by Van ©2016
		Chapter 2

The drive to Grace Scanlon's bungalow was a tedious affair.  June tried to follow her "kidnapper's" orders and keep track of her feelings of helplessness, loss of control, etc., but she could tell her abduction was a seriously flawed exercise.  Was she helpless?  Yes.  The steel cuffs imprisoning her ankles and wrists were undeniably real and the opaque sunglasses (with side-shields and safety cord) were a totally effective blindfold.  And the conventional lap-belt crossing her waist and passing diagonally across her body was functioning both as an automotive safety measure and adequate additional restraint.  Finally, the music droning in her ears was making it impossible for her to keep track of subtle clues as to where she was being taken.

And speaking of music.  Some of the randomly selected pieces were familiar (or at least semi-familiar) and were definitely enjoyable.  The Blue Danube, for example.  From the opening strains June reveled in the vision of the sleek, needle-like space shuttle docking with the giant space wheel in Kubrick's 2001.  Later, several selections later, she returned to 2001 to picture the astronaut jogging around Discovery's habitat wheel in the cold depths of the outer solar system to the music of sad, sweet violins.  Katchaturian?  She thought that the composer was named Katchaturian.

But next, as if to consciously spoil the mood, someone started plunking on a piano in ever more elaborate variations on the melody of Rule Brittania... over and over and over.  Help! June thought, I've been kidnapped and I'm being bored to death!  She would have complained, but as she was pretend gagged, that was pretend impossible.

Charlotte, who June had decided to characterize as her Nefarious Kidnapper, said nothing (nothing that June could hear, anyway) and did nothing other than drive... and it was a long drive... and June couldn't even pass the time by watching the scenery roll by... or looking for out-of-state license plates.

The missing ingredient, what was more or less invalidating her kidnapping as an effective exercise (in June's opinion), was fear.  She was helpless, but she was being "spirited away" to a place where she very much wanted to go.  Her helplessness was more a prank than an exercise.  Okay, it was totally a prank... but was it Charlotte's prank, or Grace's prank, or both?

It occurred to June that she didn't actually know where she was being taken.  "Grace's bungalow" was their destination, but she only had the vaguest idea as to were said bungalow was located.  Somewhere on the coast, but exactly where on the coast, she wasn't sure.  She'd tried Googling Grace's address, but without success.  Okay, that I can work with, June decided.  Help, I'm being whisked away to an undisclosed location!  It was better than nothing, but it was still like being unsure as to whether she was being involuntarily forced to take a dream vacation at either Disneyland or Universal Studios.  Woe is me?  Hardly.

But then... finally... June could tell they'd pulled off the highway and their pace had slowed.  The journey continued for a couple of more minutes... and then, the car rolled to a stop, the engine stopped purring, and the music stopped.

June heard Charlotte exit the driver's side... there was a brief pause... then the passenger side door opened, somebody leaned close and released June's lap-belt (she assumed it was Charlotte), the earbuds were gently removed from her ears, and she was helped from the car.

"Charlotte?" June asked. 

"Hush," Charlotte chuckled.  "You're pretend gagged, remember?"

The sunglasses were still in place so June could see nothing.  The car door slammed closed, then Charlotte spun her around and pressed her boobs and tummy against the steel and glass.  "Charlotte?" June reiterated, but this time it was more of an urgent whine—and what followed was very much a whine, but a muffled, inarticulate whine.  "Mrrrpfh?"  Charlotte had popped a rubber ball into June's unprepared mouth and was tightening an attached strap!  "Nrrr!"

"There," Charlotte chuckled.  "No more threat of carsickness, so no more need for a pretend gag.  Now you can really get into the exercise."

Hilarious, June fumed.  Charlotte's fingers were busy pulling her "victim's" long, brown locks free of the strap... then tightening the buckle.  "Mrrrrf!"

The ball-gag finally in place, June was hustled along.  She could smell the ocean, hear seagulls screaming overhead, and feel the sun on her face, shoulders, and arms.  So... either Charlotte was delivering her to Grace's "Beach Bungalow," as agreed, or to evil accomplices, who were going to dump her into a boat and motor her out to a waiting yacht where she would begin a new life as some degenerate billionaire's sex-slave.  That later scenario was her effort to enter into the spirit of the exercise, of course.  She knew where she was... where she probably was.

