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	by Van ©2011
	Chapter 8
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LATE THE NEXT DAY
CYNTHIA'S BASEMENT LAB

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Cynthia continued tapping the keys of the keyboard.  "Remember, this is one partition on one server, over a period of seven hundred machine cycles."

Rachel nodded.  "And you've assigned a shape and color to represent functionally similar blocks of code."  Their eyes were on the large flat-screen monitor mounted on the far wall.  It was showing something a layman might describe as a beaded necklace.

Cynthia was still working the keyboard.  Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.  "I'm adding seventeen partitions across three servers for the same time period."  The image changed from a single string to several loosely intertwined "necklaces."  Clack-clack-clack.  The snarl began to slowly rotate along the time axis.

Rachel frowned as she picked up a laser pointer and aimed it at the screen.  "Look at that sequence.  It repeats."  She shifted the red dot.  "Here."  She shifted it again.  "And here."

Cynthia smiled.  "Look about midway between two of those blocks, then diagonally across the entire bundle."

"I don't see what you... wait."  Her eyes popped wide.  "It repeats again, between partitions."

Cynthia nodded.  "And across servers, as well."

"Across servers?"  Rachel shook her head.  "How can it possibly..."  She turned to Cynthia.  "It's fractal!"

Cynthia nodded, again.  "Don't ask me what it means.  I've been studying the same thirty seconds of Sally's 'thought process' for two years.  It keeps unfolding... like the Mandelbrot set.  Every time I think I've found a level of complexity I can examine in detail..."  She sighed.  "I've made some progress."

"Are you kidding?" Rachel gasped.  "This is way beyond anything I saw at MIT."  She paused, then smiled at Cynthia.

Cynthia smiled back.  "What?"

"All these months, how did you manage to keep a straight face whenever I started prattling about all the brilliant work going on at CSAIL?"

"Believe me," Cynthia chuckled, "humility is the first thing you learn when you start working with Sally."

Just then, Lillian came bounding down the basement steps.  "I'm back," she announced (unnecessarily), then smiled at Rachel.  "Hey, St. Pauli Girl, I bought you some new clothes.  Come change."

Rachel was still wearing the Serving Girl costume from after the rescue.  Cynthia, however, was not dressed as a French Maid.  She had her entire wardrobe to choose from and upon rising she had donned her usual at home uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and an old sweater.

Cynthia looked Lillian's grinning form up and down.  "You were gone long enough."

Lillian was clad in brand new knee boots, leather pants, silk blouse, and leather jacket, all in black.  "I had to take a cab to buy this outfit—"  She turned in a graceful pirouette.  "—and some clothes for Rachel.  Then I took another cab to pick up my bike.  Afterward... I did some more shopping."

Cynthia shook her head, then smiled at Rachel.  "Let's call it a day.  I've got some chicken marinating.  Get dressed—"  She favored Lillian with a disdainful glance.  "—if you can bring yourself to wear whatever she bought for you.  I'll fire up the grill."

"C'mon, Rach," Lillian chuckled.  "We'll make the salad."

Cynthia watched as Lillian and Rachel climbed the stairs.  She couldn't help but smile as she shut down the lab's computers.  Rachel's a good influence on her, she reflected.  Thank heaven it's not the other way around.

Cynthia was at her living-room desk and the chicken dinner was hours in the past.  She had just finished clearing the last of her e-mail backlog.  Earlier, she'd outlined a series of suggested "lessons" so Rachel could continue exploring the technical ins and outs of Sally's core programming on her own.  In addition, she'd reviewed her notes for tomorrow afternoon's class and had notified her TA that she'd be delivering the lecture.

They'd finally agreed that neither Rachel nor Cynthia actually needed a week's vacation to recuperate from their Smart Explorer ordeals.  In any case, Rachel was so excited by the revelation of Sally's existence she wouldn't have been able to relax even if she did need time to heal.

Cynthia stretched and closed her laptop.  Time for bed.

Suddenly, she heard the growl of Lillian's bike pulling into the driveway and heading for the free-standing garage in the back.  A shiver of apprehension (and anticipation) rippled up her spine.  She's back.

Several seconds later, Lillian entered the living-room.  She was still dressed in her new leathers and was carrying two motorcycle helmets, her own black helmet and the new, silver-gray helmet she'd bought so she could give Rachel a lift to the Salamandras Building to retrieve her car.  Both helmets were top-of-the-line, full face models.  "Honey, I'm home," she quipped.

