by Van ©2022
		Chapter 6

Lori was in Peyton Frazier's home gym.  It was Modern, like everything else in Peyton Frazier's mansion (except for the ridiculously-out-of-place faux-Medieval dungeon in the basement), and was elaborately equipped with all the latest in exercise machinery.  And at the moment (and for some time previously), Lori would just as soon be almost anywhere else (except for the aforementioned ridiculously-out-of-place faux-Medieval dungeon in the basement).

It was mid-morning, the gym's window-wall afforded a spectacular view of the surrounding semi-arid, semi-mountainous landscape, and Lori was not in the mood to appreciate it.  Lori was miserable.  She was still naked and quite effectively gagged, in that her former flimsy nightie was gone, two pair of Payton's previously-worn-but-not-yet-laundered panties were stuffed in her mouth, and as much as she'd like to spit them out, they were in to stay, thanks to the long, narrow, white, silk scarf tightly cleaving said mouth.

Also, Lori's arms were folded behind her back with each hand clutching its opposite elbow and multiple neatly wound strands of hemp rope binding her forearms together.  Tight, doubled, horizontal bands of the same rope pinned her upper arms to her sides, passing above and below her naked breasts, and diagonal ropes cinched the horizontal bands, passed behind her head, and yoked her shoulders.  Yet more rope linked the diagonal ropes at the nape of her neck to the nexus of the entire arrangement at her mid back and the ropes binding her forearms together.  Everything was tight enough to dimple her flesh and nothing shifted when she wiggled or squirmed.  At one point Kassidy, the perpetrator of her current bondage, had explained that this particular technique was called a "box-tie," but in point of fact, who the bloody hell cared?  Certainly not Lori!  She was inescapably bound, more-than-adequately gagged, and didn't care what jargon Kassidy used to categorize her handiwork.

Also, the iron collar was still secured around her neck.  It wasn't attached to anything, but apparently was just there so its weight could provide an additional minor torment to that of being bound and gagged with tight hemp, worn panties, and a scarf.  On a positive note, the shackles and their hobbling chain had been removed from her ankles, so Lori was free (and naked) from the waist down... not that it did her any good in terms of escape.

She was standing upright with her bare feet centered on the rubber treads of the gym's running machine, and she had no choice in the matter.  Four steel chains with attached heavy-duty springs were clipped through pad eyes set in the ceiling and attached to her box-tie/upper-body-harness my means of swing-gate carabiners snapped through her hemp bonds, enforcing her position on the treadmill.  She would slump only a little if she relaxed and let the chains and springs take her weight, but Lori had strong incentive to remain upright.

Kassidy had tightened spring-loaded clamps on Lori's nipples!  And the nipple-clamps' light connecting chain was clipped to a horizontal chain of similar weight attached to a steel support post in front of the running machine!  Also, a crotch-chain of the same thin, nested links encircled her waist, cleaved her butt-cheeks and lady-bits, and was attached to a second support post behind the machine!  Both the front and back chains were more-or-less taut, but if her legs came out from under her, they would become very taut indeed, punishing her nipples and crotch slightly before the harness-to-ceiling chains took her weight!

Kassidy had carefully engineered Lori's predicament.  If she remained upright and tried taking a step back, to the limit of the suspending chains and springs and in order to relieve the pressure between her legs, the nipple-clamps would squeeze tight!  And if she tried stepping forward to favor her poor nipples, the crotch-chain would squeeze her waist and tighten between her legs!

Therefore, Lori was stuck.  At this point, the steel suspension/torture system had not yet been tested, and she had no intention of doing so.

And if some despicable person (say, for example, Kassidy) decided to turn on the running machine and start the treadmill rolling, Lori would have no choice but to walk... and walk... and continue walking... until the machine was turned off.  In point of fact, Kassidy had powered-up the machine and the rubber treads were rolling under Lori's bare feet!  She had no choice but to pad in place.  Thankfully, Kassidy had adjusted the controls to a reasonable speed.  Lori was on the endless road-to-nowhere, ambling along at something between a casual stroll and a brisk walk.

