by Van ©2013
		Chapter 12

Olivieri's was famous (locally).  It was a rambling, semi-historical Victorian house converted to a restaurant.  The exterior was painted in a dozen or so subdued colors.  The old girl was a "Painted Lady."  The ground floor was given over to the large kitchen and an even larger main dining room.  The second floor was a maze of much smaller spaces for private dining.

The chef was also famous (locally).  His cuisine was supposed to be the best and most authentic Rustic Italian this side of Napoli.  The problem was, Olivieri's was pricey.  It was the sort of place a couple of coeds would only see the inside of for parental visits, or if a faculty member was picking up the tab.  Such was the case this morning.

There was a breakfast menu, worth mentioning only because the Italian morning meal usually consists of bread and coffee, Italian coffee.  Stunningly delicious food was reserved for later in the day... and far into the night.  Olivieri's bowed to American convention and offered breakfast in the form of omelets, frittatas, "scrambles," and killer crepês.

Kim, Clem, and Gwen were in one of the cozy, upstairs rooms and had just placed their orders.  Kim was wearing her sundress, of course, and the BFF's were in their clothes from yesterday—before the start of the Great Phantom Adventure.

"I'm not speaking to you," Gwen huffed, addressing Clem.

"All I said was pass the half-and-half," Clem answered.

"I don't care," Gwen huffed.  She noticed Kim's amused, quizzical expression and explained.  "You gave her the key to my mask when you unlocked her, uh..."

"Medical restraints," Kim supplied.

"Yeah, medical restraints," Gwen muttered.  "You gave her the key while I was still asleep, right?"  Kim nodded and Gwen glared at Clem.  "She made me grope my way to the bathroom—"

"I helped," Clem objected.

"Shut up!" Gwen barked.  "She 'helped' me to the bathroom, without unlocking the mask.  I took a leak, then sat on the toilet while she took a shower.  She said she was gonna have to give me a sponge bath when she was finished, so we wouldn't ruin the mask.  Only after she'd toweled herself dry and was half-dressed did she unlock the damn mask."  She handed the tiny pitcher of half-and-half to her traitorous BFF, but continued to glare.

"You have to admit it was a good prank," Clem purred.

"Shut.  Up."  Gwen shifted her gaze to Kim.  "You see what I have to put up with?"

Kim couldn't help but smile.  Adorable.  "Gwendoline, you have to admit it was a good prank—simple, uncomplicated, and harmless."

"I still don't have to talk to her," Gwen huffed.

"Which is probably a good idea," Kim chuckled.  "With the waitress coming and going—"

As if on cue, the door opened and the waitress arrived with a basket of mini-muffins and pastries, as well as a second, smaller basket full of tiny tubs of jelly, jam, butter, and honey.  She smiled and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

"You should discuss last night's events when you get back to your apartment," Kim continued.

"If I ever decide to talk to her again," Gwen muttered.

Kim smiled and selected a muffin from the basket.  Such a charming pair.  "Anyway, in a day or two, when you feel like it, come to my office and we'll talk.  Now, I'd like to tell you about an opportunity for the fall quarter.  As you know, University regulations require Freshmen not living at home to live in the dorm.  However, as Sophomores you'll be able to move off-campus and into a private apartment, Sorority house, or scholarship hostel."

Clem frowned.  "Scholarship hostel?"

Before answering Kim took a bite of muffin, chewed and swallowed, then washed it down with a sip of coffee.  "Scholarship hostels are low-cost or free accommodations, depending on the students' circumstances.  The particular house I have in mind is Rook House.  It's a joint venture of La Roque International and the Salamandras Corporation."

"La Roque?" Gwen frowned.  "The high-class fashion label?"

"The same," Kim confirmed.  "The house has four beds, allocated to scholarship students at the discretion of the sponsors.  La Roque already has two sophomores booked, and I'd like you to consider taking the other two beds."

Gwen focused on her BFF.  "You're the scholarship student," Gwen observed, "which I'd tell you if I was talking to you."

Kim smiled.  "Miss Percy, you racked up a 3.94 GPA your freshman year. You qualify for the Lewis & Clark Undergraduate Honors Program, and with my recommendation, I'm sure you'll be accepted.  Honors students may live in Rook House, and in your case, the cost will be somewhat less than the dorm.  Your parents should be pleased."  She shifted her smile to Clem.  "You, of course, are already in."

Clem shook her head.  "Not without the twerp."

Gwen smiled at Clem.  "Oh, that's sweet... which I'd tell you if I was speaking to you."

"It's a done deal for both of you," Kim chuckled, "if you accept.  You should take a look at Rook House first, of course.  Now..."  She sipped her coffee, again.  "Regarding recent events, I'd like you to discuss what happened, then write a paper on your observations, conclusions, and personal reactions.  Then, I want you to read Inga's dissertation and write another paper, integrating her ideas.  I assure you all of this will be kept in the strictest confidence, so please be totally candid."

"Two papers?" Gwen huffed.  "It's summer break."

