The see the actresses
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ADDITIONAL WEEK LATER
garage. Her heart skipped a beat (and a thrill quivered between her legs)
as she gazed at Lillian's bike, still parked in the spot it had
occupied for most the last two weeks. Her "house guest" was still
here. She made her way from the garage to the kitchen door,
entered, then passed through to the bungalow's front entry. She
set her purse and keys on their accustomed places on a side table,
removed and hung her coat, turned towards the front door, and—"Ahh!"
Lillian was standing directly in front of her, less than a foot
away. The usual grin curling her lips, she was dressed in leather
pants, a tight tank-top, and nothing else, including shoes or (as
was abundantly clear) a bra. "Welcome home, Little Mouse," she
"I've asked you not to do that," Cynthia huffed.
"You know what," Cynthia
muttered. "Don't sneak up behind me, that's what."
"I have to stay in practice," Lillian objected.
"You're supposed to be on vacation."
"A working vacation," Lillian chuckled. She gestured towards the
front door. "It's finished."
Cynthia stepped past her guest, opened the door, and stepped out onto
the porch. Her Arts and
Crafts mailbox was mounted on the wall below the house
numbers, as always, but there was something new. Below the
mailbox and against the wall was a large box the size of a blanket
press or steamer
trunk. It was stained and painted to match the house, and bore a
brass plate with the inscription "DELIVERIES." She lifted its
peered inside, and found a large cardboard shipping box. "Very
Cynthia conceded. "I take it you watch This Old House when you aren't
too busy industrial spying?" She reached for the package, but
closed the lid. "Hey, watch the fingers!"
"This is only half of the job," Lillian said. "Inside." She
placed a hand on Cynthia's shoulder and guided her back across the
threshold, then pointed to a knot in the stained wood of the
wainscoting, next to the door. "Push the button."
Cynthia pressed the knot, a click sounded,
box and its contents. "Now I'm really
impressed," Cynthia said.
"Sally provided all the parts, pre-cut and pre-drilled," Lillian
explained. "It was slightly more complicated than assembling a
"I'm still impressed." Cynthia smiled at Lillian. "Thank
you. Now I can take deliveries without having to be home to sign
"That's the plan." Lillian embraced Cynthia from behind.
"Sally can send you stuff without wasting my time."
Cynthia smiled. Lillian was teasing, of course. Sally only
sent Lillian to deliver packages that were far too sensitive or classified to
be trusted to a commercial
courier. "I'll try and get along without you."
Lillian spun Cynthia around and nuzzled her neck. "But not
tonight. I hope you aren't hungry. I haven't ordered
takeout, yet." She kissed Cynthia's lips. "What sounds
"I'll cook something," Cynthia responded. Her arms were around
Lillian's waist and her house guest's arms were around her.
Lillian kissed her, again, and a thrill rippled through Cynthia's
crotch. The height difference placed her breasts under Lillian's,
and both bulging pairs were squeezed between their embracing bodies.
"By the way, Little Mouse," Lillian said, "the 'smart house'
modifications are more or less complete, as well. Isn't that
"Welcome home, Dr. Webbel," Sally's disembodied voice responded.
"All systems are nominal. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Aside from calling me Cynthia?" Cynthia answered. "No, thank
"There's something you can do for me,"
A click sounded, and Cynthia
noted that the deadbolt lock on the front door had turned.
"All doors and windows are now locked," Sally announced.
"Dance music for Cynthia, please," Lillian purred. "Something
"I suggest the opera Mlada,
by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov," Sally responded. "Act three.
the witches' sabbath on Mount Triglav,
Yaromir is shown a vision of Cleopatra."
Music began to play... rather exotic, "Oriental" music with a stately
Lillian released Cynthia, then walked into the living room, flopped
the couch, and put her bare feet up on the coffee table.
Cynthia followed her into the living room and stood in the middle of
carpet, arms crossed over her chest. "I'm not going to do it,"
she huffed. "Not
"If I have to make you," Lillian said, "you'll get a spanking."
Cynthia continued staring and the music continued playing.
Finally, she sighed, and began to sway to the rhythm of the strumming
harps, pounding drums, jingling tambourines, and wailing flutes.
A smile crept onto her lips and she spun in a pirouette, causing her
skirt to lift. She kicked off
her shoes, one at a time, then slowly, gracefully, began removing her
blouse, pausing between buttons to extend her arms, kick, and
spin. The open blouse fluttered and flapped as she unbuckled her
narrow leather belt, pulled it from the loops of her skirt, and cracked
it like a whip. She waited for an appropriate
bar of music and cracked it again, then tossed it to Lillian.
