|by Van ©2016|
|OUR STORY CONCLUDES
June completed her first novel in a surprisingly short time. Charlotte had been following its progress from afar, via the internet, and within hours of the final draft being submitted called with the good news that Grace's publisher had agreed to publish said novel and to add June to their stable of writers with a standard contract. June was through the roof, of course, but Grace took the phone from her hand and told Charlotte in no uncertain terms that she should either come back with a serious offer or Grace would personally contact other publishing houses and start a bidding war for June's talents. Charlotte hemmed and hawed and promised to do the best she could.
This was all prearranged, of course. Charlotte was doing a good job of representing her client's interests, but only with Grace's added clout could Charlotte argue for a better deal. It was June's first novel, after all. That said, Charlotte and Grace knew damn well that the publishing execs knew they were looking at a good thing. No one could blame them for trying to make the best deal possible, but June's agent and her mentor knew she deserved better than a standard contract.
Not surprisingly (to Grace, anyway) Charlotte called back the very next day with a much better offer—and with a nod from her mentor, June accepted.
It still took months for Forest of Shadows, the final title of June's first novel, to reach readers' hands, but when the release date finally rolled around, it was an instant hit. Meanwhile, June worked on her second novel and her collaboration with Grace. It was a busy period, a creative period. Neither mentor nor protege had the time for indulging in bondage nonsense—but they made the time.
June learned a great deal about Kinbaku—not how to craft aesthetically pleasing and inescapable rope predicaments, of course, as she was always the one in said predicaments—but her bondage horizons widened considerably.
June also learned that when she'd agreed to move into the Beach Bungalow she'd unknowingly entered a veritable House of Bondage. Grace had been tinkering with her cuffs, straps, clamps, and subtly hidden attachment points for years, and she had an amazing variety of options available for restraining any naked residents that needed to be kept under strict control.
In short, the Bondage Exercises continued, and as a result, June suffered greatly... not! Grace was not only free with the restraints (so to speak) but was more than generous dispensing orgasms.
There was one gradual but significant change at the Bungalow. At Grace's insistence, June began experimenting with fashion. That is, June allowed Grace to instruct her on how to "dress properly." Much to June's surprise, it turned out you don't have to be incredibly wealthy to dress well. Designer clothes are hideously expensive, of course, but much cheaper and readily available alternatives are available. Slowly, June mastered the principles involved and her wardrobe began to grow.
June's "working uniform" continued to be her birthday suit, but whenever mentor and protege went out or hosted any visitors (other than Charlotte), June would dress in stylish heels, a pencil skirt, and a cotton blouse, or a summer dress, or a simple business suit, whatever was appropriate. June still thought there was nothing wrong with jeans or shorts, but she also decided she liked looking good... like Grace.
June couldn't be happier (not counting the worst parts of the best of Grace's Bondage Exercises).
And then, Grace dropped a proverbial bombshell. She would be hosting another of her famous dinner parties, the first such party since June had become her Lowly Protege. June got one look at the guest list and nearly fainted with excitement! She didn't recognize every name that had thus far returned their RSVP, but from the names she did recognize, this was going to be a GREAT PARTY!
June was literally jumping up and down with glee—much to Grace's amusement—then froze in horror when she realized she had a serious problem. The specified dress for the occasion was "formal!" June's blinked at her mentor in horror. "I don't have a thing to wear!"
Grace's smile was unchanged. "Not to worry. We'll take a drive into town tomorrow. It'll be my treat."
June's smile returned, but she had to object. "Grace!" she whined.
"I insist," Grace chuckled. "I can't let my guests meet my protege with her looking anything but her best. You've racked up quite a few demerits. We might as well burn off a few by making you accept a designer gown from your mentor."
June couldn't help but blush. She pulled Grace into a warm embrace and they kissed. She was surprised (and delighted) to see that her mentor was also blushing.
The dinner would be a catered affair. Grace knew an excellent service that would handle all the details. All Grace would have to do was be the gracious hostess. The same went for June and Charlotte, meaning they wouldn't be involved in preparing or serving the meal, but they were very eager to help Grace make the party a success.
