|by Van ©2014|
|OUR STORY CONTINUES
in a deserted Gotham City
warehouse near the waterfront...
J-Lou Goodbody, cub-reporter for the Gotham Globe, moved through the dark, cluttered warehouse with quiet care, doing her best to keep her high-heeled pumps from making any noise as she tiptoed across the dirty concrete floor. She was also careful not to snag her nylons or the fabric of her stylish skirt, blouse, jacket, and fedora-like hat on the stacked wooden crates and rough shelves on all sides.
Actually, J-Lou was in Gotham City on the cub-reporter exchange program between the Globe and the London Ledger-Domain. She'd crossed the Atlantic via airship more than six months ago, and now felt more or less at home on the streets of Gotham, dodging the countless yellow cabs, Studebakers, Packards, Ford trucks, and vegetable carts. J-Lou knew she'd always be an outsider—and a foreigner, to boot—but that gave her work a unique perspective, or "slant," as the Yanks would say. Someday she'd have her own byline and would catch her share of the plum assignments, like Rachel Raven, her arch rival and best friend on the Globe staff. But for now, J-Lou had to follow her nose-for-news—her button-nose-for-news, as Rachel put it.
J-Lou was following the button nose in question now, thanks to an anonymous telephone tip. She silently, stealthily made her way through the dark aisles, not daring to use the tiny flashlight in her jacket pocket. Ahead was a wooden railing that overlooked a vast room, a continuation of what was already a very large warehouse. She eased forward and found herself looking down on more crates, some of which looked big enough to contain farm tractors and small steam locomotives. The roof far above J-Lou's head looked to be retractable, doubtless to allow dirigibles to hoist cargo from the warehouse and into their giant holds. And in the open space below—
J-Lou's eyes popped wide and her hands just managed to cover her lips (without smudging her ruby-red lipstick) in time to stifle a horrified gasp. Down below was a Tableau of Terror!
Janice Bellringer, a.k.a. "Pantherwoman," was present, resplendent in her infamous costume of black knee-boots—skintight, black velour leotard/catsuit—black leather opera gloves with steel claws at the fingertips—and hood-like, black cowl. The back of the cowl allowed her long, panther-black hair to cascade down her back in glossy waves, and its distinctive, cat-like ears were rumored to house radio antennae and sound amplifiers. Her equally distinctive, light-amplifying goggles were pushed up, revealing her coffee-brown, high-cheeked, beautiful face, and the cruel smile curling her full lips.
Janice had once been one of Gotham's greatest legal minds, but then she was captured by the notorious Zamboni Gang and tortured with feathers until it drove her hopelessly insane. Janice was rescued by Ultra Lady, but afterwards, she disappeared for several months. Rumor had it she'd gone to South America to study the mysterious martial arts of the all-female Panther Cult. In any case, upon resurfacing in Gotham, she began a reign of crime as Pantherwoman.
Pantherwoman was surrounded by a half-dozen minions: four-hundred pound gorillas in double-breasted suits and fedoras. Really. Apes in suits and hats. It was a mystery how they got around the city without being noticed, but whenever Pantherwoman perpetrated one of her spectacular crimes—the daylight robbery of the First Bank of Gotham, the looting of Rembrandt's famous Andromeda, Naked, Wet, and Chained to a Big Rock from the Bishop-Stanton Museum, etc.—the gorillas were always there, armed with tommy-guns and shooting up the place. To date, no one had been hurt, but the gorillas were certainly intimidating.
Also present was Foxgirl, the Caped Cutie herself! The crime-busting dynamo was famed throughout Gotham as a Champion of Righteous Rectitude, but at the moment she was a bound and gagged prisoner! Foxgirl's costume was a skintight catsuit and eared cowl similar to Pantherwoman's, but in rust-red with silver-white counter-shading. Peter Pan boots, also in rust-red, were on her feet, a utility belt loaded with her crime-fighting gadgets and gizmos was around her wasp-thin waist, and a short, rust-red cape lined in silver-white was pinned to her shoulders and fell down her back. Also like Pantherwoman, Foxgirl's outfit did nothing to hide the very feminine curves of her slender yet voluptuous figure. However, Foxgirl's cowl included a mask that hid her identity. Her long, ginger-red hair spilled from the back of the cowl and down her back.
