| by Van ©2016
to never, ever, ever, under any circumstances
broach the subject of her mentor's obvious interest in bondage
games. That lasted until mid-afternoon of the next day.
Grace didn't require a written after-action report of the
Massage Table of Immodest Doom exercise, but they continued
their discussion of the value of practical experience to a
writer. And on a decidedly productive note (from a
strictly selfish point of view on June's part) Grace shared her
notes and general suggestions on improving the structure of
June's first novel. At the moment, the draft in question
was more a collection of half-developed scenes and placeholder
comments—like "SET UP ESCAPE FROM CASTLE HERE"—than anything
close to a coherent first draft. Restructuring at this
stage wasn't going to be that big of a deal, and based on a
quick read of Grace's notes, June could tell it would result in
great improvements in the story's narrative flow. There
were also character notes, and June found Grace's comments about
the nascent novel's main characters to be equally valuable.
June realized she had a lot to learn. She wasn't starting
from zero, Grace made that emphatically clear, but June was
humbled, and more convinced than ever that becoming Grace
Scanlon's protege was the best decision she'd ever made—or the
best offer she'd ever accepted—or the best favor anyone (meaning
Charlotte Roth) had ever done for her—or all of the above.
The day's exercise (physical exercise, not writing
exercise) was a run through the clifftop chaparral, June's
introduction to the Beach Bungalow's jogging/nature trail.
Grace was her workout partner and native guide.
June decided on a red outfit... mainly because all the loaner
exercise togs in the closet were in various shades of red.
Anyway, June met her mentor an hour after lunch at the
designated side entrance of the Bungalow in her allegedly white,
very ratty running shoes, a pair of red spandex thigh-length
shorts, and a red sports bra. Her hair was combed back and
captured in a ponytail by a red elastic scrunchy.
Grace was dressed in black and yellow-gold "toe runners"
(running shoes with individual toes), black spandex shorts
(slightly shorter than June's), and a salmon-pink sports bra
with black trim. Her honey-blond hair was pulled back and
plaited in a French braid. She looked HOT (both in June's
humble opinion and as usual.)
After the usual stretching exercises, Grace set a brisk pace,
but June found she could easily keep up. The trail under
their pounding feet was more of a sandy track, but it was clear
it was used often.
They continued their discussion of June's novel, including the
point where her heroine, "Moira," was captured by the villain,
"Arabella," who was more of an opportunist with loose ethics
than an actual villain.
"At some point," Grace said, "you'll have to decide precisely
how Moira is secured by Arabella down in the basement."
"Yeah," June agreed. She was only half thinking about the
conversation, distracted by the coastal scenery and the gulls
wheeling overhead. "It'll be a problem, 'cause I'm not
into that stuff like you are, and—" June's eyes popped
wide, her cheeks blossomed in a colossal blush, and she
skidded to a stop, nearly tripping in the loose sand.
"I-I, uh, I didn't mean that," she stammered. "Uh, I
mean..." She heaved an embarrassed sigh. "Oh, damn."
Grace also stopped, but much more gracefully (pun
intended). "Twenty demerits," she chuckled.
June favored her mentor with a mortified pout. "I'm sorry,
Grace," she said quietly.
"That's quite all right, protege," Grace purred. "I know
you're trying to stop abusing the alleged word 'uh,'
but try harder."
"No!" June huffed, stamping her right foot for emphasis.
"I'm sorry for saying you're into bondage... which I didn't
actually say, but..." She heaved another sigh,
then managed a weak smile. "I'm not stupid. Exercise
One with the handcuffs and the blindfold and the
kidnapping... Exercise Two with the special nylon
cuff-thingies... I'm not stupid." It was obvious
that Grace was enjoying her protege's predicament and had no
intention of letting her off the hook. June decided to
throw herself on the mercy of the court. "Help me out
here," she begged with a shy smile.
Grace chuckled in response. "Very cute. Yes, I'm
'into bondage,' as you put it, and have been since I was a small
"I see," June said gravely, then blushed, again. "I mean,
I don't see, but... it's no big deal."
Grace nodded, then gestured forward and they resumed
running. "The creative rewards of practical experience for
the writer still apply, of course."
"Of course," June agreed. "Then looked sideways at her
smiling mentor. "So... Exercise Three?" June
instantly and metaphorically kicked herself in the metaphorical
keister. Why the hell did I bring that up
now? Why now?
