|by Van ©2016
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
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
"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.
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.
"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.' 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
"Hop on up," Grace suggested (ordered), giving the padding a
"Y-you're going to give me a massage?" June asked. She'd
managed to stifle an "Uh," but her slightly nervous stammer was
"If you like," Grace purred, her lips curled in a coy, devilish
smile, "but mainly, this will be the setting for our second
"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
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
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
Grace returned to the head of the table, continuing to smile
down at her semi-helpless, tape-gagged protege, then thumbed a
"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
"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
June continued struggling, and making no headway whatsoever
towards escaping from The Massage Table of Embarrassing Doom.
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
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
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
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
"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
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
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
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.
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
"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
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
"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
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
June stared at the theoretical horizon (and not her
mentor's nude, fair but flushed, glistening body).
"Okay. I'll think about it too."
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
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
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
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
said, her efforts did impart a slight
wobble to her bikini-covered boobs. Anyway, both
Grace's and June's actions were pointless, albeit
"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.
Gears turned (in a very photogenic
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?
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.