by Van ©2016
		Chapter 4

June resolved to never, ever, ever, under any circumstances broach the subject of her mentor's obvious interest in bondage games.  That lasted until mid-afternoon of the next day.

Grace didn't require a written after-action report of the Massage Table of Immodest Doom exercise, but they continued their discussion of the value of practical experience to a writer.  And on a decidedly productive note (from a strictly selfish point of view on June's part) Grace shared her notes and general suggestions on improving the structure of June's first novel.  At the moment, the draft in question was more a collection of half-developed scenes and placeholder comments—like "SET UP ESCAPE FROM CASTLE HERE"—than anything close to a coherent first draft.  Restructuring at this stage wasn't going to be that big of a deal, and based on a quick read of Grace's notes, June could tell it would result in great improvements in the story's narrative flow.  There were also character notes, and June found Grace's comments about the nascent novel's main characters to be equally valuable.

June realized she had a lot to learn.  She wasn't starting from zero, Grace made that emphatically clear, but June was humbled, and more convinced than ever that becoming Grace Scanlon's protege was the best decision she'd ever made—or the best offer she'd ever accepted—or the best favor anyone (meaning Charlotte Roth) had ever done for her—or all of the above.

The day's exercise (physical exercise, not writing exercise) was a run through the clifftop chaparral, June's introduction to the Beach Bungalow's jogging/nature trail.  Grace was her workout partner and native guide.

June decided on a red outfit... mainly because all the loaner exercise togs in the closet were in various shades of red.  Anyway, June met her mentor an hour after lunch at the designated side entrance of the Bungalow in her allegedly white, very ratty running shoes, a pair of red spandex thigh-length shorts, and a red sports bra.  Her hair was combed back and captured in a ponytail by a red elastic scrunchy.

Grace was dressed in black and yellow-gold "toe runners" (running shoes with individual toes), black spandex shorts (slightly shorter than June's), and a salmon-pink sports bra with black trim.  Her honey-blond hair was pulled back and plaited in a French braid.  She looked HOT (both in June's humble opinion and as usual.)

After the usual stretching exercises, Grace set a brisk pace, but June found she could easily keep up.  The trail under their pounding feet was more of a sandy track, but it was clear it was used often.

They continued their discussion of June's novel, including the point where her heroine, "Moira," was captured by the villain, "Arabella," who was more of an opportunist with loose ethics than an actual villain.

"At some point," Grace said, "you'll have to decide precisely how Moira is secured by Arabella down in the basement."

"Yeah," June agreed.  She was only half thinking about the conversation, distracted by the coastal scenery and the gulls wheeling overhead.  "It'll be a problem, 'cause I'm not into that stuff like you are, and—"  June's eyes popped wide, her cheeks blossomed in a colossal blush, and she skidded to a stop, nearly tripping in the loose sand.  "I-I, uh, I didn't mean that," she stammered.  "Uh, I mean..."  She heaved an embarrassed sigh.  "Oh, damn."

Grace also stopped, but much more gracefully (pun intended).  "Twenty demerits," she chuckled.

June favored her mentor with a mortified pout.  "I'm sorry, Grace," she said quietly.

"That's quite all right, protege," Grace purred.  "I know you're trying to stop abusing the alleged word 'uh,' but try harder."

"No!" June huffed, stamping her right foot for emphasis.  "I'm sorry for saying you're into bondage... which I didn't actually say, but..."  She heaved another sigh, then managed a weak smile.  "I'm not stupid.  Exercise One with the handcuffs and the blindfold and the kidnapping...  Exercise Two with the special nylon cuff-thingies...  I'm not stupid."  It was obvious that Grace was enjoying her protege's predicament and had no intention of letting her off the hook.  June decided to throw herself on the mercy of the court.  "Help me out here," she begged with a shy smile.

Grace chuckled in response.  "Very cute.  Yes, I'm 'into bondage,' as you put it, and have been since I was a small girl."

"I see," June said gravely, then blushed, again.  "I mean, I don't see, but... it's no big deal."

Grace nodded, then gestured forward and they resumed running.  "The creative rewards of practical experience for the writer still apply, of course."

"Of course," June agreed.  "Then looked sideways at her smiling mentor.  "So... Exercise Three?"  June instantly and metaphorically kicked herself in the metaphorical keister.  Why the hell did I bring that up now?  Why now?