Lillian caught the belt. It was black, pliable, and about a
half-inch in width.
Cynthia continued her seductive dance. The blouse was now
completely removed. She held it like a flag and spun in place,
lifting her skirt, again, then tossed the blouse away. She
unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt, then
slid it down her hips. It fell to the floor and she hooked the
waistband with her right toe, gracefully lifted it into the air, then
spun and caught it. She spun and twirled, tossed the skirt away,
continued to dance.
Lillian knew her Little Mouse had studied dance as a kid, abandoning
lessons only when it became clear she was never going to achieve the
height required to pursue a professional career. She was rather
too gifted in the boob department, as well. The dance world's
loss, and my gain, Lillian mused. The gifted boobs in
were now free of their bra, and were adding a rather entertaining,
oscillating, and bobbling counterpoint to Cynthia's other moves.
Finally, the tiny dancer hooked the band of her panties with her thumbs
and slid them down her hips, smiling at her audience and wiggling
She's really good at that,
Lillian sighed, when she wants to be.
Cynthia kicked the panties away and continued dancing, and Lillian
continued to watch. Finally, the music came to an
end. Cynthia dropped to her knees with the last bar, leaned
with her arms extended towards her audience, and lowered her
panted in the sudden silence.
"Well done, Little Mouse," Lillian said, clapping her hands.
"Come to me."
Still smiling, Cynthia slowly rose to her feet, then padded towards the
couch. "It's rude to stare like that, you know. Hey!"
Lillian had grabbed Cynthia's right wrist and pulled the naked
scientist onto her lap, face down. "You don't have to tie me,"
Lillian had crossed Cynthia's wrists behind her back and was using her
belt to bind them together. "Of course I don't, Little Mouse,"
Lillian chuckled. "I can control you, easily, no matter how you
fight. I do it 'cause I like it."
"Ow!" Cynthia whined. "It's too tight."
"I know what I'm doing," Lillian said. "There. I managed to
engage the buckle. No saddle-hitch required."
"Too tight," Cynthia complained, again.
Lillian flipped her petite prisoner onto her back, and noted the hint
of a smile curling Cynthia's incredibly attractive, girlish, bow
lips. "Big baby," she sighed, and kissed the lips in question.
Tongue probing—lip smacking—mouth sucking—more tongue probing—etc.
Still kissing, Lillian stood, holding the naked, bound Cynthia in her
Cynthia broke the kiss. "Bedroom?" The kiss resumed.
Lillian headed for the stairs, then broke the kiss, as well.
"Bedroom," she confirmed, and, again, the kiss resumed.
THE CRACK OF DAWN
out of the shower to find Lillian seated on the unmade bed. She
was dressed in her usual going out costume: boots, leather pants,
tank-top, and jacket. Next to her was a pile of unfamiliar
"What's this?" Cynthia asked.
"We're going out for breakfast." the grinning security expert answered.
Cynthia held up the first item of clothing, a powder blue tank
top. On its front was an oppressively cute cartoon mouse holding
bearing the single word "SQUEAK!" "Very funny," Cynthia huffed,
dropped the tank top, and turned towards her chest of drawers.
"No you don't, Little Mouse," Lillian laughed as she grabbed Cynthia's
right wrist and tugged her back to the bed. "No bra. Put it
on," she ordered.
Cynthia sighed and squirmed into the tank top. It was tight,
about a half-size too small, and its bottom hem came to just above her
bellybutton. Needless to say, her breasts stretched the thin
cotton fabric and her nipples were quite prominent.
"Now, the jeans," Lillian ordered. Cynthia glanced at the chest
of drawers and Lillian shook her head. "Commando."
Cynthia sighed, again, and picked up the jeans in question. They
were stone-washed denim, with frayed cuffs and equally frayed
horizontal tears just above the knees. Cynthia sighed, stepped
into the legs, and pulled them up. They were tight. She
could barely button and zip them up. "I look ridiculous," she
complained, "like a Justin Bieber fan on her way to the mall."
"You look cute," Lillian cooed, then pointed at the bed. "Sit."
Cynthia sat and watched as Lillian knelt and pulled a pair of wool
socks onto her
feet, followed by a pair of clunky boots.
"Up," Lillian ordered.
Cynthia stood and gazed down at the boots. "Doc Martens?"