And then, Kassidy smiled her infamous attractive but despicable gloating grin and watched Dr. Lori Ryder, Professor of History at Lewis & Clark University, involuntarily exercise her naked, bound, and gagged self on the humming machine, her legs churning and nipple-clamped breasts bobbing to the degree allowed by the semi-taut nipple-clamp chains.  Finally, without a word, Kassidy turned and left, abandoning Lori to the mercy of the machine.

That had been several long minutes ago.

The treadmill continued rolling and Lori continued padding.  She had no choice, other than to stop walking, let the suspending chains and springs take her weight, let the nipple-clamps punish her nipples, the crotch-chain punish her crotch, and the rubber treads drag her feet and toes.

Lori padded along... padded some more... then some more.  And at some point... eventually... her skin began to glow, meaning she began to perspire.  It was exercise.  Not overly taxing exercise... but it was relentless.

At some point, glowing gave way to sweating, with the occasional bead of perspiration forming somewhere on Lori's smooth, tan skin... and dripping down her flushed body.  Lori was no stranger to either exercise or sweat, nor was this her first time on a treadmill in a gym setting.  Running was part of her normal fitness routine, and on cold and/or rainy days, she'd retreat to the Faculty Health Club and use one of its machines; however, this was her first time naked, bound, gagged, and without any choice in the matter.  And how long was Kassidy going to leave her like this?  She knew she could pad along like this for hours if need be, but given a choice, she'd just as soon not.

Suddenly, Kassidy returned to the gym, and now she was naked as well!  And she wasn't alone.  Slung over her shoulder was poor Heidi.  Lori's protegé and fellow prisoner was still naked and still bound with rope, but now in a much less elaborate manner than her former shrimp-tie-bondage.  Her upper-body bonds had been reduced to a box-tie, more-or-less identical to Lori's.  Her ankles were crossed and bound, but Heidi's legs were otherwise rope free.  Her student's head was behind Kassidy's back, but when their kidnapper, handler, and tormentor carried her across the gym and into the tiled space off to one side, Lori could see that the same ball-gag as before (or its twin) still plugged Heidi's mouth.

And then, they were gone.  From her place on the treadmill, Lori couldn't see what was happening in the next room, which was tiled, by the way.  All Lori could do was walk (pad)... and do her best to ignore the clamps pinching her nipples... and the chain more-or-less grinding between her legs... and her increasingly sore feet.

Lori heard what she strongly suspected was the splash of a shower start running in the tiled room... then the wet sounds stopped.  The hum of the machine's motor and the rubber treads rolling under Lori's feet, however, did not stop.

Lori continued padding on the unending rubber highway... and sweating.

By this point, Heidi had a tenuous grasp on consciousness.  Kassidy had untied most of her hateful hemp bondage, then had rearranged the box-tie to lower her arms and eliminate the increasingly onerous reverse-prayer aspect, and with the exception of her crossed and bound ankles, her legs were rope free and unrestricted.  The perforated ball-gag remained tightly strapped in her mouth.

Release from the hideous shrimp-tie she'd endured through the later half of the night and into the morning had felt glorious... or would have felt glorious if she was able to develop a positive feeling about anything.  Nothing felt good.  Her current somewhat less restricted condition was simply... less bad.

After changing Heidi's bonds, Kassidy lifted Heidi onto her shoulder in another fireman's carry and was now... carrying her somewhere.  Heidi managed to note two things.  (1) There was no sign of Doc.  Heidi had closed her eyes and dozed in a miasma of sore muscles... and when she opened them again, Doc was gone and Kassidy was changing her bonds.  Also...  (2) Kassidy was naked.  Her boots, jeans, tank-top, and (one assumed) underwear had mysteriously evaporated.  Go figure.

Yes, Heidi was definitely being carried somewhere... and it was taking a while.  And then (apparently) they arrived at their destination.  Heidi decided she might was well open her eyes and look around, not that it mattered.  She was about to do so, when—"Mrrrrf!"—Heidi's back, arms, butt, and legs were pelted by a steady torrent of cold water!  She opened her eyes, but couldn't see much through the stinging drops.  Kassidy was getting drenched as well.  Then (finally) Heidi realized the outrageous wet shock was intentional.  They were under a running shower... a running cold shower.  And then the shower stopped.

