| by Van ©2016
"What a grubby
little girl," Grace announced in an amused voice.
June woke with a start to find her smiling mentor standing in
the open doorway of the cell. She was dressed as before in
heels, skirt, and a sleeveless blouse. The dream of Wicked
Lady Gracelyn and her Equally Wicked Maid Charlotte was still
vivid in June's half-awake mind, and as Grace strolled in her
direction, June realized four things:
(1) She was, indeed, "grubby." Her naked body was
smudged and soiled with dirt from the dusty floor, exacerbated
by her trips to the corner shower-and-drain "drinking fountain"
to quench her thirst. Getting wet and then rolling in a
layer of fine dirt was not a recipe for
cleanliness. And it didn't help that the cell was somewhat
overheated and semi-copious amounts of sweat had been added to
(2) Her shoulders ached from the single-sleeve arm-binder
incarcerating her hands and arms behind her back; but
surprisingly, even now, after unknown hours of wear, it wasn't that
(3) It was rather late in the day. A large,
irregularly shaped section of the cell's glass and steel wall
was glowing with a bright, yellow-orange light.
Apparently, the sun was nearing the horizon and was shining
directly down the full length of the cave Grace had said was on
the far side of the glass bricks and steel bars. Lucky
me, June thought. It probably doesn't do that
every day of the year.
(4) She had to document every detail of the dream in her
Grace was carrying a pair of slippers, which she dropped to the
floor near her dirty, naked, helpless protege. "For you,
darling. We can't have your grubby feet soiling my freshly
cleaned carpets, now can we? Let's get you upstairs and
into the shower."
June was still thinking about item number four, her journal, and
found recording her thoughts had risen to her first priority—and
she wasn't above using a little subterfuge to get her way.
June winced as she sat up, as if in great pain (which she
"What is it. darling?" Grace inquired. The smile still
curling her lips suggested she wasn't buying June's act.
"I think I've dislocated by shoulders," June hissed through
"I very much doubt that," Grace chuckled, then helped June to
her feet. "You'll survive 'til I get you upstairs."
She pointed to the floor. "Slippers."
June stepped into the slippers in question, then focused the
awesome power of her most profound, pathetic Pout-of-Agony on
her smiling mentor. "Now? Please?"
Grace rolled her eyes, then stepped behind her protege and began
the process of unbuckling, unlacing, and removing the
"Hurry," June urged with a delicate shudder of false suffering,
milking her advantage for all it was worth.
"I know you're faking it," Grace purred as she made quick work
of the remaining lacing and pulled the loosened conical sheath
down June's arms.
June stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders. "Arrrg
that feels good. And you're right, I was faking
it." She planted a quick kiss on Grace's smiling lips,
then scampered through the open door. "See ya upstairs!"
she shouted back as she raced down the corridor.
"Ten demerits for lying to your mentor!" Grace's clearly amused
voice echoed after her naked, grubby, fleeing protege.
"It's a good thing there's an emergency code, nine-nine-one-one,
for all the doors between here and upstairs!"
"Thank you!" June shouted back. A quick look back
confirmed that Grace was following at a stately walk. June
hurried down the corridor, up the stairs, and through the
Bungalow to her bedroom.
June revised her plan en route. First order of business
was now a quick shower. Once she was squeaky clean and
refreshed, June toweled herself dry, including her hair, rigged
a quick towel-turban—not wanting to waste time with her
hairdryer and brush set—and hurried to her writing desk.
She powered up her laptop, opened her Dream Journal, created a
new sub-file named "Scanlon House," and began to type.
All the details of June's kinky, evil Victorian-themed dream
poured out onto the screen, in semi-grammatical outline form, of
course, and with copious side notes. She typed and
typed... then typed some more.
"Here you are," Grace chuckled. "You should be in the
sauna, followed by the massage table."
June turned to find her mentor standing in the bedroom
door. "Later," she muttered, and returned to typing.
Grace smiled, strolled forward, and began reading the words
scrolling onto the screen. She did so for several
seconds... then turned and walked away.
June continued typing. Now and then she paused to review
her last several lines... changed or added a few words here and
there... then resumed typing.
At some point June noticed that a plate with an enormous club
sandwich and a bottle of Sam Adams Light had magically appeared
to the right of her keyboard. At her grumbling stomach's
urging, she paused to wolf a generous bite from the sandwich,
followed by a swig of beer, followed by a second bite
from the delicious sandwich... then resumed typing.