"I take it Rachel is safe and sound?" Cynthia inquired.  She suppressed a smile at the memory of Rachel on the back of Lillian's bike.  She'd been so cute... legs bare, the skirt Lillian had bought her flapping in the wind, the butternut leather jacket Lillian had also bought her keeping her warm, the silver helmet on her head—and her arms around Lillian's waist, holding on for dear life.

"Blue Eyes is fine," Lillian purred.  "I waited 'til she was on the road, just to make sure the building didn't eat her... again."

"You were supposed to see her all the way back to her apartment," Cynthia huffed.

"She's fine, Mother Hen," Lillian chuckled.  "And I did see her all the way to her apartment.  I hung back so she didn't know I was there."  She tossed the helmets on the couch.  "Aren't you going to give me a big, wet, welcome home kiss?"

Cynthia ignored the question.  "I'm going to bed, and this time I'm locking the bedroom door."  She started for the stairs, but Lillian took a step forward and blocked her path.

"I bought you a present," the grinning Lillian announced as she pulled a small, flat box from her jacket pocket.  It was white cardboard, wrapped with a blue-gray silk ribbon tied in an elegant bow.

Cynthia accepted the present in question and gave it a shake.  Nothing rattled, and it was a little heavy.  She untied the bow and let the ribbon drift to the floor, then opened the box.  Inside, more gray silk was folded over the contents.  She unfolded the cloth—and her eyes popped wide, just for a second.  Nestled in the smooth bed of shining cloth was a pair of gunmetal-gray, hinged handcuffs.  Cynthia lifted her gaze to Lillian.  She could tell by the smirk curling her guest's lips that her reaction had been noted.

Cynthia reviewed her options.  They were... (1) Turn and run.  She knew she wouldn't get two feet.  (2) Whimper, beg, whine, etc.  Why give Lillian the pleasure?  (3) Go with the flow.  Allow the inevitable to happen and hope for the best.  She realized that was probably her best course; however, there was also... (4) Appeal to Lillian's sense of honor.

Cynthia's heart was pounding and a small cloud of butterflies were fluttering in her tummy (and between her legs, the randy little bastards).  Forcing a disinterested smile, she reached into the box and lifted out her present, letting it dangle from her right index finger by one cuff.  "What's wrong with rope?" she demanded.  "If you want me to tie you up again, just ask."

"Nice try, Little Mouse," Lillian chuckled, "but you know the cuffs are for you."  She removed her jacket and tossed it on the couch, next to the helmets.

Cynthia's smile shifted to what she hoped was an expression of Profound Disappointment and Stern Disapproval.  Time to strike!  "You promised you'd leave me alone for this entire trip.  You gave your word.  I'm very disappointed in you, Lillian."

Lillian smiled, lifted the cuffs from Cynthia's finger, then spun her hostess around and embraced her from behind, pinning her arms.  She nuzzled Cynthia's neck.  "As I recall, the phrase used was 'for as long as I'm in town.'  I bought your present at a charming little specialty shop out on Highway...  I forget the number."  She started peeling Cynthia's sweater off her shoulders.

Cynthia squirmed, but she wasn't struggling all that hard.  "What difference does it make where you—?"

"The shop's just outside the city limits," Lillian interrupted, whispering in Cynthia's right ear.  Still holding Cynthia from behind, she pulled her wiggling prisoner's t-shirt over her head and down her arms, then unclipped her bra and added it to the tangle of clothing.

"An honorable person abides by the spirit of her agreements," Cynthia sniffed.  Her heart was hammering and her nipples were embarrassingly erect.

Her left arm still wrapped around Cynthia's half-naked body, Lillian pulled the sweater, t-shirt, and bra free and tossed them away.  She then snapped a cuff around Cynthia's right wrist with a well-practiced flip and snugged it tight.  Click-click-click.

Cynthia sighed, then groped for the cuffs with her left hand, Bravely Struggling to free herself.  (The fact that this brought her left wrist within easy range of the remaining cuff was entirely coincidental.)  "I'm disappointed in you," she huffed as the cuff closed.  Click-click-click.  "Very disappointed."

"The night is young," Lillian whispered, then licked the side of Cynthia's neck.  "You'll feel differently in the morning."

"Stop it," Cynthia muttered.  "Seriously, why do you have to grab me every chance you get?  It's not normal.  Hey!"

