| by Van ©2016
The rest of
the day passed like the days before... only with June
naked. Grace was not naked, of course, but June
June's daily exercise, as decreed by She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, was
a morning swim in the endless pool, only this time June was
"accessorized." Grace required her protege to wear a pair
of "swim-paddles" and a "mono-fin." They were black neoprene,
with the streamlined paddles and fin made of stiff, heavy
The swim-paddles were skintight mittens that zipped closed,
completely encasing June's fingers, hands, and wrists, and
stretched halfway up her forearms. Individual channels for
each of finger held her hands in the optimal position for
paddling. Also, the design incorporated rubber cuffs with
nylon snap-buckles. Once her fingers were trapped, her
hands encased, and the cuffs secured, June realized she was
totally unable to remove the things. Her hands were now
flippers, and the stiff panels of the paddles would create
resistance as she swam.
The mono-fin was the same, in terms of encasement and
security. Once the booties enveloped her toes and feet and
Grace snapped the joined ankle-cuffs closed, June was stuck,
totally dependent on her mentor for release. She could
tell immediately that the thing was well designed. Her
ankles were cushioned and didn't grind together, but her feet
could flex as needed, to maintain the optimal angles for the fin
as she swam.
So... June was trying to decide if she was a seal/human
hybrid, emphasis on human, or a minimalist mermaid. She
was still undecided when Grace dressed her in the final element
of her costume, the red latex swim-cap. Her smiling mentor
tucked June's hair under the cap, secured the chinstrap, then
began tapping the virtual buttons of the pool's control screen.
She (-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed) had changed into her ebony, one-piece
tank-suit, allowing her protege to appreciate her every curve
(not to mention her pokies and camel-toe) as she stooped to
outfit June with the swim-paddles and mono-fin and program the
pool. Grace had already announced she'd be taking her
swim in the much larger outdoor pool visible through one of
the exercise complex's expansive windows, and therefore would
not have to wait to take a turn in the endless pool.
"You'll find the paddles and fin to be quite efficient," Grace
purred as she finished tapping the screen, "and so, to
compensate, this program will be more demanding."
June was sitting on the edge of the pool, the proverbial
mermaid-out-of-water. "Whatever." June was a little
distracted, both by her mentor's Spandex-clad body and by
her inescapable but aesthetically pleasing and obviously quite
The water started churning and Grace's smile broadened.
June heaved a sigh, then eased herself into the pool, began
swimming a combination dolphin-kick/breaststroke, and settled
into a rhythm. "This... isn't... so bad," she said between
strokes and kicks.
"This is the warm-up," Grace chuckled. "I'm sure you'll
find the extended sprint periods to be much more of a
challenge. Ciao, darling."
June watched, her latex-clad head bobbing as she swam, while
Grace padded to the door to the outdoor pool, donning and
adjusting her black swim-cap as she strolled along. And
then, the pump whined and the water current surged. The
first sprint period had arrived and June had to concentrate on
her swimming. She knew, of course, that if it all got to
be too much, all she'd have to do is drift back and tap the
panic-bar with the heels of her neoprene-encased feet, which
would kill the power to the pump. Then, she could flop out
of the pool and resume her mermaid-out-of-water imitation, but
June liked a good exercise challenge.
Anyway, June thought as she swam, it isn't like Grace
has rigged some sort of mechanism that will punish me
if I stop swimming... or closed a cover of stainless steel
bars over the pool so I'd be trapped inside. She
continued swimming. Hmm, designing a really
good sadistic predicament is something of a technical
challenge. I know! I'll add a full-face
diving mask with an attached air-hose—with locking straps and
a ball-gag, of course—and when the hose is stretched, a valve
cuts off the air! The panic-bar would be disabled, of
course. So... can't get out of the pool... and can't
stop swimming if I like breathing. That would
work. I'll have to suggest it to Grace... NOT!
The rest of the swim was, indeed, challenging, but June made it
to the end of the program without wimping out. As a
result, her muscles were sore, especially her arms, shoulders,
back, abs, and thighs; however, a sauna and full-body massage by
the strong, skilled hands and probing fingers of her mentor set
For lunch they had rather excellent chicken salad sandwiches,
and that afternoon June got significant work done on the reboot
of her novel. Dinner was a steak salad. There wasn't
a lot of beef, but the thin-sliced strips were smoky and savory
and more an ingredient than a meat course. An unusual
dressing Grace whipped up really brought the thing together.