Over the course of the next few hours— Was it really that
long? —the format shifted from a detailed journal entry to
preliminary notes and thoughts for a new novel, and June's
fingers continued tapping the keys with breakneck
(breakfingers?) speed. Also, bite-sized chunk by
bite-sized chunk, the sandwich evaporated... as did the contents
of the bottle... as did the empty plate and bottle
themselves. It was all very mysterious.
Some time after dark June noticed that Grace had reappeared,
this time bringing a laptop of her own with her. Mentor
and protege exchanged comments, criticisms, and suggestions as
they typed. June paused to save her work, then published
it to the Bungalow server so Grace could download the file,
Grace did the same with what she was typing, and what had become
a collaborative brainstorming session continued.
"Tomorrow, remind me to begin looking into a good groupware
program," Grace said absently, "so we can do this right."
"Tomorrow," June answered, also somewhat absently.
"Tomorrow," Grace agreed, and the typing continued.
Grace pronounced, then saved her work, published it to the
shared folder, and shut down her laptop. It was well after
"Almost done," June muttered, continuing to type.
"You can barely keep your eyes open," Grace chuckled. "And
most of what you've written in the last hour will need rewriting
in the morning. Enough."
June paused to read her last several lines. "You're
right," she sighed, did a save-publish-shutdown of her own, then
yawned, stretched, stood and faced her mentor... and blinked in
surprise. "When did you change?" she demanded.
Grace had, indeed, changed. No longer wearing her heels,
skirt, and blouse, the forty-something, honey-blond beauty was
wearing a sheer, white, lace-trimmed baby-doll nightie—and
nothing else—not even matching panties!
"Some time ago," Grace answered. "Talk about 'target
fixation.' When you get in the zone, nothing matters but
June blushed. "Well, yeah." Was that a
compliment? she wondered. I'll take it as a
Grace stepped forward, gave her naked protege a kiss on the
lips, then pointed to the bathroom. "Get ready for bed."
"Okay." June retrieved the towel from the floor that had
formerly been her hair-drying turban—at some point it had come
loose and fallen to the floor—then dragged herself to the
bathroom. Teeth brushed, hair brushed, and bladder
emptied, she returned to the bedroom to find Grace standing by
"Down," Grace ordered, pointing to the taut, smooth bedspread.
June yawned again, then smiled. "No turn-down service?"
Grace's lips curled in a tolerant smile. "Down," she
reiterated. "On your back, on top of the covers."
June's pussy posited that the ordered position might be
the prelude to her mentor climbing onto the bed and between her
legs so they could continue the love-making lessons of the
previous evening—that is, it tingled. June
concurred. She climbed onto the bed, lay on her back with
her head comfortably resting on the bedspread-covered pillows,
and smiled up at her mentor.
Grace smiled back, sat on the bed, then picked up a small,
black, nylon duffel-bag from the floor, dropped it on the bed,
and unzipped its main closure.
"What's that?" June demanded, propping herself up on her elbows
and peering inside the duffel. All she could see was a
tangle of black nylon straps.
"Your sleeping costume," Grace purred, then reached into the
duffel and pulled out a black nylon cuff. It was about
three inches wide, was well padded with black fake-fur, and had
a long, stout strap of braided nylon attached.
June smiled. "Unavailable in red?" she inquired.
"Cheeky monkey," Grace chuckled as she wrapped the cuff around
June's left wrist and secured it by means of a flush-mounted
snap-buckle. She then took the end of the attached strap,
stretched June's arm above her head, and somehow secured it to
the bed platform's baseboard, down near the floor.
June watched as Grace worked her way around the bed, wrapping,
snapping, and securing her left ankle... right ankle... and
right wrist, leaving her in a loose spread-eagle. June
tugged on her new restraints and found that she had three or
four inches of slack for each limb, but was, in a word,
helpless. "Behold, the Vitruvian Damsel," she dramatically
declaimed, referring to da Vinci's classic illustration of the
proportions of the human body.
"Clever," Grace chuckled as she sat down and reached back into
the duffel, "but you're still a cheeky monkey." She
produced a wide roll of black tape and a pair of bandage
scissors. "A cheeky monkey who lied to her mentor."
