiss of the gas, but whatever it was, it was odorless... or maybe it had a slight metallic tinge... and it was cold, and—the world went black.

Amanda was a Cheyenne princess, dressed in a buckskin shift with long fringe.  Her hair was parted down the center and in braids, one to either side of her face.  She was bound, hand and foot, with stout rope, and cleave-gagged with a cotton bandanna.  She was in the back of a covered wagon, reclined on several folded trade blankets.  In the front of the wagon were Chessy and Fiona, dressed as cowgirls, and Gloria, dressed as a vaquero, complete with wide-brimmed sombrero.

"She's awake," Chessy noted, then handed the reins to Gloria and started climbing into the back.

"This is gonna be fun," Fiona said, and joined her mistress.

"Why do I have to be the driver?" Gloria complained.

"'Cause you get to play with her all the time," Chessy explained.

"Oh... that's fair," Gloria conceded.

Chessy and Fiona reclined on the blankets, close to Amanda's helpless form, and began running their hands over her body, squeezing her buckskin covered breasts and caressing her thighs.

"These ropes are tight," Fiona noted, running her hand over the strands framing Amanda's breasts and pinning her arms to her torso.

"Yes, she's never getting free," Chessy agreed, then licked the side of Amanda's face.

The captive princess growled through her gag and struggled with all her strength, but her captors controlled her easily.

"Settle down, princess," Chessy ordered, and plucked the single eagle feather from Amanda's headband, "or I'll use this to tickle you 'til you go crazy with lust."

"Let's do it, anyway," Fiona suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Chessy laughed.  She reached down and pulled a knife from her boot top, "but first, let's cut her out of all this buckskin."

"And re-tie her in a nice spread-eagle," Fiona suggested, producing her own knife.

The cowgirls began slicing Amanda's dress and pulling the remnants from her still helplessly roped body.  Her moccasins were pulled from her feet, and then—

---

This was no way to treat the Viceroy's daughter!  Amanda's fashionably low-cut gown was pulled off her left shoulder, nearly exposing her left nipple; but she could do nothing to correct this shameful déshabillé.  She was bound with dozens of strands of tight hemp, from shoulders to ankles, with several bands binding her many petticoats and the skirt of her gown tightly around her legs.  A silk handkerchief was stuffed in her mouth, and held there by a narrowly folded silk cravat.

She was in a longboat, being rowed towards The Red Witch, the notorious pirate frigate that was the scourge of the sea lanes.

The captain of The Red Witch, the infamous Red Chessy, was seated beside her, dressed in a green silk shirt, black trousers, and black knee boots.  A sheathed sword was buckled to her side, and a brace of pistols were tucked in her belt.  A black silk scarf was tied over her head, Gypsy-fashion, but her signature copper-red curls cascaded down her back in loose waves.

The boat pulled alongside the anchored ship.  The crew grabbed Amanda's helpless form, none too gently, lifted her aboard, and carried her towards the deck house.

A female, African pirate, dressed in black leather boots, pants, and vest (scandalously exposing her stomach, arms, shoulders, and most of her full breasts) seemed to be in charge.  "Stow that cargo in the Captain's cabin," she growled.

"First Mate Fiona!" Captain Chessy shouted.

"Aye, Captain?" the African responded.

"Set course for Dariabar."

"Aye Captain."  Fiona turned to the crew.  "Look lively, you dogs!"

Amanda was through the door of the deck house.  She had a quick impression of surprisingly luxurious surroundings, then she was tossed on a large bed, the door closed with a bang, and a key turned in the lock.  Amanda looked around.  The frame of the bed was suspended from creaking ropes.  It swung, slowly, compensating for the motion of the ship.  She could hear the crew putting the ship to sea—then she heard something else, the tinkling clatter of a steel chain.

Emerging from the shadows was a native maiden.  She was naked, but for the batik loincloth swaddling her loins and the steel collar around her throat.  Attached to the collar was a long chain.  It trailed away towards the stern, to a padlock that secured it to an iron staple.  The maiden's hair was black, straight, and cut in a boyishly short manner.  Her skin was brown, smooth, and flawless—her breasts were full and firm—and her face was... beautiful.

"I am Gloria," the maiden announced, "and I am very glad to see you."  She climbed onto the bed and gave Amanda's gagged face a gentle kiss.  "Now I shall get more sleep, as our Captain has a new plaything."  She kissed Amanda again, then tugged down the front of her gown, fully exposing Amanda's left breast.  Her smile broadened, and she gave the nipple a delicate, teasing flick with the tip of her tongue.  "The Captain has taught me many things..."  She took Amanda's nipple in her mouth, and gave it a slow, long suck—once again using the tip of her tongue to tickle the erect, now supremely sensitive, nubbin of flesh.  "And now I shall teach you."

