by Van ©2016
		Chapter 3

June awoke at the crack of dawn.  It was her habit to go for a before-breakfast jog, but she'd decided that as Grace's protege and house guest it was best to learn her mentor's routine and adjust accordingly.  Besides, she had no idea if it was even possible to go jogging in the area of the Beach Bungalow.  Peering off balconies and through various windows during yesterday's tour, she'd pieced together an impression of the surrounding landscape that didn't include any clearly delineated walkways or paths.  There might be a trail suitable for jogging, but she'd have to explore to find it (or ask Grace, if she wanted to simplify matters).

June's immediate priorities were a shower, the rest of her morning toilette, a cup of coffee, and getting dressed, in that order.  Soon, she was ready for her first complete day at the Beach Bungalow.  She finished her coffee, then rinsed the bone china cup and saucer and placed them in the dish rack next to the kitchenette's compact sink.  She'd have to get used to delicate, fancy-schmansy cups, having left her favorite mug (Game of Thrones/House Targaryen) at her apartment.  I'll ask Charlotte to bring it out the next time she drops off my mail, June decided, not at all above asking her would-be agent to execute a trivial and ever-so-slightly onerous task.  She kidnapped me, June thought.  She owes me.

Anyway, dressed in sneakers, jeans, yesterday's heather-gray outer tank-top as today's inner tank-top, and an army-green tank-top emblazoned with a tan Zelda Triforce emblem as today's outer tank-top, June ventured forth to find her mentor (or, if Grace was still asleep, to do a little discrete snooping).  Unfortunately, no surreptitious but innocent reconnaissance proved feasible.  Grace was already up.

Grace: expensively and exquisitely dressed in a pretty summer dress in hunter-green, black, and white, black heels, loose, perfectly "casual," honey-blond hair, gorgeous and smiling, as always.

"Good morning," Grace said as June entered the kitchen.  "A Greek frittata is in the oven.  Coffee?"

"Morning," June responded.  "I'll wait 'til we're ready to eat.  I had a cup in my room."  What's a Greek frittata? she wondered.  Whatever it was, it smelled good, and it turned out to be a quiche-like baked egg concoction with Roma tomatoes, spinach, and feta cheese, and it was very good, indeed!  It wasn't June's usual breakfast fare, but it sure was tasty!

As they ate, June broached the subject of jogging trails and learned that there was, indeed, such a trail on the property, and it was nearly three miles in length.  It more or less circumnavigated the property, including a stretch along the cliff overlooking the shoreline.  It started down the driveway and looped to either side, nearly in a figure-eight, but never came within direct sight of any part of the Beach Bungalow.  With the exception of the driveway, it was like jogging through native chaparral.  Grace confessed she used it more as a nature trail than for jogging.  She stayed fit by swimming and using the machines in her gym.

Breakfast and cleanup complete, June received her marching orders: she was to write her formal after-exercise report, e-mail it to Grace, then report to the pool-spa for her daily exercise, meaning June's daily exercise.  Normally, if a person (like Charlotte, for example) had presumed to be that bossy, June would have told her where to shove her exercise routine, but Grace came off as anything but bossy.  She was more... aristocratically authoritative?  Anyway, they were still feeling their way through the whole mentor/protege dynamic (or June was, anyway) so she decided to go with the flow... literally, once she was in the pool.

June returned to "Redroom-the-Bedroom," took her laptop out onto the balcony, and set to work.  The password Grace had provided made negotiating with the household WiFi god a brief and painless affair, and since there had been no discussion of the format Grace expected in an "after-exercise report," June decided to go with a straightforward narrative... with zero discussion of nocturnal after-exercise fantasies, of course.  June did her best, and since she was getting a decidedly Socratic vibe from her mentor, she assumed Grace would let her know if her efforts were inadequate.