In any case, the Caped Cutie's gloved hands were bound behind her back and a plethora of thin rope strands lashed her arms to her sides, framing her breasts and encircling her waist and forearms. More rope bound her legs at the knees and ankles. Her captors had been careful not to include Foxgirl's cape in her bondage. Either the gorillas had a sense of aesthetics, or Pantherwoman had given explicit instructions. Foxgirl was silenced by a white cloth rolled into a thick bandana and tied as a cleave-gag, tight enough to make her freckled cheeks bulge.
J-Lou frowned. Why didn't they remove her utility belt? she wondered. Why do they never remove her utility belt? One would think the Gotham underworld would have learned by now. At least they've learned to tie a real gag, and not one of those ridiculous, over-the-mouth, nonfunctional gags they used to use all the time.
Foxgirl was being held upright by a pair of gorillas. She squirmed and mewled through her gag, more angry and defiant than frightened.
Pantherwoman strolled towards the prisoner, seductively swinging her hips, her high-heeled knee-boots tapping on the concrete floor. "So, Foxgirrrrl," she purred. "We meet again." She reached up, hooked the edge of Foxgirl's cowl and mask with a claw, then jerked the covering from her head!
J-Lou's hands flew to her mouth to cover a gasp, again! Even with the tight, mouth-filling gag, she recognized her friend, Kiera McFiddle, the curator of the prestigious Nancy Drew Collection at the Gotham Public Library! Kiera is Foxgirl? J-Lou blinked in stunned amazement. Now that she thought about it, that explained a lot—all those missed lunch dates, Kiera's obsession with working out and practicing her judo chops, her mountain climbing and motorcycle racing hobbies, the way she liked stuffed animals, especially foxes... Yes, it all came together.
"Sooo," Pantherwoman purred, taking Foxgirl/Kiera's chin in her gloved hand. "Our little librarrrrrian has a secret. But it's not a secret any longer, is it?" She made a gesture and one of the gorillas loosened Kiera's gag.
Kiera spit out the cleaving bandana and the wad of cloth stuffing that had been underneath. "You Feline Fiend!" she accused, then nodded to her left. "Do what you want to me, but let her go!"
Pantherwoman looked in the same direction, then her gloating smile returned to Kiera. "Oh, Foxgirl," she chuckled. "I intend to do all sorts of things to you, my Voluptuous Vixen, but nosy reporters must be dealt with in a harsh manner. One simply can't let them go. It just isn't done."
J-Lou's stomach knotted. 'Nosy reporters?' Does she mean me? She quickly looked over both shoulders, but there was nothing moving on her level—nothing as big as a gorilla in a double-breasted suit, anyway—maybe a few rats. She slowly, silently slid several inches to the side and took the risk of peeking over the top rail, to see what Foxgirl and Pantherwoman were talking about.
For the third time J-Lou's hands covered her ruby-red lips and she stifled a gasp. Rachel Raven was the "nosy reporter" in question, the object of Foxgirl and Pantherwoman's discussion!
Dressed much like J-Lou, but having lost her hat, Rachel Raven, ace reporter, was bound in the same manner as Foxgirl and cleave-gagged, as the Caped Cutie had been before. That was bad enough, but in addition, a tight hangman's noose was around Rachel's neck and the long, taut, vertical rope stretched up to a hook on the end of a chain that in turn stretched up to the drum of an electric winch running in a track far overhead. Worse yet, Rachel was standing on a large block of ice! Her high-heels danced on the smooth surface, to the extent her ankle bonds would allow, but at least for the moment, she seemed to have firm footing. That said, the ice was melting!
"Let her go!" Foxgirl reiterated. "You'll never get away with this! Ultra Lady will save us!"
Pantherwoman made a contemptuous gesture. The gorilla returned the crumpled cloth to Foxgirl's mouth, then restored the cleave-gag, pulling the knot even tighter than before.
"I'm afraid Ultra Lady has problems of her own," Pantherwoman purred, "and they're about to get worse."
Two more gorillas shambled forward from the darkness in the back of the warehouse, dragging the limp form of a third prisoner between them. They entered the light—and J-Lou covered yet another gasp of dismay!
The gorillas' limp prisoner was Ultra Lady, herself!
Formerly the diminutive and mild-mannered Dr. Cynthia Wobble, Professor of Advanced Theoretical Home Economics at Myskatonic Women's College, she had the misfortune to be bitten by a radioactive pygmy mouse, and was transformed into the equally diminutive but incredibly strong Ultra Lady, the Pixie of Power!