Grace jogged for several paces before responding. "We'll
conduct 'Exercise Three' as soon as we get back to the
Bungalow," she decreed.
"What are you gonna do?" June inquired.
Grace didn't respond. She simply continued smiling... and
June jogged at her side, waiting until it was obvious she wasn't
going to get a reply (or a preview of her fate). "Very
funny," she huffed, finally.
The run continued... and for June, the suspense began to build.
to the Beach Bungalow, enjoyed glasses of cool water in the
kitchen, then strolled to the yoga studio in the exercise
complex. It was a bright, airy space with a jade-blue
padded floor, rich paneling of blond wood, and a wall of glass
overlooking the Pacific. Grace closed off the studio from
the rest of the house by means of a shoji screen-like sliding
June watched as Grace opened a built-in cabinet, revealing a row
of duffel bags in all the colors of the rainbow. She
selected a red duffel, closed the cabinet, and returned to her
"There are several different ways to proceed from this point,"
Grace said with a smile, "but what I'd like to do is show you
the upper limit of the sort of things our 'exercises' might
June cleared her throat before answering. "Upper limit?"
"If we establish an upper boundary," Grace continued, "at least
one realm of uncertainty will be eliminated."
Grace's smile turned coy (or possibly sinister). "Not that
unbearable tension, gnawing suspense, and crippling anxiety
won't be hallmarks of all of our future experiments."
June favored her mentor with her best dimpled moue. "It's
not nice to tease your protege," she huffed.
"Point taken," Grace chuckled. "Strip."
June's eyes widened and she very nearly earned herself ten more
demerits. Uh... "Strip?"
"Strip," Grace confirmed.
Moment of truth, June thought... then stooped and unlaced
her running shoes, pulled them off, then peeled off her anklets
and stuffed them inside. Next, she stood, hooked her
thumbs in the waistband of her crimson latex shorts... and
paused. "Wait. Why naked?"
Grace's smile was unchanged. "We'll discuss all aspects of
the exercise after I've finished with the
demonstration," she intoned. "But the immediate answer to
your question is, you will remove your clothing because I
"Well... there is that," June said quietly, then pulled down her
running shorts, followed by her panties, followed by pulling her
sports bra over her head and adding it to the loose pile of
clothes atop her shoes. She did her best not to blush as
she disrobed (but failed, miserably).
Grace smiled, made a significant glance at the jumbled clothes,
then returned her smile to her nude protege.
June rolled her eyes, then quickly but neatly folded her shorts,
panties, and bra and stacked them on top of her side-by-side
"Place them by the shoji screen," Grace ordered, then
knelt and unzipped the duffel.
June carried her shoes and running clothes to the translucent
door, placed them near the threshold, padded back to Grace at
the center of the studio—and her eyes popped wide, again.
Grace was pulling coils of red rope from the duffel and
arranging them in a neat row. The rope was all the same
bright-red braided nylon, about the width and weight of
clothesline, and from the way the rope behaved as Grace placed
the coils on the blue mat flooring, it was all quite pliant, not
at all stiff and new... at least that was how it appeared to
Not that I know that much about different kinds of rope,
June thought, but apparently, I'm about get a little more up
close and personal experience. Grace continued
pulling coils from the open bag, and June swallowed, nervously.
Grace patted the mat. "Be seated, protege," she purred.
June settled to the floor and sat on her butt with her hands
back, palms flat on the mat, and arms straight and supporting
her upper body. Her feet and legs were together in
front. She watched with great interest as Grace lifted the
first coil of crimson rope from the row of more-than-a-dozen
bundled coils, released and unwound its wrappings, then found
the center and doubled the rope.
Grace proceeded to bind June's feet together, and that included
her big toes, two doubled strands around her soles and insteps,
and her ankles. She worked quickly, methodically,
and with obvious experience, at least that was how it seemed to
She knows exactly what she's doing, with no second
guessing or false starts, June noted as doubled strands
continued to slither and tighten.
Grace worked her way up June's legs, tightening more and more
rope and taking hitches between her protege's calves and shins
as the bindings climbed towards June's knees. Each time
she reached the end of a coil she extended the rope by tying on
another doubled coil. This left an ever growing series of
neatly knotted junctions with two-inch loops and short free ends
at irregular intervals. The process of binding June's legs
June noticed that Grace was regularly sliding a crooked finger
between her skin and the advancing ropes, straightening the lay
of the strands and insuring the tension was uniform,
throughout. The sensation as her mentor's finger slid
against her skin and the red ropes tightened was...
interesting. The smile on Grace's lips and the glint in
her eyes was also interesting... very interesting.