By the time she was satisfied with the report and hit the send button, it was more-or-less time to get ready for her swim.  Donning the red bikini was a quick and straightforward process, and as June had washed her hair during her morning shower, she decided to also use the red swim-cap.  Some such caps have a bulge in the back to accommodate long hair, but this one did not; however, June managed to tuck all of her long, brown curls under the red latex.  She stretched the strap under her chin, then made a final evaluation in the closet mirrors, striking a pose and executing a graceful pirouette.

Not bad, June decided, a saucy smile dimpling her cheeks.  Let Grace ogle me for a change.  She then turned and padded from the closet—scampered back to grab the red-tinted swimming goggles—then padded away, again.

Grace was waiting for her beside the endless pool, still wearing the very pretty summer dress and black heels.  June watched as she knelt and demonstrated the waterproof touch screen mounted on a low pedestal at the upstream end of the pool.  She set the total length of the swim at 30 minutes with alternating slow and fast five minute periods.  She pointed to a horizontal, stainless steel bar set in the side of the pool at the downstream end.  "If it gets to be too much," Grace explained, "just stop swimming, drift back, and press the bar with your feet.  That will cancel the program."

June nodded.  It was mildly irritating that Grace wasn't staring at her protege's nearly naked body.  The least she could do is give me a courtesy leer.  Anyway, as long as fast wasn't too fast, a half hour sounded reasonable as a workout.  June was a good swimmer.  In fact, she'd been on her high school swim team... not that she'd been a star, or that her team had been all that good.  They hadn't been last in their local conference, but they'd never came close to going to the state finals, not in the three years that "June-bug Kempe" was on the team, anyway.  The point was: June could swim.

"I'm going to read your report," Grace announced as she hit the "ENTER" button and the water began to flow.  "Afterwards, I'll come back for my daily swim."

"Okay," June answered, slid the red-tinted goggles in place and made sure they were properly seated, then eased herself into the churning water, entered the endless stream, and began to swim.  She noted that Grace was watching her, but that was probably to assure herself that June wouldn't drown as soon as she turned her back.  June still didn't think she was being ogled.  It was... disappointing... sort of.

June concentrated on getting into the groove, alternating strokes while she evaluated the current.  It had been years since she'd done serious swimming, but found she was having little difficulty with the pace.  She suspected Grace had chosen a novice-level program, just to be safe, but no worries.  June knew her shoulders would probably appreciate it in about half an hour.  She'd work her way up to competitive routines in the days to come.

The half hour passed... June swam... and finally, an audible chime sounded through the water... and the pump wound down to full stop.  June planted her feet, grabbed the edge, and vaulted from the pool.  Windmilling her arms and stretching, she padded to a nearby chair, picked up the waiting towel, and started drying herself.  She looked around for Grace, but found she had the pool area to herself.  She patted her face dry, then, June's heart skipped a beat.

Grace had arrived.

June's mentor was wearing a one piece tank suit of lustrous, ebony spandex, with her hair tucked under a matching swim-cap.  Either that, or she'd somehow dipped herself in shiny black plastic, somehow excluding her arms, legs, and face.  The suit was French-cut at the hips, with a generous scoop decolletage and narrow shoulder-straps, and the dark color contrasted with her fair, firm, smooth skin.  Grace was hot!  Aristocratic, fit... and hot!

A thrill rippled between June's legs as her mentor gracefully (pun intended) closed the distance.  Pokies!  Camel-toe!  June was thinking about Grace, although she knew her wet bikini was probably equally guilty of stretching over and clinging to her nipples and labia.  Anyway, Grace Scanlon might be 40-something... but she was hot!

Grace smiled at her carefully not staring protege.  "Good swim?"

"Uh, I'll let you know if my shoulder and back turn sore," June said.  "It's been a while.  But... yeah."

"Ten demerits," Grace purred.

"Excuse me?"

"For starting a sentence with 'uh,'" Grace explained.

June's cheeks burned (slightly).  "Touché."  That thrill was trying to reassert itself, and June was doing her best to stifle the damn thing.

"Your report on yesterday's exercise is fine," Grace said, "and I still agree with your conclusion that the absence of a fear factor made the exercise of questionable value; however, I think I have a solution."