Her world famous costume consisted of red knee-boots with a white stripe up the front—nude pantyhose, somehow magically reinforced, as they never laddered—French-cut, blue panties spangled with silver, five-pointed stars—her famous metallic corset, the Golden Girdle—the red bandeau-top with embroidered, metallic gold eagles covering her firm, generous breasts—the pair of chrome-silver, adamantium alloy bracers covering her forearms, nearly from wrists to elbows—and finally, the silver tiara with a gleaming ruby in the shape of a five-pointed star that graced her forehead. She was unconscious, but one of the gorillas grabbed a handful of her short brown hair and lifted her lolling head, revealing her beautiful face. Yes, the prisoner was Ultra Lady!
"No one will be coming to your rescue, Foxgirl," Pantherwoman said. "And the same goes for Miss Raven." She pointed a clawed finger towards Ultra Lady. "You know what to do," she purred, and her hirsute minions surged forward.
J-Lou watched in horror as the apes used steel chain to restrain Ultra Lady, binding her crossed wrist behind her back and winding chain around her short, firm, fit body from her tan, bare shoulders to her booted ankles. They then used a welding rig to close numerous open links, joining the chains at several points and making the steel shroud one inescapable web. This should have given the captive severe burns, of course, but Ultra Lady and her costume were not only super strong, but very nearly indestructible.
Next, the gorillas supporting Foxgirl carried the Caped Cutie forward and held her face-to-face and boob-to-boob with the Pixie of Power. More chain was used to bind the prisoners together, the apes pulling the steel links tight enough to make the captives' flesh bulge between the shining, clinking and clattering bands. The welding rig was used, again, but always against Ultra Lady's body and never against Foxgirl. The final result was a tightly, inescapably chained bundle of costumed heroines. Ultra Lady and Foxgirl were upright (in every sense of the word) but could barely squirm. To be precise, Foxgirl could barely squirm, and Ultra Lady was about to discover she could barely squirm.
Pantherwoman snapped a vial between her gloved fingers and waved it under Ultra Lady's button nose. The nose in question crinkled, her nostrils flared, and Ultra Lady's brown eyes popped open.
"Pantherwoman!" Ultra Lady gasped, glaring at her costumed nemesis. She squirmed and fought her steel bonds.
"Careful, Ultra Lady," Pantherwoman chuckled. "If you use your incredible strength to break your chains, you'll break poor Foxgirl's back, maybe even crush her completely."
Ultra Woman focused on the gagged redhead to whom she was so intimately chained. "Kiera McFiddle?" Ultra Lady gasped. "You're Foxgirl?"
J-Lou was glad to know she wasn't the only Gotham player who didn't know Kiera was a costumed crimefighter, but at the moment, that was just about the only thing she was glad about.
"You'll never get away with this!" Ultra Lady muttered.
"Oh, but I will," Pantherwoman purred. She gestured and a gorilla popped a steel ball into Ultra Lady's mouth, then welded its attached chain together at the nape of her neck. The shining ball clenched in her teeth and the chain dimpling her tan skin, Ultra Lady glared at Pantherwoman.
Meanwhile, four gorillas dragged over a large steel dustbin, the kind of heavy container used to consolidate an entire building's trashcans so their contents could be hauled away more easily. The gorillas lifted the chained captives and positioned them in the center of the dustbin, deployed a web of taut chains to keep them there, then welded the chains to the pad-eyes in the sides of the bin. As the welding was accomplished, gorillas began carrying sixty-pound bags of white powder to the bin and dumping them inside.
Pantherwoman, Rachel (perched atop her melting ice block), and J-Lou (cowering behind the wooden railing in the upper warehouse) watched as bag after bag was dumped. The white powder crept across the floor of the bin, reached the chained captives' booted feet, then began creeping up their helpless, bound and gagged bodies.
"That's not just any powder, ladies," Pantherwoman lectured. "It's a revolutionary new plasticine binding agent for mixing marine concrete. As it absorbs water and sets up solid, it expands about five to ten percent with terrrrrific force. Added to sand, gravel, and cement in minute quantities, it makes an ideal mix for seating pier pilings in the seabed. By itself, as now, it's perrrfect for crushing the life out of meddling do-gooders who just happen to be trapped inside a non-expanding metal bin."