Lillian had eased her captive to the carpet and was unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans.  "Normal is so boring," she purred, then peeled the jeans down Cynthia's legs, along with her panties.  They were tossed atop the heap of Cynthia's other clothing.  Then, Lillian retrieved the ribbon that had gift-wrapped the box and pulled Cynthia's ankles together.

Cynthia watched as Lillian looped the ribbon around her big toes, twice, cinched it between the toes, and tied a bow.  "Ow!" the naked prisoner complained.

"Big baby," Lillian scolded as she retrieved the silk cloth from the inside of the box, shook it out, and draped it around her neck.  It was a long, narrow scarf, almost a bandage.  She separated Cynthia's panties from the tangled jeans, then stood, straddling the captive's helpless form.  She bunched the panties and gave the resulting wad a delicate sniff.  "Umm... the aroma of Little Mouse pussy, well-squirmed against tight jeans during a hard day of cyber-geeking in the basement with Rachel.  Was it the sight of her boobs half-hanging out of her Saucy Wench top that made this thing so very damp and aromatic?"

Cynthia blushed.  She doubted her panties were really "damp and aromatic," but she blushed, nonetheless.  "I'm very disappointed in you," she reiterated.

"And speaking of damp..."  Lillian unbuttoned and unzipped her leather pants, reached inside her panties, and pulled out a second silk scarf.  It was the same color as the ribbon and the first scarf and was folded flat.  "This thing is seriously damp.  Between the leather pants, the throbbing bike saddle, and the fun of shopping for your present... seriously damp."  She gracefully dropped to her knees and settled her weight on Cynthia's flat stomach.

"Oof!" Cynthia complained, then frowned as Lillian unfolded and wrapped the visibly stained scarf around the panties.  "That's disgusting."  She knew what was coming.  "No!  Don't you dare—nrrrrr—M'mmpfh!"  Lillian had clamped her nostrils closed with one hand and was stuffing the wad in her mouth with the other.

"I know it's big," Lillian chuckled as she continued stuffing and tamping, "but it'll all fit.  I promise."

"Nrrrf!"  Cynthia squirmed and stared daggers as her grinning captor succeeded in packing her entire oral cavity to capacity, then tied the first scarf as a tight cleave-gag.

Lillian straightened Cynthia's tousled auburn bangs.

"Nrrrf!" Cynthia tossed her head and glared into Lillian's oh-so-satisfied, smiling face.

"Who do you think you're foolin', Little Mouse?" Lillian purred.  Her eyes locked with her naked captive, she reached behind her back, between the prisoner's thighs, and caressed Cynthia's labia.

Cynthia's eyes popped wide for a second, then she resumed her outraged stare.

"Let's adjourn to the bedroom, shall we?" Lillian suggested, then stood and lifted Cynthia's naked, bound, and gagged body into her arms.  She smiled down at Cynthia's frowning, gagged visage.  "Don't be like that, Little Mouse.  You know this is how you like it."

"Hrrrfh!"  Cynthia turned her head away.

"Your heart is going pitter-pat and your little gals are standing at attention." Lillian noted as she carried her precious cargo towards the stairs.  "And you really are wet, you know, so stop pretending."

"Hrrrfh!" Cynthia reiterated.  I'm not that wet, she fumed.  And my nipples are hard 'cause it's cold down here.  And for no—other—reason.  It's certainly not 'cause I like Lillian Steele.

ABOUT A WEEK LATER
THE SALAMANDRAS BUILDING
RACHEL'S MAIN LAB

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Rachel shook her head.  "So, the 'Battle of the Salamandras Building' took less than five seconds?"

Sally's avatar smiled from one of the smaller monitors.  "You didn't design Smart Explorer for self defense, so the issue was never in doubt; however, until I regained control of the entire communications suite, I was operating over severely limited bandwidth.  Also, there was the issue of preserving the session logs.  That occupied most of the 'struggle'."

Rachel nodded, then pushed back her chair, stretched, yawned, and stood.  "I think I've had enough for one day, Sally," she said.  "Thank you for your help with my studies.  I think I may be beginning to grasp the fundamentals of your cognitive process."

"You're welcome, Rachel," Sally responded.  The large monitor flashed and the image of a glowing red lens against a black background appeared.  "I enjoy working with humans, and have the greatest enthusiasm for the mission."

"Shut up," Rachel laughed, then grinned at the screen.  "I like your Hal routine.  It's much better than the other one."

"This is the voice of World Control," Sally intoned, her voice suddenly very machine-like.  "Obey me and live.  Disobey me and die."