And then, inevitably, the sun dipped to the horizon and night
Grace made a
side trip to the Yoga Studio for two coils of the same red nylon
rope she'd used to bind June for the last Exercise, and then the
pair adjourned to Grace's bedroom suite and conducted their
evening toilette. Grace's preparations for bed took
slightly longer than June's, of course, because she had to
remove her clothing, whereas June did not.
Ever the subservient bottom (sort of), June followed her
mentor's (top's) instructions, climbed onto the bed, and allowed
herself to be bound. It took a surprisingly short time,
and while the result was nowhere near as elaborate as the
toes-to-shoulders bondage of June's Yoga Studio adventure, it
was just as inescapable. June's wrists were now bound with
her hands palm-to-palm behind her back, her elbows a few inches
apart, and a chest harness yoking her shoulders and pinning her
upper arms to her sides. Also, her ankles were crossed,
pulled above her wrists, and linked to the rope harness,
enforcing a stringent hogtie. The key knot was
tied at the nape of her neck, an impossible reach for her
June explored her condition as Grace sat on the mattress and
watched. It was the tightest, cruelest hogtie imaginable
(in June's rather limited experience). She found she could
roll onto her side, with considerable effort, and could probably
(possibly) inchworm her way around the soft bed. Of
course, it would be considerably easier to make wiggling
progress on a hard surface—like the carpeted floor—but June
wasn't stupid enough to share that observation with her naked,
June lifted her chin and favored Grace with her best moue.
"I suppose you're going to gag me with one of your
fancy contraptions," she huffed.
Grace reached out and began combing June's tousled hair from her
pouting face. "Oh, no, darling," she purred, "I
have plans for your pretty mouth, and they don't
include rubber balls, plugs, bits, or rings."
June's response wasn't up to her usual standard of snappy
Grace continued smiling, as well as combing her hogtied
protege's hair. "How much experience do you have making
love to women, darling?" she inquired.
June's chronic pussy-thrill condition reasserted itself.
She blinked and swallowed before responding. "Not counting
"Last night, I believe I was the one making love to you,
protege," Grace chuckled.
"With the help of a vibrator," June conceded. "In answer
to your question, other than a little hugging and kissing... not
"And in theory?"
June frowned. "What do you mean 'theory?' What
Grace's smile widened. "Do you have theoretical knowledge
of the proper methods and techniques for making love to a woman
with your lips and tongue?"
"Well, yes," June responded, then squirmed and tugged on her
bonds. "By which I mean... no."
"I see," Grace responded with a grave nod. She then gently
flipped June onto her back. "I'll demonstrate, one time,
and then you can give it a try."
June's head and shoulders were comfortably cradled against the
pillows piled at the head of the bed, but she was nearly as
helpless as a turtle on its back. Also, with her ankles
crossed and lashed above her wrists, she was unable to close her
legs and squeeze her thighs together enough to defend her pussy
(not that she wanted to, of course). The pussy in
question was on lewd display, as was the rest of her
nude body, including her pointing nipples. She watched
with dismay (meaning aroused anticipation) as Grace positioned
her nude self on her stomach between her splayed thighs, with
her hands on said splayed thighs, and her smiling face
inches from the pussy in question.
"Now," Grace intoned, "pay attention, like a diligent student."
June's lips curled in a nervous smile. "I won't be able to
take notes during your lecture," she objected, "not all tied up
like this." She squirmed in her red rope bonds for
"Cheeky monkey," Grace purred. "Don't make me
revisit the gag issue."
"Yes, Mentor," June responded, They were both still
Grace sighed and shook her head—then used her fingers to spread
June's flushed and glistening labia, licked her lips, extended
her tongue, and began her "lecture."
The second day
of June's Great Naked Adventure dawned much like the
first. June awoke sprawled on the bed with a goofy smile
on her face, her mentor in the shower, and she was not bound
with red rope. She shook her tousled hair from her face,
sat up in bed, reached for the ceiling in a glorious,
boob-flattening stretch, then, on a hunch, looked over the edge
of the mattress and smiled. Her former bonds were resting
on the floor, neatly coiled and waiting to be returned to the
Yoga Studio, just as she'd suspected might be the case.
