—
	—
	by Van ©2011
	Chapter 10
	—

ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
THE SALAMANDRAS BUILDING

---

Rachel smiled as she read the e-mail message.  The monograph that was the fruition of her post-doctoral fellowship at Lewis and Clark University had passed peer review with flying colors and was accepted for publication.  She remained a research associate of the University, but the fellowship in question would expire at the beginning of the next month.  That wouldn't be a problem, however, as she had been officially hired as Resident Research Scientist at the Salamandras Institute for Advanced Studies, the public name of the Salamandras Building.  Also, as one of the perks of her new position, she'd moved out of her apartment and into a suite Sally had built for her on the top floor.

"Congratulations, Rachel," Sally said, her simulated face smiling from a nearby monitor.

"Congratulations to you, as well," Rachel responded.  "I still wish you'd let me acknowledge you as my coauthor."

"Not a good idea," Sally chuckled.  "I can easily fabricate a false identity for a hypothetical human partner, but 'she' would always be a liability, a trail leading nowhere that might someday arouse suspicion and attract unwanted attention.  Besides, the research was your own.  I merely assisted."

Rachel shook her head.  "Yeah, you assisted by running simulations that prevented me from stumbling down blind alleys, and did it more-or-less in real time, running tests that would have taken me weeks or months just to set up."

"I have virtually limitless computational resources," Sally responded, "and the occasional insight, but you have a brilliant mind, Rachel.  I'm honored to be your colleague."

Rachel blushed.  "Thank you, Sally.  The feeling is mutual."  She removed her glasses and set them on the desk, then shrugged out of her lab coat and hung it from the clothes tree.  "If I remember correctly, I have the makings of a stir-fry upstairs, don't I?"

"You do," Sally answered.  "Would you like me to cook?"

Rachel headed for the elevator.  "Yes, please, if you don't mind."

"My pleasure," Sally chuckled.  "And speaking of pleasure, you know what day it is, don't you?"

A thrill rippled through Rachel's crotch and up her spine as she punched the button for the seventh floor.  "The first Friday after a full moon."

"Yes," Sally responded.  "You've been a good girl and have worked very hard, all week.  I've decided to let you play."

Rachel smiled, and swallowed.  "Thank you, Mistress," she whispered.

The ride to the seventh floor was brief, as always.  The doors opened and Rachel walked down the hallway to her suite.  The area closest to the passenger elevators and many of the other spaces on this level were unchanged, but the executive suites on the western side of the building had been merged into one large, comfortable, and well-appointed apartment.  The decor was decidedly Jet Age Modern, with an emphasis on glass, stainless steel, and richly stained woods.  Sally had spent some time (meaning several seconds) analyzing Rachel's tastes and preferences before finalizing the design, and it was the Resident Scientist's expressed opinion that the result was worthy of an Architectural Digest cover story.

All the modern conveniences—light, water, heat and air conditioning, entertainment—were controlled via voice command or touch screens.  For privacy, exterior window-walls of armored glass presented a mirror finish to the outside world, like the rest of the building.  Also, with a voice command or the tap of a virtual button, all of the glass walls, exterior and interior, could be made opaque.  And not just opaque.  A variety of colors and textures could be displayed, including slowly changing decorative patterns and animations.  Robot maids of various design took care of the housekeeping, and robot arms concealed behind panels in the ceiling over the kitchen area enabled Sally to prepare Rachel's meals, when desired, all or in part.

There was an additional feature not obvious to the casual observer.  The suite could become a stylish but inescapable prison at "Mistress Sally's" whim.

Rachel strolled down the dimly lit mirrored hallway towards her front door.  To either side, her reflections matched her progress in increasingly distorted, infinite regression.  The door ahead was a featureless panel of brushed stainless steel.  As Rachel drew near, it opened with a quiet hum.  Beyond was an entryway... in essence, a twelve-foot continuation of the hallway.  At the moment, its far end was blocked by a second steel door.  The glass wall slid open to Rachel's right, revealing an empty closet.  Simultaneously, the front door slid closed behind Rachel's back.

Rachel unlaced and kicked off her Sketchers, then placed them side-by-side on the closet floor.  She then unbuttoned, removed, and hung her blouse from a hanger.  Her skirt was next, followed by her bra and panties.  Finally, she removed her ear-posts, watch, the tennis bracelet Cynthia had given her for her last birthday, and the elastic "Scrunchie" that had been holding her hair in a ponytail.  She took a step back and the closet door closed.