Still carefully not staring at Grace's pokies, June finished drying her body, dropped her towel on the bench, and started to remove her red swim-cap.

"No," Grace said with a peremptory gesture.  "Leave it, darling."

'Darling.'  June blushed, again, but with chagrin, not in embarrassment.  Stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on your damn teacher, dweeb! she chided herself.  Meanwhile, Grace took hold of June's right hand (which put her thrill suppression efforts back several notches) and led her towards what appeared to be a massage table.

The home gym, with its Nautilus machine, treadmill, and stationary bike, as well as the endless pool, the entrance to the dry sauna, and what was probably an aerobics or yoga studio, were all interconnected and on the same level, forming a sort of home fitness complex.  The massage table was more-or-less in the center, visible from at least a part of all of the other venues.  It was more a pedestal than a table, in that its base was a rectangular box of polished wood, but the proportions and the padding—especially the oval-shaped depression designed to cushion the back of a person's head if they were lying on their back or their face if they were on their stomach—made the function clear.

"Hop on up," Grace suggested (ordered), giving the padding a tap.

"Y-you're going to give me a massage?" June asked.  She'd managed to stifle an "Uh," but her slightly nervous stammer was equally embarrassing.

"If you like," Grace purred, her lips curled in a coy, devilish smile, "but mainly, this will be the setting for our second exercise."

"Second exercise?"

"Second exercise," Grace confirmed, then tapped the table, again.  "Up you go."

June was reluctant (see also hesitant and averse), but she was also curious, and for June Kempe, curiosity trumped just about everything.  She jumped up onto the waist-high table/pedestal and reclined on her back on the firm padding.  The back of her latex-clad head fit comfortably in the padding's oval "face cushion" and the table was exactly the right width and length to hold her relaxed body... meaning her not so relaxed body.  June was nervous.  She hoped it wasn't visible, but her muscles were tense and her heart and breathing rates were somewhat elevated.

Grace took hold of June's right hand, again, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "You trust me, don't you?" she asked.

June blinked and locked eyes with her mentor (and managed to suppress another "Uh").  "Yes, of course."

Grace's smile widened and she gave June's hand another squeeze.  "Good.  I'll get you ready, and then explain the nature of the exercise."

Get me ready?  June lifted her head and watched, as best she could, as Grace opened a drawer in the side of the table/pedestal and pulled out a—Leather cuff?

It was one of those medical restraint-type cuffs, with interior padding, a wide leather inner cuff with slots, and a narrow leather outer strap that slid through a steel staple and thereby secured the entire cuff.  Everything was black, the padding, the leather cuff, and the strap.  Even the steel staple was black... or maybe gunmetal.

June stared at the cuff... then at Grace's smiling face... then at the cuff.  "What's that for?" she finally managed to inquire.

Grace's answer was to lift June's right hand, wrap the cuff around her wrist, then slide the staple through a slot, thread the outer strap, and somehow secure the strap's end with a metallic snap.

June turned her wrist, examining the cuff.  Oh... that's what it's for.  Actually, June knew full well what the cuff was for.  What she didn't know was why Grace was using it to capture her wrist... or why she was letting her capture her wrist.  In any case, the cuff was a tight but comfortable fit, and the snap she'd heard was a flange at the end of the outer strap engaging with one of the slots to doubly secure the cuff.

And speaking of capture, Grace produced the end of a length of black nylon webbing from an unseen reel somewhere at the head of the table.  It deployed with a whirring sound, then there was another click as Grace attached the webbing to the cuff with an attached clip.

June tugged on the cuff and webbing strap.  "I take it I'm... kidnapped?"  She gazed at Grace, again.  "Why will it work this time?  I'm still not afraid."  ...much.

Meanwhile, Grace had produced a second cuff and was wrapping it around June's left wrist.  "You're not?" she purred.  "Afraid, I mean."

June summoned the courage to favor her mentor with a wry moue.  "It's not nice to tease your protege," she huffed.

"All will become clear," Grace chuckled, then unreeled a second webbing strap, attached it to June's left cuff, then strolled to the foot of the table and captured June's ankles with two more cuffs and webbing straps.