June watched as Grace stripped six or seven inches of tape from
the roll, snipped it free with the scissors, then returned the
roll and scissors to the duffel. Grace took the strip of
tape in both hands and prepared to seal her pouting protege's
"Wait," June said, causing Grace to pause. "We have to
talk about boundaries. Specifically, what sorts of cruel
tortures you'll be allowed to visit upon my innocent person on
any given occasion, and for how long. Also, I've decided
'Vitruvian' is my safe-word."
"Vitruvian," Grace chuckled. "Clever girl, but not
tonight. No discussions tonight. Lips together."
"You have a real mean streak," June pouted, "you know
that?" She did follow Grace's order, however, putting her
lips together in a fierce moue that signaled her Profound
Disappointment in the face of her mentor's Extreme Cruelty.
Grace took advantage of the opportunity to press the taut strip
home until June's cheeks bulged from the
pressure. She then gently smoothing her fingers over the
shining ebony panel, ensuring the adhesive had achieved its
maximum grip. "Very pretty," she sighed. "I can see
the shape of your lips. Very pretty." She
then zipped the duffel closed and dropped it on the floor.
June tugged on her wrist cuffs and tried kicking her feet.
She had significant wiggle room, as she'd previously noted, but
knew she was totally helpless... again.
Grace smiled, reached out her left hand, and gave June's left
breast a gentle squeeze.
June froze in her bonds. Her eyes were wide and
locked with her smiling Mentor's. Also, her heart was
pounding and her nostrils flaring as she panted for
breath. As for her pussy... it was Thrill City south
of her pubic bush and north of her splayed thighs.
"Do you know why I gagged you, protege?" Grace inquired,
continuing to gently knead June's breast. "After all, the
entire Bungalow is virtually soundproof, inside and out, and
there's no one around for miles to hear your screams.
So... why the gag?"
To make me feel even more helpless, obviously,
"To make you feel even more helpless," Grace purred.
June made a mental note to remind her mentor that the Socratic
method loses a lot of its punch when the teacher tape-gags her
student. She also continued panting and squirming as
Grace's hand left her breast, slid down her abdomen, and cupped
"Hmm," Grace purred, "wet, I see." Her smile
broadened. "I guess we have time for one quick
lesson before retiring." And with that, she climbed
between June's legs, settled onto her stomach, used her fingers
to spread her protege's labia, and set to work with her lips and
The lesson plan was unchanged from the previous evening, as was
the result: a crashing multiple orgasm for the naked,
spreadeagled, and tape-gagged June. And she still couldn't
Bungalow routine continued. That is...
June's new "Hobbit-runners" arrived, and they were a perfect
fit. Now she was able to run the Bungalow Trail at her
mentor's side in the proper manner, with her toes wiggling in
individual, independently movable pockets. The shoes were
ridiculous—although June would never share that opinion with Her
Grace—and they took a little getting used to. However,
after a few days of careful running, followed by foot-soaks and
foot-massages delivered by Grace's talented hands, June became a
convert to near-barefoot running (although she still thought the
shoes looked ridiculous).
By the way, Grace did require her protege to run naked, wearing
only her Hobbit-runners. It was embarrassing and
humiliating in the extreme. Also, kinky, naughty, and
wicked. June's pussy was decidedly pro-naked-running, and
made its feelings known via low-level tingling sensations.
And it wasn't like June had any choice. Grace always tied
her wrists or slapped her in handcuffs during their runs.
Her hands were usually behind her back, but now and then Grace
mixed things up by binding or cuffing June's wrists in front but
with the addition of elbow-bondage behind her back. Her
elbows weren't bound so closely that they touched, of
course, but they were bound. The combination of wrist and
elbow bonds rendered June just as helpless as the
Other exercise choices available were swimming,
treadmill-running, and the use of Grace's other exercise
machines—but always with June naked and in some way bound.
All the machines had adjustable attachment points for leather
and/or nylon straps and/or cuffs. June hadn't noticed them
before, but they were there, and in plain sight. That is,
they were obvious once Grace secured her in place, programmed
the machine-of-the-day's computerized controls, and strolled
June continued getting in better and better shape—not that she
hadn't been in good shape upon arrival—and she was developing a
deep, overall tan, as Grace had decreed. Naked sunbathing
and laptop typing at poolside or on her bedroom's balcony saw to
June continued working on her novel, and she was making rapid
progress. Soon, she was actually writing, meaning she was
writing actual chapters, as opposed to massaging her
notes and outline.