Charlotte—June's Nefarious Kidnapper—continued hustling her along.  They passed into the shade... and then indoors.  A door closed behind them (rudely cutting off whatever the gulls were trying so urgently to explain), and now some sort of plush carpeting was underfoot.  The journey continued... with June taking many more rapid, rattling, chain-encumbered steps than her not chain-encumbered handler.  June considered voicing more objections and demanding information, but decided to keep her ball-gag-muffled comments to herself.

The carpet gave way to some sort of hard floor...   Tile?  Then, Charlotte stopped and forced June to her knees.  Actually, June cooperated, so perhaps "forced" was an overly dramatic description.  A chain rattled, there were a metallic snap, and Charlotte's heels tapped away, fading into the distance before they were absorbed by the carpet..

Seconds passed.  June tugged on her cuffed wrists and tried kicking her cuffed ankles.  Her groping fingers confirmed that her wrist bonds were now joined to her ankle-bonds by a loop of chain secured by a small padlock.  The chain was of the nested-links variety.

More seconds passed.

"Mrrrf?"

There was no response to June's "inquiry."

At least a full minute passed... then two.  All June could do was wait... and languish.

How long is this damn 'exercise' going to last? the prisoner/protege wondered.

Having nothing else to do, June decided to "explore" her environment.  She somewhat awkwardly eased herself off her knees and settled to the floor with her denim-clad butt on the hard surface and her legs and cuffed ankles folded to one side.

The captive's groping fingers confirmed that the hard floor under her cuffed, hog-chained, ball-gagged, and blindfolded body was almost certainly ceramic.  It was smooth, but with a slightly rough texture.  Glazed tile, she decided, but not polished marble.  In other tactile news... the air was comfortable, which meant the temperature and humidity were well within the accepted indoor range.  There was no breeze blowing, but June suspected the air was moving... slowly... but it was more an impression than anything confirmed by data.

Under the circumstances, sound should have been June's greatest friend... but there was no ambient noise for her to process... nothing substantial, anyway.  Now and then she thought she heard distant taps or thuds or thumps or... whatever... maybe.  For all she knew, they were the auditory equivalent of the faint random lights and false images that were flashing across her "vision" in the total darkness imposed by her blindfold-sunglasses.  June vaguely recalled reading somewhere that such "sights" were randomly firing neurons, noise.  Anyway, there was no auditory information for her to process.

June decided (knowing she had almost nothing to go on) that she was in a large, open space... a very boring, large, open space.

Oh yeah, June remembered, smell.  She took a deep, even breath...  Nothing.  Maybe a hint of something floral, but nothing she could identify.

As for taste, she tasted rubber.  Specifically, June tasted the rubber ball crammed in her mouth.  It wasn't a strong taste, but it was there... like the ball.

More time passed.

Finally, June heard the distant tap, tap, tap of heels on tile (probably tile).  Actually, she heard the distant sound of heels... then the sound went away... then returned, louder and closer... then disappeared, again.  June surmised that someone was, indeed, approaching.  Tile—carpet—tile—carpet.  Somebody's here.  Then, June heard the creak and hiss of someone settling into a leather-cushioned chair.

More time passed.

Fine.  Great.  We're playing games.  June heaved a ball-gagged sigh, then decided to move things along.  "Mrrrk!" she complained, tossing her gagged and blindfolded head and tugging on her handcuffs.

The chair creaked, again, and heels tapped, again, and now they were very close.  Fingers fumbled with her hair, unbuckled her ball-gag, re-secured the buckle, then the heels tapped away.  The chair cushion complained a third time.  The ball-gag's strap was now very loose.  June worked her jaw, pushed with her tongue, and managed to expel the sphere from her mouth.  The ball thumped against her upper chest and June was now wearing a ball-gag necklace.

June licked her lips and rotated her jaw.  The blindfold-sunglasses were still in place, of course, so she was staring at a whole lot of dark nothing.

More time passed.

Enough is enough, June decided.  "Well?" she demanded.

"Well, what?" a voice answered—a feminine, amused voice—Grace Scanlon's feminine, amused voice.

"How long are you going to continue this... prank?" June huffed.

Grace laughed.  "This is an exercise, not a prank," she purred, "and we will continue for as long as I believe there is value in the session.  Report."

June blinked in the darkness enforced by her blindfold.  "Report?"

Grace didn't answer.

"Oh..." June continued after a few seconds.  "Uh, it's frustrating being kidnapped, but mostly, it's boring.  The exercise was flawed."

"Is flawed," Grace corrected her protege.