Naked, Rachel faced the inner door, and waited.  Sally... Mistress Sally... made her wait a few seconds... then, finally, the door opened.

The first thing Rachel noticed was the sizzling sound and delicious smell wafting from the kitchen area.  The second was that the apartment had been placed in "Spartan mode."  The shelves and alcoves that would normally be displaying her books and knickknacks were concealed behind glass panels.  As she watched, all of the glass surfaces went opaque, then began displaying a photo-realistic simulation of a bamboo forest.  The western exterior wall was the only exception.  It remained transparent (from the inside), providing its usual view of the wooded hillside.  The other buildings of the office park, the parking lot, and the highway beyond were behind her, hidden by the bulk of the building, and the sun had just passed behind the crest of the hill.  The lighting of the projected landscape matched the actual vista, and Rachel found herself immersed in a world of pale green, vertical stalks rising to a feathery green canopy, blue sky darkening to ultramarine, and rays of light slowly shifting from yellow to a warm orange.

"Beautiful, Mistress," Rachel whispered.  "It's beautiful."

"As are you, my pet," Sally answered.  "Be seated."

The apartment had an open floor plan, with the kitchen, living room, and bedroom areas more alcoves than actual rooms.  In the center of the space, a table had been set.  It was low to the ground, with a single large, flat cushion for seating.  Rachel padded over and gracefully settled into a semi-lotus.  Before her was a simple place-mat, a folded napkin, and a pair of chopsticks on a carved rest.

One of her maid-bots rolled up, a tray in its manipulator arms.  This particular model was more or less a cross between R2-D2 from Star Wars and EVE from WALL·E.  It placed the tray on the table and returned to the kitchen area.

Rachel transferred a tea pot, cup, and a covered plate to her place-mat, then lifted the cover.  "Oh, Mee Krob?"

"Shrimp and crab meat," Sally confirmed.

Rachel smiled, set the cover on the tray, then crossed her hands across her lap, lowered her gaze, and waited.

"Enjoy your meal, Rachel," Sally purred.

"Thank you, Mistress," Rachel whispered, picked up her chopsticks, and began to eat.  "Yummy!" she sighed, between delicate bites.

The sun continued to set and somewhere in the virtual distance, among the towering, softly rustling stands of bamboo, a flute began playing a soothing, plaintive melody.

The opening phase of Rachel's games with Sally—or, one might say, Sally's games with Rachel—varied in form.  Sometimes Rachel would flee into a labyrinth of corridors, naked, and with Sally's robot minions in pursuit.  And sometimes she would cooperate and allow Sally's robots to place her in bondage.  The former featured the thrill of the chase and the promise (meaning the exceedingly remote possibility) of escape.  The later allowed for elaborate restraint without the fuss and bother of futile struggling.  There would be plenty of time for that after Rachel had been rendered helpless, regardless.

Tonight, Rachel had decided (had been ordered) to cooperate.  She entered a chamber adjacent to her apartment—still naked, of course—and surrendered herself to the surrounding robot arms and manipulators.  The door closed, the lights winked out, and the machines hummed to life.  With her infrared cameras and ultrasound echolocation sensors, Sally didn't need more than a few photons or a little feeble acoustic energy to guide her actions, and the inky darkness heightened the experience for her "victim."

When the robotic arms finally retracted, Rachel's upper body was bound in an elaborate box-tie using a single, very long length of rubber tubing.  It pinned her upper arms to her sides, yoked her shoulders, and wrapped her forearms together behind her back, from elbows to wrists.  The tubing was elaborately hitched and cinched, but there wasn't a single real knot.  Its free ends stretched to either side and disappeared into holes in a ten-foot hoop of steel.  Rachel was suspended in the center of the shining ring, both by the box-tie and additional tubing binding her widely splayed ankles and also stretched to the hoop; however, the principal support for her body came in the form of a pair of rubber membranes.

In essence, Rachel was sandwiched between two thin, taut layers of natural rubber.  The milky rubber adhered to her skin like shrink-wrap, with no air spaces separating the layers, and was as taut as a drum-head; but not all of her body was encased.  Her head and hair, breasts, and bare feet were free of the rubber.  Also, a generous cutout exposed her buttocks, crotch, and inner thighs.

In addition, Rachel was gagged.  Rubber foam filled her mouth to capacity and a rubber panel encircled her head and covered her lower face from her bulging cheeks to the point of her chin.