June gazed at the red rope dimpling the flesh of her legs.
Finally, June's legs were bound from her big toes to her upper
thighs. Grace had reached the end of her latest coil of
red rope and was tying a elaborate, rosette-style knot.
"Turn around, please, darling," Grace requested (ordered).
"No problem," June drawled, lifted her heels, spun on her butt
until her back was to her mentor, then settled her bound feet
back on the mat.
Grace prepared yet another coil of rope, then dropped a doubled
loop over June's head and shoulders and snugged it tight above
her breasts, pinning June's upper arms to her sides.
Another doubled loop followed... then two more, this time below
"This is called a box-tie," Grace explained.
June flinched at Grace's words. Her mentor's no doubt
smiling lips were only inches from her left ear. The
volume hadn't been especially loud, but this was the first time
Grace had spoken, other than to give orders, since they'd begun
"Box-tie," June repeated in a near whisper.
"The box-tie has many virtues," June continued. "Done
properly, it's inescapable, but it renders the bindee helpless
while not being especially uncomfortable. It's eminently
suitable for long term bondage."
June blinked as more rope tightened and Grace yoked her
shoulders, cinching the horizontal ropes above and below
breasts, traveling from armpit to armpit by way of the nape of
her neck. 'Long term bondage?' She managed a
nervous smile as the binding continued. "Is 'bindee' a
"Impertinent pup," Grace chuckled. "No, 'bindee' is not
a real word." She lifted and folded June's arms behind
her back, crossing her wrists against her spine with her
forearms each slightly above the horizontal.
June winced as rope tightened around and between her
wrists. The doubled coils were as tight as the rest of her
bonds, and not at all painful, but they represented the
unequivocal point-of-no-return. Once her mentor added a
knot, June knew she'd be truly helpless. Additional
strands cinched her wrist bonds... then slithered and tightened
across her palms... then looped around and captured her
thumbs! Helpless, indeed, she thought as Grace
added the Knot of Doom.
"Flop down onto your stomach," Grace purred.
You're not finished? June somewhat awkwardly
complied with her mentor's (and captor's) instructions... and
the binding continued. Rope tightened around her waist,
one end of which Grace had hitched through her upper-arm, wrist,
and hand bondage. June gasped as rope slithered between
her thighs and tightened, bisecting her butt-cheeks and
labia. Then, Grace rolled her onto her back and passed the
remaining rope under the waist rope, more-or-less over her
bellybutton, then back between her legs, labia, and butt-cheeks.
"Is that really necessary?" June complained as Grace tied a
knot, then used the remaining length of doubled rope to link her
upper-body bondage to her leg-bondage.
"I'm afraid it is," Grace chuckled.
At least she didn't use her finger to test the tightness of
the rope, June thought. Actually, Grace had used
her finger to test the tightness of the waist ropes, but not
when she tied the crotch-anchor. Nonetheless, the four
individual strands of rope cleaving June's labia and butt felt
just as tight as the rest of her bonds, a tribute to her
mentor's skill as a... What do you call an expert in rope
bondage? June wondered. What's the opposite of
'escape artist?' She was about to ask Grace's
opinion when she realized her mentor had zipped the red duffel
closed, climbed to her feet, and was returning it to the cabinet
with the other duffels. She rummaged in another cabinet,
then returned to her naked, thoroughly rope-bound protege.
The question of a proper title for a rope bondage expert had
completely fallen out of June's head. Grace was holding a
ball-gag, and was smiling down at the damsel-silencing device in
her hands. The spherical mouth plug was black plastic, or
possibly hard rubber, and was hollow and pierced by a dozen or
more small holes. The attached strap was black leather,
and a small, open padlock dangled from a tiny hasp in the tongue
of the buckle.
"As you can see," Grace lectured as she knelt at June's side,
"this model is designed with safety in mind. It's far from
the most effective damsel-silencer in my collection, but you'll
find it to be completely breathable." She heaved a
slightly disappointed sigh. "A pity I don't have one in
red. Then, it would match the rest of your ensemble.