Heidi knew the frigid monsoon should have felt invigorating but invigorated was a state she found to be currently unavailable... like rejuvenated, or simply refreshed.  Before, Heidi had been miserable.  Now, she was dripping wet and miserable.

And then, Kassidy opened a wooden door, crossed the threshold, and they were both engulfed by a wall of hot, dry air (scented with cedar).  The door closed behind them, and with her naked, bound, and gagged captive still perched on her shoulder, Kassidy filled a wooden bucket with water, used a ladle to wet the wood of a cedar bench, then planted Heidi on her rump on the wet planks.  Thanks to the water, Heidi's seat was now warm, rather than burning hot.

Her mind slowed by her pathetic condition, Heidi continued processing her location.  It was a sauna... a very nice sauna.  She surmised the shower must have been in the tiled space she'd seen next to the yoga-studio/dojo near the home gym during her "escape"... and now she was in the sauna.  Yes.  Hotness.  Cedar.  Stainless steel heater with lava rocks.  Sauna.

Heidi closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.  Kassidy was sitting on the bench directly behind her with her legs straddling her bound body, and she was fiddling with Heidi's hair.  Eventually, the naked, bound, gagged, and wet captive realized her kidnapper had untied the cord enforcing her single braid and was unraveling the braid itself.  Then, Kassidy started combing her fingers through Heidi's hair.  There was a pause... and Kassidy poured a ladle of cold water over Heidi's gagged head and tousled hair... followed by a second ladle.  Then, Kassidy began brushing Heidi's drenched locks with slow, gentle strokes.

The sauna comes with a brush? Heidi mused.  Apparently, it did.  The grooming continued.  The stiff bristles parted the wet strands with limited resistance, and when tangles were encountered, Kassidy was careful to gently tease apart the snarl.  Heidi heaved a gagged sigh.  Apparently, her captor wasn't into hair torture.  Also, the gentle, repeated tugging on her scalp as the brush did its work felt... good?  Yes, it felt good.  Also, her skin was flushed and glistening with sweat.  The water from the initial shower had quickly evaporated in the sauna's dry heat... but now she was wet again.

Heidi felt Kassidy unbuckling the strap of the ball-gag and re-securing it on the first hole... then Kassidy gently plucked the ball from Heidi's mouth and let it drop to her chest.  She realized her mouth was achingly dry.  Heidi licked her lips, Kassidy dipped the ladle into the bucket, held it close to Heidi's mouth, and she drank.  The water was at best cool, but it was the best tasting drink Heidi could remember.  A second ladle followed... then a third was poured over her head.

Heidi swallowed, then croaked, "Thank you."  It had been both a whisper and a garbled mumble.

"What was that, Sweetcakes?" Kassidy inquired.

Heidi was frazzled, exhausted, and still miserable, as well as flushed, sweaty, and helplessly bound—but somewhat to her surprise, she found she wasn't ready to surrender.  She swallowed, again.  "Bitch," she sighed, this time in a near whisper.

"That's my girl," Kassidy chuckled, then resumed brushing Heidi's hair.  "We'll both enjoy a nice, long sweat, then I'll strap you to the table outside and give you a nice, long, deep-muscle, full-body massage, with warm oil.  It'll do wonders.  You'll see."

"No," Heidi whispered.  "I won't let you."

"You won't let me," Kassidy laughed.  "That's so cute."  She shoved the ball back into Heidi's mouth, tightened the strap as tight as before, then resumed brushing.  "You won't let me.  What a card."

Heidi closed her eyes and... just let it all happen.  What else could she do?  She lay there (or sat, or reclined, or whatever) with Kassidy's legs pressing against her box-tied arms and the brush gently tugging its way through her hair.  And eventually... inevitably... Heidi passed out... drifted off to sleep... lost consciousness... all of the above.