Foxgirl squirmed in her bonds and mewled through her gag, but Ultra Lady stood perfectly still, glaring at Pantherwoman. Ultra Lady could have burst her chains with ease, but only at the cost of Foxgirl's life. The White Powder of Death continued climbing up the sides of the bin and their bodies as the gorillas continued dumping bags into their steel prison. The ape minions didn't stop until the powder filled the bin to the level of the costumed captives' shoulders. The Feline Felon had crafted an insidious deathtrap, and she wasn't finished.
A pair of gorillas wheeled over a framework of steel pipes, larger than the dustbin and about twenty feet in height. Suspended from the grid of pipes were a dozen large steel canisters. A long rubber hose traveled from canister to canister, then trailed away into the dark warehouse.
"The powder is hygroscopic," Pantherwoman lectured, "and would eventually suck enough moisture from the air to set up solid without any help; but that would take days or even weeks." Her smile turned even more evil. "I'm not that cruel." She made another gesture, a gorilla turned a valve, and the rubber hose began to rattle, shake, and sputter. "There are brass limiters in the line, one over each twenty-gallon canister," Panther Lady continued. "The canisters will slooowly fill until the water level reaches the weep-holes in the top of each canister. Then, the water will rain down on the powder, drop by drop, and the powder will start to expand and harden. Your deaths will come after many long hours of slow, ever-mounting agony."
Helpless in their rope and chain bonds, buried in dry powder with only their shoulders and gagged heads exposed, Ultra Lady and Foxgirl watched as Pantherwoman put back her cowled head and laughed with sadistic glee. At the same time, her ape minions began jumping up and down and hooting with cruel, animalistic pleasure.
I think that's my cue, J-Lou decided. Time to go for the cops. She eased back from the railing, took a couple of slow, silent steps back, spun on her high-heels—and ran smack into the chest of a hulking gorilla dressed in a double-breasted suit and fedora, like his fellows below. J-Lou blinked in surprise. "Uh, nice tie," she said with a smile. The ape looked down at the tie in question, and J-Lou ducked under his arms. He grabbed after her, but missed.
J-Lou sprinted several steps, accelerating towards the very distant warehouse door and the safety of the bustling waterfront street beyond—and ran smack into another ape! This one was prepared. He wrapped an arm around the diminutive reporter's thrashing arms and wiggling body and pressed a giant hand against her red lips and lower face in a tight hand-gag.
Her eyes wide in distress and her high-heeled feet kicking and flailing in midair, J-Lou was carried towards a set of wooden stairs that led down to the larger warehouse below, and Pantherwoman!
Pantherwoman watched her minion approach with the struggling J-Lou. "Another pesky snoop," she sighed. She waved a gloved hand and the ape released J-Lou's mouth. "And you would be?"
"J-Lou Goodbody of the Gotham Globe," the cub reporter reported, then cocked her head to the side, lifted her chin, and glared up at her gorilla captor. "Get your hairy paws off me, banana breath!" she sputtered, then focused her furious frown on Pantherwoman. "The police will be here at any moment," she lied. "I rang them up before entering."
"Blimey, a Limey," Pantherwoman chuckled, then gently caressed the side of J-Lou's face with the claw at the tip of her right index finger. The talon harmlessly dimpled the tan skin of the obviously frightened but nonetheless brave little reporter. "It's impolite to lie to one's captors, Miss Goodbody," Pantherwoman purred. "Don't you have something else you'd like to tell me?"
J-Lou frowned. "Uh... not at the moment."
Panther woman smiled. "Are you sure? You must be new at this."
"Oh," J-Lou muttered under her breath, then cleared her throat and mustered her best defiant stare. "You'll never get away with this!" she proclaimed.
"There we go," Pantherwoman chuckled, then snapped her fingers. "Bonzo!"
One of the apes took a shambling step forward.
"I assume this place has a carpentry shop for crating cargo?" Pantherwoman inquired.
Bonzo nodded and grunted in the affirmative.
"With a buzz saw for cutting wood?"
Bonzo nodded and grunted, again.
"With a looong conveyer belt to slowly, automatically deliver lumber to the spinning blade?"
This time Bonzo pursed his ape-lips and shook his head.
"Of course not," Pantherwoman sighed. "How about a drill press with an automatic timer?"
Bonzo shook his head, again.
"A belt-sander with a timer?"
Bonzo shook his head.
Pantherwoman waved a hand. "Scratch all that." She flexed her claws. "Metaphorically. Who designs power tools with timers?" She indicated J-Lou with a bored wave. "I suppose we'll have to take her with us, back to the lair. That will give me time to think of something... special."