June was now loosely spreadeagled on the massage table.  She tugged and kicked on her restraints, then groped with her fingers.  The webbing straps allowed insufficient flailing room for her to reach from one cuff to the other.  Her fingers could reach nothing, and there was no apparent way to release the cuffs even if she could reach anything.

"One more detail," Grace purred.  She'd opened another drawer and was rummaging inside.  "Blue, green, black... ah... here it is."  She produced a roll of red tape and held it up for June's inspection.  It was about three inches wide, was glossy plastic, and its crimson color matched June's swim-cap.  She stripped a six-inch strip from the roll, then used a pair of bandage scissors to snip it free.  "Lips together, please."

"Huh?"  The strip was approaching June's mouth—and then Grace was pressing it in place.  June's eyes were wide as her mentor's fingers pressed until her cheeks bulged.  Then, smiling a warm, maternal smile, Grace smoothed the tape, making sure its adhesive was well-adhered to June's lips and skin.  "Mrrrfh?"

Grace returned to the head of the table, continuing to smile down at her semi-helpless, tape-gagged protege, then thumbed a hidden switch.

"Hrrrmpfh!"  The webbing straps binding June to the table had rapidly retracted onto their hidden reels in the table's base, dragging June's wrists and ankles with them, of course.  Grace's bikini-clad and tape-gagged protege was now firmly spreadeagled on the rectangular padding, the cuffs now rigidly held at the top and bottom edges of the table.  It wasn't a stringent spread-eagle, June still had significant wiggle room, even a little writhing room, but she had dramatically less freedom of motion.

"Now..."  Her hands resting on the padding on either side of June's tape-silenced face, Grace smiled down at her protege.  "You know I'd never do anything to harm you, but I can punish you."

June blinked as she stared up at her Mentor's smiling face.  Punish?

"I'm going to take my swim now," Grace continued.  "If you haven't freed yourself by the time I'm finished... I'm going to come back and strip you naked."

"Mrrrpfh?"  Naked?  June watched as Grace strolled to the entrance of the dry sauna, tapped the touchscreen beside the door, then strolled past the table/pedestal and its struggling, spreadeagled, bikini-clad and tape-gagged prisoner, then knelt beside the endless pool to tap its touchscreen.  Naked?

The water in the pool churned, Grace eased her gorgeous body into the roiling wetness, and began to swim.

Naked?  June continued tugging on her wrist-cuffs and kicking against her ankle-cuffs.  She was more-or-less pinned in place.  She could buck and squirm and contort her body, but...  Free myself?  How the hell am I supposed to free myself?

Grace appeared to be getting into the rhythm of her watery workout.

June continued struggling, and making no headway whatsoever towards escaping from The Massage Table of Embarrassing Doom.

Minutes passed... during which Grace demonstrated her skill with the Australian crawl... and June demonstrated her manifest lack of skill as an escape artist.

June decided the prospect of Grace stripping her naked was... horrific? ... terrible? ... frightful?  Well, no, she conceded, because aside from the embarrassment factor, if Grace did tug on the strings and reclaim the barely-there, crimson loaner-bikini, being naked in the presence of her mentor was hardly a "punishment?"  It wouldn't be public nudity, only private nudity.  And I'm practically naked now.  June estimated the total coverage of the bikini's boob and crotch panels to be... small.  June hated doing mathematics in her head, especially when pi was involved.  Anyway, the bikini's coverage was pretty minimal, and June was anything but a prude.  But... what if stripping me naked isn't the only punishment?  What if she's gonna strip me naked and do other things to me?

June knew she was helpless and wouldn't be able to prevent whatever was going to happen.  And with her lips taped, she wouldn't even be able to beg for mercy... or cancel her literary apprenticeship, which she wasn't about to doing in any case.  She didn't think her mentor had anything that drastic in mind... not that the opinion of a nearly-naked protege who'd been stupid enough to allow herself to be bound and gagged mattered.