"Wolverines," Lillian answered. She picked up a length of chain
and began threading it through the belt loops of Cynthia's jeans.
"What are you doing?" Cynthia demanded. "Hey!" Lillian had
snugged the chain tight and clicked a heart-shaped padlock through two
of the links. "How am I supposed to get the jeans off if I need
to... if I need to?"
"By begging for the key, of course," Lillian chuckled, then handed
Cynthia a leather jacket. Its cut was similar to Lillian's, but
instead of black it was a snakeskin pattern in shades of gray.
Cynthia shrugged into the jacket and turned to scowl at her reflection
in the full length mirror. "Ridiculous," she huffed.
"You look absolutely adorable,
Cynthia shook her head. "With my boobs half hanging out?"
"Adorable," Lillian chuckled. "One last touch." She stepped
behind Cynthia and buckled a studded leather collar around her throat.
"A dog collar?" Cynthia
demanded. She lifted the heart-shaped metal disk dangling from
the collar's front ring and squinted in
the mirror. Engraved on the disk was the image of a lily, a
plus sign, and a cartoon mouse. "Very funny. Take it
Lillian had clicked another heart-shaped padlock through the tongue of
the buckle. "And now, we eat." She headed for the
door. "How does the Faculty Club at the University sound?"
"Closed on Saturdays," Cynthia huffed. Thank god.
"I know a good breakfast place," Lillian chuckled. "C'mon."
Cynthia sighed, one last time, then stomped after her house guest.
waist—voluntarily, as they were on her bike and roaring down a rural
highway—and involuntarily, as her wrists were cuffed together with the
gunmetal, hinged gift Lillian had given her earlier. They were
several miles past the city limits, passing farm fields and lush, green
tracts of cedar forest. Where
the hell is this 'breakfast
place' she's taking me to? Cynthia wondered. She would
have asked, but before putting on her passenger's helmet, Lillian had
foam wedge into Cynthia's mouth. And as the silver-gray helmet
full-face, she couldn't force it out, especially after Lillian
tightened the chin-strap.
Finally, Lillian pulled off the highway and onto a gravel and dirt
parking lot. Before them was a large, ramshackle log cabin with a
prominent sign that read "HOG CABIN TAVERN" and featured a cartoon pig
riding a motorcycle. "Henry Weinhard's Blue Boar Ale"
and "OPEN" neon signs glowed in a dirty picture window.
Lillian parked between a pickup truck and three other bikes, then
Cynthia's left cuff and they both climbed off the bike.
"Mrrrf!" Cynthia complained. Lillian had folded the open cuff
its hinge and clicked it closed on Cynthia's right wrist, next to
the other cuff. The handcuffs now served as a heavy (and rather
Lillian removed her helmet and locked it by a strap to the bike, then
removed Cynthia's and did the same. "I'll take that," she said as
Cynthia pulled the foam from her mouth.
Cynthia handed over the soggy wedge and glared as Lillian
tucked it under the strap of the silver helmet. Cynthia turned
regarded the tavern. "A biker bar?" she demanded.
"Don't be a professorial prig," Lillian chuckled. "C'mon."
She took Cynthia's hand and headed for the door.
A bell tinkled above the door as they entered the tavern. Cynthia
the relative darkness and found the usual bar and stools, tables and
booths, as well as a side room with a pair of pool tables and several
"Lillian!" the man behind the bar shouted. He was in his late
fifties or early sixties with a full beard, long, graying hair, broad
shoulders, and a modest beer belly. "The usual?" he asked.
"George!" Lillian answered with a smile, then shook her head.
"No, breakfast." She led Cynthia to a booth.
An elderly couple was eating at a table near the window, and
three bikers (Cynthia was sure they were bikers) were shooting
pool. One of them looked up, caught Lillian's eye, and
nodded. Lillian nodded back.
Just then, a petite blonde walked up to the booth. She was in her
her clothing was similar to
Cynthia's; however, her tank top was canary yellow and lacked a cartoon
mouse. "Hey, Lil," she said.
"Hey, Abby." Lillian answered, then nodded at Cynthia. "This is
my bitch, Cynthia," she purred.
Cynthia felt her cheeks burn.
Abby chuckled. "Don't let her jerk your chain." She smiled
and nodded at Cynthia's handcuff bracelet. "Unless you're into
sort of thing."
Still blushing, Cynthia crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the
Lillian smiled at her "bitch," then shifted her gaze to Abby.