But once I start down that path, buying every toy in every
color? Where would it end? I'd have to have a
dedicated warehouse built to house everything, and that would
ruin the landscaping."
For the life of her, June couldn't think of a snappy comeback...
and then it became a moot point as Grace thrust the ventilated
ball into her mouth—"Mrrrf?"—secured the buckle at the nape of
her neck, under her red scrunchy-enforced ponytail, then snapped
the padlock through the tongue. As if I was in any
position to unbuckle the damn thing! June thought.
She could feel the holes in the ball with her tongue, and air
whistled in and out of the spherical plug when she forced a
breath through her mouth. "Mrrrk!" Speech was
impossible, but June found she could make some noise.
"Well," Grace said, rocking back on her heels and smiling at her
now thoroughly bound and gagged protege, "aren't you a delightful
sight." Her eyes traveled up and down June's slowly
squirming body. "All naked and helpless. Simply...
Captivated, maybe, June thought, then tested her
bonds in earnest. It was obvious that she wasn't going
anywhere, not until Grace decided the exercise was over, anyway.
June twisted, kicked, and squirmed for several seconds... then
heaved a gagged, frustrated sigh, stopped struggling, and locked
eyes with her grinning mentor. She supposed she should be
glaring and staring the proverbial daggers, but June found she
just couldn't do it. She'd volunteered to take part in
this "exercise." Granted, she hadn't known exactly what
she was getting herself into, but she knew she'd be rendered
helpless... and she was... helpless... in spades.
Grace smiled at her protege for several heartbeats... then
gracefully rose to her feet and strolled to the shoji-screen
June rolled onto her side and watched as Grace slid the screen
all the way back into the wall, stooped and retrieved June's
shoes and clothes, then stepped across the threshold, and
"You have one hour to escape, protege." Grace proclaimed.
"If you fail, I'm afraid you'll be in here for much longer."
With that, she reached for something on the far side of the
wall, there was an audible click, and a thick and
apparently solid panel of blond wood that matched the studio
paneling began slowly sliding from the wall and across the
"Mrrrf!" June fought her crimson bonds with all her
strength... which wasn't nearly enough. Her mentor
continued smiling... the panel continued to slide... Grace and
her smile disappeared... and the panel finished closing with a
thud. The rectangular studio was now defined by one
wall of glass and three of featureless wood. There was no
visible means of opening the now invisible door.
June panted through her quietly whistling gag and her
red-rope-framed breasts heaved. Her heart was pounding and
she felt flushed... or aroused... but that couldn't be
right. June couldn't be aroused, not per
se. Oh, who am I kidding? she thought.
Sweaty Grace Scanlon in sweaty running clothes tying up sweaty,
naked June Kempe was... a novel experience. Stop it! she
chided herself. You're horny! Grace
tying you up has made you horny! Admit it!
It was true, but even with four strands of rope cleaving her
pussy and an entire yoga studio's worth of wiggling room...
there was only so much June could do about it.
June began squirming, kicking, twisting, and fighting her
bonds. Escaping Grace's red-rope-masterpiece in less than
one hour might be an absurd impossibility, but the secondary
goal of doing something about her horniness might just be
doable... maybe... with enough dedication.
damsel that she was, June Kempe fought her elaborate red
rope bonds with all her strength, using every trick and
escape technique in her extensive repertoire; but Grace
Scanlon—criminal mastermind, international archvillainess,
and not at all nice person—had done her work too well.
The red strands encircled and squeezed June's nude, shining,
tan, athletic, curvaceous, and eminently desirable body from
her shoulders to her big toes, like the coils of an overly
amorous but not particularly peckish python.
June was an experienced adventurer. Some said she was
the real life inspiration for the video-game character Lara
Croft. In any case, she was more or less a female
Indiana Jones, only not an archaeologist, and certainly not a weak,
simpering "damsel-in-distress" who whined and mewled through
her gag and ineffectually squirmed in her bonds, rope or
otherwise. Nonetheless, it was becoming abundantly
clear that she would not be escaping from Grace's
restrictive handiwork. It was... irritating.
Suddenly, the massive wood and steel door sealing off the
only entrance to the dedicated Bondage Studio of Grace
Scanlon's Fabulous Lair rumbled open, and June's hostess and
captor made her grand entrance.