And would it be all that bad if Grace decides she does want to do things to me? June mused.  It depended on the things, of course, but what it they were the right things?

Time passed... and finally, the endless pool's digital timer reached zero and the chime sounded, and June noted it wasn't nearly as loud as it had seemed when she was in the water.  The pool stopped churning and Grace vaulted from the water, stretched, rolled her shoulders, and windmilled her arms, just as June had done.  "Mrrrr!"  June whined softly through her gag, tugged on her inescapable bonds, and watched as Grace used a fluffy towel to dry her spectacular body.

The moment of truth was at hand!

Grace strolled to the massage table and its struggling, mewling, pinioned captive.  Actually, June was only squirming a little and she wasn't actually mewling.  It was more of a whine, truth be told, but her eyes were wide and her heart and breathing rates were elevated.

Smiling an evil, sinister, gloating smile—actually, it was her usual beautiful, scholarly, sophisticated smile—Grace leaned over her spreadeagled form.  "Still here, I see," she purred.

June locked eyes with her looming, smiling mentor and tugged on her wrist bonds.  Truer words were never spoken, the Prisoner-of-the-Table thought.  And then... it happened.

Grace reached behind June's tape-gagged and swim-cap-clad head to the nape of her neck and took a firm grip on one of the strings dangling from the bow securing the upper strings of the bikini top.  A shiver rippled through June's body as she felt Grace tug on the string and release the bow.  Grace then reached behind June's back and slowly released the bikini top's remaining bow.  And then... she pulled on the top and it slithered away, baring June's slightly heaving, slightly bobbing breasts.

"Mrrrpfh!"  June squirmed in earnest... not that it did her any good.  Her nipples were semi-rigid.  Traitors!

Still smiling, Grace reached across June's body to her right hip and slowly released the bikini bottom's right bow... then the left bow... then pulled the bottom away, as well.

And the deed was done!

June was naked, not counting her crimson swim-cap, crimson tape-gag, and black ankle and wrist cuffs.  And speaking of crimson, June was blushing, her cheeks doing their best to match the color of the tape and cap.

"Very pretty breasts," Grace stated, smiling at the globes in question.  Grace's gaze traveled down June's struggling form, lingering on her firm, flat abdomen, then continuing to her dark brown, neatly trimmed pubic bush, her flushed labia, and her strong, firm thighs.  "Very pretty," she reiterated, then padded to the head of the table and thumbed the hidden switch.  She then pulled a small "T"-shaped tool from a drawer, took hold of June's left hand, and lifted it into the air.  The webbing strap unreeled with a vibrating whine.

June watched as Grace slid the end of the tool over a stud in a recessed slot in the flange securing the end of the narrow strap in one of the broader cuff's slots, then slid the tool the quarter-inch from one end of the slot to the other.  She made sure June could see what she was doing.  There was a quiet click and the flange lifted free from the slot, allowing Grace to pull the strap through the staple, open the inner cuff, and remove the restraint completely from June's wrist.  She then closed June's fingers over the tool.

"Meet me in the sauna and we'll discuss the exercise," she purred, then turned and padded away towards the sauna in question.

June tugged on her right wrist-cuff and the webbing strap unreeled with another whine.  She fit the tool in the cuff's flange-slot, successfully released and removed the cuff, then sat up on the table.

By this time Grace had reached the sauna and was removing her ebony swim-cap.  She tossed her head and her honey-blond hair fluttered and fell into a semi-tousled mass.  Then, she began removing her swimsuit!

June paused the process of freeing her ankles to watch the show.  Grace in the skintight tank-suit had been hot.  Grace peeling off the black suit was HOT!  That pesky thrill rippled through June's nude body with renewed vigor.  Fair skin, firm muscles, pert breasts, perfect proportions... HOT!  Well, June mused, not 'perfect' proportions.  Grace's enigmatic mix of mediocrity that suddenly flashed into the exceptional with a simple turn, a lift of the leg, or a flip of the wrist was at play.  Anyway, Grace was HOT!