"Coffee, Bloody Marys, chicken-fried steak, eggs—one scrambled and one
over-easy—hash-browns, and biscuits."
"Sure thing," Abby said, turned, and headed for the kitchen.
"You'll love their chicken-fried steak," Lillian said as she shrugged
out of her jacket. "They pound them out before double-dipping
them in batter. That leaves the edges all feathery, so they
of the fryer nice and crispy. And their sausage gravy is really first rate."
"Bitch?" Cynthia demanded. "Your bitch?"
Lillian smiled. "Take off the jacket."
"I'm fine," Cynthia huffed.
Lillian's reply was an even stare.
Cynthia sighed, peeled off her jacket, and tossed it aside,
then looked up.
The bartender was carrying over two Bloody Marys on a tray.
"George, Cynthia," Lillian said as the drinks were placed on the table.
"Pleased to meet you, Cynthia," George said with a friendly smile.
"Uh... me, too," Cynthia answered.
George turned and returned to the bar.
"Thank you for not introducing me as your bitch," Cynthia muttered.
Lillian stirred her drink with its celery stalk garnish, then tossed
the greenery away. "They all know you're my bitch," she chuckled,
then clinked her drink against Cynthia's. "Cheers."
Cynthia shook her head, took a sip, and gasped. "That's potent!"
"I told you this was a good place," Lillian responded.
roared away. As
Lillian turned the corner, she waved back—and was gone.
Cynthia sighed and walked up the driveway to the house. The
silver-gray helmet was under her left arm, hers to safeguard until
Lillian was back in town, and the cuffs and their key were in her back
pocket, along with the key to the padlocks securing her collar and
chain belt. She combed her fingers through her tousled hair as
she mounted the stairs to the porch.
I wonder if any of the neighbors
were watching? For once, Lillian had been discrete—as
discrete as she ever got, anyway. She'd used her body to block
the closest neighbors' hypothetical views as she removed
Cynthia's cuffs and the foam, mouth-stuffing wedge. There had
a prolonged, enthusiastic parting kiss, but Cynthia didn't mind. Screw them if they can't take the sight of
two friends saying goodbye.
A smile touched her lips as she turned the knob and opened her front
door. Having a "smart house" definitely had its advantages, like
doors that unlocked at her touch.
"Welcome home, Cynthia," Sally's voice sounded. "Did you enjoy
"Hi, Sally," Cynthia answered, "and, yes, I did. Please add
the 'Hog Cabin Tavern' to my restaurant list." She smiled.
breakfast, anyway. I might be afraid to go near the place after
not without Lillian to protect me."
"Is that fair?" There was a chiding tone in Sally's voice.
Cynthia smiled. "Maybe not. George and Abby seem like nice
people." Her smile faded. "Wait a minute, how do you have an opinion about the Hog
"Lillian was carrying her phone," Sally explained. "As a diligent
nosey-parker, I was listening in. Anyway, I've added the Hog
Cabin Tavern to your breakfast list."
"I'm going to change and go for a run," Cynthia announced as she put
the helmet on the top shelf of the coat closet. "Or maybe just a
power walk. Chicken-fried steak is heavier than my usual
breakfast, but it sure was good."
"Before you change, may I suggest you open the package you received
Cynthia glanced at the package in question. It was still on the
entryway side table. "Okay." She'd meant to open it
yesterday, but—a blush touched her cheeks and a slightly goofy smile
curled her lips—things got busy. She opened the table's drawer
out the small knife she kept for this very purpose, then slit the
tape and opened the box. She folded back the packing and
discovered—"Oh, how cute!" Inside was a pair of stuffed
animals. Not counting their long tails, one was about a foot in
length and the other
about eight inches. "What are they?"
"Tarsiers," Sally answered.
Cynthia lifted them from the box. Their "fur" was soft and silky
to the touch, and their thick, fluffy tails were as long as their
bodies. "They're kinda heavy."
"It gives them stability," Sally explained. "Wouldn't they look
cute on your bed?"
Cynthia grinned. "Why not? From Biker Bitch to Giggly
Teenager in one hour." She set the tarsiers on the table and
rummaged in the empty box. "No card," she said, then examined
the shipping label. "Who sent them?"
"I did, Cynthia," Sally answered.
"You did? Why?"
"To say I'm sorry for crashing your Smart Explorer party without being
invited," Sally answered.
"Very funny," Cynthia smiled.