Gorillas with coils of rope and neatly folded handkerchiefs were shambling forward, towards J-Lou and the ape still holding her in his hairy but smartly dressed embrace, when suddenly—
"I'm afraid not, Pantherwoman!" The voice was female, alto, and eerie, and echoed through the dark warehouse. "The little cub is mine."
"The Shade!" Pantherwoman gasped, and her minions panted and shuffled nervously.
A beautiful woman stepped from the shadows. She was wearing a long, elegant, strapless gown in a shimmering shade of red that more or less matched J-Lou's lipstick. White opera gloves clad her fingers, hands, and arms, and gleaming, diamond encrusted cuff bracelets graced both wrists. A necklace with even more diamonds, some of them quite large, was around her swan-like neck. Her short, very dark hair was cut in a stylish bob of ringlet curls, and her stunning beauty was expertly enhanced by subtle makeup. And her eyes—her beautiful, brown eyes—
J-Lou could stare into those eyes forever, and knew she would follow any command given by the gorgeous vision in red!
"Margo von Zalamander!" Pantherwoman hissed. "Why does The Shade want to rain on my parade?"
J-Lou blinked in surprise. Margo von Zalamander was Gotham's wealthiest and most beautiful and popular socialite and philanthrophist, while The Shade was perhaps the most mysterious figure on the crime and crime-fighting scene. The Shade had the power to cloud the minds of evildoers and cops, alike. Some said she was Gotham's Lord Nelson of Crime, responsible for a great deal of the vice and law-breaking that plagued the city (and made living and reporting there so very entertaining). Others said she was a force for good, but with an agenda known only to herself. Margo and The Shade are one in the same? This was a night of revelations—and deadly peril!
"You've had your fun," Margo purred, "now take your friends and go."
Panther woman scowled and shook with anger, but turned and stomped away, as ordered. Her booted heels tapped on the concrete. The sound faded into the distance, but continued for several seconds after her shapely form had been swallowed by the darkness.
Meanwhile, the apes were staring at Margo with... love?
J-Lou was amazed, and a little creeped-out. The groveling adoration on the gorillas' faces was unmistakable, and the object of said adoration was undeniably Margo von Zalamander. Creepy!
"Shoo," Margo chuckled, and the apes sighed in disappointment and shambled after Pantherwomen.
J-Lou's gorilla captor had released her before departing, and she'd landed on her butt and the floor in a graceless, unladylike jumble of limbs. Margo directed the literally mesmerizing power of her smile at J-Lou, stepped forward, and helped her to her feet. "Careful Little One," she purred.
The cub reporter stared up at her tall, beautiful savior in open worship. "T-thank you," she sighed.
"Let's go," Margo said, took J-Lou's hand, and led her away.
J-Lou took several steps, then frowned and skidded to a halt.
Margo's smile broadened. "Problem?"
J-Lou gestured towards Ultra Lady, Foxgirl, and Rachel. "W-what about them?"
"The powder in that dustbin won't even begin to set for at least three hours," Margo assured J-Lou, "and the ice under Miss Raven's feet will last at least four. The police will rescue your friends long before they're in any real danger. I'll call Commissioner Dimwitte once we reach my penthouse lair. Don't let me forget. Your concern is most touching, and the strength of will you've demonstrated by overcoming my control, however briefly, is very impressive."
J-Lou blinked, shyly. "W-what are you going to do with me?" she whispered.
"Well," Margo replied, "first I'm going to see what you look like out of those street clothes, and whatever lingerie you're wearing underneath. Then, we'll share a nice long bath, and get to know one another. Afterwards, I'll lock you in chains and a cage so I can get my beauty sleep without you wandering off. And when I wake, we'll get to know one another even better."
"Don't worry, Little One," Margo chuckled. "My chains are comfortable and my cage large, with a padded floor as soft as any mattress." Her smile turned coy. "Of course, if you hurry you might still be able to catch up to Pantherwoman. Or would you rather come home with me?"
J-Lou nodded, solemnly, and her dimpled smile returned. "Okay."
Margo led her new acquisition away, and the pair faded into the darkness, following in the path of Pantherwoman and her minions. As they disappeared, Margo's voice echoed faintly through the warehouse. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Back in the Dustbin of Doom, Ultra Lady blinked in confusion. What just happened? she wondered. Where did Pantherwoman go? She focused on Rachel Raven, and the bound and gagged reporter seemed equally confused. Ultra Lady turned her gagged head to look at her intimately chained fellow captive, and her brown eyes popped wide in amazement.