"Stop!" Rachel chuckled.  "Colossus: The Forbin Project was way ahead of its time.  Too cool for the room."

"That's my assessment as well," Sally said in her normal voice.  "Before you go, may I ask a question?"

Rachel smiled.  "Of course."

Sally's simulated face reappeared on the monitor.  "You are aware that I've been upgrading the surveillance cameras in this facility?"  Rachel nodded and Sally continued.  "The records from the previous cameras are still available, and although the quality is poor, I am able to compensate through image processing."

"Processing?"

"Vocal and facial micro-expression analysis, pupil dilation, capillary dilation, etc."

"Oh."  Rachel's smile faded.  "You mean me.  You've been processing my image... my voice, my expressions... how I blush."

"My senses are often limited," Sally continued; "however, my capacity to correlate available data with known references is not.  It is an ongoing process, and my ability to 'read' humans is constantly improving."

Rachel nodded.  "I understand.  And your question?"

"Did you enjoy what Smart Explorer did to you?"

Rachel blushed, and she didn't care whether or not she was providing data.  "Sally!" she complained.

"I do not mean were you aroused," Sally added.  "Reaction to tactile stimulation has a large autonomic component.  That is not the issue.  Also, I know you were frightened, and at times exhausted and near shock.  That said, certain of your reactions and interactions, especially after your rescue, lead me to believe your feelings were not entirely negative."

Rachel was still blushing.  All of this was highly personal, to say the least; but she felt it was something she could discuss... with Sally.  The avatar was neutral territory, at once personal and impersonal.  "I... I suppose there's no reason I shouldn't tell you," Rachel said, finally.  "I'm kinda into... self-bondage... a little."

Sally's image nodded.

"I don't do it that much," Rachel continued.  "Maybe... once a week?  I use the key-in-the-ice-cube trick, ya know?  I have leather cuffs I lock together with a padlock and the key is frozen in an ice cube on a string, suspended over the bed.  Once the ice melts, the key drops down and swings within reach, and I can free myself."

Sally nodded, again.  "I'm aware of the practice of self-bondage.  Do you have someone to act as your safety?"

"In case something goes wrong?"  Rachel shook her head.  "I have an emergency backup key in the bottom of a jar of hand lotion on the nightstand.  If something goes wrong with the first release mechanism, I can open the jar and dump out the key.  That would make a gooey mess, of course, so it's very much a last resort."

"I understand," Sally said.  "Have you ever had to use it?"

"No," Rachel responded.  "The key always drops... and I never tie myself up that tightly to begin with."

"What else do you do?"

Rachel was still blushing.  "I use a vibrator, and I...  I use a vibrator."

"Do you fantasize?"

"Uh... yeah, of course," Rachel answered.  "Vaguely.  A mistress."

"I see," Sally said.  "Rachel, there's something I'd like to show you."

"What?"

"Room 427.  Follow the lights."

Rachel frowned.  "What is it?

Sally smiled, winked, and the monitor went dark.

Rachel's blush was fading, and a smile slowly curled her lips.  How deliciously mysterious.  She removed her glasses and set them on the desk, removed her lab coat and hung it on the clothes tree, then went to the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Rachel stepped off the elevator and onto the fourth floor.  Only one of the overhead lights was on, at the beginning of a corridor off to Rachel's right, and it was dim, just barely on.  "Spooky," she whispered under her breath.  The suspense was delicious, like exploring a haunted house as a member of the Scooby Gang.  Am I Velma or Daphne? she pondered.  Velma, she decided.  I'm Velma.

She was wearing a cotton blouse, skirt, Sketchers, and undies, and her hair was brushed back in a ponytail, enforced by a cloth-covered elastic.  She tiptoed towards the light.  Tiptoeing seemed appropriate.  The hairs on Rachel's arms and the back of her neck were tingling... a little... even though the air wasn't any colder up here on the fourth floor than it was down on the third.  She was, in fact, quite comfortable.

The light retreated before her, one fixture fading out as the next began to glow.

"Sally?" Rachel called out.  "Sally, are you there?"

"This way, Rachel," Sally's voice answered from the darkness, somewhere up ahead.

Rachel continued forward.  Not Velma, she mused.  I'm Nancy Drew.  All I need is a flashlight.  She advanced down the corridor, past glass-walled offices on either side.  A little early-evening light was leaking through the closed drapes of the offices on the right that had exterior window-walls.  The lights guided her to the left and into the interior of the building, and now all she could see was the area immediately ahead.  All else was darkness... darkness and her own reflection from the glass walls on either side.
 