Meanwhile, the now gloriously nude goddess in question opened a previously hidden built-in cabinet, lifted a towel from a stack, then entered the sauna without looking back at her not quite as nude protege.

Wow!

June hurriedly completed the removal of her ankle-cuffs, then carefully peeled the tape from her lips.  The red, smooth plastic came away with great reluctance, stretching her lips and skin as it surrendered its grip.  She then removed her red swim-cap, shook her brown, wavy hair free, and hopped off the table.  Well... why not?  She padded to the sauna, opened the cabinet and selected a towel of her own, then swallowed, somewhat nervously, forced a smile she hoped didn't seem too idiotic, and followed Grace into the sauna.

June imagined the wall of dry heat that struck and enveloped her naked body was something like standing a foot away from a roaring bonfire in Death Valley... in the middle of the afternoon... in August.

And speaking of hot, Grace was reclined against an angled cedar backrest on the second of the two tiers of seats lining the sauna.  It was a large, square space, something like twenty feet on a side, suitable for holding sweaty, naked group meetings of maybe... thirty?  It depended on how friendly the participants might be.  There was a stainless steel heater with a pile of lava rocks on top in the center, and beside the door was a faucet with a wooden handle, a wooden bucket, and a ladle.

June knew the protocol.  Also, she was arriving just in time to witness the last of the dampness evaporate from around her mentor's nude, relaxed body.  She chose a place close (but not too close) to Grace, used the bucket and ladle to wet down the cedar bench and backrest, then placed her towel to the side and sat.

Silence hung in the still, hot air.

Finally, June decided to try opening with a joke.  She smiled her best dimpled smile and focused on Grace.  "Hot enough for you?"

Grace smiled in return.  "Actually," she purred, "I've been in saunas in Sweden that were substantially hotter, but yes, this is hot enough for me."

June still thought opening with a joke had been a good idea... she just wished she'd been able to think of one.  Anyway...  "The exercise was still flawed," she stated.  "Being naked in a sports setting is no big deal."

"So it would seem," Grace nodded.  Her smile was unchanged.

"Also," June continued, "nakedness in general is no big deal for Europeans... not that you're European, of course.  You're American, but..."  Her smile faded.  "You are American, aren't you?  You certainly seem American, although you could pass for a European, being sophisticated and rich and..."  June heaved a mildly embarrassed sigh.  "I'm going to shut up now."

"Silly girl," Grace chuckled.  "In answer to your question about my nationality, yes, I am American.  I was born in New York City, but I did study at Oxford and the Sorbonne.  In any case, I credit my... sophistication... to my parents, especially my mother."

"I wish I was sophisticated," June sighed.

Grace leaned forward and patted June's right knee.  "There is nothing wanting in June Kempe," she chuckled.  "June Kempe is a delightful person.  I consciously cultivated 'cultured' and 'civilized' traits during my formative years, but snobbishness was not among them."

"Thanks," June said with a sigh, "I think."  She's sophisticated and nice," June thought, but I already knew that.

"Now, back to the topic of nudity as punishment," Grace chuckled.  "A shame you aren't more of a prig, protege.  If that had been the case, our second exercise might have been more of a success."

"Nice," June huffed.  June didn't really mind being teased, but this was serious business... sort of.  "Uh, just to be clear—"

"Ten demerits," Grace interrupted.

June rolled her eyes and favored her mentor with a dimpled, chagrined smirk.  "Just to be clear, what's the purpose of these... exercises?"

Grace paused to use her towel to pat her face.  By this time both occupants of the sauna had begun to perspire.  Both bodies were glowing... with aspirations of glistening.  Sweating like proverbial horses would inevitably follow.

"For you, the physical and emotional aspects of being held captive are at play," Grace stated, then smiled at her protege.  "I assume you are finding the experience to be novel?"

June blushed (but it was the heat, of course).  "If you're asking if I've ever played bondage games, the answer is no.  Childhood games don't count, of course."

"Of course," Grace agreed.  "Anyway, that's what's in it for you.  For me..."  She patted her smiling (sweating) face, again.  "It gives me a chance to try out ideas for my own literary efforts."