Kiera McFiddle is Foxgirl?
Janice stretched her nude, brown body, rustling the rumpled sheets of her bed. She heaved a contented yawn and smiled at the giant, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across the bedroom. It was Friday night, nearly midnight. The week's work—hour upon hour of data analysis and at least one SMAT session for each team member—was over. Tomorrow, Rachel and Kiera were taking her on a tour of the Lewis & Clark campus, and Sunday, the entire team and several of Cynthia's friends would enjoy a backyard barbeque at her bungalow. But tonight...
"Sally," Janice said, "thanks again for the entertainment, and for letting me in on the youngsters' secret."
"As a student of the mind," Sally's disembodied voice answered, "I know how valuable it is for you to be able to correlate observations of emotional interplay with events."
The entertainment and secret in question were twofold:
(1) A very nude Dr. Rachel Haines was bound, gagged, and stretched full-length, diagonally across Kiera's bed. Her arms were raised above her head, her legs together, and her wrists and ankles buckled in suspension-cuffs of soft, gleaming, black leather with a pebbled finish. The cuffs, in turn, were secured to taut, gleaming steel chains then stretched out of sight to the upper and lower frame of the bed. Rachel's gag was what Sally called a "Hellraiser-III Special." Broad bands of the same soft, pliant leather as the cuffs, covered and pressed against Rachel's mouth, framed her nose, and encircled her forehead. Also, a black leather thong stretched across her throat, under her chin, and back to the nape of her neck, further anchoring the tight harness. The leather alone would have been only a semi-effective silencer, but the panties Kiera had worn the entire day had been stuffed in Rachel's mouth before the harness was applied.
(2) Dr. Kiera McFadden, herself, also nude, was using a vibrator to tease, tickle, and caress Janice's thighs, lower tummy, and pussy. The vibrator was a cordless wand about the size and shape of an electric toothbrush, and Kiera seemed to know just what to do with it.
Rachel moaned through her gag and squirmed and twisted her taut, glistening body. Her gray-green eyes were wide, desperate, and locked with the blue-green eyes of her smiling, ginger-haired "torturer." Rachel's breasts were somewhat flattened by her stretched pose, but her nipples were erect and pointing. Her smooth, flawless, tan skin was beaded with sweat.
Kiera's nipples were also erect, but her freckled skin was not sweaty. She was the one that had been dishing out vibratory stimuli for the past hour, not the one on the receiving end.
"Last night, all they did was spoon and cuddle," Janice noted, "but tonight Kiera is sexually frustrating poor Rachel to within an inch of her bound and gagged life. They're taking things rather fast, don't you think?"
"It didn't take much for Kiera to talk Rachel into trying out a few of my toys," Sally chuckled. "Of course, little does Dr. McFadden suspect the full extent of the experience Dr. Haines has with my ever-growing collection of restraints, applied by my robot minions, of course."
"Well," Janice responded, "the panties surprised me."
"In for a penny, in for the panties," Sally quipped. "And in other semi-appropriate platitudes, still waters run deep. Kiera hasn't had a real opportunity to exercise her inner submissive since her undergraduate days."
Janice smiled. "Are you suggesting that Freckles is playing the cruel dominatrix in the hope that Rachel will return the favor?"
"You have a keen grasp of the obvious, Doctor," Sally purred.
Janice watched Kiera tease her helpless, naked, and desperately struggling colleague. Rachel was beautiful. They were both beautiful.
"You know," Sally said quietly, "I know how to enhance your viewing pleasure even further."
"I'm not putting on my VRD glasses," Janice chuckled. "The sight of those two in three dimensional hi-definition might overload my entire subcortex."
"I'm suggesting something else," Sally responded. "In less than five minutes I can summon robots and have you spreadeagled on your bed in a nice, taut 'X,' silenced in the same manner as Dr. Haines, the angle of the bed adjusted for optimal viewing, and one of my vibrating spider-bots between your legs doing to you what Kiera is doing to Rachel. It would be better than buttered popcorn, and without the calories."
Onscreen, Rachel's struggles were getting even more desperate, and she was screaming through her gag. Obviously, an orgasm—or a mind-blowing multiple orgasm—was imminent. Also, the smile curling Kiera's coral lips had become truly evil.
"Not tonight, Sally," Janice sighed. "Besides, you know I've always believed it's better to give than to receive."
"Very well, Doctor," Sally sighed. "Perhaps another time."