"Two credits," Kim chuckled.  "As Honors students you qualify for ENG 299, 'Special Topics in Language and Literature.'  I'll sign you up tomorrow, retroactively.  You can telecommute from Gwen's house after the inventory of Nicholson Hall is complete."

"Two papers for two sophomore credits is a bargain," Clem observed.  "We'll be writing two short stories a week when we take Creative Writing."

"Yes, you're right," Gwen sighed, then frowned at her BFF.  "Which I'd tell you if I was speaking to you."

Kim smiled.  So very adorable.  "All of this remains voluntary," she said.

"Like yesterday," Clem huffed.

"This is the start of a long, creative journey, ladies," Kim said.  "We'll be better able to explore the possibilities if and when you accept your assignments... and the two credits."

"It still seems like a sweet deal," Clem muttered, "too sweet."

Kim smiled.  "You haven't seen Inga's dissertation."  She sipped her coffee.  "You'll be earning those two credits."

SEVERAL DAYS LATER

---

Cynthia bounded up the front steps of Kim's house and rang the doorbell.  She glanced at her watch as she waited for Kim to answer and noted it was nearly five P.M.  She was about to ring the bell again when she heard Kim's voice calling from inside.

"It's not locked!"

Cynthia opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and pulled it closed behind her.  The lock engaged with a solid click and the security system touch-screen panel to the portal's left beeped and displayed the words "LOCKED" and "ARMED."

"I'm in the living room!" Kim called.

Cynthia hung her purse from an entryway coat-hook, then started forward.  "Okay, what's so mysterious and important?" she muttered.  "Why do I have to 'drop everything' and—"  Cynthia skidded to a halt and her eyes popped wide.

Two women were sprawled on Kim's furniture.  Tori Ballantine was in one of the easy chairs, and smiling from the couch was—

"Lillian!" Cynthia gasped.

Yes, the second woman was Lillian Steele, Salamandras International "Security Specialist" and Cynthia's longtime acquaintance.  She was dressed in one of her signature leather outfits: knee-boots, skintight pants, and a long-sleeve, midriff-baring top with a generous décolletage that laced in front, all in black.  [Authors note: see Rage Against the Machine and Bad Robot! for more about Lillian.]

"Close your mouth, Little Mouse," Lillian purred.  "You'll catch a fly."

Tori was in her campus cop uniform, but her weapons belt was in a tangled heap on the floor next to her chair.  "Hello, Little Mouse," she chuckled.  "I heard the others call you that, but I didn't know Lil was the first to come up with it 'til she told me."

"We've been talking while we waited for you to waltz into Tori's trap," Lillian explained.

Cynthia noted several sets of clothing scattered on the living room floor: shoes, skirts, slacks, blouses, and undies.  "Where's Kim?" she demanded.

"I'm afraid Dr. Pappas is tied up at the moment," Tori purred.  "Is there something I can do for you?  ...or to you?"

"B-but I just heard her voice," Cynthia stammered.

Sigourney Weaver's disembodied voice provided the answer.  "That would be my doing, Dr. Webbel."  The voice continued, but now in Kim Pappas' dulcet tones.  "Come in, Cynthia!  I'm in the living room!  Don't worry!  There's nothing's to worry about!  It's not like you're walking into an ambush or anything!"

"Et tu, Sally?" Cynthia huffed, then she frowned.  "Wait, you haven't revealed yourself to Kim, have you?"

"As far as Dr. Pappas is aware, I'm Sally, her faithful but not terribly bright smart-house avatar," Sigourney's voice replied, " helpful, but no more than a cleverly programmed interface."  Nothing could be further from the truth, of course.  "Sally" was a true artificial intelligence, what might be called a "hive-mind" distributed across the internet.  Her intellect might be described as genius, but that term was inadequate.  In truth, the width and breath of Sally's complex cognitive matrix was far more.  She also had a well-developed sense of humor, something with which Cynthia was quite familiar and found to be utterly fascinating.

"What have you done with her?" Cynthia demanded, glaring at Tori.

"I assume you mean Kim," Tori smiled.  "Actually, the question is what have I done with them, but first things first.  Strip."  Tori indicated the scattered clothing.  "Add to the pile."

"No!" Cynthia gasped.

"Yes!" Tori and Lillian said in unison, then exchanged an evil smile.

"We'll make you, if you insist," Lillian said.  "That's why I'm here.  Tori explained the despicable things your Band of Braniacs did to her, so I agreed to help expedite her response.  I know Tori can handle any of you on her own without breaking a sweat, but this way I get to play, too."

Cynthia frowned.  "Wait... you, plural?  Who else is..."  She swallowed nervously.  "Oh."

"You figured it out," Tori chuckled.  "Clever girl.  Now, strip."

"To coin a phrase," Lillian added, "resistance is futile."