Also—and it was a HUGE deal—the collaboration June had begun
with her mentor following the Languishing in Cell #7 Exercise
and concomitant Scanlon House Dream continued. June's
first novel took priority, and Grace was working on a new novel
of her own, but now and then they got together and worked on
what had evolved into a co-authored novel. At first it was
a sort of Victorian Gothic Romance send-up, but then the first
airship appeared, followed by a clockwork robot, and it—as yet
untitled—became a Steampunk Victorian Gothic Romance
Several days a week, June became the focus of another Exercise,
or, what she had come to characterize as one of Grace's "Bondage
Brainstorms." June learned about elaborate Japanese rope
bondage. Much to her surprise, "Kinbaku" turned out
to be a recognized art form in the Land of the Rising Sun, and
Grace dabbled. Who knew? Also, while some
rich people collect classic cars, some fine art, and some rare
books, Grace collected bondage equipment. Not vintage
bondage equipment, but custom designed original bondage
And then there was Grace's "workshop."
Grace's workshop for the first time and took a timid look
around. For some reason, she was nervous. Also, she
was naked and Grace had used a meter-long length of thin, red,
braided nylon cord to bind her crossed wrists behind her back.
Grace was right behind her naked, bound, and adorably uneasy
protege, dressed as usual in expensive heels, pencil skirt, and
cotton designer blouse. She paused to close the solid
steel door behind them, then turned to watch her protege explore
her tinkering domain.
June padded from workstation to workstation: general purpose
work bench, drill press, router table, band saw, jigsaw, belt
sander, etc. There was also a computer workstation, with a
high-end desktop scanner/printer and off to one side was a
cubical machine about the size of a small refrigerator.
June was ninety-percent certain it was a 3D printer. There
was also an actual small refrigerator, a single-cup
coffeemaker, and a tiny sink and dish rack. All the
comforts of home, including state-of-the-art air filtration for
dust control and a built-in vacuum system for cleanup. LED
strips for general lighting and countless spotlights focused for
task lighting were mounted over the various stations.
"Impressive," June stated, "not Tony Stark impressive,
"What am I missing?" Grace chuckled.
"Industrial robots, of course," June answered.
"They're scheduled for the next upgrade," Grace purred.
She strolled to the computer workstation. "For complicated
items I usually start the design process here, or upstairs,
then—" She indicated the 3D printer "—produce a
prototype and start the refinement process. When I'm
satisfied, I send the results out for fabrication."
June frowned. "You use a 3D printer to make prototype
arm-binders and... stuff?"
"No, darling," Grace chuckled. "Excellent leather products
are available from a variety of skilled artisans, if you know
where to find them. I use my machine friends to make the
clamps and devices required to attach interesting things—"
She favored her naked, wrist-bound protege with a leering
grin. "—like naked proteges, to my furniture. I've
put a great deal of effort into decorating the Beach
Bungalow. It wouldn't do to have permanently attached
straps, manacles, and shackles ruining the lines of my chairs
and sofas, don't you agree?"
June nodded. Her eyes were on the 3D printer. "Architectural
Digest might cross you off their list of potential cover
Grace smiled. "Exactly."
June turned back to her mentor. "You don't dress like that
when you work down here, do you?"
"What's wrong with dressing properly?" she purred.
June rolled her eyes (and twisted her bound wrists). "Even
you aren't rich enough to do actual work in fancy
"It's not a matter of wealth, protege," Grace chuckled, "but
aesthetics. When I come down here to accomplish actual
work, I change into—"
"Wait!" June interrupted. "Let me guess. Turn
Grace smiled, gracefully spread her arms to either side, and
executed a slow, graceful pirouette.
June regarded her mentor with a thoughtful moue.
"Hmm... I'd say a full-length, skintight body-stocking, in
ballistic spandex. Probably in... shining black? Oh,
and with a full hood to keep your hair out of the way, goggles
for eye protection, and a breathing mask. Am I right?"
Grace shook her head. "Ridiculous."
"It would look great," June countered. "I bet all
the great designers would love selling you different
versions. They'd be like classy Star Trek uniforms, or
Star Trek wet suits, or Star Trek modern dance outfits, or—"
"Enough!" Grace laughed. "I wear jeans and an old blouse
when I work."
"How boring," June sighed. "Now..." Off to one side
was a rather large... something... covered by a dust
cloth. June only gave it a quick glance, then made a show
of giving everything else in the room another once
over. Her nervousness had returned. "This is all
very nice, but why did you drag me down here?"