Grace was neat, organized, and had it together, as always.
June climbed off the bed, padded into the bathroom, and joined
Grace in the shower. "We have to stop meeting like this,"
she purred as she embraced her wet, naked mentor and planted a
long, wet kiss on her smiling lips.
"Good morning to you, too," Grace chuckled. She returned
the kiss... then laughed, pushed June away, stepped from under
the still running shower, and began drying herself.
"Well?" June purred as she soaped and scrubbed her wet, naked
"Well, what?" Grace countered.
"Did I pass my oral exam?" June pressed.
Grace laughed out loud (much to June's delight) then began
toweling her hair. "Yes, protege. It was your
first effort, of course, and I'm afraid that while I can give
you an 'A' for effort, you only get a 'B-minus' for technique."
"B-minus?" June gasped. "That's harsh."
"Teacher knows best," Grace purred.
"Well," June sighed, "practice makes perfect. I guess I'll
just have to keep at it 'til I get it right."
"I guess," Grace chuckled, then readied her hairdryer.
"Meet me in the bedroom when you've finished," she ordered, then
flicked the switch and began drying her hair.
"Yes, She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed," June chuckled.
"What?" Grace shouted over the noise of the dryer.
"Nothing!" June shouted back, and continued scrubbing her body.
and dry, including her gleaming brown, freshly brushed hair,
June padded into the main bedroom to find Grace already dressed
for the day in heels, a pencil skirt, and a sleeveless, cotton
blouse with blue vertical pinstripes. She was beautiful,
"You're beautiful," Grace said.
June felt a blush warm her cheeks. "Funny, I was just
thinking the same thing."
Grace's smile turned rather coy. "That you're
beautiful? That's rather conceited, don't you think?"
"I meant you," June chuckled. "You're
beautiful. And it's not nice to tease your protege...
especially when she's also beautiful."
Grace rolled her eyes. "We need to talk about today."
"Every two weeks I have a bonded cleaning service go over the
entire Bungalow," Grace explained, "dusting, vacuuming, window
washing, and anything else that needs doing. They send out
a large crew and it takes most of the day. They're
scheduled to arrive at nine o'clock."
"Oh," June nodded, "then I guess I'll have to get
dressed." She turned and padded towards the bedroom
door. "I'll meet you in the kitchen and—"
"Stop!" Grace ordered, and June did so. "You're not getting
June favored her mentor with an amused pout. "I can't let
people see me running around naked. They'll talk."
"I quite agree," Grace purred, "and I have a solution."
She strolled towards the walk-in closet, beckoning for June to
June entered the closet and watched as Grace opened a cabinet
and pulled out... something. It was made of gleaming black
leather with a slightly pebbled finish, was conical in shape,
and was festooned with leather straps and steel buckles.
It took a second or two, but June finally recognized the thing
as a 'single-sleeve' or 'arm-binder' or whatever was the
accepted designation for that style of restraint. June had
zero practical experience with leather bondage paraphernalia,
but she had perused her share of kinky comics and
"Turn around," Grace ordered, but this time June didn't comply.
Grace smiled (but didn't assess any demerits). "Trust me,
darling," she commanded (meaning requested).
June stared at the leather device, then her mentor's beautiful,
smiling face... then shuffled in a half-circle until her back
was turned. She stared straight ahead at the triptych of
full-length mirrors at the far end of the closet. Grace
gathered her hands behind her back and pulled the sleeve up her
arms until her fingers and hands bottomed out and the top was
nearly up to her armpits. June's hands were pressed
together, palm-to-palm, but the sleeve wasn't all that
tight. "I'm probably going to regret this," she sighed.
"Possibly," Grace purred, then began tightening the long,
shoelace-thin leather thong crisscrossing between two vertical
rows of steel grommets that traveled the length of the
sleeve. As she tugged on the laces and took in the slack,
the grommets came together and the binder grew progressively
tighter. Once it was tight enough that it wouldn't slip,
Grace dropped a pair of long, inch-wide straps across June's
shoulders from either side, crossed them over her chest above
her breasts, then passed them under her armpits and buckled them
to the sides of the sleeve near the top. Now the sleeve
couldn't possibly slip, but it could get tighter, and
did so as Grace returned to tugging on the laces.