"Is flawed," June conceded.  She was still bound and blindfolded.  "Anyway... I'm not scared.  I know I'm not in danger."

Time passed as Grace considered June's critique... at least that's what June assumed was happening.

"I'm afraid this will always be a problem with our practical exercises," Grace said.  "You'll never be in danger as long as you're my protege.  You know that, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Remind me to punish you every time you start a sentence with the phrase 'uh,'" Grace said.

June's lips curled in a sheepish smile.  "I know, I know.  I'm trying.  It's just, when I get nervous..."

"Oh, I see," Grace purred.  "You're nervous.  Why didn't you mention that earlier?"

June felt a blush warm her cheeks.  "I'm mentioning it now."

"Well..."  The chair creaked yet again as Grace climbed to her feet.  "Charlotte has put your luggage in your room and I need to finish preparing our dinner."

"What about me?" June inquired.

"What about you?" Grace purred.

June tugged on her handcuffs in reply.

"Don't worry, June," Grace replied.  "I have the required keys around here... someplace.  You'll be joining me for dinner, and I won't be required to spoon feed you."

"What about Charlotte?" June suggested.  "She has the keys.  Doesn't she?  Didn't she?"  June hated to think Charlotte would have locked her in wrist and ankle cuffs without having the key or keys required to free her.  What if they'd been stopped by the Highway Patrol?

"Charlotte is already on her way back to the city," Grace said.

June could tell Grace was departing.  Her voice was growing fainter and her heels were tapping on tile, as before.

"It's just you and me, protege," Grace added, and then she was gone.

'Just you and me,' June thought, heaved another sigh, gave her handcuffs another futile tug, then settled in to wait.

June was trying to decide if maybe she ought to start thinking about getting pissed off.  How long is this frakking 'exercise' going to last? she fumed silently.  And then, just when June had finally concluded that some sort of tizzy-fit was entirely appropriate and wouldn't label her as a rude guest... June heard the tap-tap-tap of Grace's heels returning.  She assumed the rest of Grace was returning with them.

Fingers parted the back of June's hair and released the buckle of the ball-gag dangling around her neck.  It slid down the front of her tank-top, rolled off her breasts, and bounced and rattled on the floor.  The fingers then released the barrel-clamp of the safety cord of her blindfold-sunglasses... eased the wire loops of the ear-pieces from behind her ears... then lifted the glasses from June's face, over her head, and free of her hair.

June blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust to the sudden light.  Meanwhile, Grace was unlocking and removing her ankle-cuffs.  This was a good thing, of course, but June was too preoccupied to savor the moment, staring at the sculpture directly before her, a bronze of a nude woman kneeling with her arms behind her back.  The figure's long hair covered her face, but June could tell the bronze woman was much like herself in body form and... endowment... only she was bound with bronze rope and was naked, whereas June was bound with steel cuffs and was not naked.

Grace helped June to her sneaker-clad feet—giving her a different perspective on the nude, bound, bronze woman—and June realized the handcuffs were leaving her wrists.  She was free.  June rubbed her wrists (even though they didn't really need it) and turned to her rescuer/hostess/mentor.  Grace was wearing a very pretty patterned dress.  Its lower hem was above the knees (and very pretty knees they were) and it was form-fitting and sleeveless, with a scoop collar.  Cleavage, June thought.  She has nice cleavage... and nice skin... and she's beautiful.

Oh-by-the-way, June's impression that she was in a large, open area was confirmed, in spades!  She was in a multistory space overlooked by balconies with stairways leading in various directions.  The decor was Modern, but not Ikea Modern.  Grace's "bungalow" was classy, a description June usually considered to be slightly pejorative.  The furnishings were obviously very expensive, but June liked everything she saw—the materials, the proportions, the design details—everything.

But truth be told, most of June's attention was focused on Grace.  Every time I see her she's even more beautiful.  How does she do it?  She watched as Grace gracefully stooped and gathered the various elements of the completed exercise.  Her mentor deposited the cuffs, sunglasses, and ball-gag on a side-table, then smiled.

"Welcome to the Beach Bungalow, June," Grace said, then gestured towards an open doorway.  "Why don't we eat dinner on the veranda off the kitchen?"