Grace's honey-blond hair was tastefully coiffed around her
evilly smiling face and she was dressed in stiletto-heeled
thigh-boots that laced up the front, a full-body catsuit or
leotard, a tight, waist-constricting and boob-enhancing
corset, and elbow-length opera gloves. It was her
usual attire, but it wasn't entirely clear if the various
elements were spandex, latex, or leather. What was
clear was the gleaming, shimmering, ebony-black color of
everything clinging to and/or laced onto Grace's curvaceous,
exquisite, albeit villainous, body. She was a
vision-in-black, but not a Victorian Dominatrix, more like
an Evil Space Queen from a French, sci-fi graphic novel.
"Well," Grace purred as she approached June's helpless,
rope-bound form, "it would seem the world famous,
swashbuckling adventuress can be rendered as pathetically
impotent as any other damsel. Now... let's see how you
handle a little distress, shall we?" She
produced a remote control from somewhere on her sinister
person and pressed a button.
A whirring noise sounded and June lifted her gagged head
from the mat. The noise was coming from somewhere
beyond the studio and was growing louder. And then, a
very curious machine rolled into view on rubber
treads. It was something like an industrial robot
mounted on a riding lawnmower, or maybe a small forklift or
cargo-handling machine mated with a tiny tractor.
Also, June noted, it might be a robot. The
lenses of a pair or video cameras prominently mounted on
the... thing... were staring at her as it rolled forward.
The robot—June decided it was a robot—deployed a
horizontal, articulated array of steel claws padded with
rubber and attached to what appeared to be a powerful
lifting arm, and clamped them around June's bound and gagged
body. She complained—"Mrrrpfh!"—and squirmed, but soon
found herself dangling in midair. The robot spun on
its treads... and rolled away, taking her with it.
Grace followed behind at a stately, graceful pace, a
sinister smile on her beautiful face.
June remained horizontal, and the half dozen or so padded
claws cradling and supporting her body were evenly
distributed and more-or-less comfortable—as comfortable as
her red-rope bonds, anyway.
Their immediate destination was a service elevator.
The steel doors opened, the robot spun 180° and entered the
car, Grace joined them, and the doors rumbled closed.
They descended and descended, a bell chiming as they passed
each floor. Obviously, Grace's lair had extensive and
hitherto unsuspected subterranean levels. There was a
final chime, the elevator doors rumbled open, and they
entered a long, downward-sloping corridor of featureless
concrete lit by periodic blue-white LED lights set in the
As they neared the end of the corridor, a massive concrete
panel rumbled to the side, and they entered a curious
space. It was large and more-or-less cubical, about
thirty feet on a side and with a thirty-foot ceiling.
A plethora of wire-thin, stainless steel cables stretched
from dozens of pulleys mounted high, low, and in between on
all four walls, including the ceiling. They all met in
the center, slack and drooping like a limp net. There,
several pulleys and clips lay in a cluster.
The robot rolled over the floor and the cables, then, with
surprising gentleness, deposited Jane in the middle of the
cluster of clips. It returned to the open door and,
having served its purpose, rolled out of sight.
Meanwhile, Grace had knelt and was clamping the clips, one
at a time, through the many points in June's bondage where,
during the binding process, she'd extended the red rope and
left behind a knot and a small loop. Click followed
click, and soon every loop sported a clip and pulley.
June rolled and kicked, and the loose cables slithered and
slid through the spinning pulleys and the clips
rattled. The final clip was special, specially
designed to slide into one of the holes of the hollow,
ventilated rubber sphere plugging June's mouth and click
into place. Now, June's gag was a part of the array.
Grace stood, smiled down at her naked, helpless
victim/guest, then spun on her booted stiletto-heels and
strolled to the door, the heels in question tapping on the
hard, smooth concrete. She paused at the threshold,
produced the small remote, and again pressed a button.
June heard another whirring sound, but it wasn't the robot
returning. The thin, shining cables began to stir and
the pulleys to spin, and June realized that somewhere a
powerful but unseen winch was turning, drawing the cables
onto a no doubt huge reel... and the cables were no longer
drooping. In fact, they were lifting off the floor and
becoming ever more straight... and then taut... and now,
they were lifting June into the air!
June struggled and complained, but could do nothing to
prevent herself from being suspended. The cables
continued to tighten, and finally, just as June feared they
would tug on the ropes and begin squeezing her to death, the
whirring sound stopped.