June nodded.  "Your damsels-in-distress do tend to get themselves into situations.  I suppose it only makes sense to see if it's realistic... within reason."

"Within reason," Grace agreed.

Silence hung in the overheated air for several seconds.

"So," June said, finally, "what are we gonna do about it?  By which I mean the making-the-distress-real thing."

"That's a good way to put it," Grace purred.  "I'll give it some thought."

June stared at the theoretical horizon (and not her mentor's nude, fair but flushed, glistening body).  "Okay.  I'll think about it too."

June was in a bit of a pickle.

Grace had spreadeagled her protege's bikini-clad body on a very curious table, or armature, or support structure.  June wasn't sure what to call the thing.  It was vaguely star-shaped, or maybe asterisk-shaped.  No, June decided, it's gingerbread-man-shaped.  Anyway, there were four padded, rectangular extensions, one under each of her outstretched limbs, and a fifth rectangle for her butt, back, shoulders, and head.  June had to admit she was comfortable, in that the padding was thick and soft, but still... spreadeagled.

Wide, padded, cuff-like straps encircled and tightly bound her wrists and ankles firmly in place, and additional, somewhat narrower straps pinned her against the padding across her shins, above and below her knees, her thighs, waist, above and below her breasts, her upper arms, and her forearms.  The straps were tight enough to dimple her skin, and (in June's helplessly bound opinion) completely superfluous.  The ankle- and wrist-cuffs alone were enough to make sure she couldn't jump down from the table/armature/structure and wander off to assume her natural role as a free-range, bikini-clad protege.

Also, June was gagged.  She'd already been wearing the crimson latex swim-cap, but Grace had carried the red latex theme forward by first stuffing a distressingly large ball of red, pliant foam into her mouth, then using a roll of crimson plastic tape to make sure it stayed there, taking turn after tight turn around June's head and giving her a tight cleave-gag.  She then took more tight turns under June's chin and across her crown, forcing her to bite-down on the foam stuffing.

Grace leaned close, looming over her wide-eyed protege.  "Oh dear," she purred with a gloating smile, "the tape between your teeth is quite wrinkled.  No matter, we'll hide it completely.  I have plenty of tape."  Grace then took additional turns, mummifying June's face and head until only the tops of her bulging cheeks, nose, worried eyes, and forehead were exposed.

June had a brief moment of déjà-vu as her mentor worked.  What she said... I've read it someplace... but where?

And speaking of mentors, Grace was dressed in black latex—completely dressed in black latex.  She looked like she'd been dipped in the stuff, leaving only an oval-shaped area over her smiling face exposed.  That included her toes and fingers, but there were no visible seams indicating where a skintight body-suit stopped and skintight toe-booties and gloves began.  The black plastic glistened like it was still liquid, and (needless to say) every detail of Grace's exquisite anatomy was on full display... including pokies and camel-toe.

She must really be sweating in that thing, June thought, but could see no dripping perspiration of other signs of thermal stress on Grace's angelic (demonic) face.

And then there was... The Machine.  The area around June and her table/armature/structure was surrounded by an airy framework of long, thin, stainless steel rods, a minor engineering marvel that supported several widely separated pulleys and levers.  Thin, stainless steel wires passed through the pulleys in a complex web, crisscrossing the generous space between June and the framework and requiring Grace to repeatedly duck under the shining wires as she puttered around making the final adjustments to June's predicament.

Oh-by-the-way, the ends of the wires were clamped to the strings securing June's bikini!  Any additional tension on the wires and... the bows would be tugged apart... the bikini top and bottom would slither away... and June would be STRIPPED NAKED!

Also, there were cameras—high-definition video cameras—clamped to the framework with their various lenses focused on various parts of June's anatomy, ready to capture the divestment of the distressed damsel that was June Kempe in redundant detail!