June continued taking in the details of the vast living room, great room, hotel lobby (or whatever Grace called the place)... and more closely examined the bronze maiden.  The poor thing was really tied up.  June didn't think she'd be wiggling out of her bronze ropes anytime soon.  But her eyes kept returning to Grace... while trying very hard not to stare at Grace.  As for where they should eat... "Uh, yeah, sure."  Not that I know enough to form an opinion.  June realized she was being unkind.  Grace was being very nice... not counting the whole kidnapping and languishing thing.

Grace led June to the kitchen, which was on the same scale as the rest of the ironically named "Beach Bungalow," then out onto a really nice balcony or deck overlooking the Pacific.  The sun was beginning to set and the gulls were wheeling in the darkening sky.  Dinner was a really delicious grilled chicken salad with fresh vinaigrette, accompanied by white wine.  They made small-talk as they ate, as well as discussing the recently concluded exercise.  It wasn't an in-depth discussion.  Grace announced that would come in the morning.

June realized that her mentor had a talent for making people feel welcome, and was relieved that she was being treated as a guest and not a lowly apprentice or peasant-protege—not that Grace had ever shown any sign of being snooty or superior.  She was superior, in June's humble opinion, being the famous author Grace Scanlon, but she hadn't acted superior... except when June was bound, blindfolded, gagged and kneeling on the Great Room floor, of course... but that didn't count... did it?

June helped her mentor clean up after the meal, then Grace gave her an abbreviated tour of the Bungalow.  And that was abbreviated only in the sense that they trekked no more than a mile or two up and down the stairs to the various levels and didn't visit every room.  That was an exaggeration, of course, but the Bungalow was undeniably huge!  There was the Great Room, the library, the home theater, sitting room #1, sitting room #2, sitting room #3, etc., etc.  There was also a home gym (with treadmill, stationary bike, Nautilus machine, etc.), an indoor exercise pool (one of those elongated spas where the water churned and flowed and the user swam in place), a much larger outdoor pool, and a dry sauna lined with sweet-smelling cedar.

And finally, Grace led June to the guest suite that would be her bedroom.  It was big (which was not exactly a surprise) and luxurious without being overly opulent.  The Modern decor was one reason, but like all of Grace's home June had seen so far, the bedroom was elegant and pleasant—expensively elegant and pleasant.  Hardly cozy, but pleasant.

Grace bid her new protege a good night, planted a polite kiss on June's lips, then left her to unpack and settle in.  The kiss had been innocent, but a thrill rippled between June's legs as her mentor's lips brushed her own—as light as the near-caress of a songbird's fluttering wings.  She managed to return the good night wish (without saying "Uh") and Grace left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

June examined her new digs.

There was a small deck overlooking the Pacific with a cafe table, a pair of deck chairs, and what looked to be a comfortable lounge chair for sunbathing or vegging-out in general.  June noted that the table would be perfect for sitting with her laptop and writing, sipping coffee, and staring at the horizon.

And speaking of coffee... there was a small kitchenette with one of those pod-style, single-cup coffeemakers, a modest cook-top, a compact sink, a fully stocked mini-refrigerator (beer, wine, soda, milk, creamer, etc.), and a cabinet with plates, saucers, cups, and a few pots and pans.

The suite also had an attached bathroom with the usual sink and commode, as well as an enclosed shower and a Japanese-style soaking tub.

The closet was of the walk-in variety, with enough rack and cabinet space for June and a half-dozen others.  Three full-length mirrors were arranged together at the far end of the closet.

As for furnishings, the bed was platform-style and was huge—king-size, maybe California-king.  A love seat and a pair of easy chairs were arranged in a conversation group around a small coffee table.  Finally, a large writing desk with a desktop computer and a stylish office chair were tucked into a shallow alcove.

The place was a palace.  Well, June mused with a rueful smile, I guess she does, indeed, have room for a protege at her 'Bungalow.'

Unpacking didn't take very long.  June dropped her laptop case on the desk, hauled her suitcase into the closet, and began hanging her clothes or stashing them in cabinet drawers.  In the process, she discovered that her mentor/hostess had left her gifts in the form of exercise clothes and a swimsuit.

June had brought a ratty pair of running shoes and the baggy shorts that, together with her tank-top du jour, were her usual jogging outfit; but now she had several pairs of spandex, bicycle-style shorts to choose from, as well as running tights and an exercise kilt.  There were also four sports bras.  All were in various shades of red, from maroon to rose to crimson.