She watched as Grace's smile turned sinister, the way it
did before she did something deliciously naughty to her helpless
protege. This did nothing to alleviate June's nervousness
problem, but it did send a frisson of delight rippling
between her legs. Greedy thing, she silently
admonished her pussy.
Grace strolled to the covered object, smiled, and slowly removed
the dust cover.
June found herself staring at what appeared to be a comfortable
recliner. It was brown leather, more or less the same
texture and shade as June's favorite sling purse, and wouldn't
have been out of place among any of the easy chairs, sofas, or
love-seats upstairs in the main Bungalow—except for one minor
issue. Broad bands of heavy-duty nylon webbing crossed the
recliner at various locations, and attached to the bands were
padded nylon cuffs of various sizes, waiting to bind the ankles,
thighs, waist, wrists, upper arms, and neck of whoever decided
to pad over to the recliner and take a seat.
June mustered her best nonchalant smile (knowing all the while
that her best smile was nowhere near good enough). "I
suppose that's so I can get comfortable and watch you work?"
"Yes... let's go with that," Grace answered, continuing to
smile. She nodded towards the recliner.
June swallowed nervously, then padded to the recliner, sat, and
watched as Grace secured her ankles... and then her thighs, just
above the knees. The cuffs were more-or-less medical
restraints with an aesthetic upgrade. Their closures were
steel snap-buckles, but with a black matte finish and locking
"Lean forward," Grace purred.
June did so and Grace untied and removed her red cord
wrist-bonds. June leaned back and watched as Grace secured
her waist... followed by her left and right wrists... her left
and right upper arms... and finally, her neck. This gave
June an excellent opportunity to gaze down the front of Grace's
blouse and visually examine the tops of her mentor's bra-clad
breasts... and to take a deep breath and savor Grace's perfume
and natural scent.
The collar now buckled around June's neck was wider than the
other cuffs, but just as comfortable as the rest. It
wasn't particularly tight or restrictive, not one of those
things June believed was referred to as a "posture
collar." It did, however, more-or-less restrict her head
to the immediate area of the headrest. Also, while the
other restraints kept her pinned in the chair, her wrists had a
lot of wiggle room, and it was obviously a design feature, not a
flaw. The wrists cuffs weren't rigidly attached to the
underlying straps, as was the case with the others, but each
included a short "leash" that gave her cuffed hands two or three
inches of freedom of motion. There was no way June could
use that "freedom" to free herself, but it was there,
and it was curious. She continued struggling and exploring
her condition. "Comfy," she purred, smiling up at her
"And not going anywhere," Grace suggested.
June gave her bonds another courtesy struggle. "Can't say
you're wrong," she sighed, then tugged on her wrist-cuffs.
"Why the loose hands?"
"So you'll be able to operate the controllers, of course," Grace
June frowned. "Controllers? What controllers?"
Grace strolled to a cabinet and returned with two game
controllers attached to curved, stainless steel
bracket-arms. She slid the end of one of the brackets into
a hitherto unsuspected socket somewhere under the right armrest,
then the controller slid forward until there was a solid click.
She did the same with the left controller and armrest.
June found the familiar buttons and touchscreens were in the
perfect positions for her fingers. And while the devices
weren't any brand-name product with which June was familiar,
they were ergonomic and full-feature. Assuming they were
compatible with whatever gaming platform Grace planned on using,
June was sure she'd have no trouble figuring them out.
"I have other, specialized controllers in the pipeline," Grace
said, "but these should do for now."
Grace smiled, then returned to the cabinet and returned with a
plastic box. "I have friends in the gaming industry who
are discretely allowing me to piggyback on some of their R&D
June watched as Grace lifted a small, flat, crescent-shaped
object from the box, peeled off its paper backing, then applied
it to June's left breast, just to the left of her nipple.
This was followed by a second crescent that was applied to the
right of her left nipple. June's right breast received
similar decorations, and now a pair of black crescents framed
each of her nipples, held in place by some sort of
adhesive. Next, Grace snapped tiny electric contacts into
tiny sockets in each of the crescents, then plugged the attached
wire leads into unseen sockets on the left and right sides of
"What are those for?" June huffed. Actually, June had a
pretty good idea exactly what the crescents and wires
were for. She squirmed in the chair, causing her breasts
to bob and bounce, just a little, and the oscillations weren't
nearly enough to dislodge what she feared were the
"nipple-zappers" now riding her breasts.