Grace jogged for several paces before responding.  "We'll conduct 'Exercise Three' as soon as we get back to the Bungalow," she decreed.

"What are you gonna do?" June inquired.

Grace didn't respond.  She simply continued smiling... and running.

June jogged at her side, waiting until it was obvious she wasn't going to get a reply (or a preview of her fate).  "Very funny," she huffed, finally.

The run continued... and for June, the suspense began to build.

They returned to the Beach Bungalow, enjoyed glasses of cool water in the kitchen, then strolled to the yoga studio in the exercise complex.  It was a bright, airy space with a jade-blue padded floor, rich paneling of blond wood, and a wall of glass overlooking the Pacific.  Grace closed off the studio from the rest of the house by means of a shoji screen-like sliding door.

June watched as Grace opened a built-in cabinet, revealing a row of duffel bags in all the colors of the rainbow.  She selected a red duffel, closed the cabinet, and returned to her protege.

"There are several different ways to proceed from this point," Grace said with a smile, "but what I'd like to do is show you the upper limit of the sort of things our 'exercises' might entail."

June cleared her throat before answering.  "Upper limit?"

"If we establish an upper boundary," Grace continued, "at least one realm of uncertainty will be eliminated."

June nodded.

Grace's smile turned coy (or possibly sinister).  "Not that unbearable tension, gnawing suspense, and crippling anxiety won't be hallmarks of all of our future experiments."

June favored her mentor with her best dimpled moue.  "It's not nice to tease your protege," she huffed.

"Point taken," Grace chuckled.  "Strip."

June's eyes widened and she very nearly earned herself ten more demerits.  Uh... "Strip?"

"Strip," Grace confirmed.

Moment of truth, June thought... then stooped and unlaced her running shoes, pulled them off, then peeled off her anklets and stuffed them inside.  Next, she stood, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her crimson latex shorts... and paused.  "Wait.  Why naked?"

Grace's smile was unchanged.  "We'll discuss all aspects of the exercise after I've finished with the demonstration," she intoned.  "But the immediate answer to your question is, you will remove your clothing because I require it."

"Well... there is that," June said quietly, then pulled down her running shorts, followed by her panties, followed by pulling her sports bra over her head and adding it to the loose pile of clothes atop her shoes.  She did her best not to blush as she disrobed (but failed, miserably).

Grace smiled, made a significant glance at the jumbled clothes, then returned her smile to her nude protege.

June rolled her eyes, then quickly but neatly folded her shorts, panties, and bra and stacked them on top of her side-by-side shoes.

"Place them by the shoji screen," Grace ordered, then knelt and unzipped the duffel.

June carried her shoes and running clothes to the translucent door, placed them near the threshold, padded back to Grace at the center of the studio—and her eyes popped wide, again.  Grace was pulling coils of red rope from the duffel and arranging them in a neat row.  The rope was all the same bright-red braided nylon, about the width and weight of clothesline, and from the way the rope behaved as Grace placed the coils on the blue mat flooring, it was all quite pliant, not at all stiff and new... at least that was how it appeared to June.

Not that I know that much about different kinds of rope, June thought, but apparently, I'm about get a little more up close and personal experience.  Grace continued pulling coils from the open bag, and June swallowed, nervously.

Grace patted the mat.  "Be seated, protege," she purred.

June settled to the floor and sat on her butt with her hands back, palms flat on the mat, and arms straight and supporting her upper body.  Her feet and legs were together in front.  She watched with great interest as Grace lifted the first coil of crimson rope from the row of more-than-a-dozen bundled coils, released and unwound its wrappings, then found the center and doubled the rope.

Grace proceeded to bind June's feet together, and that included her big toes, two doubled strands around her soles and insteps, and her ankles.  She worked quickly, methodically, and with obvious experience, at least that was how it seemed to June.

She knows exactly what she's doing, with no second guessing or false starts, June noted as doubled strands continued to slither and tighten.

Grace worked her way up June's legs, tightening more and more rope and taking hitches between her protege's calves and shins as the bindings climbed towards June's knees.  Each time she reached the end of a coil she extended the rope by tying on another doubled coil.  This left an ever growing series of neatly knotted junctions with two-inch loops and short free ends at irregular intervals.  The process of binding June's legs continued.