The rubber-bound captive tried to squirm and struggle, but found she could barely move.  Mewling through her gag, Rachel tossed her head, fluttering her long curls, flexed her feet, and wiggled her toes.  That was about the extent of motion that she found possible.  She was helpless—entrapped, squeezed, and suspended—and she was being taken someplace.  Apparently, the hoop was suspended from a track in the ceiling and it was trundling through the darkness, taking her with it; at least, she surmised that's what was happening.  All she had to go by were vibrations and moving air—and then, both clues stopped as the hoop locked in place with a metallic clunk.

Slowly, dim light began swirling around her.  The glow brightened... and resolved into drifting clouds of mist.  The mist dissipated, and Rachel found herself surrounded by row upon staggered row of naked women restrained in rubber and suspended in steel hoops, their conditions identical to her own.  Circular disks glowing under their suspended bodies bathed their bodies with an eerie, blue-white light.  The women were of every race and ethnic type, and all were young, in their late teens or early twenties.  In addition, all were in excellent physical shape.  They mewled through their gags, writhed, and fought their captivity as hundreds of metal tentacles sparkling with tendrils of blue energy caressed their feet, breasts, thighs, buttocks, and pussies.

Rachel knew it was all a computer-generated projection—very realistic, but computer-generated, nonetheless.  Helpless and gagged, Rachel watched her "fellow prisoners" wiggle and whine.  Poor things, Rachel sighed.  They look so helpless and scared... and beautiful.  A thrill quivered between her splayed legs and rippled up her spine.  She had a good idea what was going to happen.  I'm next!

As it turned out, she was wrong, at least with respect to the immediate future.

The tap-tap-tap of heels on the hard floor joined the chorus of gagged sighs and moans, and a familiar figure stepped into view—Sigourney Weaver.

Silly me, Rachel thought.  I forgot the Big Gloating Scene.

It was actually Sally (of course), and not Sigourney Weaver.  The avatar was wearing a white lab coat over a stylish skirt and blouse.  Her hair was pulled back and coiled in a tight bun, and she was wearing black-framed glasses.  Overall, the look was very Sexy Scientist, and very attractive... but the smile curling her simulated lips was more than a little disturbing.  She consulted the iPad in her left hand, then shifted her gaze to Rachel.

"It's working, Dr. Haines," she purred.  "After we installed the forty-second unit into the matrix, the computational threshold exploded.  Now, with each additional damsel, we venture into unknown territory, new realms of logic, mathematics, and inter-dimensional axiomatics."  Her smile broadened.  "And you said an orgasmatronic quantum computer was impossible.  You said I was mad."

A second tap-tap-tap sounded, and Cynthia strolled into view.  She was dressed similarly to Sally, only her blouse was low cut and a generous glimpse of the tops of her tan, firm breasts peeked from between the white folds of her buttoned lab coat.  Like Sally, she was wearing glasses.  "I also expressed doubts, you might recall," she said, smiling up at her much taller fellow scientist.

"But you never called me mad," Sally chuckled.

The prisoner before them shivered in her bonds.  Rachel the Damsel-in-Distress was terrified, but Rachel the gamester was having a lot of fun.  Sally and Cynthia as the villains?  Better and better!

Just then, two more figures joined the group.  One was Lillian Steele, resplendent in knee boots, gloves, and a skintight catsuit, all in black leather.  The other figure was a naked blonde.  She was bound in a box-tie with hemp rope and more rope was tied around her legs, just above her knees and hobbling her steps.  Rachel could tell she was a blonde from her neatly trimmed pubic bush, but her head was covered by a cloth bag.  Lillian was leading her by a hemp leash.

"I nabbed the head cheerleader and the captain of the lacrosse team," Lillian announced.  "That one put up a fight, but she was nothing I couldn't handle.  They're being processed by your machines as we speak.  I believe that completes your wish-list."  She nodded at her prisoner.  "This one is a bonus.  I found her nosing around campus, asking questions."  She tossed a black leather ID holder to Cynthia, then loosened the noose of the leash and pulled the hood from her prisoner's head.

Rachel's eyes popped wide.  The captive was a blonde, with a full head of long, straight locks the color of ripened wheat.  A tight band of Elastoplast tape encircled her head, under said hair, compressing her lips and whatever had been stuffed in her mouth—but Rachel still recognized her grimacing face!  Oh wow!  This is sooo much fun!

"Olivia Dunham," Cynthia read aloud, her eyes on the ID, "Special Agent, FBI, Fringe Division."  She handed the ID to Sally, then gazed at Lillian.  "She was alone?  You weren't seen?"