June continued staring at her reflection in the mirrors.
She couldn't actually see what Grace was doing with the sleeve,
but she could certainly feel the result. Her fingers and
hands were tightly encased and completely immobilized, her
forearms and elbows were being pulled close together, and her
shoulders were rolling back, making her breasts more
prominent... like they aren't prominent enough
already, she thought with a sigh.
Grace finished lacing the thong, tied a doubled bow, then tucked
the free ends down the top of the sleeve. Next, she closed
a broad strap around June's sleeve-encased wrists, secured its
double-tongued buckle, then closed and secured a similar strap
and buckle just above her elbows. Finally, she tightened
the narrow, crisscrossing straps already yoking June's
shoulders, then took a step back.
June rolled her shoulders and twisted at the waist, testing her
new leather "accessory." The sleeve was tight, but not
excessively tight. Her elbows weren't actually
touching. The elbow strap had some sort of padded
arrangement inside the sleeve that kept her elbows from coming
closer than about two inches. With the sleeve fully and
tightly laced and all of its straps secured, her fingers and
hands were useless, but didn't tingle from loss of circulation,
and the same went for wrists and elbows.
Only one response was appropriate. June turned and faced
her mentor, assumed her best pout, and heaved a heartbreaking,
pathetic, very melodramatic sigh.
"Come with me," Grace chuckled, then turned and left the closet.
June turned her head and gave herself one last look in the
mirror, then padded in pursuit, catching up with her mentor as
they left the bedroom. "This hardly helps with my
nakedness problem," she noted.
Grace smiled. "There are two ways to keep the cleaning
crew from being scandalized by your brazen public
nudity," she explained. "Option one, you could get
dressed, but we've already agreed that would be unacceptable."
"What you mean 'we,' Kimosabe?" June purred.
"Option two," Grace continued, "I put you someplace safe where
you won't be seen. I've decided to go with option two."
June swallowed nervously (and ignored the thrill that had
returned to her pussy). "But if they clean the entire
Bungalow," she objected, "somebody will stumble across me no
matter where you hide me."
Grace smiled. "I spoke too broadly. The crew will
clean all the residential spaces. The Bungalow
has several, shall we say, more private areas
that they won't be cleaning.
June was intrigued, meaning a little apprehensive. Her
pussy was also interested. "Such as?"
Grace's smile widened, but she didn't otherwise answer.
June considered making a statement by turning and sprinting
away—making a break for it, as the saying goes. But where
would she go? She might be able to give her mentor a
credible footrace, but once Grace kicked off her heels the
outcome would be inevitable. They were both in good shape,
but eventually Grace would corner her, grab her by the hair
(June assumed), drag her to her fate, and that would be
that. Best to go along with whatever Grace had up her
proverbial sleeve. June glanced at her mentor's strong,
bare, curvaceous arms and heaved another sigh. I'm the
one wearing the sleeve, she mused.
Their immediate destination was a large utility room just off
the kitchen. There were the usual power panels, heat pump,
ventilation ducts, and plumbing junctions, all on a scale
appropriate for a mansion as expansive as the Beach Bungalow;
however, at the back there were a pair of steel doors, both with
cipher-lock keypads. One was clearly an elevator, but
Grace led June to the second door, entered a code, and swung it
open. Beyond was a set of descending stairs.
Grace took a firm grip on one of June's arm-binder straps, made
a sweeping gesture with her free hand, and they started
down. The treads were textured rubber and gave good
traction, but felt strange under June's bare feet. She
flinched when the door closed behind them with a rather loud clang.
"Are you nervous, darling?" Grace inquired.
"No," June answered (lied).
They reached a landing, made a 180-degree turn, and continued
down... then came to another landing. Off to the side was
another steel door.
"My workshop," Grace explained, indicating the closed portal.
"Workshop?" June inquired. What does a writer need
with a 'workshop?'
"I'll give you a tour sometime," Grace purred, "but not
today." She made another gesture and they continued down.
