by Van ©2016
		Chapter 6

The rest of the day passed like the days before... only with June naked.  Grace was not naked, of course, but June was naked.

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 rubber.

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 functional semi-restraints.

The water started churning and Grace's smile broadened.  "Well?"

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 things right.

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 fell.

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 fluttering fingers.

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, smiling mentor.

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 repartee.  "Huh?"

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?"

"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 much."

"And in theory?"

June frowned.  "What do you mean 'theory?'  What theory?"

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 emphasis.

"Cheeky monkey," Grace purred.  "Don't make me revisit the gag issue."

"Yes, Mentor," June responded,  They were both still smiling.

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 body.

"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.

Naked, clean, 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, as always.

"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."

"Yes?"

"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 dressed."

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 follow.

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 graphic novels.

"Turn around," Grace ordered, but this time June didn't comply.

"Uh..."

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 concrete.

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 grime.

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 the corridor.

"There's a shallow cave on the other side," Grace said, pointing to the glass bricks, "but the cell only gets direct light right before sunset."

"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.

June passed through all five of the Kübler-Ross stages of grief and loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Denial.

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...

Anger.

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!

Bargaining.

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...

Depression.

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.

Acceptance.

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 her eyes.

June had 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 mistake.

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 spirits.

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 vista.

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!  Naked!

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.

"Mrrrf!"

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 backwards.  "Mrrrpfh!"

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 Ladyship."

"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!