"Okay, to thank you for inviting me into your house," Sally
amended. "That is, for inviting me to officially monitor your
"Security is a compelling argument," Cynthia chuckled. "This
place has a history of break-ins. I assume you'll be taking my
side, from now on, whenever Lillian comes lurking."
"We can talk about it," Sally answered. "You wouldn't want your
life to become boring, would you?"
Cynthia blushed. "As you say, we can talk about it." She
cradled the plush toys in her arms and headed for the stairs.
LATE THAT NIGHT
Cynthia opened her
eyes. She'd climbed into bed wearing her
usual pajamas—that is, her birthday suit. The
bedroom was dark, with a little moonlight streaming through the window,
and— "What the hell?"
She was on her back with her arms and legs flung wide, and her wrists
and ankles bound with thick, soft rope. "Lillian?"
The only answer was the ropes snapping taut, pulling her into a full
spread-eagle. "What the hell?" she demanded.
Suddenly, the flat-screen TV across the bedroom clicked on
and the image of Sigourney Weaver appeared. She was wearing
a lacy white negligee and was reclined against the padded headboard
of a very feminine bed.
"Sally?" Cynthia gasped.
"Of course," Sally answered. "Do you like?" She waved an
arm, indicating her simulated body with a languid gesture. "This
top, skimpy panties, twenty-something, kick-ass hottie?"
"What are you doing?" Cynthia demanded, tugging on her bonds.
"How did you—"
"How did I tie you up?" Sally purred. "With a little help from my
Cynthia felt something tugging on the tangled bedclothes under her
lifted her head, and watched as tiny, furry hands came into view on
both sides of the bed, clutching the sheets. Hands were followed
by animal faces.
She recognized the tarsiers, the stuffed toys that should have been
on a side chair, but they were crawling
onto the bed, gripping the bedclothes and pulling themselves
up. And there were other, similar-sized stuffed animals.
"They're robots!" Cynthia gasped. "Auto-bots!"
"My little helpers," Sally confirmed. "Lillian let them in Friday
afternoon, before you got home. The tarsiers were the last
In addition to the tarsiers, Cynthia recognized a mouse, a kitten, a
wolf pup, two kinds of rabbits, three kinds of monkeys, and other
animals she couldn't immediately classify. All were like the
tarsiers, furry and realistic in design. The only
glaring anatomical deviations were the rather human-like hands
apparently strong fingers of
"It took us quite a while to tie your wrists and ankles without waking
you up," Sally explained, "nearly an hour."
"Sally! What are you going to do? Oh!" The animals
stroking her skin with their little hands; specifically, her breasts,
stomach, and thighs. "Sally! Stop it! M'rrpfh!"
The tarsiers had positioned themselves on either side of Cynthia's
head. Then, clutching the sheets and pillows with their hands and
extended their furry tails across her lower face and they were now
open mouth, pinning her head and rather effectively stifling her
"I have a confession to make, Cynthia," Sally said, stretching her
simulated body and continuing to smile. "I didn't just sequester
the final, evolved version of Smart Explorer for further study, I
as an active subroutine, a personality trait I can turn off and on, at
"Nrrrf!" The gentle, furry hands continued to caress Cynthia's
were joined by the long, prehensile tails of those "animals" that had
"Don't worry, Cynthia," Sally purred. "My ethical firewalls still
govern my actions, but I've been watching Lillian have all the
fun for a very long time,
and I've decided I'd like to play, too."
"Nmfh!" The animal-bots had extended their artifical tongues and
now licking her skin.
The wiggly, pink appendages were warm and damp and scratchy,
and they tickled! "Nrrrrf!"
"I promise not to make a habit of this sort of thing," Sally
chuckled. "I know you need to get your sleep. This won't
happen every night. I
also know the only thing on your schedule for tomorrow is to meet
Rachel for Sunday brunch. That means that
tonight... we can play."
"M'mmf!" One of the monkey-bots, a Proboscis Monkey, was between
Cynthia's legs and it was using its bulbous, elongated nose to part
Cynthia's labia and nudge her clitoris! "Nrrrrm!"
Sally's gaze was on the randy monkey. "Okay, my greedy friend,"
she laughed, "you can go first. But don't worry, little
friends. Everyone will
a turn. You all get to
make Cynthia cum."
Cynthia tugged on her bonds and shivered
as the animal-bots stroked,
caressed, and playfully squeezed her helpless body.
"move in" suddenly seemed like a very
bad idea. "Nrrrf!"
Either that, or the best one imaginable.