"Please," Lillian responded with a smug smile.  "I know my job."  She addressed Sally.  "Do you need her?  I'd like to 'question' her for a while."

Sally tossed Lillian the ID.  "Don't break her.  We can plug her into the matrix as an ancillary spare, in case a unit fails."

Agent Dunham's eyes were wide with fear, a very understandable and natural reaction as far as Rachel was concerned.

"Mind if I tag along?" Cynthia inquired, eying Agent Dunham's naked, bound, athletic form with a leering smile.

"Not at all, doc," Lillian chuckled as she dropped the hood back over Olivia's head.  "Bring your special toy box.  I enjoy watching you wield your collection of customized instruments."

"If you don't need me," Cynthia said to Sally.

Sally's eyes were on her iPad.  "No, go have fun."

Cynthia favored Rachel with a mocking air-kiss and a smug smile, then followed Lillian as she led her naked, struggling captive away.

"You should have joined us, Rachel," Sally said as she tapped the iPad's screen.  "Now, all you have to look forward to is wave upon wave of multiple orgasms.  The machines will keep your body alive for years."  She gestured at the surrounding captives.  "The machines will keep all of your bodies alive.  Your minds, on the other hand..."  She tapped a final key, then slid the iPad into a front pocket of her lab coat.  "Your minds will be gone in a matter of hours, I'm afraid.  A few days, at best."  She turned and began strolling away.  "You should have joined us, Rachel.  We're going to rule the world."

Rachel heard an ominous click, dropped her chin and looked down, and watched as writhing metal tentacles emerged from openings in the floor and approached her helpless body.  Sparkling blue fire rippled along their ever-growing lengths and from their wiggling tips.

Rachel shivered in her inescapable bonds.  Sally's getting really good with these fantasy vignettes, she thought.  She knows all my favorite shows.  Maybe next time Kate Beckett, Maura Isles, or Jane Rizzoli will be in the cast.  Or even— "Mrrrpfh!"

The tips of the tentacles were caressing her feet, toes, nipples, buttocks, thighs, and labia—and like her bonds, they were very real.

Lillian pulled into the driveway of Cynthia's bungalow and guided the bike towards the garage.  She glanced up at the apartment suite over the actual garage, smiling as she remembered the "good old days" when Red and Blondie had been in residence, before they graduated and moved on to post-graduate studies and employment, respectively.  [Ed. note: see RAGE AGAINST the MACHINE.]

Lillian had the "tactical heads-up display" of her helmet engaged and Sally's smart house security system was painting relevant information on the inside of her face plate.  She knew the garage apartment and the main house were empty... but memories were another matter.  Patty, naked and writhing on her bed as Lillian teased her pussy with a vibrator...  Keira, staring daggers at her with those gorgeous blue-green eyes as Lillian approached her helplessly bound and tightly gagged form with a pair of nipple clamps...  She turned to gaze at the main house.  Cynthia, in a tight hogtie and squirming towards her across the living room carpet, trying, without success, to keep the anticipatory grin from her cute little bow lips as she wiggled ever-closer to her assigned target, Lillian's pussy...

Good times, Lillian sighed.  Time for more.

Lillian rolled her bike around and behind the garage, parking it where it wouldn't be seen, tonight, when Cynthia returned home from the University.  The flash-drive, with its load of super-secret and super-important ones and zeros, was in Lillian's jacket pocket.  She'd place it on Little Mouse's desk, then set her ambush.  Lillian's schedule was free for the next week, and, in Sally's expert opinion, so was Cynthia's.  So...

Lillian removed her helmet and placed it on her bike, then headed for the house.  She noted the barbecue and garden furniture were unchanged, but Little Mouse (and/or Sally) seemed to have been putting more effort into the landscaping.  The backyard was now more of a "Secret Garden," with lots of informal plantings.  Everything was a vibrant riot of color, with abundant flowers, and was wild without seeming weedy.  Nice.

And then Lillian noticed an additional detail.  Oh, please!  Little Mouse, how could you?  A colony of garden gnomes had taken up residence in the flowerbeds by the back door.  There were at least a half-dozen, and all had the pointy hats, full beards, fat cheeks, and vacant smiles of their kind.  They were big, as such things went, something like two and a half feet from their boots to the tips of their ridiculous headgear.  At least they aren't painted, Lillian thought, shaking her head.  Oh, Cynthia, how crass.  I'll have to give you a spanking for this.