Ready to party, Charlotte arrived at the Bungalow more than twenty-four hours in advance. She was excited. She was very excited and was toting a garment bag containing a gorgeous black gown that would showcase her slender, athletic, fair-skinned curves and goofy-cute face. "Goofy-cute" was June's characterization of her agent's features, of course, and when she shared that observation, Grace smiled and agreed. Charlotte's wounded pout did little to dispute the issue.
Grace made the usual disparaging remarks about short hair, but Charlotte ignored her. Everyone (meaning June and Charlotte) knew Grace liked long hair, but Charlotte liked her hair pixie-short, and June silently agreed. All the critical banter was in fun, of course.
The food and cases of wine wouldn't arrive until noon tomorrow, and the guests wouldn't start arriving until hours afterward. All involved would be spending the night at the Bungalow (including the catering service's chef and her two assistants), but the guest rooms were already assigned and ready for occupancy. So... what to do in the meantime?
"Get your hands off me!" Charlotte complained as Grace and June peeled her out of her new, gorgeous, black gown. They were in Grace's bedroom, and Charlotte's alleged friends, the ones with the grabby hands holding her by the wrists and undoing the clasps and zipper of her exquisite formal frock, had insisted that she model it for them—but now they were stripping her naked!
What an outrage! Charlotte squirmed and struggled for all she was worth. Oddly, her resistance was quite ineffective, but it wasn't like she wasn't really fighting her captors' efficient efforts to strip her to the skin. It wasn't like this was all a game, a game in which Charlotte was just as much a player as the fully dressed writers manhandling their much put upon agent. Oh no, Charlotte was fighting like a wildcat, and was putting as much effort into defending and preserving her modesty as she was into trying to suppress the "goofy-cute" smile threatening to curl her lips.
"Don't rip it!" Charlotte complained as the gown slithered down her pale, struggling body and was tossed aside. "No!" Grace had produced a black leather arm-binder, and she obviously intended to lace and buckle her into the thing! "Grace," she whined as June held her arms. Grace slid the binder up to Charlotte's armpits and began the process of tightening the laces. Charlotte continued to struggle, but soon her Nefarious Kidnappers had her fingers and hands palm-to-palm, her elbows a mere two inches apart, the sleeve's security straps yoking her shoulders and crisscrossed over her chest, and the totally superfluous elbow and wrist straps buckled tight.
Charlotte executed the required courtesy struggle, whining and protesting as she twisted at the waist and did her best to free her leather-encased arms. "It isn't fair, dammit!" she pouted. "I'm your agent. I'm supposed to have some degree of control."
"That's in the real world," June chuckled. "This is The Beach Bungalow, and only one person is in control at The Beach Bunglow."
Charlotte was readying a devastatingly witty comeback—"Bite me!" sprang to mind—but decided to pass when she noticed June putting her tan, exquisite body where her mouth was. That is, she watched June complete the process of removing her own clothes and folding them neatly. Her arms behind her back, June smiled a broad, dimpled smile as her mentor laced and buckled a second arm-binder in place. "Well... point taken," Charlotte conceded with a sigh.
"Wait here," Grace ordered, then strolled into her walk-in closet. Seconds passed... and she returned with a large bundle of leather straps and panels and buckles.
"Holy crap," Charlotte sagely remarked, then focused on her naked, arm-binder-bound, and not-in-control companion. "You knew about this?"
Surprisingly, June's eyes were equally wide. "I'm not at all sure what 'this' is," she responded.
"This" turned out to be a small fortune in custom leather goods and a half-hour of nonstop lacing and buckling for Grace. When the metaphorical dust settled, Charlotte and June were face-to-face—as well as squashed-boob-to-squashed-boob, tummy-to-tummy, thigh-to-thigh, knee-to-knee, and toe-to-toe. This had required the deployment of several distinct but well-integrated leather subsystems, such as a double-body-harness, a double-corset, a double-thigh-harness, and a double-leg-binder. And as implied by the "double" descriptor, all of the subsystems were designed to be worn by two persons. The integration was accomplished by well-placed connecting straps, a great many well-placed connecting straps.