How deep are we going? June wondered. Her best
guess was that they were at least halfway down the cliff,
halfway to the level of the sea. They descended three more
sets of stairs and negotiated two more landings before arriving
at another steel portal. Grace entered a code and opened
the door, revealing a long, straight corridor of smooth, gray
Widely spaced fixtures in the ceiling lit their way as Grace led
the way forward. This time June was prepared and didn't
flinch when the door clanged shut behind them.
They passed from pool of light... to dim shadow... to pool of
light, etc. Grace's heels made a staccato tap, whereas
June's bare feet were silent. Like the stairs, it was
clear that the subterranean passageway was not on the
twice-monthly cleaning crew's work order. June was sure
the soles of her feet were now black with accumulated dirt and
They passed steel door after steel door. All the
gray-painted portals had cipher-locks and were spaced at least
ten feet apart. They paused at their apparent destination:
another steel door with the number "7" stenciled in a slightly
darker shade on its gray surface. It was otherwise
identical to all the other doors they'd passed. Seven
sounds about right, June thought, but hadn't actually
been keeping count.
Grace tapped the keypad and opened the door.
June stood in the threshold and found herself staring at a
cubical chamber about ten feet on a side. It was poured
concrete, like the corridor, with the exception of the far wall,
which was an expanse of glass bricks; but rather than being
mortared edge-to-edge, the glowing, translucent blocks were
mounted in a grid of heavy steel bars and then mortared
in place. Thanks to the wall of glass and what appeared to
be indirect daylight beyond, the room was more brightly lit than
"There's a shallow cave on the other side," Grace said, pointing
to the glass bricks, "but the cell only gets direct light right
"Sunset?" June whispered nervously, then gasped when Grace
placed a hand between her shoulder blades and gently pushed her
into the cell in question. She stumbled forward and turned
to face her mentor (and jailer).
Grace pointed to a small shower head flush-mounted in the
ceiling in the cell's left corner. "Fresh water for five
minutes, every two hours on the hour." She then pointed at
four-inch opening at the bottom of a shallow depression in the
floor and directly under the shower head. "Your sanitary
facility." She smiled at her naked, leather-bound
protege. "All the comforts of home."
June looked up at the shower head, down at the drain, then back
to her mentor. "I could help with the cleaning," she
suggested. "Do you have a sexy maid costume? That
wouldn't be too scandalous."
"As a matter of fact," Grace chuckled, "I own more than one sexy
maid costume. You can wear them when you touch up the
place between cleaning crew visits."
"Or now!" June pressed. "I could wear one now!"
The door was closing. "C'mon, Your Grace!" she
whined. "This is—" The door closed with a clang
and the lock engaged with a solid click.
"—mean!" The inside of the door was a featureless plane of
gray steel. June heaved a sigh. then turned to further
examine her cell... but there was nothing more to see.
Door, concrete, wall of glass and steel, shower head overhead,
drain below—nothing else.
June sighed, again, then padded to the wall away from the shower
and drain, sat down, settling her naked rump on the concrete
floor, then leaned her shoulders and leather-encased arms
against the wall. Where's a jailhouse cot, pile of
straw, or frakkin' doggy bed when you really need one,
she silently groused.
through all five of the Kübler-Ross stages of grief and loss:
denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
She isn't really gonna leave me down here all day,
is she? June thought. Apparently... she was.
Grace was going to leave her to cool her grimy heels in this
modern, subterranean dungeon for the entire day.
The shower head in the ceiling gurgled and released a torrent of
cool water. Not having access to a timepiece, June
couldn't confirm that the flow lasted exactly five minutes, or
that it happened every two hours precisely on the hour, as Grace
had promised, but as the day progressed... she decided that
seemed about right. Anyway, the shower was June's drinking
fountain; however, quenching her thirst came at a price.
She had to stand under the watery stream with her mouth
open. This thoroughly drenched her face, hair, and most of
her naked body, but was completely unavoidable. Once she'd
drunk her fill, padded (meaning squished) away from the shower
and sat back down on the concrete floor, another feature of the
cell manifested itself.
"Cell #7" was definitely not on the cleaning crew's
work order—which, of course, was the point of June's
incarceration therein—and while it wasn't what she could call
filthy, there was a significant accumulation of dust.
Dirty floor plus wet, naked damsel. The result was
inevitable. Well before midday, June was a tangle-haired,
grimy, naked mess. Which brought her to...
