|by Van ©2016
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
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
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
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,
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.
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
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
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
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.
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?"
"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
"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
'Just you and me,' June thought, heaved another sigh,
gave her handcuffs another futile tug, then settled in to wait.
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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!
thought. I need the clothes and the files on the laptop and
the thumb drives!
"Think of it as a fresh start," Charlotte added.
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
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
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
"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!
"Hush, darling," Grace chuckled, then gave June's right
breast a gentle squeeze.
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
June shivered and tugged on her inescapable bonds.
"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—
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.
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.