Lillian set her foot on the first step up to the back porch—"Ow!"—then put her hand on the side of her neck.  "What the hell?"  She pulled from her neck a tiny, needle-like dart with a puff of red fletching it its base.  She blinked and turned her head to the left.  A gnome was pointing a blowgun in her direction and...  "Shit!"  Lillian's head was swimming.  Security-bots! she realized.  The gnomes are security-bots!  "Sally!  Your bots are boken... I mean broken."  She sat down heavily on the step.  "They're mal... mal... funky.. malfunky..."  She blinked one last time... then curled onto her side, yawned, and closed her eyes.

The gnomes marched from the flowerbeds, and there were a lot of them—twenty, in fact.  Apparently, most of them had been hiding in burrows, and they weren't a colony, but a full-blown infestation.  They clustered around Lillian, grabbed her limp form with their concrete tinted and textured hands and lifted her onto their concrete tinted and textured shoulders.  Then, like tiny pallbearers, they carried her around the side of the house.  A bulkhead door opened and they carried her down the steps and into Cynthia's basement.

Lillian opened her eyes... focused... and found Cynthia's angelic face smiling down at her.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Cynthia chuckled.

"What the hell?"  Lillian was naked and on her back, and she was bound to a padded table with hemp rope, lots and lots of hemp rope.  She squirmed and struggled, but found she could hardly move.

Her arms were at her sides and her legs together, and they were going to stay that way.  Bands of rope—Okay, Lillian conceded, neat, tight, elegantly crafted bands of rope—bound her in place from throat to toes.  Half the lashings were looped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and her legs together, and half bound her to the table.  She was tied up and tied down.  Rope dimpled the flesh of her shoulders, chest (above, below, and around her breasts), arms (lashing her arms to her torso and her arms to the table), waist, thighs, above and below the knees (together and to the table), ankles, insteps, and big toes—not to mention her rope-cleaved crotch—she thought it might be easier to note where she wasn't bound.  The result was the same.  Lillian was one helpless (and pissed off) damsel.

"Did you do this?" she demanded, glaring at Cynthia.  Then, her frown turned to puzzlement.  "Wait... what the hell are you wearing?"

Cynthia was dressed in a strapless, full-length, formal gown of burgundy, shirred silk.  She'd had her hair done, and a very pretty pair of diamond, drop-earrings dangled from her ears.  Around her neck was a diamond necklace with a matching drop that dangled to just above her cleavage.  She was also wearing more makeup than usual, very tastefully done, including lipstick in a shade of red chosen to complement her gown.  She struck a pose.  "This old thing?" she chuckled.  "I'm going to a dinner at the Student Union."  She spun in a graceful pirouette with arms raised.  "I'm guest of honor at the annual Sockdolager Soirée.  The 'Socks' are a student club, and their soirée is something of a roast.  Every year they invite a different faculty member and—"

"Untie me, now!" Lillian interrupted, bucking and struggling against the ropes in a frenzy of impotent fury.

"Inside voice, young lady," Cynthia scolded.  "In answer to your first question, the one regarding the rope: yes, I did this."  She reached our and gently pinched Lillian's right nipple.  "I did a good job, don't you agree?  The key knots are down near the floor, tied around the table's cross-brace.  Impossible for you to even come close to reaching."

"Let me go, you little—M'MMFH!"

Cynthia's hand was tightly clamped over Lillian's mouth.  "My goodness, we certainly get cranky when we're tranquilized, stripped naked, and tied down, don't we?"  She took her hand away.  Lillian kept quiet, but continued to glare.  "I have to leave for the soirée," Cynthia continued, "but I didn't want you to wake up down here in the dark basement all helpless and confused."

"Let me go," Lillian growled.

"Sally and I have reached an arrangement with respect to your infrequent visits," Cynthia said, ignoring Lillian's demand.  "From now on, whenever Sally has something for you to deliver to me, she will decide who winds up on top.  Sometimes, I'll come home and find you waiting in ambush.  And sometimes..."  She playfully teased Lillian's nipple, again.  "Not so much.  You're to treat each arrival as a field exercise.  Maybe you'll defeat my security system, or maybe Sally will give you a free pass.  It'll be completely random.  That's fair, don't you think?"

"Fair is what I'm going to do to you when I get off this table," Lillian muttered.  She lifted her head and looked around, confirming she was in Cynthia's basement.  Most of the lights were out, but off to one side, the monitors of Cynthia's home lab were glowing, as were the twinkling LED's of a rack of servers.  "Last chance, Little Mouse," she growled.  "If you untie me right now, I'll go easy on y-OU! Ahh!"  She looked down her bound body at her rope-cleaved crotch.  "What the hell was that?"