This is mean! June silently fumed. Fun is
fun... but this is mean! She was wretched, and
Grace was upstairs, swanning around her luxurious mansion in her
designer clothes, watching the cleaning crew putter
about—assuming Grace was telling the truth about there even being
a cleaning crew. Maybe there was no cleaning
crew at all. Maybe it was all a mean, over-the-top prank!
June heaved a sigh. The mansion was clean, and it
didn't clean itself. Unless elves cleaned the place at
night, there had to be a cleaning crew. But that
didn't mean Grace wasn't being mean!
For another thing, there was no lunch delivery, and June had
already missed breakfast. Mean!
Once she was released, June resolved to sit down with her
mentor/mistress and have a nice, long talk about
boundaries. They had to decide what was good, clean
(emphasis on clean) fun, and what was off limits... like
locking June in a cell and leaving her to rot!
(June wasn't quite past the anger stage.) And
should their entire relationship be defined in terms of
mistress/slave or top/bottom? What about
mentor/protege? That was still paramount, wasn't it?
Didn't it have to be? Anyway...
June decided to take a nap. What else did she have to
do? Did that qualify as depression? Maybe not, but
she was no longer angry, nor was she worrying about bargaining
with her absent mentor.
It was what it was. Eventually, Grace would return and let
her go... or take her back upstairs, anyway. June settled
onto her side on the semi-wet, semi-grimy concrete, and closed
come to the conclusion that accepting the position of
Correspondence Secretary and Lady's Companion to Lady
Gracelyn Katherine Scanlon had been a very serious
For one thing, it had required her to make the long journey
to Scanlon House, a supposedly grand but isolated manor
surrounded by the fetid fens of the wildest part of the
Weald Moors in Shropshire. The coach ride had been
tiresome, as had the wait at a dirty, disreputable inn for
the arrival of the pony-cart and surly local farmer who
finally took her to the manor house itself.
For another, half of the manor was in ruins, overgrown with
tangled vines and rosebushes gone wild. The remainder
was habitable, but dark and rather gloomy.
Upon her arrival, she'd been taken by the manor's solitary
servant, a sullen but attractive maid named Charlotte, into
Lady Scanlon's presence for her final employment interview.
Her Ladyship was regal and quite beautiful, and was dressed
in the height of London fashion, despite being so far from
the city. Yes, Lady Gracelyn was beautiful, but also
cold and rather judgmental. She asked many
uncomfortably personal questions about June's family and
friendships; but finally, apparently satisfied with her
answers, granted June the position. She then toasted
her servant with a glass of some sort of exotic green
Being a proper young lady (of modest means and few
prospects) June seldom imbibed intoxicating beverages, but
she made an exception at the urging of her new
employer. She drained the sweet, potent green liqueur
from the tiny stemmed glass, and then, at Lady Gracelyn's
insistence, retired to her room to unpack her modest
belongings and rest from her journey.
Charlotte led her to a small, rather plain bedchamber.
Its windows overlooked a dreary stretch of treacherous
bog. It was difficult to imagine a more depressing
June started to unpack... and suddenly felt rather
drowsy. She reclined on the neatly made bed—after
removing her ankle-boots, of course—lay back, and closed her
eyes. Her mind reeled, despite her best efforts to
order her thoughts. Strange, disturbing images
flashing before her, as if she was peering into a child's
kaleidoscope possessed by demons! She began to fear
she might be in the throes of the sudden onset of some
insidious form of hysteria! And then...
June awoke to find herself naked! Yes, naked!
And without clothes! Not even stockings, bloomers,
petticoats, underskirt, corset, bustle, and camisole!
She was lying on her back on some sort of wooden table—no, a
cart—and was rolling down a gloomy corridor under an arched
ceiling of dark gray stone. Charlotte the maid was at
the foot of the long, thin cart, still wearing her black and
white uniform, including apron and cap, and was its means of
propulsion. June could hear the cart's wheels
squealing as they turned, somewhere under her recumbent
body. Lady Gracelyn was close behind her maid, dressed
as before in her elegant gown, and lighting the way ahead
with a candelabra.
June considered it decidedly peculiar that Her Ladyship was
holding the candelabra. Was no footman
available? Also... I'm naked!