As for the swimsuit... it was a cherry-red string bikini.  The bottom wasn't an actual thong, but it definitely qualified as skimpy.  The top was also skimpy, little more than a tangle of thin ties and two triangular swatches.  That said, it wasn't scandalously skimpy, not in June's opinion, anyway.  As to why Grace was lending her a bikini...  I suppose it makes sense, June decided.  Size-wise, it's hard to go wrong with a string bikini.  It's so... adjustable.  There was also a cherry-red latex swimming cap with a chin strap and a pair of red swimming goggles with red-tinted lenses.  Apparently, Grace intended her to make a statement at poolside, and that statement was... RED!

June finished putting away her clothes, stowed her suitcase, then kicked off her sneakers, unzipped and removed her jeans, and hung them from a hanger for tomorrow.  They were clean... more or less.  She then removed her heather-gray outer tank-top it and hung up as well.  It would serve for tomorrow's inner tank-top.  Clad in black tank-top and pink and yellow Princess Peach panties, June padded into the bathroom with her toiletries kit.  Teeth brushed, bladder emptied, and face scrubbed, it was time for bed.

In June's best estimate, the bed sheets were of the gazillion thread-count variety.  They were definitely cotton, but felt like silk... she supposed.  June had no actual experience with silk sheets.  They were a deep mulberry color, with the lightweight blanket and bedspread in compatible shades of deep red.  There was a touchscreen remote to turn out the lights, but its menu was easy to decipher and soon the only light in the bedroom came from dim, blood-red, LED nightlights near the floor and shining from the bathroom.

Come to think of it, red is the accent color of the entire suite.  The bedroom wasn't red-on-red-on-red, but the drapes to either side of the picture window and sliding door leading out onto the deck/balcony, the throw pillows on the love seat and chairs, the towels in the bath, the loaner clothes in the closet, the bedclothes... everything not wood, chromed steel, mirrored glass, or sandstone-colored walls was some shade of red.  Bedroom, June thought as she heaved a huge yawn, I dub thee 'Redroom-the-Bedroom.'

A contented smile curling her lips, June rolled onto her side and into a fetal tuck.  What a day! she thought as she closed her eyes.  June was surprised she was tired.  I ought to be too excited to sleep, she reasoned.  Apparently, being kidnapped really takes it out of a person.  Who knew?  One more thing to add to the after-exercise report Grace had asked her to write in the morning.

Soon, she drifted off to sleep.

June just couldn't understand it.  It made absolutely no sense.  "Why do I have to be driven to Grace Scanlon's Fabulous Seaside Mansion dressed like this?" she demanded for the umpteenth time.

The "this" in question was a skimpy, scandalous costume suitable only for a costume party, a very private, very kinky costume party.  Charlotte had ordered her to strip to the skin, then don a pair of nylon stockings, a garter belt with dangling elastic snap-thingies, a pair of bikini-thong panties with over-the-hip side-ties, opera gloves that stretched from her fingertips to her upper arms, and a satin corset with rigid stays and a million crisscross laces squeezing it closed in the back!  And everything was in red!  Everything!  Silky nylons, frilly garter-belt, barely-there and easy-to-remove panties, waist-squeezing corset—red!  And the corset was of the boob-baring variety with frilly shelves that supported but in no way covered more than two half-moon slivers at the base of her under-boobs!

Needless to say, June's cheeks were also red.  She'd never been this embarrassed in her life!  "Why?"

Charlotte didn't answer, nor did she explain the secondary fashion mystery of the day: why Charlotte, herself, was wearing polished knee boots, jodhpurs, a double-breasted coat with a high collar, and a billed cap with goggles, all in black.  When asked, Charlotte answered "Because I'm driving," but that was hardly an explanation.

Next came a pair of high-heeled shoes—red, of course—with three-inch wide steel ankle straps!  And they locked!  And the heels were at least four inches!  The shoes were followed by three-inch wide handcuffs.  Or maybe they were "shackles," or "manacles."  Anyway, June's hands were now behind her back with her wrists locked together, and Charlotte was binding her upper arms, just above the elbows, with a second pair of wide steel cuffs!

"Charlotte!" June complained.

"Be quiet, we're late," Charlotte admonished her now captive, scantily clad friend, then locked a steel collar with an attached leash around June's neck.

"Charlotte!" June whined, stamping her feet in frustration—but carefully.  The heels were rather precarious.  June was more-or-less up on her tiptoes.