In addition, Grace had suspended the tightly and intimately bound duo from two pairs of steel cables that traveled up to a motorized winch hidden somewhere above the bedroom ceiling, a refinement added to the Bungalow over the course of Grace's years of tinkering. Also, the double-thigh-harness specifically, and the double-suspension-encasement in general, included an integrated, wand-style vibrator. It was between Charlotte and June's thighs with its business end squashed against their labia.
Grace climbed a folding stepladder and put the final touches on her latest masterpiece in the form of a double-posture-collar and interlocking ring-gags. This required the tacit and reluctant cooperation of both "victims," and the final result left June and Charlotte with their heads turned and sharing a permanent, involuntary kiss. None of this happened without comment, of course.
"Grace!" Charlotte complained, "This is mean—M'mrrpfh!"
"Yeah," June agreed (even though she'd been in on at least part of Grace's Evil Plan). "Nrrmfh!"
Grace added a pair of blindfolds, then worked her way down Charlotte and June's dangling and encased bodies, tightening buckles as she went. She then shifted the stepladder to the other side and repeated the process. As the pièce de résistance, she tied Charlotte's and June's big toes together into a bundle of four with a short length of black leather thong.
Grace returned the stepladder to the closet, then walked a slow circle around the wiggling, squirming, vertically hanging bundle she'd made of her beloved agent and beloved protege. Even she had to admit that this was mean—especially the toes—but it was a bit of a special occasion.
Clearly, the cocooned captives agreed. Grace was being mean.
"Yes, yes, I know," Grace chuckled, "but if all goes well, you two will be working closely for years to come. Think of this as a bonding experience."
The prisoners' reactions were simultaneous squirming, wiggling, and wet, semi-gagged complaints. "Nrrr!"
"Well," Grace said as she turned and strolled into the closet, "I'm for bed." She paused in the doorway. "Did I mention the random timing and intensity feature of the vibrator you two are sharing? The control program is supposed to be 'semi-intelligent,' in that it seems to anticipate when you're about to cum and either shuts itself off... or shifts into shock mode. You both should be able to tell me in the morning if it works as advertised."
The squirming and wiggling continued while Grace undressed, strolled into the bathroom and completed her evening toilette, then climbed into bed. She lay against the pillows piled at the headboard and savored the sight of her helpless protege and agent. She didn't make a habit of telling falsehoods, but in this case she had, at the very least, exaggerated. The program controlling the vibrator was no more than a random timer; however, it did have a special feature: a remote control override.
Grace filled a tiny stemmed glass from a decanter on her bedside table, savored a sip of dark, smoky sherry, then smiled, lifted the small remote in her right hand, and tapped a virtual button on its touchscreen with her thumb. The result was subtle but unmistakable.
The sun rose and Grace sprang from her bed refreshed, well rested, and ready for the big day. As for June and Charlotte... not so much.
Grace untied the prisoners' big toes, then lowered the mutual leather encasement to the floor, removed their blindfolds, and the captives sighed and gazed at their beloved Mentor and Cash Cow in grim accusation. Grace smiled in return and began unbuckling and unlacing the various elements of their double-cocoon. Quite obviously, June and Charlotte were in a bad way. Not only were June's deeply tanned and Charlotte's fair-skinned bodies glistening with sweat, but they were clearly exhausted from their night of shared orgasmic torture.
"Mean," June sighed once her ring-gag was removed.
"Mean," Charlotte agreed.
A long, hot shower shared with her cruel and heartless mentor did much to revive June in body and spirit. As for Charlotte...
The glowering, naked agent remained the prisoner of Grace's arm-binder. Her friends led her into the bathroom and allowed her to empty her bladder, June held a glass so she could take a refreshing and much needed drink, then Grace scrubbed her pouting face with a wet washcloth. But afterwards, she was invited (forced) to curl up on the bathroom rug and her big toes were tied together. It was so she wouldn't "wander off," as Grace put it. On the plus side, if you could call it that, she had an excellent view of the wet and soapy spectacle that unfolded in the shower.
"This takes mean to a whole new level," Charlotte groused as the now squeaky clean Grace and June toweled themselves dry and shared the blow-dryer.