June noticed that Grace was regularly sliding a crooked finger between her skin and the advancing ropes, straightening the lay of the strands and insuring the tension was uniform, throughout.  The sensation as her mentor's finger slid against her skin and the red ropes tightened was... interesting.  The smile on Grace's lips and the glint in her eyes was also interesting... very interesting.  June gazed at the red rope dimpling the flesh of her legs.  Interesting.

Finally, June's legs were bound from her big toes to her upper thighs.  Grace had reached the end of her latest coil of red rope and was tying a elaborate, rosette-style knot.

"Turn around, please, darling," Grace requested (ordered).

"No problem," June drawled, lifted her heels, spun on her butt until her back was to her mentor, then settled her bound feet back on the mat.

Grace prepared yet another coil of rope, then dropped a doubled loop over June's head and shoulders and snugged it tight above her breasts, pinning June's upper arms to her sides.  Another doubled loop followed... then two more, this time below her breasts.

"This is called a box-tie," Grace explained.

June flinched at Grace's words.  Her mentor's no doubt smiling lips were only inches from her left ear.  The volume hadn't been especially loud, but this was the first time Grace had spoken, other than to give orders, since they'd begun the exercise.

"Box-tie," June repeated in a near whisper.

"The box-tie has many virtues," June continued.  "Done properly, it's inescapable, but it renders the bindee helpless while not being especially uncomfortable.  It's eminently suitable for long term bondage."

June blinked as more rope tightened and Grace yoked her shoulders, cinching the horizontal ropes above and below breasts, traveling from armpit to armpit by way of the nape of her neck.  'Long term bondage?'  She managed a nervous smile as the binding continued.  "Is 'bindee' a real word?"

"Impertinent pup," Grace chuckled.  "No, 'bindee' is not a real word."  She lifted and folded June's arms behind her back, crossing her wrists against her spine with her forearms each slightly above the horizontal.

June winced as rope tightened around and between her wrists.  The doubled coils were as tight as the rest of her bonds, and not at all painful, but they represented the unequivocal point-of-no-return.  Once her mentor added a knot, June knew she'd be truly helpless.  Additional strands cinched her wrist bonds... then slithered and tightened across her palms... then looped around and captured her thumbs!  Helpless, indeed, she thought as Grace added the Knot of Doom.

"Flop down onto your stomach," Grace purred.

You're not finished?  June somewhat awkwardly complied with her mentor's (and captor's) instructions... and the binding continued.  Rope tightened around her waist, one end of which Grace had hitched through her upper-arm, wrist, and hand bondage.  June gasped as rope slithered between her thighs and tightened, bisecting her butt-cheeks and labia.  Then, Grace rolled her onto her back and passed the remaining rope under the waist rope, more-or-less over her bellybutton, then back between her legs, labia, and butt-cheeks.

"Is that really necessary?" June complained as Grace tied a knot, then used the remaining length of doubled rope to link her upper-body bondage to her leg-bondage.

"I'm afraid it is," Grace chuckled.

At least she didn't use her finger to test the tightness of the rope, June thought.  Actually, Grace had used her finger to test the tightness of the waist ropes, but not when she tied the crotch-anchor.  Nonetheless, the four individual strands of rope cleaving June's labia and butt felt just as tight as the rest of her bonds, a tribute to her mentor's skill as a... What do you call an expert in rope bondage? June wondered.  What's the opposite of 'escape artist?'  She was about to ask Grace's opinion when she realized her mentor had zipped the red duffel closed, climbed to her feet, and was returning it to the cabinet with the other duffels.  She rummaged in another cabinet, then returned to her naked, thoroughly rope-bound protege.

The question of a proper title for a rope bondage expert had completely fallen out of June's head.  Grace was holding a ball-gag, and was smiling down at the damsel-silencing device in her hands.  The spherical mouth plug was black plastic, or possibly hard rubber, and was hollow and pierced by a dozen or more small holes.  The attached strap was black leather, and a small, open padlock dangled from a tiny hasp in the tongue of the buckle.

"As you can see," Grace lectured as she knelt at June's side, "this model is designed with safety in mind.  It's far from the most effective damsel-silencer in my collection, but you'll find it to be completely breathable."  She heaved a slightly disappointed sigh.  "A pity I don't have one in red.  Then, it would match the rest of your ensemble.  But once I start down that path, buying every toy in every color?  Where would it end?  I'd have to have a dedicated warehouse built to house everything, and that would ruin the landscaping."