Grace's smile was her only answer. She returned the
plastic box to the cabinet... then strolled back to June and the
recliner holding what was unmistakably a wand vibrator with a
doorknob-style head. Dangling from the wand were a long
power cord and several black nylon straps with steel
June heaved a sad, truly tragic sigh as Grace tucked
the wand between her thighs and used the straps and buckles to
secure it in place. "You're going to be mean to me again,"
she whined, "aren't you."
Grace took a step back and watched as June executed the required
courtesy struggle. The head of the vibrator was firmly
pressed against her protege's now slightly squashed labia, and
there was quite obviously nothing June could do to squirm away
and break contact.
"Mean?" Grace plugged in the vibrator somewhere behind the
recliner before continuing. "Not at all, protege," she
purred. "You mentor is being kind." She
strolled to the front of the recliner, crossed her arms under
her breasts, and smiled. "I know you enjoy video-gaming,
so I've arranged for you to be able to play a few classic games.
Is that mean?"
June tugged on her bonds and stared daggers at her smug,
gloating mentor before answering. "While getting my tits
zapped and my pussy buzzed? Yes, that's mean. That's
very mean, and... classic video games? What classic
Grace managed to contain the fit of laughter struggling to erupt
from between her smiling lips. June's expression had
morphed from a heartbreaking pout to... concerned
interest. It was adorable. June was beautiful, nude,
inescapably bound, and intrigued... Adorable.
Grace returned to the cabinet. "Well, the choices
available were limited, but I believe the first games my friends
sent me are are PC versions of Space Invaders, Battlezone,
Centipede, and Pac-Man."
June blinked in surprise. "That's classic, alright," she
muttered. "That's about as classic as you can get,
but—" June blinked again, this time in alarm. Grace
was approaching the recliner, and the ball-gag in her hands was
approaching June's open mouth! "Grace!
Mrrrpfh!" Too late. The ball was in her
mouth, and her mentor was securing its strap.
Grace finished buckling the ball-gag, straightened June's
tousled hair, then resumed her smiling, cross-armed stance in
front of the recliner. "My friends also made a few enhancements.
I understand it wasn't particularly difficult, as the actual
source codes for the different titles were available, so—"
"Yes, dear," Grace chuckled, "enhancements. I know the
details vary depending on the context of the game, but in the
most general terms, and from the player's point of view, you
know how something 'bad' happens it triggers a 'sad' noise, and
when something 'good' thing happens it triggers a 'happy'
noise? That will still be the case, but in addition, the
electrical contacts on your nipples will provide additional
negative feedback and your new best friend between your
legs additional positive feedback."
"Don't have kittens, darling," Grace chuckled. "If things
are calibrated correctly, nothing will rise above the level of
irritation or frustration, not until you win or lose the game,
of course. Then, you should get either a nice orgasm... or
a brief punishment period. A rest interval will follow,
and then you will play again."
June watched with wide eyes, tugged on her bonds, squirmed in
place, and watched as Grace strolled to the cabinet, yet again,
and returned with what June recognized as a virtual-reality
headset with stereo headphones. The Prisoner of the
Recliner supposed she could have tried to make her collared and
ball-gagged head a moving target, but why bother? June
fumed and mewled complaints as the goggle-like headset settled
over her eyes and the headphones over her ears. Straps
tightened, buckles snapped, and the deed was done.
June found she wasn't in total darkness. The upper
two-thirds of her field of vision were as if she was looking
through a very dark pair of sunglasses, but the lower third was
more or less clear. She could see her wrist-cuffs, hands,
and the controllers. Grace was still standing in front of
her, but between the padded collar, the recliner's headrest, and
the very dark upper field of the VR headset, all she could see
was most of her mentor's exquisitely and expensively dressed
body, her lower face, and her sinister (exquisite) smile.
And then... after a brief opening title sequence... a round of
the game Space Invaders began. June scrambled to
sort out the controls, how to make her missile launcher slide
left and right, and which button fired the thing. She lost
a part of her second shield during the process—and received her
first tit-zap—but soon she was in the groove. Grace had
been telling the truth. The tit-zap was more an irritation
that a jolt of pain. She destroyed her first few invaders,
and learned that the requisite "rewards" from what Grace had
called her "new best friend" were equally low key.
Game play continued.