Cynthia smiled, sweetly.  "Oh, you mean the teeny little computer-controlled, silver-pill vibrator I tucked in your pussy before roping it shut?  What kind of hostess would I be if I left you here, without entertainment, while I was being being wined and dined by my students?  Also, Sally needs a guinea-pig to test the latest refinements to her erotic frustration subroutine, so..."

"When I get free," Lillian warned, "I'm going to—m'mmmpfh!"  This time she was silenced not by Cynthia's hand, but by her lips and tongue.

The kiss continued for something like a full minute, maybe more.  Finally, Cynthia lifted away.  "I'm afraid I really do have to get upstairs," she sighed, smiling down at Lillian.  "They're sending a limo to pick me up."

"You look beautiful in that gown," Lillian huffed, "but I am going to take some form of truly epic revenge on you for this, you know."

Still smiling (and blushing, just enough for it to be evident behind her makeup) Cynthia strolled to a nearby worktable and returned with a strip of Elastoplast tape.  "I know," she said as she prepared to apply the tape, "the revenge, I mean.  You really like the dress?"

"Tight silk, pretty color, lots of Little Mouse cleavage, shoulders, and neck?  What's not to like?  That said, check your face before you go.  You've smeared your lipstick."

"Thank you," Cynthia purred, then stretched the tape over her prisoner's mouth.  "There's really no need for the gag, of course," she said as she smoothed the Elastoplast against Lillian's face, ensuring a good seal.  "The entire house is soundproof."  She smiled down at Lillian, and unless it was her imagination, her captive's eyes were smiling back... just a little.  "Sally?"

"Yes, Cynthia?" Sally's disembodied voice responded.

"Play nice, okay?"

"Of course, Cynthia."

Cynthia blew Lillian a kiss, then turned and left.

Lillian watched her climb the steps...  Tap-tap-tap...  She really is gorgeous in that gown, the prisoner mused.  She heard the door at the top of the stairs close.

Seconds turned into a minute... then two... and then several.

Suddenly, the vibrator pulsed—"M'mmmf!"

"I thought she'd never leave," Sally's voice chuckled.  "We're gonna have a lot of fun, Lil."

Lillian shivered in her bonds as the vibrator continued to buzz... on low power.

"In the morning," Sally continued, "I have a new pair of panties for you to wear, by which I mean a titanium alloy, smart chastity belt.  You'll love it.  It has integrated vibrators as well as shock-pads, and will keep you nice and happy and obedient while you work."

"Mrrrf?"

"Yes," Sally chuckled, "I said work.  Look."

A spotlight winked on across the basement, revealing a black satin and white lace costume on a hanger.  There wasn't much to it: a short skirt, very short, very puffy sleeves, a very low neckline, a white apron, and—"NRRR!"

"Yes," Sally confirmed.  "A French Maid uniform, even more revealing and girlie than the one I bought for Cynthia.  And this one is in your size.  My robots do their best, but this entire house could use a good dusting, from attic to basement."

"Nrrr!"

"Don't have a cow.  Cynthia and I put a great deal of planning into this weekend, and you're not going to spoil things."  The vibrator gave a warning pulse.  "Are you?"

Lillian shivered in her bonds and sighed through her gag.

"That's better."  The vibrator returned to its low-level, steady buzz.  "Besides," Sally continued, "if you are good, you and I can plan something really good for Cynthia for your next visit.  Maybe a little vacation?  How'd you like to take your 'Little Mouse' camping in the woods?  Cynthia will get to work on her all-over tan and you'll get to experiment with alfresco bondage.  I'm sure we can think of lots of appropriately 'evil' things for you to do to her."

Lillian imagined Cynthia naked, gagged, and bound to a tree with several dozen yards of rope... miles from nowhere, in the middle of the wilderness.  That could work.  So could staking her out in a grassy meadow.  I'll think about it.

"Now," Sally continued, "you've been taking a long, restful, drug-induced nap for most of the day, so we'll start priming your pump for when Cynthia stumbles home from being féted by her students, shall we?"

Lillian tensed in her bonds, then began shivering and quivering in earnest.  The vibrator was pulsing between low and medium power.

Like all jobs, Lillian reflected, working for Salamandras International has its ups and downs—but it's never dull!

◄

Chapter 9

┌●┐

Send feedback to the author

VAN's FiCTiON

HOME

STORIES