—
	—
	by Van ©2011
	Chapter 9
	—

AN ADDITIONAL WEEK LATER
CYNTHIA'S BUNGALOW
FRIDAY EVENING

---

Cynthia pulled into her 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 purred.

"I've asked you not to do that," Cynthia huffed.

"What?"

"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 lid, peered inside, and found a large cardboard shipping box.  "Very nice," Cynthia conceded.  "I take it you watch This Old House when you aren't too busy industrial spying?"  She reached for the package, but Lillian closed the lid.  "Hey, watch the fingers!" Cynthia protested.

"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, and a hatch opened in the wall, revealing the interior of the delivery 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 bookcase from Ikea."

"I'm still impressed."  Cynthia smiled at Lillian.  "Thank you.  Now I can take deliveries without having to be home to sign for them."

"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 good?"

"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 right, Sally?"

"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 you, Sally."

"There's something you can do for me," Lillian said.  "Secure mode, please."

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 appropriate."

"I suggest the opera Mlada, by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov," Sally responded.  "Act three.  At the witches' sabbath on Mount Triglav, Yaromir is shown a vision of Cleopatra."  Music began to play... rather exotic, "Oriental" music with a stately but compelling beat.

Lillian released Cynthia, then walked into the living room, flopped onto the couch, and put her bare feet up on the coffee table.  "Whatever."

Cynthia followed her into the living room and stood in the middle of the carpet, arms crossed over her chest.  "I'm not going to do it," she huffed.  "Not again."

"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, and 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 question 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 seductively.

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 forward with her arms extended towards her audience, and lowered her eyes.  She 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," she complained.

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 squirm and 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 arms.

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 NEXT MORNING
THE CRACK OF DAWN

---

Cynthia came 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 clothing.  "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 a sign 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, Little Mouse," Lillian said.

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 off.  Hey!"

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.

Cynthia was hugging Lillian's back with her arms around her 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 stuffed a foam wedge into Cynthia's mouth.  And as the silver-gray helmet was 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 unlocked Cynthia's left cuff and they both climbed off the bike.

"Mrrrf!" Cynthia complained.  Lillian had folded the open cuff back on 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 suggestive) bracelet.

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 and 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 squinted into the relative darkness and found the usual bar and stools, tables and chairs, and booths, as well as a side room with a pair of pool tables and several stools.

"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 twenties and 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.  "Lillian," she hissed.

Abby chuckled.  "Don't let her jerk your chain."  She smiled and nodded at Cynthia's handcuff bracelet.  "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

Still blushing, Cynthia crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the cuffs.

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 come out 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.

Cynthia waved as Lillian and her bike 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 been 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 your breakfast?"

"Hi, Sally," Cynthia answered, "and, yes, I did.  Please add the 'Hog Cabin Tavern' to my restaurant list."  She smiled.  "For breakfast, anyway.  I might be afraid to go near the place after dark, 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 Cabin?"

"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 long 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 yesterday?"

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 and pulled 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 house."

"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 is my Siggy-in-Working-Girl look.  Would you prefer Siggy-in-Alien?  Tank 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 friends."

Cynthia felt something tugging on the tangled bedclothes under her body, 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 resting 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 delivery."

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 and long, furry, and apparently strong fingers of the non-primates.

"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 were 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 feet, they had extended their furry tails across her lower face and they were now cleaving her open mouth, pinning her head and rather effectively stifling her protests.  "Nrrrpfh!"

"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 integrated it as an active subroutine, a personality trait I can turn off and on, at will."

"Nrrrf!"  The gentle, furry hands continued to caress Cynthia's skin, and were joined by the long, prehensile tails of those "animals" that had them.

"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 were 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 and stroke 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 get 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.  "Mmmmf!"  Inviting Sally to "move in" suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.  "Nrrrf!"

Either that, or the best one imaginable.