June would have required an explanation as to the
impropriety of her immodest condition, not to mention the
absence of a footman; however, something had been stuffed
into her mouth, perhaps a rag or linen napkin, and was being
held in place by some sort of leather panel and a network of
thin straps that caged her head! And the
headstall-like contraption had been buckled quite
tightly! Also, additional straps—a great many leather
straps, a veritable cocoon of leather
straps—embraced and restrained her naked body from neck to
ankles! She lifted her gagged and bridled head and
gazed down her body. The straps were interconnected, a
harness-like affair with a great many buckles and attachment
rings, and they easily defeated her most vigorous efforts to
escape their flesh-dimpling grasp.
June's struggles were further impeded by a frame of heavy,
cold iron, the curves of which followed the shape of her
supine form. Short lengths of taut iron chain joined
the harness to the frame at numerous points, substantially
contributing to reducing her efforts to escape to pathetic,
severely limited squirming motions. She focused on Her
Ladyship's unsmiling (but beautiful) face and inquired as to
her current circumstances as best she could—"Mrrrpfh!"—and
was ignored, both by Her Ladyship and her maid.
The cart continued to roll, June continued to squirm and
voice her well-muffled objections to all that was
transpiring, and the dark stones of the arched ceiling
continued rolling past.
Finally, the cart stopped, Charlotte stepped to the front,
and June heard and felt the rattling vibrations of some sort
of clamp, apparently with an attached chain, being secured
to the very top of the iron frame. There was a pause,
and more clamps and chains were attached to the frame on the
left and right, even with shoulders, elbows, hips, knees,
and ankles. June's severely limited range of motion
prevented her from assessing the significance of the
operation in any meaningful way.
Next, Charlotte stepped away, there was a pause, then June
heard the clatter of a winch being turned. At the same
time, the chains clamped to the frame clinked and tightened
and June and the frame began sliding along the smooth
surface of the table... and then Her Ladyship pulled the
table back and June and her iron and leather prison swung
free and dropped! "Mrrrk!"
The base of the frame struck the stone floor, causing June's
helpless body to quiver inside the frame. She was now
suspended in her bonds several degrees from the
perpendicular. Charlotte continued turning the winch,
the chains continued rattling, and June found herself being
pulled backwards, gaining a degree or two towards being
upright with every inch the frame was dragged
As the winch continued turning and the chains rattled...
June finally realized she was being drawn into a tall,
narrow opening in the wall—an alcove, perhaps.
Eventually, the rattling stopped. She was now
suspended in the vertical frame and the frame itself was
suspended by taut chains in a rather cozy stone niche that
was only slightly larger than a coffin!
"Mrrrf!" June squirmed and struggled. Her most
vigorous efforts imparted a slight swaying motion to the
frame, as well as a mortifying oscillation to her naked
breasts, but that was all.
June heard more rattling and clattering sounds, then
Charlotte rejoined Her Ladyship.
"The locking rods and padlocks are secure, Your Ladyship,"
the maid announced.
"Very well," Lady Gracelyn purred, an evil smile curling her
aristocratic lips. "We'll leave her here for three
days and three nights. Afterwards, she should be in
the proper frame of mind to begin her training."
Charlotte the maid's smile was also evil. "Yes, Your
"Secure the cell," Lady Gracelyn ordered. "It wouldn't
do to return and find that my new 'Lady's Companion' has
been gnawed upon by the rats."
Again, Charlotte stepped to the side, the sound of another
winch being turned began, and a pair of thick, rusty iron
panels began sliding with a dry, scrapping sound across the
front of the niche from either side! There were sharp
iron spikes in both doors' edges, waiting to slide into
matching cavities in the opposite door upon closure.
June struggled and screamed through her stifling gag.
"MRRRRF!" The iron doors inched closer and the gap
grew ever narrower, and all the while, Lady Grace continued
her evil smile. And finally... the doors clanged shut
and June was plunged into inky, stygian darkness!
Oh, the horror!
June suspected she was the prisoner of... dare she even
think it? ...degenerates! Who knew what
perverted practices were the accepted norm at Scanlon
House? June very much feared she would soon be
subjected to immoral, deviant, libertine behavior—barbarous,
foreign behavior—possibly even French!
Oh, the horror!