For the life of her, June couldn't think of a snappy comeback... and then it became a moot point as Grace thrust the ventilated ball into her mouth—"Mrrrf?"—secured the buckle at the nape of her neck, under her red scrunchy-enforced ponytail, then snapped the padlock through the tongue.  As if I was in any position to unbuckle the damn thing! June thought.  She could feel the holes in the ball with her tongue, and air whistled in and out of the spherical plug when she forced a breath through her mouth.  "Mrrrk!"  Speech was impossible, but June found she could make some noise.

"Well," Grace said, rocking back on her heels and smiling at her now thoroughly bound and gagged protege, "aren't you a delightful sight."  Her eyes traveled up and down June's slowly squirming body.  "All naked and helpless.  Simply... captivating."

Captivated, maybe, June thought, then tested her bonds in earnest.  It was obvious that she wasn't going anywhere, not until Grace decided the exercise was over, anyway.

June twisted, kicked, and squirmed for several seconds... then heaved a gagged, frustrated sigh, stopped struggling, and locked eyes with her grinning mentor.  She supposed she should be glaring and staring the proverbial daggers, but June found she just couldn't do it.  She'd volunteered to take part in this "exercise."  Granted, she hadn't known exactly what she was getting herself into, but she knew she'd be rendered helpless... and she was... helpless... in spades.

Grace smiled at her protege for several heartbeats... then gracefully rose to her feet and strolled to the shoji-screen door.

June rolled onto her side and watched as Grace slid the screen all the way back into the wall, stooped and retrieved June's shoes and clothes, then stepped across the threshold, and smiled.

"You have one hour to escape, protege." Grace proclaimed.  "If you fail, I'm afraid you'll be in here for much longer."  With that, she reached for something on the far side of the wall, there was an audible click, and a thick and apparently solid panel of blond wood that matched the studio paneling began slowly sliding from the wall and across the opening.

"Mrrrf!"  June fought her crimson bonds with all her strength... which wasn't nearly enough.  Her mentor continued smiling... the panel continued to slide... Grace and her smile disappeared... and the panel finished closing with a thud.  The rectangular studio was now defined by one wall of glass and three of featureless wood.  There was no visible means of opening the now invisible door.

June panted through her quietly whistling gag and her red-rope-framed breasts heaved.  Her heart was pounding and she felt flushed... or aroused... but that couldn't be right.  June couldn't be aroused, not per se.  Oh, who am I kidding? she thought.  Sweaty Grace Scanlon in sweaty running clothes tying up sweaty, naked June Kempe was... a novel experience.  Stop it! she chided herself.  You're horny!  Grace tying you up has made you horny!  Admit it!

It was true, but even with four strands of rope cleaving her pussy and an entire yoga studio's worth of wiggling room... there was only so much June could do about it.

June began squirming, kicking, twisting, and fighting her bonds.  Escaping Grace's red-rope-masterpiece in less than one hour might be an absurd impossibility, but the secondary goal of doing something about her horniness might just be doable... maybe... with enough dedication.

Brave damsel that she was, June Kempe fought her elaborate red rope bonds with all her strength, using every trick and escape technique in her extensive repertoire; but Grace Scanlon—criminal mastermind, international archvillainess, and not at all nice person—had done her work too well.  The red strands encircled and squeezed June's nude, shining, tan, athletic, curvaceous, and eminently desirable body from her shoulders to her big toes, like the coils of an overly amorous but not particularly peckish python.

June was an experienced adventurer.  Some said she was the real life inspiration for the video-game character Lara Croft.  In any case, she was more or less a female Indiana Jones, only not an archaeologist, and certainly not a weak, simpering "damsel-in-distress" who whined and mewled through her gag and ineffectually squirmed in her bonds, rope or otherwise.  Nonetheless, it was becoming abundantly clear that she would not be escaping from Grace's restrictive handiwork.  It was... irritating.

Suddenly, the massive wood and steel door sealing off the only entrance to the dedicated Bondage Studio of Grace Scanlon's Fabulous Lair rumbled open, and June's hostess and captor made her grand entrance.