I was wondering why Grace passed the strap above my boobs under the upper strings of the bikini's boob-cups, June mused.  It's so the pair of wires clamped to the bow at the nape of my neck wouldn't have to contend with the strap.  It was... diabolical?  That's as good an adjective as any, June decided.

Meanwhile, Grace was finished with the final adjustments, had positioned herself in a convenient wire-free zone to June's right and was about to begin the taunting, gloating, and totally unnecessary exposition required of all villains in such situations, especially arch-villains.

"As you can see," Grace lectured in an oily (and gorgeous) manner, "when the gears and counterweights of the overly complicated but photogenic timing device finish doing their thing..."  She paused to made a graceful, latex-gloved gesture towards the refrigerator-sized device at the convergence point of the bikini-removing wires.  "...allowing time for your sense of helplessness, dread, and impending doom to build to an unendurable level... the final weight will drop, the wires will snap with great force, and you'll be naked to the world!"

Grace cackled like a demented mad scientist and/or criminal mastermind, while June squirmed under the flesh-dimpling straps, tugged on the tight cuffs, and mewled through her excessive gag.  Actually, June's struggles were better characterized as wiggling.  She was very much strapped down.  That said, her efforts did impart a slight wobble to her bikini-covered boobs.  Anyway, both Grace's and June's actions were pointless, albeit melodramatically appropriate.

"And speaking of the world..."  Grace made another graceful flip of the latex-covered wrist to indicate the various cameras.  "Your involuntary and mortifyingly immodest ordeal will be instantly transmitted to a global audience via Facebook, Twitter, social media in general, and posted to YouTube.  And that includes the accounts of your friends, family, and tenth grade English teacher, Mrs. Metcalfe."

Not Mrs. Metcalfe!  June tugged on her cuffs in earnest.  Mrs. Metcalfe was the one who had gotten June hooked on writing!  She was nice, and looked good in sensible heels, a pencil-skirt, cotton blouse, and glasses!

Grace cackled her evil cackle, again, then ducked under the wires, stepped through the framework, and threw a switch on the side of the overly complicated, but photogenic timing device.  Immediately, gears began to turn.  The countdown had begun!

"Mrrrrrf!"  It was horrible!  Terrifying!  Absolutely EVIL!  June wished she could take notes.

"Farewell, Ms. Kempe," Grace gloated, then turned (gracefully) and walked away.

The villain always leaves the damsel-in-distress/captured-hero to suffer and/or languish in solitude, of course—it's how such things are done—but June was a little put off that Grace hadn't decided to break with tradition, stick around, and witness her impending shame in person.

Time passed.

Gears turned (in a very photogenic manner).

And then... finally... the master weight fell, the wires twanged, the bikini top and bottom were snatched away, and June was NAKED!

"Ahhh!"  June snapped awake and sat up among the twisted, damp sheets of her bed.  Another wet dream! she realized.  The dimly glowing red numbers of the digital alarm clock on the bedside table silently announced that the time was 2:25.  Her body was shining with sweat, her pulse pounding... well, elevated, anyway... her breasts heaving and her nipples pointing... and her pussy was... squishy.

June heaved a sigh, lay back down, and stared up at the dark ceiling.  Is this going to happen after every 'exercise?' she wondered.  In any case, like the previous night's wet dream, she had no intention of sharing this particular post-exercise detail with her mentor... ever!  But maybe I ought to start adding these things to my private journal, she thought.  Maybe.

June turned onto her side and closed her eyes, ignoring her sweaty condition and the after-action ghost of a tingle not quite quivering between her legs.

Suddenly, June's eyes popped open.  Grace has cuffs and spring-loaded straps built into her massage table!  She'd known that all along, of course, having been bound by said cuffs and straps during today's exercise, but... only now did their significance fully register.

Grace is into bondage!

What else could the presence of the carefully concealed and exquisitely engineered restraint system mean?

Wow!

June closed her eyes, again, but resolved to stay awake and think about this revelation, which, she admonished herself, wouldn't have been a revelation if she'd been less star-struck by her mentor and more attentive to objective reality.  June realized she had to decide what it all meant... but instead, she went back to sleep.