It had been a very long time since June had defended the planet
in this manner, and the most classic version of the game, the
arcade version, was before her time, but she was holding her
own. Oh-by the way, with each row of invaders she
destroyed, the vibrator ticked up a notch! And the same
went for the tit-zapping power of their bombs or missiles or
whatever the damn things were firing. They weren't moving
faster or causing more damage to her shields, but the intensity
of the negative feedback was increasing... slowly. None of
the rewards or punishments were spectacularly intense, but as
the game wore on, the zaps and buzzes became increasingly
Finally... June won the first game. Her field of vision
went completely dark, there was a brief pause... and the
vibrator began to buzz... and this time it was more than
feedback... meaning it didn't stop. The intensity slowly
increased, and there was variation. Vibratory pulses came
in modulated waves... but they were relentless!
June squirmed and struggled, mewled through her gag, and
shivered in response. No doubt Grace was watching.
No doubt Grace was watching with sadistic glee as her
helpless, innocent, naked protege was "tortured" by the vibrator
and its controlling computer.
Finally, inevitably, June's body went rigid—she resumed
struggling with all her strength—then went rigid again.
June was in the throes of a crashing orgasm... and
then it was over. However, the vibrator continued to
buzz... which wasn't exactly a good thing. It was on the
verge of becoming a very bad thing as it vibrated
against her now very sensitive and decidedly moist labia... but
finally, it stopped.
June panted through her gag, her breasts heaved, and enjoyed the
lingering ripples of the orgasm's aftermath.
June's breathing stilled and she wondered if she'd be allowed to
take a brief catnap.
Suddenly, the lower third of her field of vision returned, as
did the alien invasion. Round two had begun.
of Space Invaders later, the surface of the earth had not been
bombed to a sea of molten lava by the alien hordes.
However, the Fearless Defender of the Big Blue Marble, June the
Triumphant Warrior, had paid the price. That is, she had
"suffered" many, many orgasms. How many
orgasms? At some point, the best efforts of the vibrator
pressed against her flushed, moist pussy had become as much of
an irritant as the shock-pads adhered to either side of her
nipples. June was tuckered out, too tuckered out to count
Things happened... and June realized the VR headset and
headphones had mysteriously vanished, the crescent-shaped pads
had evaporated from her boobs, the vibrator had disappeared, all
of her restraints had spontaneously sprung open, and Grace was
helping her to her feet.
June was, in a word, funky, and she felt funky.
She was also slightly unsteady on her bare feet. Grace was
still holding her left hand. The naked protege favored her
mentor with her best wounded (tired) pout. "I hate you,"
she croaked. "You're mean."
"Yes, yes, I know, darling," Grace chuckled as she led June from
the workshop. "Take a dip in the pool while I fix us some
"Okay," June sighed, "I mean, no. I hate you." By
this time she was steadier on her feet, but she didn't release
Grace's hand. "The outdoor pool? I'm not gonna swim
in the indoor torture tank."
"Yes, the outdoor pool," Grace purred. They'd reached the
stairs and were starting up. "You know where the poolside
towels are kept, of course."
"Yes, that cabinet next to the shower," June confirmed. "I
mean, no. Shut up. You're mean."
Grace smiled as she opened the door to the kitchen. "Yes,
"I think you broke my pussy," June huffed. "You're mean."
Grace lost it, quaking with laughter as they crossed the kitchen
and headed for the exercise area. "Stop!" she begged.
"Mean, mean, mean!" June pressed her momentary advantage
by leaning close and tickling her chortling mentor's ribs.
"Stop!" Grace wailed.
June did stop. She was too exhausted for a wrestling
By this time they were in sight of the door leading out to the
pool deck and Grace stopped. "Go."
June smiled as she continued forward and Grace doubled back
towards the kitchen. Her pussy wasn't actually broken, of
course. In fact, it was purring. Also, June wasn't really
mad at Grace. It was very thoughtful of her to go
to all that trouble, June thought as she opened the door,
stepped out onto the deck, and into the sun. Not every
mentor would go to the effort to torture their protege with
their favorite pastime in such an imaginative, meticulously
Proper pool protocol called for June to shower before entering
the water, but that sounded like work. So, sweaty, funky
body and all, June executed a graceful overhand dive into the
cool, liquid, aqua depths.
I wonder what's for lunch? June wondered as she kicked
for the surface. And what's gonna happen after lunch?