Amanda writhed in her bonds, twisting and testing the tight, inescapable ropes.  She moaned through her gag as Gloria kissed and nuzzled both her breasts, her shoulders, her neck...  And then—

---

Amanda's safari costume was a mess.  Her tan, cotton blouse was tattered and torn, exposing her left shoulder, most of the lace brassiere underneath, and a provocative glimpse of the top of her right breast.  Her dark tan, skintight jodhpurs were ripped as well, and both blouse and jods were soiled and sweaty.  Only her saddle-brown corset-belt and knee boots were intact—scuffed, but intact.  Her hair was a tousled mess... a tastefully draped, tousled mess.  Her face was glistening with sweat and was as dirty as the rest of her tired, exhausted, overheated body.  Finally, her hands were tied behind her back and her mouth was stuffed with a crumpled cloth held in place by a narrowly folded cloth cleave-gag.

It was night, and Amanda was surrounded by female native warriors.  All were dressed in grass skirts and coconut shell bras.  There faces were painted in bold patterns, using black, white, and rust-red pigments.  Necklaces and bracelets of animal bones, fangs, and claws decorated their throats, wrists, and ankles.  All were armed with spears and carried shields of animal hides stretched over light wooden frames.  Two of the warriors, Gloria and Fiona, had Amanda by the arms, and were hustling her through a torch-lit village of primitive huts and towards a huge, imposing wall of dressed stone.  Unseen drums boomed in a compelling rhythm, and the crowd of warriors were shaking their spears and chanting—"Roque!  Roque!  Roque!"

The wall was at least a hundred feet tall.  It had seen better days, but the seams between the massive blocks were still tight and there were no cracks or obvious flaws.  Elaborate carvings were everywhere, and there seemed to be only one theme: naked, helplessly bound, female captives.

Amanda was hustled up a set of steps and through a dark tunnel.  As they emerged from the far side, she realized it was actually a gate through the wall.  It led to a narrow causeway of logs lashed with vines, which, in turn, led to a stone platform flanked by a pair of stone columns.  A deep chasm dropped on all sides, protecting the wall like a vast dry moat.  Opposite the platform, separated by only perhaps ten feet of dark void, was the thick vegetation of virgin jungle.  Amanda was dragged between the columns, and a crowd of natives (with Gloria and Fiona supervising) accomplished four tasks:

(1) Amanda was stripped to the skin.

(2) She was bound in a standing spread-eagle between the columns.

(3) She was slathered, from head to toe, with clear, floral-scented oil.

(4) A crown-like garland of jungle orchids was arranged atop her head, and a matching lei was dropped over her head and arranged to tastefully drape across her breasts, covering (and tickling) her nipples.

The natives retreated through the tunnel.  Gloria and Fiona went last, pausing to kiss and/or pat Amanda's cheeks (on her face and elsewhere).  Amanda forced an inquiring moan through her still intact gag, looked back over her shoulder, and beheld the log causeway retracting into the wall and a solid stone door (it was more like a plug), sliding forward to seal the tunnel.

Seconds later, Amanda could see the entire amazon tribe dancing atop the parapet, waving torches and spears and continuing their chant of—"Roque!  Roque!  Roque!"

There was a slightly raised section of the wall, even with Amanda's platform, and onto this stone stage stepped... Chessy!  She was dressed as the tribe's chief, with a headdress of long plumes, and bracers and anklets of hammered gold.  Her bra was a pair of large seashells (rather than coconuts), and she was wearing a loincloth of some sort of striped and spotted leather.  The hide of a raptor, perhaps?  A necklace of large, dagger-like claws reinforced Amanda's guess.  Her Red-haired Majesty was flanked by Gloria and Fiona.  Even at this distance, Amanda could see the evil, sadistic smiles on all three faces.

Chessy raised her feather-decorated spear, and the dancing, chanting, and drums abruptly stopped.  Three loud, metallic gongs sounded, then Chessy shouted into the dark night..  "Klaatu barada nikkto—Roque!!"

Seconds passed, and all Amanda could hear was her own breathing.

Chessy waved her spear, and the three gongs repeated.  The echoes faded, and once again Chessy shouted, "Klaatu barada nikkto—Roque!!"

Again, there was silence... but then Amanda heard a noise in the distance, a crashing, as if something huge was moving through the jungle.  The canopies of the mature forest swayed, then a giant, human, very female figure stepped into view!  She was more than sixty-feet tall!  Her skin was smooth and tan, her muscles toned and strong, and her hair a pale blonde.  She was dressed in a ragged bikini that seemed to be made from pieced together dinosaur hides.  Her huge, incredibly blue eyes reflected the native torches; and when she opened her mouth in a vast, dimpled smile, her teeth shone like polished ivory.  She was—Petra La Roque!

Amanda screamed through her gag, and tugged on her inescapable bonds.

Still smiling her sinister, gloating smile, Petra stepped to the edge of the cliff, and stretched her giant hand towards Amanda's helpless form.

"Ms. Pressfield..."  Petra's voice boomed and echoed from the wall, its volume and timbre in scale with her gigantic, exquisite body.  "We meet again!"