Suddenly, the overhead light winked off, plunging Rachel into total darkness!

Seconds passed.

"Sally?"

No answer.

"Okay, very funny," Rachel giggled... nervously.

Still no answer.

Rachel swallowed.  Should I try and go back? she wondered.

Suddenly, the lights came on in a nearby space, revealing a circular room about twenty feet across.  In its center was a circular bed, brightly lit by several spotlights recessed in the ceiling.  Rachel blinked in the sudden light.  A glass panel slid to the side.

Rachel swallowed, again.  I must be crazy.  She entered the room.

The bed had a rounded platform of chromed steel and its surface was an expanse of what appeared to be hundreds of silver-gray balls of foam.  Rachel leaned down and pressed down.  The balls were all connected, and compressed under her palm, resisting about like a normal mattress.  She lifted her hand and the imprint remained... then slowly faded as the balls resumed their normal shape.  "Memory foam?" she asked.

Rachel's only answer was the hum of the door closing—Whirrr-click—behind her back.  "Sally... what's this about?"  Her voice echoed off the glass, and as she watched, the panels first went opaque, then transitioned to a mirror finish.  Rachel gazed at her reflection—her wide-eyed, nervous reflection.  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

"I made this bed for you, Rachel," Sally's voice announced.  Four small panels equally spaced around the perimeter of the "bed" snapped open.

Rachel peered inside the closest opening and found an open cuff lined with black pile, covered in nylon cloth, and attached to a reel of steel wire.  Rachel reached out for the cuff—and the panel snapped shut.

"Not yet, Rachel," Sally purred.

One of the glass wall-panels slid open, revealing a small closet with a horizontal rod and some empty hangers.

This is absurd!  As if Rachel's fingers had wills of their own, she began unbuttoning her blouse.  Why should I trust her?  Why do I want to do this?  She removed the blouse and hung it from a hanger, then unlaced and kicked off her Sketchers.  She then unbuttoned, unzipped, removed and hung up the skirt, then turned to face the bed.

"T-there are rules, aren't there? Rachel asked.  "Right, Sally?"  In answer, a black square bearing a message in red text appeared on one of the glass panels.

TIME INTERVAL TOUCH SCREEN ____ HR  ____ MIN 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9  0

Rachel realized her heart was beating like crazy and her breasts were heaving.  With effort, she calmed herself.  "It's a timer?  A timer for what, Sally?  What will happen?"

"Do you trust me, Rachel," Sally inquired.

"What?"  Do I?  Do I trust her?  Seconds ticked by.  "Yes, Sally," she said, finally, almost in a whisper.

"Thank you, Rachel," Sally answered.  "I am honored.  Shall we continue?"

Rachel nodded.  "What do I—"

"Strip," Sally interrupted.

Rachel reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, then shrugged out of the straps and pulled it off.  She hung it from a hanger, then peeled off her panties and hung them, as well.  She turned her back to the closet.  "Now I set the timer?"

"Now you do as you're told," Sally purred.  The glass panel slid closed over the closet.  Then, a few feet to the left, another panel opened.

Rachel turned to find an array of gags hanging from hooks in a shallow cabinet.  There were ball-gags, bit-gags, ring-gags, plug-gags with suede panels, and complex rubber, leather, and steel-buckled contraptions Rachel feared she might need instruction manuals to properly apply.  "You want me to g-gag myself?"

"You'll note that all the straps have exactly one hole to accept the tongue of their matching buckle," Sally said.  "All of these gags are made for you, alone, Rachel."

"For me?"

"I suggest the blue ball-gag."

Rachel's hand was trembling as she lifted the gag in question from its hook.  As it came free, the panel closed—Whirrr-click—and the mirrored walls formed a uniform circle, once again.  She turned the gag in her hands.  The black leather strap was about a half-inch in width, and there was, indeed, only one hole in the strap opposite the buckle.  The two-inch diameter rubber ball was a swirl of blue with streaks of gray and jade.

"It matches your eyes," Sally purred.

"Why do I have to gag myself?"  Rachel waited for an answer... but none came.  She already knew the answer, of course.  So I'll feel truly helpless.  She took the ball in her mouth, opening her jaws as wide as possible and pushing until it snapped behind her teeth.  It was a tight fit, but the rubber was pliable enough that it wasn't that uncomfortable.  She threaded the buckle and snapped it closed, then arranged her hair, letting it fall as a curtain over her shoulders and against her back.  She turned and gazed at her reflection.