June was now suspended more-or-less at the center of the
chamber, with taut, silvery cables stretching in all
directions. She found she could barely wiggle, much
less escape from the web of steel or her red-rope cocoon.
And then... it was finally time for the Big
"Soon, my electro-mechanical spider-crab robots will
appear," Grace declaimed, "climb the web of steel, and use
their vibrating mouth-parts, buzzing abdomens, and grabby,
claw-like legs to caress and torment your helpless body,
squeeze your breasts, clamp and titillate your nipples, and
buzz against your taut crotch-ropes, until you're driven
hopelessly insane by wave upon wave of unendurable
Jane recoiled in horror (metaphorically). Not
electro-mechanical spider-crab robots! Anything but
electro-mechanical spider-crab robots!
Suddenly, June heard a clicking and clattering noise.
It grew louder, and dozens of gleaming steel horrors began
streaming into the chamber, clicking and clattering to
either side of Grace. They were, indeed,
electro-mechanical spider-crab robots, each about the size
of a soccer ball, with multiple glowing, red camera-eyes and
balanced on eight articulated legs, like a real
spider! They distributed themselves among the
suspending cables and began to climb! Obviously, June
was their goal! June was their prey! June was
the means to satiate their no doubt elaborately programmed
erotic appetites! And she could do nothing but watch
in impotent horror as the technological travesties skittered
along the wire-thin cables and drew ever closer to her
"Farewell, June Kempe!" Grace proclaimed. "When next
we meet, you'll be my mindless sex-slave!"
The massive concrete door rumbled closed... and June was
alone with the electro-mechanical spider-crab robots!
And then, they arrived—and began using their surprisingly
dexterous steel, spider-crab legs to caress and tease her
rope-bound flesh—and clamp onto her rope-framed breasts and
squeeze—use their clittering mouthparts to titillate
her nipples—and their buzzing, vibrating abdomens to torment
(meaning entertain) her rope-cleaved labia!
And it went on and on, until finally, inevitably, the waves
of pleasure built, and built, and—
popped open and she screamed—"Mrrrrk!"—through her ventilated
After the initial shock of waking up and finding herself naked,
bound with red rope from toes to shoulders—she realized she was
not naked, bound with red rope from toes to shoulders,
suspended from a web of steel cables, and being boinked by
vibrating spider-crab robots! Her pussy was throbbing...
or tingling... or... whatever. It was also squishy.
The four strands of red rope sliding between her labia hadn't
exactly worked up a lather, but she was wet... and her entire
bound body was shivering in the aftermath of what must have been
a crashing orgasm. A pity I was asleep at the
time, she mused.
Oh-by-the-way, June's head and shoulders were cradled in Grace's
lap, and her mentor's strong, smooth fingers were tucking loose
strands of June's hair behind her ears, strands that had managed
to escape the red scrunchy still valiantly struggling to contain
her ponytail. Grace was sitting on the mat with her legs
tucked to one side and was dressed not in an Evil Space Queen
costume, but a sensible (and no doubt hideously expensive) pair
of open-toed heels, a pencil skirt, and a light cotton
blouse. The smile on her mentor's angelic face did nothing
to alleviate June's shivering and squishiness problems.
"I must confess, protege, that you've surprised me," Grace
purred. "I was confident you'd find it impossible to
escape from my ropes, but it never occurred to me that you might
decide to take a nap."
June blinked her eyes, blushed, and weakly squirmed in her
bonds. She wasn't trying to escape—that was clearly
impossible—but she was doing her best to metaphorically
crawl under the nearest metaphorical rock. No such luck,
metaphorical or otherwise. June was busted.
"Report," Grace chuckled as she turned June's head, unlocked the
padlock securing the buckle of the ball-gag, released the
buckle, then eased the ball from June's mouth.
"Thank you," June gasped, working her jaw and licking her lips.
"Report," Grace reiterated with a smile, once again combing and
straightening her helpless protege's hair with her fingers.
"I... I didn't escape," June sighed, stating the obvious.
"No, you didn't," Grace agreed, continuing to smile, "but you did
have yourself a rather erotic dream, didn't you?"
June blinked again, wondering what sort of writhing, sweaty,
rope-restrained, mewling spectacle she'd provided when Grace
returned to the studio. She was also trying to decide
whether or not to lie through her no longer ball-gag-biting
teeth, but what was the point? It was obvious she'd put on
some kind of a show. The cat was out of the bag...
in fact, the pussy was out of the bag and was tingling.