"You have no idea," June purred as she untied Charlotte's toes and helped her to her feet.
"I expected better from you," Charlotte sighed as June led her from the bedroom and towards the kitchen. They were both naked, but Charlotte slightly less so as she was still wearing the arm-binder.
Once in the kitchen Charlotte planted her naked butt in a stool in front of the island counter and watched as June began preparing a breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee.
"Really," Charlotte groused, twisting her encased arms. "This is pointless. And mean."
"Pointless?" June chuckled. "When did Grace not have a plan? All will become clear."
Before Charlotte could inquire further, Grace arrived, elegant and gorgeous as usual in heels, pencil-skirt, and a stylish cotton blouse. "I'll take it from here, protege," Grace announced as she planted a kiss on June's smiling lips. "Go get dressed."
"She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed has spoken," June giggled, then scampered from the kitchen.
Charlotte sighed and watched as Grace broke eggs into a bowl and whisked them into a froth. "Mean," she muttered under her breath.
"Mean, mean, mean, mean, mean!" Charlotte groused as she padded down the subterranean corridor one level below Grace's workshop. She'd enjoyed her share of the delicious breakfast, hand fed by June and Grace, but afterwards, was she finally released from the arm-binder and allowed to shower and get dressed? No! June stooped and added a pair of leather hobbles to Charlotte's ankles, then buckled a "whiffle-gag," a hollow, ventilated ball-gag, around her neck with its strap on the first hole. Then, June draped an arm over Charlotte's strap-yoked shoulders and led her from the kitchen with Grace in the lead.
They paused at a steel door labeled "#3" as Grace entered a code in its cipher-pad and opened the heavy portal. Charlotte found herself staring at a concrete cell. A mattress on the floor and a steel commode against the far wall were the only amenities.
"Wow, lucky you!" June gushed, giving Charlotte a one-armed hug. "This place is twice the size of cell number seven, the place where Grace likes to stash me."
"Yeah," Charlotte huffed, "lucky me. Hey!" June had given her a gentle shove forward and she had no choice but to stumble forward into the cell. She turned to glare at Grace and June, but her gaze was drawn upwards to three very large HD TVs mounted side-by-side to the wall and ceiling at optimal viewing angle. The left monitor displayed photos and the names of Grace's dinner guests. The center TV showed an image of the Bungalow's main dining room. The table wasn't yet set, but the required plates, silverware, and glasses were neatly stacked on a sideboard. The right monitor displayed a large, YouTube-style window, and a vertical stack of much smaller windows listing the pending programs to its right. First on the list was an interview of J.K. Rowling, Grace's guest of honor. Subsequent titles featured others on the guest list.
Grace's Dinner Guests J.K. Rowling
author of the Harry
of many mystery
of many mystery
Maggie KilbornFamous sculptor
and award winning
Molly C. Quinn
Dr. Temperance BrennanForensic physical
of mystery novels.
Dr. Maura Isles
Just published her
first mystery novel.
Dr. Megan Whelan
at Lewis & Clark
of Lewis & Clark
Charlotte continued staring at the screens, then lowered her gaze to Grace and June. "You wouldn't," she sighed. "Nobody's that mean."
"She's figured it out," June said to her mentor with an evil grin.
"Of course she's figured it out," Grace purred. "Charlotte is very clever."
"C'mon," Charlotte groused, stamping her fettered feet in dismay. Both her boobs and the ball-gag loosely buckled around her neck bobbed for added emphasis. "J.K. frakkin' Rowling is coming and you're locking me in your frakkin' dungeon? C'mon!"
"I'm sorry, darling," Grace explained, "but Jo is very happy with her current publishing arrangements, and I'd be a poor hostess, indeed, if I let you badger her all evening to hire you."
"Nobody likes a pushy agent," June nodded gravely, then followed Charlotte into the cell.
"Grace!" Charlotte whined. "No! Mrrrpfh!" June had crammed the ball-gag into her mouth and was buckling it tight. "Nrrrf!" The ventilated rubber sphere was only semi-effective as a damsel-silencer, but that wasn't the point. The gag was superfluous, totally unnecessary, nothing but an added layer of meanness! Charlotte twisted her arm-binder-encased arms, stamped her leather-cuff-hobbled feet, and stared daggers at Cash Cow and June-the-Meany. "Mrrrmp!"