Sometime later... Heidi awoke to find herself face down on a padded table, her arms and legs splayed in a not especially stringent spread eagle, with her wrists and ankles tightly buckled into padded leather cuffs and secured to the table's four corners.  The ball-gag was still in her mouth—and oh-by-the-way—somebody was rubbing oil on her back.  She opened her eyes (just barely) and discovered she was in the tiled shower room with the therapy tub and sauna.  Her masseuse was Kassidy.  Also, her skin was dry, as in not sweaty.  Obviously, Kassidy had carried her from the sauna, given her a shower, then a thorough toweling, then secured her to the table for the aforementioned massage.

I really was out of it, Heidi thought.  She was still half-asleep, and in no hurry to wake up and continue the one-sided battle with her tormentor... the one with the strong, oily hands gently kneading her shoulder and back muscles.  She had to admit she felt better.  Not good, per se, but better.

Kassidy massaged Heidi's lower back... butt... thighs... calves... and feet... then turned her onto her back.  This involved releasing her wrist and ankle cuffs from the table, one by one, reattaching them in their mirror position—left for right and right for left—and the deed was done.  Heidi was never free during the entire process, so... resistance was futile.

Anyway, once Heidi was spreadeagled on her back, Kassidy dripped oil onto her shoulders, boobs, stomach, and thighs—oil that had been warming over a candle in a glass vessel—and resumed the massage.

Heidi could tell that Kassidy knew she was awake, but they ignored each other.  That is, Heidi heaved a ball-gagged sigh and closed her eyes, while Kassidy smiled and continued sliding her well-lubricated hands over Heidi's skin.

Okay... Heidi had run out of excuses.  The massage felt good.  She was still sore and exhausted from her shrimp-tie ordeal, but it was comforting to know she could feel something positive again.

The massage continued.

At one point, she remembered that Doc was... somewhere... and something was probably happening to her.  She considered raising a fuss, complaining, and demanding her mentor's immediate relief and/or release, but...  The ball-gag.  And she was sooooo tired.  And...

Heidi was asleep again.

Kassidy's smile broadened, and she continued massaging her precious prisoner's firm young body.

Teryl Rothery as...       Dr. Cynthia Webbel Professor of Computer Science @ Lewis & Clark University

Jeanne Triplehorn as...       Dr. Kimberly Pappas Professor of English @ Lewis & Clark University

Dr. Cynthia Webbel, Professor of Computer Science at Lewis & Clark University, was having a really good Saturday.  She'd invited her good friend (very good friend) Dr. Kim Pappas of Lewis & Clark's English Department to spend the day, and she'd agreed (with carefully concealed girlish enthusiasm).

First came breakfast at a charming little establishment on the edge of town named "The Hog Cabin Tavern."  It was something of a "biker bar" and not at all the kind of place many would expect a pair of university professors to patronize, but George, the owner and proprietor, was (in Cynthia's words) "a real sweetheart."  Also the food was superb.  Cynthia had first visited George's establishment as a guest of one of her non-University associates, Lillian Steele, but had since become something of a repeat customer.  [See Chapter 9 of Bad Robot! for the details of Cynthia's first visit.]  This was Kim's first visit, and she quite enjoyed herself.

After breakfast (Eggs Benedict for Cynthia and a Gyro-meat, Spinach, and Black Olives Omelette for Kim) they returned to Cynthia's Arts & Crafts bungalow near campus and retired to the basement.  Cynthia had a Scientific Experiment to conduct and Kim had "reluctantly" agreed to assist.

As per experimental protocol, Kim stripped to the skin, including her jewelry.  She then reclined on her back on Cynthia's "massage couch."  It was a recent addition to the basement furnishings, and had been custom fabricated to her specifications at the Salamandras Institute for Advanced Studies (SIAS) a few miles from campus.  (In addition to being a Professor at L&C, Cynthia was also Senior Research Scientist at SIAS.)