"I realize you're very nervous," Grace purred, "so I
won't assess additional demerits."
June managed a wry smile. "That's very big of you," she
drawled. "Yes... I had a dream. You were some sort
of Bond villainess... and robot spiders were involved."
Grace nodded. "Elaborate, please."
June heaved a sigh, and did so, describing her ridiculous,
melodramatic dream in complete detail. As June made her
narrative, Grace continued stroking her hair... and
smiling. Finally, the story reached its climax (literally
and quite embarrassingly), and June fell silent.
Grace smiled down at June.
June smiled back, just a little. She also blinked in
"Well," Grace said, finally, "I suppose we must add the topic of
sexual preferences to our discussions, as well as my interest in
June blinked, again, before answering. "Only if you want
to." June was proud of herself for not prefacing her inane
rejoinder with "Uh," but couldn't think of anything clever to
"But first," Grace continued, "we must complete the exercise."
June squirmed in Grace's lap. "I-I thought we were done."
Grace's chuckled as she readied the ball-gag. "What did I
say would happen if you failed to escape?"
"Ah, c'mon!" June complained, but opened her mouth and accepted
the ventilated rubber sphere. As Grace secured and padlocked
the buckle at the nape of her neck, she continued
complaining—"Mrrrf"—put it was more of a muffled, whining pout
than an actual protest. However, she genuinely protested
and flinched in her bonds when Grace's left hand first
cupped her left breast... and then gave it a gentle squeeze.
Grace smiled and continued compressing June's breast, not in a
painful manner, of course, but with firm force. "I want
you to understand that I never force myself on my
playmates," she purred, "and that goes for my proteges, as
well." She released her grip, leaned close, and kissed
June's glistening forehead. "Now... you've had one hour to
convince yourself that you're my helpless prisoner..." She
pulled the scrunchy from June's hair, freeing her
ponytail. "Granted, you did waste most of the
hour indulging in an erotic fantasy, but you are helpless...
June nodded her gagged head. Helpless? Hell
yes I'm helpless.
Grace pulled the scrunchy from June's hair, freeing the long,
gleaming brown waves from their former ponytail, then gently
eased her protege's head and shoulders off her lap and onto the
mat. She thrust her right hand through the scrunchy,
transforming the rumpled elastic band into a red fabric
bracelet, then gracefully stood.
God she's beautiful, June thought, staring up at her
mentor... and captor. June's left breast was still
tingling from Grace's touch... and squeeze.
Granted, her left boob had instantly returned to normal, meaning
the momentary paleness caused by Grace's strong, smooth fingers
had almost instantly returned to the relative paleness caused by
the bikini top that usually shielded her boobs from the sun at
the beach or poolside; however, her nipple—both
nipples—were now standing at attention.
"I must admit," Grace said, "the idea of using the loops of the
extension knots for suspension has never occurred to me.
It's impractical, of course. Suspension requires careful
engineering, so as not to be painful and cause harm. No
respectable Kinbaku practitioner would use extension
knot loops as suspension points."
Ken who? June wondered.
Grace turned and strolled to the open doorway.
"Electro-mechanical spider-crab robots?" she chuckled, shaking
her head. "You certainly have the imagination required of
a successful writer, protege." She paused at the threshold
to tap the hidden switch on the far side of the wall, then
continued smiling as the solid panel of blond wood slowly slid
closed, sealing June in the otherwise empty studio.
June squirmed in her bonds. Everything was just as tight
and inescapable as the instant Grace had tied the final knot and
abandoned her to her fate—before her nap—before her silly (but hot)
wet-dream—and before Grace's return and June spilling the
proverbial beans to her mentor.
And now... I'm abandoned again... and still tied up.
June heaved a gagged sigh, rolled onto her side, and stared out
the window-wall at the Pacific. The afternoon sky was a
brilliant, cerulean blue, the only clouds a hazy band near the
horizon. As she watched, a V-formation of five brown
pelicans appeared... flapping from right to left... and then
June's breast was still tingling, just a little. Permission.
She won't 'force' herself on me without my permission.
June squirmed in her red-rope-bonds. Obviously, she had a
lot of thinking to do, and it would seem Grace was giving her
plenty of time in which to do it.