Charlotte was busy using a slinky steel chain to link June's wrist and upper arm cuffs to the back of her collar.  "I said quiet," she chuckled, then made the instruction moot by popping a ball-gag into June's astonished mouth and buckled its strap under her hair at the nape of her neck.  Both the ball and strap were red, of course.  "There," Charlotte said as she straightened June's hair with her driving glove-clad fingers.  "All set to go."  She took a firm grip on the red leather loop at the end of June's leash and headed for the apartment door.

June had no choice but to totter in her wake, but she did look back over her shoulder at her suitcase and laptop bag.

"Don't worry," Charlotte said without looking back.  "You don't need all that."

But I do! June thought.  I need the clothes and the files on the laptop and the thumb drives!

"Think of it as a fresh start," Charlotte added.

Is she reading my mind? June wondered.

Their destination was a luxurious limousine waiting at the curb in front of June's apartment.  She had no idea what make or model the thing might be, but it was sleek and modern and black, with tinted windows.  There were pedestrians on the street, but they ignored Charlotte and her bare-breasted prisoner completely, as did the drivers and passengers of the cars passing on the street.  It was the oddest thing.  Well, June decided, not the oddest thing.

Anyway, Charlotte opened the limo's back door and ushered June inside, where, much to the red-clad prisoner's wide-eyed surprise—"Mrrrk?"—Grace Scanlon was waiting!

Grace was wearing an exquisite ensemble: heels, hose, skirt, blouse, jacket, and scarf.  All were in black, except for the scarf, which was crimson-red.  Her honey-blond hair was loose about her shoulders and she was beautiful!  See also gorgeous, stunning, and hot!

"Sorry for the delay, M'Lady," Charlotte said as she lifted June's feet onto the limo's leather seat and pulled them together.  There was a metallic click, and the steel ankle-straps of June's heels were now locked together as securely as her wrists and elbow cuffs.

"Mrrrk?" June reiterated, but was ignored.  She was now lying on her left side and Charlotte was busy with the seat belts, clicking one set around her joined ankles and the other around her hips.  June's shoulders and head were cradled on Grace's lap!

"It took me longer than expected to squeeze her into the corset," Charlotte continued.  "I think it may be a size too small, but I managed."

"No problem," Grace purred, giving June's shoulder a reassuring pat.

June was not reassured.  "Mrrrk?"  She kicked, squirmed, and tugged on her bonds.

"Stop that," Charlotte barked, then delivered a gloved slap to June's right butt-cheek.

"That will be all, Charlotte," Grace purred.

"M'Lady," Charlotte responded, touching the brim of her cap, then closed the door.

"I know just the thing to help you relax," Grace said, then pulled the scarf free from her neck... and tied it over June's eyes as a blindfold!

"Mrrrk!"

"Hush, darling," Grace chuckled, then gave June's right breast a gentle squeeze.

The squeeeeeze sent a thrill rippling down June's spine (and between her legs).  She managed to stop struggling and mewling through her gag, but couldn't stop herself from shivering.

The driver's door opened and closed, the engine purred to life, and the limo pulled into traffic.

June continued shivering and Grace continued squeezing and releasing her breast.  And then, June felt a tug on the right string-tie of her panties.  "Mrrr?"  The bow surrendered... and the panties slithered away.  And then—"Mrrrf!"—Grace's free hand slid between June's legs and caressed her labia!

"I told you to hush," Grace purred.  Her hands continued to glide... and to squeeze... against her labia and around her breast, respectively.  "You're wet, you wicked girl."

June shivered and tugged on her inescapable bonds.  "Nrrr!"

"We're going to have so much fun," Grace continued, "once I get you back to my Fabulous Seaside Mansion."

Grace's strong, smooth, gentle hands continued working their mentoring magic—June continued quivering with naughty, embarrassed delight—and Charlotte continued driving, signaling all lane changes, keeping the limo at or near the speed limit, and giving the Highway Patrol no excuse to come to June's rescue.

June's horrific ordeal continued... and continued... and the thrill between her legs grew and grew... and her pussy got wetter and wetter... and finally—

"Ahhh!"

June sat up in bed.  The bedclothes were a tangle, her heart was hammering, her face flushed, her skin glistening with sweat, and her tank-top was damp and clinging to her body (including her boobs).  Also, there was a somewhat squishy, moist, recurring shiver between her legs.

It was a dream, June realized, a wet dream.  Wow.

June lay back down, heaved a sigh, pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin, and stared up at the dark ceiling.

"That is not going in the after-exercise report," June muttered under her breath, then closed her eyes and willed herself to go back to sleep.