In terms of appearance, the couch was an elegant, stylish, Modern piece of furniture, with lines pleasing to the eye.  It was also fully motorized and computer controlled.  Its seat, back, armrests, leg-rests, and headrest were fully articulated and capable of a near infinite variety of positions, and the control program's ergonomic subroutines allowed it to flow from position to position, taking its occupant's body parts with it without causing stress to her joints, much less pain or harm.  All the metal hardware was powder-coated matte-black,and the cushions and pads were a gleaming, richly textured shade of saddle-brown.

And then there were the restraints—and of course there were restraints.  They were wide, thick leather straps with soft padding, both in shades of brown that complemented the couch and were similar to traditional medical restraints; however, there were no visible buckles or locking mechanisms.  Instead, they secured by steel flanges that slid into slots in the couch's frame, similar to the flanges that snap into quick-release buckles to secure automobile lap-belts.  Then, tiny motors tightened the straps for a perfect (inescapable) fit.

Cynthia worked her way around the couch, snapping the restraints' flanges into slots and securing Kim in place at her wrists, upper arms, ankles, knees, upper-thighs, waist, and across her chest, above and below her breasts.  As each restraint clicked home, there was a quiet hum and the strap tightened until the fit was comfortable but snug.

With the last restraint in place, Kim was flat on her back in a semi-reclined position, her arms raised to either side with her elbows bent, her legs splayed apart with her knees bent, her feet resting on leather-covered footrests, and her head against a padded headrest.  Kim was totally helpless; however, she wasn't gagged.

"Tell me again exactly what I've agreed to let you do to me?" Kim purred.

"What do you mean 'again'?" Cynthia chuckled.  "I never told you what I was going to do.  All I said was you'd be helping me test some new equipment and its control software... for science."

"For science," Kim purred, smiling and rolling her eyes.

Both professors had worn seasonally light casual dresses to breakfast, as well as high heels and lightweight coats in case of rain, a semi-constant threat this time of year.

As previously mentioned, Kim had changed out of her breakfast outfit and into naked, semi-reclined, strap-bondage (with Cynthia's kind assistance).

Cynthia, on the other hand, had changed out of her coat, dress, and heels and into a pair of very abbreviated and quite faded denim cutoffs (aka "Daisy Dukes").  Also, a white cotton blouse with a straight collar, only a few of its buttons buttoned, and its tails not properly tucked into her shorts.  Dr. Webbel was showing a lot of cleavage.  Her feet were bare.  Cynthia usually padded around her bungalow without shoes.  Finally, she'd added a lab coat in a pale shade of sage-green with the L&C logo and "COMPUTER SCIENCE" embroidered above the left breast pocket.

Cynthia Webbel was hot... in a scientific, casual, and diminutive sort of way.  Also, she'd turned up the thermostat in the basement to compensate for Kim's nudity, which meant both of them were hot.

"Seriously, what are you going to do to me?" Kim inquired, squirming in her bonds for emphasis.  "Consider this my formal damsel-in-distress demand."

Cynthia smiled, then turned and padded to the chair where Kim had neatly stacked her neatly folded clothes and slipped something into the right pocket of her lab coat.  Kim had lifted her head and was watching, but Cynthia's back was in the way and she couldn't see what her Mad Scientist friend was doing.

"What?" Kim demanded.

"That would be telling," Cynthia purred, then padded to a nearby cabinet, opened a drawer, slipped something else Kim couldn't see into her right breast pocket, then spun on her bare heels and padded back to her naked and comfortably but inescapably restrained guest, still smiling the same adorable but wicked smile.

Kim smiled back (nervously) and watched (nervously) as Cynthia reached into her lab coat pocket and produced... her panties... meaning Kim's own panties!

"Cynthia!" Kim whined.  Her hostess' intentions were now clear (and not entirely unexpected).

"I love the fact that you delight in wearing these voluminous 'granny-panties'," Cynthia chuckled.  The object dangling from her right hand was indeed a pair of Hanes Ultimate® Classic Boyfriend Boxers (in salmon-pink with a white waistband), and while they were neither frilly nor antiquated, they were undeniably voluminous.  "Excellent stuffing," Cynthia added.  "That's why I always wear bikini-briefs."

"A sensible precaution," Kim huffed, "you little psycho."