Grace's honey-blond hair was tastefully coiffed around her evilly smiling face and she was dressed in stiletto-heeled thigh-boots that laced up the front, a full-body catsuit or leotard, a tight, waist-constricting and boob-enhancing corset, and elbow-length opera gloves.  It was her usual attire, but it wasn't entirely clear if the various elements were spandex, latex, or leather.  What was clear was the gleaming, shimmering, ebony-black color of everything clinging to and/or laced onto Grace's curvaceous, exquisite, albeit villainous, body.  She was a vision-in-black, but not a Victorian Dominatrix, more like an Evil Space Queen from a French, sci-fi graphic novel.

"Well," Grace purred as she approached June's helpless, rope-bound form, "it would seem the world famous, swashbuckling adventuress can be rendered as pathetically impotent as any other damsel.  Now... let's see how you handle a little distress, shall we?"  She produced a remote control from somewhere on her sinister person and pressed a button.

A whirring noise sounded and June lifted her gagged head from the mat.  The noise was coming from somewhere beyond the studio and was growing louder.  And then, a very curious machine rolled into view on rubber treads.  It was something like an industrial robot mounted on a riding lawnmower, or maybe a small forklift or cargo-handling machine mated with a tiny tractor.  Also, June noted, it might be a robot.  The lenses of a pair or video cameras prominently mounted on the... thing... were staring at her as it rolled forward.

The robot—June decided it was a robot—deployed a horizontal, articulated array of steel claws padded with rubber and attached to what appeared to be a powerful lifting arm, and clamped them around June's bound and gagged body.  She complained—"Mrrrpfh!"—and squirmed, but soon found herself dangling in midair.  The robot spun on its treads... and rolled away, taking her with it.  Grace followed behind at a stately, graceful pace, a sinister smile on her beautiful face.

June remained horizontal, and the half dozen or so padded claws cradling and supporting her body were evenly distributed and more-or-less comfortable—as comfortable as her red-rope bonds, anyway.

Their immediate destination was a service elevator.  The steel doors opened, the robot spun 180° and entered the car, Grace joined them, and the doors rumbled closed.  They descended and descended, a bell chiming as they passed each floor.  Obviously, Grace's lair had extensive and hitherto unsuspected subterranean levels.  There was a final chime, the elevator doors rumbled open, and they entered a long, downward-sloping corridor of featureless concrete lit by periodic blue-white LED lights set in the ceiling.

As they neared the end of the corridor, a massive concrete panel rumbled to the side, and they entered a curious space.  It was large and more-or-less cubical, about thirty feet on a side and with a thirty-foot ceiling.  A plethora of wire-thin, stainless steel cables stretched from dozens of pulleys mounted high, low, and in between on all four walls, including the ceiling.  They all met in the center, slack and drooping like a limp net.  There, several pulleys and clips lay in a cluster.

The robot rolled over the floor and the cables, then, with surprising gentleness, deposited Jane in the middle of the cluster of clips.  It returned to the open door and, having served its purpose, rolled out of sight.

Meanwhile, Grace had knelt and was clamping the clips, one at a time, through the many points in June's bondage where, during the binding process, she'd extended the red rope and left behind a knot and a small loop.  Click followed click, and soon every loop sported a clip and pulley.  June rolled and kicked, and the loose cables slithered and slid through the spinning pulleys and the clips rattled.  The final clip was special, specially designed to slide into one of the holes of the hollow, ventilated rubber sphere plugging June's mouth and click into place.  Now, June's gag was a part of the array.

Grace stood, smiled down at her naked, helpless victim/guest, then spun on her booted stiletto-heels and strolled to the door, the heels in question tapping on the hard, smooth concrete.  She paused at the threshold, produced the small remote, and again pressed a button.

June heard another whirring sound, but it wasn't the robot returning.  The thin, shining cables began to stir and the pulleys to spin, and June realized that somewhere a powerful but unseen winch was turning, drawing the cables onto a no doubt huge reel... and the cables were no longer drooping.  In fact, they were lifting off the floor and becoming ever more straight... and then taut... and now, they were lifting June into the air!

"Mrrrrf!"

June struggled and complained, but could do nothing to prevent herself from being suspended.  The cables continued to tighten, and finally, just as June feared they would tug on the ropes and begin squeezing her to death, the whirring sound stopped.