"Now," Grace purred, "the commode is motion activated and has a built-in bidet function, as well as a motion-activated drinking fountain built into the top of the reservoir tank."
"Don't worry," June said with a grin. "I can tell you from personal experience that those things work with a whiffle-ball-gag."
"The mattress has a memory-foam core and is zipped into a high-thread-count, heavy-duty linen envelope," Grace continued. "I'm sure you'll find it to be quite comfortable." She pointed to the TV screens above her head. "Once June and I leave, various interviews and news features about my guests will begin playing on a continuous loop. I'm afraid there's nothing on Rory Macy, Professor Whelan's niece. You'll be meeting her for the first time with most of the rest of us at the party. I understand she's a clever and charming young lady."
June returned to the open doorway. "And once the caterers arrive, you'll be able to watch them set the dinner table."
"And when the guests begin arriving," Grace added, "the left and right screens will clear and you'll be able to follow the conversations in the Great Room and Pool Lounge. When the dinner itself begins, you'll see the dining room on all three screens from different angles.
"It'll be just like being there," June purred, "only you'll actually be two levels down, under tons of earth and concrete, naked, bound, gagged, and watching on TV."
"Mrrrrf!" Charlotte stamped her feet, again. Quite obviously, she was close to tears.
"Well, things to do," Grace chuckled and began closing the door.
June sighed and placed her left hand on the closing portal to stop its progress. "Tell her," she said to her mentor.
Grace smiled at her protege. "I was going to let you tell her when you bring her lunch."
"Tell her," June reiterated. "This really is too mean."
"Oh, very well," Grace chuckled, then focused her smile on Charlotte. "I told Jo that my agent was very much looking forward to meeting her, but unfortunately, she'd be tied up at work and unable to attend the party."
"Such a pity," June sighed.
Hilarious, Charlotte silently fumed.
"However," Grace continued, "I also explained that you'd be free by morning and had agreed to drive her to San Francisco for her late night flight home. You two will have plenty of time to chat on the way. And if you play your cards right and are you usual engaging self, I bet Jo will let you show her around The City by the Bay until it's time for her departure."
"Won't that be nice?" June beaming a somewhat bratty smile. "And after all, it's not like there's no good reason you couldn't attend the party and drive 'Jo' to San Francisco in the morning."
"Cheeky monkey," Grace chuckled, gently slapped her protege's hand away from the door, and pulled it closed.
Charlotte stared at the steel door in disbelief. Wow, she thought, then shook her gagged head. It was her own damn fault for associating with supremely talented and creative writers... and it wasn't the first time she'd been the object of one of Grace Scanlon's pranks. That said, this one was epic.
Suddenly, an interview between J.K. and Daniel Radcliff began playing in the large window on the right TV screen. Charlotte sighed, padded to the bed, and sat. She supposed she might as well watch.
The party was a huge success.
The caterers arrived and set to work, and, as Charlotte watched via TV from her subterranean dungeon, a pair of twenty-something women in simple uniforms of black pencil skirts and white blouses set the dining room table. No doubt the kitchen was a beehive of activity as the food was prepared, but it wasn't displayed on any of the screens. The video of interviews featuring Grace's guests continued droning from the right screen, and Charlotte noted that as a video played, the corresponding cell in the table on the left screen became a slide show of other photos of the interviewee.
June brought Charlotte lunch in the form of a club sandwich and a large goblet of red wine. Grace's Evil and Despicable protege had changed into one of her imitation Evil and Despicable Grace costumes: heels, pencil skirt, and blouse. She deposited the lunch tray next to Charlotte and the mattress, sat next to the glowering, Innocent Damsel, loosened her whiffle-ball-gag, plucked the ventilated sphere from Charlotte's pouting mouth, and let it dangle around her neck.