Still smiling, Cynthia crumpled the panties in question into a ball and stuffed the resulting wad into Kim's pouting but otherwise cooperative mouth.  The panties were, indeed, excellent stuffing, as Cynthia had predicted, and filled Kim's mouth to near capacity.

Kim bit down on the wad and watched, sullenly, as Cynthia pulled a paper-backed strip of Microfoam-style medical tape from her breast pocket (the unseen something she'd taken from the cabinet) then peeled off the paper backing, carefully positioned the tape over Kim's cooperatively closed lips and mouth, and pressed it home, making sure its powerful but hypoallergenic adhesive had a firm grip.  The strip covered Kim's lower face from ear-to-ear and from nose to her chin, with a convenient curved cutout for the nose in question to allow an extended grip on either side of the glowering captive's blushing lower cheeks.

Smiling her best gloating smile, Cynthia took a step back, folded her arms under her breasts, and watched as Dr. Pappas executed an enthusiastic and totally ineffective Courtesy Struggle.  It was expected.  Also, thanks to her half-unbuttoned blouse, open lab coat, and lack of bra, Dr. Webbel was showing significant cleavage.  Kim probably noticed, but made no comment.  (No intelligible comment, anyway.)

"Mrrrmpfh."  Kim squirmed and tugged on her bonds and stared at Cynthia's angelic/devilish smile (and boobs) as she whined through her gag in piteous dismay.

Cynthia's experimental subject was really hamming it up!  The Mad Scientist let the show play out for a while... then reached out and rested her cupped hand on Kim's left breast.  "Now," she purred, "what I'm going to do to you will be diabolical!  You see—"

♪♫♪  "Mustang Sally!  You better slow your mustang down!"  ♪♫♪  "Mustang Sally!  You better slow your mustang down!"  ♪♫♪  (etc.)

Cynthia's iPhone was vibrating in her lab coat pocket and sounding a distinctive and melodic ringtone.  She rolled her brown eyes in exasperation, sighed, and raised her right index finger.  "Hold that thought," she told her helpless house guest.  "I have to take this."

Kim watched in naked outrage as her friend and tormentor pulled the phone from her pocket, turned her back, and padded to the far end of the basement.  "Mrrrmpfh!"  What an outrage!  How rude!  Kim repeated her courtesy struggle, this time in frustration, but was totally ignored.

Sigourney Weaver as...       "Tactical Sally" With Kung-Fu Cyber-Grip

Once well out of Kim's hearing... Cynthia accepted the call... and her eyes popped wide in surprise.  By the ringtone she already knew the call was from "Sally," the globe-spanning AI infesting the internet, but instead of photo-realistic "deep fake" video of Sigourney Weaver's smiling face (Sally's preferred avatar), Cynthia found herself staring at what was an unmistakably computer animated version of Sigourney as Warrant Officer Ellen Ripley from Alien (Siggy's breakout role).  This was Sally's mandated visage when she was on Sisterhood business.

"The Sisterhood"—as is well known by those in the know—is a secret organization (almost exclusively female) dedicated to Peace, Progress, and Equality.  Its origins are lost in the sands of time, but are thought to be quite ancient.  Think the Illuminati, Freemasons, or Micky Mouse Club, only with a lot fewer Y chromosomes involved.

There are various tiers or "circles" of The Sisterhood.  All are dedicated to the same general principles of enlightenment, but many have special interests, like social justice, racial equality, religious tolerance, economic justice, protection of the environment, kayaking, and consensual BDSM.  Cynthia was a member of the later circle, as well as a resource for the Great Mothers, the most senior of all Sisters who made the important decisions for the organization as a whole.  Sally was also a member of the Sisterhood (some would argue an honorary member), and Cynthia was the computer scientist who not only best understood Sally, but was one of the very few people that even knew "she" existed.

Anyway, the Great Mothers insisted that when Sally was communicating with a Sister on Sisterhood business, she should make it clear she was not Sigourney Weaver, hence the Ripley "disguise".  It avoided confusion, as the real Sigourney was also a Sister (albeit not of the consensual BDSM circle... as far as Cynthia knew).  That was why Cynthia was surprised.  She was speaking to "Sister Sally"... on Sisterhood business!