June was now suspended more-or-less at the center of the chamber, with taut, silvery cables stretching in all directions.  She found she could barely wiggle, much less escape from the web of steel or her red-rope cocoon.

And then... it was finally time for the Big Gloating/Exposition Scene!

"Soon, my electro-mechanical spider-crab robots will appear," Grace declaimed, "climb the web of steel, and use their vibrating mouth-parts, buzzing abdomens, and grabby, claw-like legs to caress and torment your helpless body, squeeze your breasts, clamp and titillate your nipples, and buzz against your taut crotch-ropes, until you're driven hopelessly insane by wave upon wave of unendurable pleasure!"

Jane recoiled in horror (metaphorically).  Not electro-mechanical spider-crab robots! Anything but electro-mechanical spider-crab robots!

Suddenly, June heard a clicking and clattering noise.  It grew louder, and dozens of gleaming steel horrors began streaming into the chamber, clicking and clattering to either side of Grace.  They were, indeed, electro-mechanical spider-crab robots, each about the size of a soccer ball, with multiple glowing, red camera-eyes and balanced on eight articulated legs, like a real spider!  They distributed themselves among the suspending cables and began to climb!  Obviously, June was their goal!  June was their prey!  June was the means to satiate their no doubt elaborately programmed erotic appetites!  And she could do nothing but watch in impotent horror as the technological travesties skittered along the wire-thin cables and drew ever closer to her helpless body!

"Farewell, June Kempe!" Grace proclaimed.  "When next we meet, you'll be my mindless sex-slave!"

The massive concrete door rumbled closed... and June was alone with the electro-mechanical spider-crab robots!

"M'mmpfh!"

And then, they arrived—and began using their surprisingly dexterous steel, spider-crab legs to caress and tease her rope-bound flesh—and clamp onto her rope-framed breasts and squeeze—use their clittering mouthparts to titillate her nipples—and their buzzing, vibrating abdomens to torment (meaning entertain) her rope-cleaved labia!

And it went on and on, until finally, inevitably, the waves of pleasure built, and built, and—

June's eyes popped open and she screamed—"Mrrrrk!"—through her ventilated ball-gag!

After the initial shock of waking up and finding herself naked, bound with red rope from toes to shoulders—she realized she was not naked, bound with red rope from toes to shoulders, suspended from a web of steel cables, and being boinked by vibrating spider-crab robots!  Her pussy was throbbing... or tingling... or... whatever.  It was also squishy.  The four strands of red rope sliding between her labia hadn't exactly worked up a lather, but she was wet... and her entire bound body was shivering in the aftermath of what must have been a crashing orgasm.  A pity I was asleep at the time, she mused.

Oh-by-the-way, June's head and shoulders were cradled in Grace's lap, and her mentor's strong, smooth fingers were tucking loose strands of June's hair behind her ears, strands that had managed to escape the red scrunchy still valiantly struggling to contain her ponytail.  Grace was sitting on the mat with her legs tucked to one side and was dressed not in an Evil Space Queen costume, but a sensible (and no doubt hideously expensive) pair of open-toed heels, a pencil skirt, and a light cotton blouse.  The smile on her mentor's angelic face did nothing to alleviate June's shivering and squishiness problems.

"I must confess, protege, that you've surprised me," Grace purred.  "I was confident you'd find it impossible to escape from my ropes, but it never occurred to me that you might decide to take a nap."

June blinked her eyes, blushed, and weakly squirmed in her bonds.  She wasn't trying to escape—that was clearly impossible—but she was doing her best to metaphorically crawl under the nearest metaphorical rock.  No such luck, metaphorical or otherwise.  June was busted.

"Report," Grace chuckled as she turned June's head, unlocked the padlock securing the buckle of the ball-gag, released the buckle, then eased the ball from June's mouth.

"Thank you," June gasped, working her jaw and licking her lips.

"Report," Grace reiterated with a smile, once again combing and straightening her helpless protege's hair with her fingers.

"I... I didn't escape," June sighed, stating the obvious.

"No, you didn't," Grace agreed, continuing to smile, "but you did have yourself a rather erotic dream, didn't you?"

June blinked again, wondering what sort of writhing, sweaty, rope-restrained, mewling spectacle she'd provided when Grace returned to the studio.  She was also trying to decide whether or not to lie through her no longer ball-gag-biting teeth, but what was the point?  It was obvious she'd put on some kind of a show.  The cat was out of the bag... in fact, the pussy was out of the bag and was tingling.  Whatever.  "Uh..."