Charlotte immediately heaped a mountain of impolite, not particularly profane, but certainly well-deserved abuse upon June's villainous head. June continued smiling and fed the indignant captive her lunch, bite by bite and sip by sip. Food and wine consumed, June popped the whiffle-ball back in Charlotte's mouth, buckled the strap tight, then lifted the tray with its now empty plate and used goblet. She strolled to the door, bade Charlotte "Ciao!" and made her exit, leaving Charlotte to continue suffering her cruel and undeserved languishing punishment.
Hours passed... and finally Grace's guests began arriving. Both Grace and June had changed into their gowns—black and strapless in the case of Grace and red with narrow shoulder straps and a generous cleavage in the case of June—and they looked spectacular, in Charlotte's begrudging opinion.
All of Grace's guests looked spectacular, and all wore full-length, formal gowns that hugged their slender, fit, curvaceous bodies and displayed a great deal of smooth, firm skin.
Introductions were made, drinks dispersed and sipped, hors d'oeuvres nibbled, and the party began.
At first, J.K. ("Jo") was the center of attention. Everyone had questions about the Harry Potter books and Jo was happy to answer. They also asked questions about the Newt Scamander/Fantastic Beasts books and movies, some of which Jo could answer and some of which she could not, having been sworn to secrecy by her publisher and the studios. This could have continued all night, but the other guests were kind enough to let Jo enjoy the party. Soon (meaning eventually) Jo was a fellow author and just one of the gals.
All the guests had stories to share, and everyone was quite obviously having a good time. The "two docs," Temperance Brennan and Maura Isles, were instant hits, especially with the mystery writers. The other guest with a doctorate, Megan Whelan, was dubbed "the Professor." Oh-by-the-way, Temperance and Maura were not only gorgeous fonts of forensic knowledge, but were the very definitions of socially well-adjusted nerds. Their highly intelligent and encyclopedic but semi-awkward banter of "fun facts" and tangential observations was very entertaining.
Conversation continued as they all sat down to a dinner of Red Wine Risotto with Peas; Broiled Salmon with Garlic, Mustard, and Herbs; Sautéed Green Beans with Tomatoes and Basil; and Mocha Semifreddo for dessert. The topic of mentoring came up, no doubt spurred by the presence of Grace's protege. Grace had nothing but good things to say about the relationship, which caused June to blush, of course. And when it was her turn, June was equally effusive about all she'd learned from Grace and how she'd grown as a writer. (Mentor and protege carefully avoided the topic of Bondage Exercises.)
At that point, all eyes turned to Rory Macy, causing the twenty-something youngster to blush, and Rory had an adorable blush. The fair, peach-pink, clear skin of her cherubic face blossomed bright crimson, especially her dimpled cheeks. A veritable bidding war opened for her supposed apprenticeship.
Christine Goddard painted a glowing picture of life at "Seaglass," her seaside home. Rory would be most welcome, and she promised to be a good teacher.
Delfina Shaw countered that she had plenty of room at her New York loft, and what better place for a budding writer to grow than New York? "Paris," several guests countered simultaneously, but Delfina was adamant. Rory should follow her home to New York.
Maggie Kilborn also placed a bid. She might not be a writer of novels, but as a sculptor and film designer, she was creative. The party-goers agreed that this was a gross understatement and not boasting. Maggie Kilborn was successful and famous. Maggie continued her argument, stating that her isolated and not all that distant California home was the perfect place for Rory to work, and besides, she was always looking for attractive models for her work, meaning her sculpting.
All present knew Maggie's work and had seen and appreciated the bronze sculpture of the bound maiden in Grace's great room, so they knew precisely what the smiling redhead was talking about. This did nothing to alleviate Rory's blushing problem.
"From observing your kinesthesic motility, I can tell you have the required anatomical flexibility," Temperance stated.
"I agree," Maura stated, then smiled at Rory. "Do you practice hatha yoga?"
Rory was too embarrassed to answer, other than with a quick nod followed by a gulp of wine.
"I thought so," Maura smiled.
"Indeed," Temperance agreed, then focused on Maggie. "Have you decided how you'd like her to pose? I find the ebi-zeme or 'shrimp-tie' to be very visually compelling, but I understand it can be quite taxing. It was used as a torture technique in Medieval Japan, and even as late as the Endo Period."