"Sally!" Cynthia blurted.

"Keenly observant, as always," Sally stated, perfectly deadpan.

"Cut the crap," Cynthia huffed.  "What's happened?"

"Do you know Lori Ryder?" Sally inquired.  "Surveillance video of faculty functions suggests you do, but with your feeble human memory..."

Cynthia ignored Sally's implied cyber-elitist putdown.  "I know her," Cynthia responded.  "Not well, but I know her.  Why?"

"There's a more than 90% chance that she's been kidnapped, along with one of her graduate students," Sally intoned.

"No!" Cynthia gasped.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Diddle Dr. Pappas silly, or whatever you had planned for the afternoon.  I'm just telling you this 'cause you're the Sisterhood's senior liaison for L&C University related matters.  Inspector Ballantine is already on the case, but it's already been bumped up to the Executive Action Committee for Sisterhood disposition."

Cynthia frowned.  "Why not the FBI?"

"There are... circumstances," Sally shrugged.  "It would be difficult to keep the non-Sisterhood elements of the bureau and law enforcement in general from wondering how the crime came to light without raising probable cause issues and the whole thing getting thrown out of court.  I've modeled the various courses of action.  We want Ryder and her student rescued ASAP, of course, but without exposing, shall we say, methods and means."

"By which you actually mean yourself," Cynthia purred.

"Exactly," Sally's computer generated visage beamed.  "Now, get on with hauling Dr. Pappas' ashes and I'll continue being both snoopy and heroic.  I'll let you know when things happen.  Bye!"  And then, the iPhone's screen went dark.

Cynthia frowned.  Goodbye, Sally, she silently huffed, then pocketed the phone, turned, and padded back towards the patiently waiting Kim... who resumed squirming and mewling through her gag as Cynthia approached.  Then... Cynthia padded right on by the couch (and its naked, bound, gagged, and sensuously writhing occupant) and continued on to her basement lab's expansive computer desk, with its 49"-wide, curved, mega-monitor, ergonomic keyboard, and bank of computer towers, and racks of cyber accessories.  There was no way she could return to erotic-business-as-usual, not with one of her faculty colleagues and a student in jeopardy.

Kim watched as her devilishly cute "mad scientist" friend, who was supposed to be conducting some sort of "horrible" erotic experiment on her helpless body, powered up her computers, placed a set of padded headphones over her ears, adjusted its attached microphone, then started tapping keys.  Text and graphic windows started painting the titanic screen, but the angle was poor and the distance too great for Kim to tell what Cynthia was doing.  She continued tugging on her restraints, but to no avail.  Now, Cynthia was conducting a video conference with... someone... a blond woman who might be Inspector Tori Ballantine of the Campus Police, but again, the distance was too great for Kim to be sure, or to make out anything Cynthia was saying, and the blonde's words were going solely into Cynthia's headphones.

The Experimental Subject heaved a deep, frustrated sigh, relaxed in her bonds, and gazed up at the beams and floor joists overhead.  She'd tried to imagine what outrage Cynthia was going to perpetrate on her helpless body this time.  "Webbel-Wobble" (Cynthia's student nickname) always had the most amazing toys to play with, all computer designed and 3D-printed in the mysterious SIAS lab on the edge of town.  Would it be some sort of vibrating probe?  A robotic dildo?  Tit-sucking breast-cups?  A tickling robotic dildo?  A cloud of tiny robotic drones with feathers?  A cloud of tiny robotic drones with feathers and vibrators?  A swarm of robotic ants that would crawl all over her and pluck out her pubic hair with their snapping mandibles?  Robotic spiders?  And they wouldn't have to actually do anything to totally freak her out, just be robotic spiders!  Ants would be bad enough, but SPIDERS?  Kim shivered in her bonds at the very thought.

The prisoner-of-the-couch heaved another sigh.  That she would be rendered naked and utterly helpless, then totally ignored hadn't even been on her list.