"I realize you're very nervous," Grace purred, "so I won't assess additional demerits."

June managed a wry smile.  "That's very big of you," she drawled.  "Yes... I had a dream.  You were some sort of Bond villainess... and robot spiders were involved."

Grace nodded.  "Elaborate, please."

June heaved a sigh, and did so, describing her ridiculous, melodramatic dream in complete detail.  As June made her narrative, Grace continued stroking her hair... and smiling.  Finally, the story reached its climax (literally and quite embarrassingly), and June fell silent.

Grace smiled down at June.

June smiled back, just a little. She also blinked in embarrassment.

"Well," Grace said, finally, "I suppose we must add the topic of sexual preferences to our discussions, as well as my interest in restrictive recreation."

June blinked, again, before answering.  "Only if you want to."  June was proud of herself for not prefacing her inane rejoinder with "Uh," but couldn't think of anything clever to add.

"But first," Grace continued, "we must complete the exercise."

June squirmed in Grace's lap.  "I-I thought we were done."

Grace's chuckled as she readied the ball-gag.  "What did I say would happen if you failed to escape?"

"Ah, c'mon!" June complained, but opened her mouth and accepted the ventilated rubber sphere.  As Grace secured and padlocked the buckle at the nape of her neck, she continued complaining—"Mrrrf"—put it was more of a muffled, whining pout than an actual protest.  However, she genuinely protested and flinched in her bonds when Grace's left hand first cupped her left breast... and then gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Mrrrk!"

Grace smiled and continued compressing June's breast, not in a painful manner, of course, but with firm force.  "I want you to understand that I never force myself on my playmates," she purred, "and that goes for my proteges, as well."  She released her grip, leaned close, and kissed June's glistening forehead.  "Now... you've had one hour to convince yourself that you're my helpless prisoner..."  She pulled the scrunchy from June's hair, freeing her ponytail.  "Granted, you did waste most of the hour indulging in an erotic fantasy, but you are helpless... aren't you?"

June nodded her gagged head.  Helpless?  Hell yes I'm helpless.

Grace pulled the scrunchy from June's hair, freeing the long, gleaming brown waves from their former ponytail, then gently eased her protege's head and shoulders off her lap and onto the mat.  She thrust her right hand through the scrunchy, transforming the rumpled elastic band into a red fabric bracelet, then gracefully stood.

God she's beautiful, June thought, staring up at her mentor... and captor.  June's left breast was still tingling from Grace's touch... and squeeze.  Granted, her left boob had instantly returned to normal, meaning the momentary paleness caused by Grace's strong, smooth fingers had almost instantly returned to the relative paleness caused by the bikini top that usually shielded her boobs from the sun at the beach or poolside; however, her nipple—both nipples—were now standing at attention.

"I must admit," Grace said, "the idea of using the loops of the extension knots for suspension has never occurred to me.  It's impractical, of course.  Suspension requires careful engineering, so as not to be painful and cause harm.  No respectable Kinbaku practitioner would use extension knot loops as suspension points."

Ken who? June wondered.

Grace turned and strolled to the open doorway.  "Electro-mechanical spider-crab robots?" she chuckled, shaking her head.  "You certainly have the imagination required of a successful writer, protege."  She paused at the threshold to tap the hidden switch on the far side of the wall, then continued smiling as the solid panel of blond wood slowly slid closed, sealing June in the otherwise empty studio.

June squirmed in her bonds.  Everything was just as tight and inescapable as the instant Grace had tied the final knot and abandoned her to her fate—before her nap—before her silly (but hot) wet-dream—and before Grace's return and June spilling the proverbial beans to her mentor.

And now... I'm abandoned again... and still tied up.

June heaved a gagged sigh, rolled onto her side, and stared out the window-wall at the Pacific.  The afternoon sky was a brilliant, cerulean blue, the only clouds a hazy band near the horizon.  As she watched, a V-formation of five brown pelicans appeared... flapping from right to left... and then were gone.

June's breast was still tingling, just a little.  Permission.  She won't 'force' herself on me without my permission.  June squirmed in her red-rope-bonds.  Obviously, she had a lot of thinking to do, and it would seem Grace was giving her plenty of time in which to do it.