Maggie's smiling gaze was on Rory. "It can be taxing." she shifted her smile to Temperance. "Perhaps you'd like to visit my studio. We can explore the shrimp-tie together."
"That's an intriguing proposition," Temperance answered, perfectly deadpan. She turned to Maura. "I also practice hatha yoga."
"It's an open invitation to all present," Maggie chuckled. Then refilled her wine glass. "A toast. To creative curiosity!"
"Creative curiosity!" the diners chorused.
"Now," Grace chuckled, smiling at Rory, "leave the poor girl alone. We can decide which one of you gets to kidnap Rory and whisk her away to your lair over breakfast."
All laughed, Rory blushed, and the dinner continued. Eventually, the food was consumed and the guests drifted off to continue their conversations and eventually retire to their assigned bedrooms.
All three TV screens in Charlotte's dungeon faded to black and the overhead lights dimmed. Apparently, Charlotte was being put to bed without any supper. Perfect, the naked, arm-binder-bound, whiffle-ball-gagged, and leather-cuff-hobbled prisoner silently fumed, then rolled onto her side and went to sleep.
Charlotte was awakened after an unknown interval by the the opening of the cell door. June had arrived, still wearing her red gown, and she was pushing a luggage rack with a pair of hanging garment bags. "Our clothes for tomorrow," the grinning brunette explained as rolled the rack out of the way and into a corner.
Charlotte watched (glowered) as June removed her heels, then unzipped and removed her gown, and draped it over the luggage rack. She wasn't wearing any underwear. The totally nude newly-published writer strolled to the bed, then sat and gently lifted her naked, bound, and gagged agent's head and shoulders onto her lap. They locked eyes as June unbuckled and removed Charlotte's gag and tossed it away.
"I hate you." Charlotte announced.
"I know," June purred, still smiling, then leaned close and planted a long, wet kiss on Charlotte's pouting lips.
Eventually they came up for air and June combed her fingers through Charlotte's short locks. "Can I come with you and Jo to San Francisco tomorrow?" she asked.
Charlotte continued staring daggers, but they both knew it was an act. "Maybe bound and gagged in the trunk," she huffed. "Oh. Wait. The trunk will be full of Jo's luggage. I wonder if Grace has one of those roof-top cargo-pods."
"Those streamlined thingies shaped like photon-torpedoes from Star Trek?" June chuckled. "I think Grace is loaning hers to Maggie Kilborn, so she can take Rory back to her place with minimal muss and fuss."
"Well then," Charlotte continued, "you can't come with us to San Francisco."
"Pity," June sighed, and they kissed, again.
A long, wet, lip-smacking, and tongue probing minute later, once again they paused.
"So," Charlotte said, "cute little Rory is going home with Maggie Kilborn as her bound and gagged new model?"
"I seriously doubt it," June chuckled. "Megan and Grace would throw a joint hissy fit. Rory will be going home with her aunt, although probably not bound and gagged. As for the cute little ginger eventually becoming somebody's protege? Maybe. Probably. But not tomorrow." Again, she combed her fingers through Charlotte's hair. "How can I ever thank you for talking me into becoming Grace's protege?"
Charlotte's lips curled in one of her trademark quirky smiles. "Well, I suppose you could get me out of this arm-binder and hobble-cuffs and we could sneak upstairs to the kitchen for a bite of that leftover Mocha Semifreddo. It looked yummy."
June smiled her trademark dimpled grin. "Maybe later. I wouldn't want to ruin your breakfast. For now... I could do this." She eased Charlotte's head and shoulder off her lap and onto the soft mattress, then climbed over Charlotte's body and positioned herself on her stomach between Charlotte's legs. She wiggled through Charlotte's hobbled legs until her agent's pussy was inches from her smiling lips.
"I hate you," Charlotte reiterated.
"I know," June chuckled, licked her lips, then dragged her tongue the length of Charlotte's flushed, glistening labia.
Charlotte shivered in her bonds and bit her lower lip. "The things I do for my writers," she sighed.
Upstairs, Grace and her guests slumbered. As to whether all the guests were in their assigned beds and whether or not they were all alone, is none of your business.
to the author