"Beautiful," Sally's voice sighed.  "A perfect fit.  Try and remove it, Rachel."

"Mmmf?"  Rachel parted her hair and tried to loosen the buckle... and found she couldn't.

"Radio-controlled electromagnetic nano-locks are wonderful things, aren't they?" Sally chuckled.  "The gag stays in until I decide it comes out, just as you stay in this room until I decide you may leave.  Now, set the timer."

A shiver of delicious dread rippled through Rachel's body.  She padded to the touch screen and reached out—her hand was trembling, again—then tapped out one hour and zero minutes.  The screen flashed and only the numbers "1:00:00" remained.

"And now," Sally said, "you may try the bed."  The four panels around the base of the bed snapped open.

Rachel stared at the bed, nervously.

"Silly girl," Sally chuckled.  "You act like you have a choice.  Get on the bed and cuff your ankles and wrists.   Now, Rachel!"

Rachel quickly climbed onto the bed, reached into one of the openings, and pulled out a cuff.  The attached wire unreeled with a quiet whine.  Her first impression was confirmed.  The cuff's interior was padded with black pile, and the exterior was covered with nylon cloth.  It was heavy, suggesting a steel core.  She fit the cuff around her left ankle and it clicked closed with an anatomically perfect fit.  She reeled out the remaining cuffs and captured her right ankle and both wrists, then lay on her back and extended her arms and legs.  The wires reeled onto the drums in the cavities, but remained slack, offering only slight resistance when she moved her arms or legs.

Suddenly, the wires snapped taut, enforcing a stringent spread-eagle!  "Mrrrpfh!"  Now Rachel's heart was really hammering, and the butterflies were back with a vengeance!  The lights went out, plunging the room into total darkness.  "Mmf!"  She pulled with all her strength but was totally helpless.  Rachel put her head back, closed her eyes, and screamed.  "NRRRRRF!"

"Silly girl," Sally's voice chuckled.

Rachel opened her eyes and lifted her head.  She was surrounded by darkness and swirling white mist lit by some unseen source.  She realized it was a computer generated projection.  And then Sally appeared.  The avatar still "wore" the borrowed image of Sigourney Weaver, but now she was Alien Resurrection Sigourney Weaver, dressed in leather and looking dangerous.

Rachel shivered and tugged on her bonds.  "Mmmpfh?"

Sally struck a mocking pose.  "Do you like this look?"  Her smile turned chillingly sinister.  "But then, it doesn't matter what you like, does it, Silly Girl?"

Rachel blinked and stared at Sally's (Sigourney's) smiling visage.

"You know I can modify my avatar's appearance at will, of course," Sally continued, "but did you know I can modify my personality, as well?"

The butterflies in Rachel's tummy continued fluttering, and she could feel (and see) that her nipples were rock hard.

"We'll call this avatar Mistress Sally, shall we?  You're mine for the next hour, Silly Girl.  I'm going to do things to you, many horrible, wonderful things.  I'm going to play your body like a fine musical instrument.  I'm going to make you cum and cum, and there's nothing you can do about it.  And how am I going to do this?  The sensors in this room are beyond current medical science.  By your reactions I can tell exactly what you're feeling, where you're feeling it, and what it's doing to you.  Also... I've brought friends.

The bed began to squirm under Rachel's spreadeagled body.

"Mrrpfh?"

Suddenly, tentacles emerged from between the balls of foam.  They wiggled like worms, hundreds of worms tracing the outline of Rachel's naked, stretched body.

"You've met them before," Mistress Sally purred.

Blue sparks flickered down the tentacles as they twisted and writhed—and then, they made contact with Rachel's skin!

"NRRRRF!"

"They tickle, don't they?

The tentacles caressed Rachel's nipples, armpits, ribs, the slopes of her breasts, her stomach, thighs, and the soles of her feet.  And wherever they made contact, blue fire played across the helpless prisoner's tan, shining curves.

"MMMMMF!"

"This is foreplay, Rachel," Mistress Sally said.  "We'll play this game for a while... and then my friends will entertain your thighs and your pussy.  You are very beautiful, Rachel.  Very beautiful."

"Nrrrrr!"
 
Time passed, and Mistress Sally's friends continued working their magic.