Cynthia didn't have any real choice.  Tori or Lillian could manhandle her easily, and both had proved it on previous occasions, especially Lillian.  Together...  Her hands went to the top button of her blouse and she pulled it open.  Her fingers were trembling, but it was more anticipation than terror.  Button followed button until the blouse was open and she could pull it from her shoulders.  She tossed it away.  Her skirt was next.  She unbuttoned and unzipped the side closure, then pulled it down and stepped free.  Next came her sandals.  She unbuckled and kicked them off, one by one, then glared at her audience, her left arm across her bra-clad breasts and her right hand shielding the front crotch of her panties.

"I love Little Mouse skin this time of year," Tori chuckled.

"The all-over tan," Lillian agreed.

Cynthia considered pointing out the gross unfairness of being treated like the other members of Inga's committee—however they were actually being treated.  After all, she'd spent the night of the party naked, bound, and gagged.  She'd been a helpless bystander while they nipple-stretched, lashed, and otherwise tortured poor Tori.  The problem was...  neither Tori nor Lillian needed an actual excuse to bind, boink, and otherwise "entertain" poor, innocent Cynthia Webbel, especially Lillian.  Also, and it was no small thing, if she wasn't included in Tori's revenge, the others might decide it gave them an excuse for counter-revenge on her.  Cynthia chewed her lower lip as she pondered the issue.  It's not like I have a solid case, and nobody likes a whiner.  Best keep quiet.  And I'll probably have something real to whine about soon enough.

"Well?" Tori said.  "How can it be an all-over tan if you aren't in the all-together?  Continue."

Cynthia sighed, then reached behind her back, released the clasp of her bra, shrugged out of the straps, and tossed it aside.  She then hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties, pulled them down, stepped free, and they joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.  Her left arm went back across her breasts and her right hand over her crotch.

Tori stood and stepped behind the diminutive, naked scientist.  With her came a generous coil of Kim's 550 Paracord.  She pulled Cynthia's unresisting hands behind her back and began binding her upper arms and torso in a box-tie.  Doubled bands of cord passed above and below her breasts, yoked her shoulders, and cinched the bindings between her arms and body.  Next, Cynthia's wrists were crossed and lashed to the harness, pulling her arms up into a semi-reverse-prayer.  It was the less comfortable version of the basic technique, but Tori knew that Cynthia's fit, yoga-trained body could handle it.  The final knots were tied at the nape of her neck.

"All right then." Tori purred.  She spun Cynthia around, gazed into her worried, brown eyes... then planted a kiss on her bow lips.  "Off we go."  And with that she turned and walked towards the kitchen.

Cynthia stared after her in surprise.  "Huh?"

Lillian climbed to her booted feet and sauntered to Cynthia.  "Go, Little Mouse," she chuckled, gesturing towards Tori's disappearing back.  "Don't worry.  I'll be close behind, ready to grab you if you try and scamper for the nearest mouse hole."

"Yeah, right," Cynthia muttered.  With Sally-the-traitorous-AI in complete control of Kim's house, it was a prison, a place from which she couldn't escape even if she wasn't naked and bound.  She sighed and followed Tori.

By the time Cynthia reached the kitchen, Tori was about to start down the stairs to the basement.  No surprise there, Cynthia thought, and heaved another sigh.

Lillian was right behind her.  "Be brave, Little Mouse," she whispered in Cynthia's right ear.

"Shut up," Cynthia huffed, then followed Tori down the stairs.  She wasn't worried about offending Lillian Steele.  She wasn't sure it was possible to offend Lillian Steele.  She was worried about what she was about to find in the basement, and it turned out she had good reason.  "No!" Cynthia gasped.

"Yes," Tori chuckled in response.

The four remaining members of Inga's dissertation committee were all present.  They were naked and their upper bodies were box-tied in the same manner as Cynthia and with the same 550 Paracord.  In addition, they were bound with cord at the knees, ankles, and big toes.  Kim and Ellen were standing on either side of one of the basement's six-inch diameter steel support columns with their tummies and sternums pressed against the rounded steel and held there by tight layers of clear plastic film wrapped around their bound arms and upper bodies, from shoulders to waist, as well as the column itself.  Bibi and Megan shared another column, and were pressed and wrapped against its steel in the same manner.

"This is interesting," Tori purred, "and the 'Dexter-wrap' obscures some of the detail, so allow me to explain."  She walked to Kim and Ellen and Cynthia followed.

Her fellow academics were tape-gagged with "SkinTape" the moniker they'd finally agreed upon for Sally's invisible tape, and their exposed skin was glowing, as in shining with a film of sweat.  The temperature in the basement was elevated, as it had been the day and night of the party.  On close inspection, Cynthia could see that strips of SkinTape had been plastered over their lips, then a couple of tight layers taken to encircle their heads, under their long, tousled hair, except in the case of Bibi, of course, whose blond locks were cropped short.

Tori smiled at Cynthia.  "In the course of the last week I masturbated while wearing each of four pairs of panties.  Either that or I wore them for my daily exercise—extended runs, weight training, power yoga, whatever—and for one pair I believe I actually did both.  Anyway, by the time they were 'conditioned,' they made for seriously ripe gobstoppers, as I'm sure your colleagues would agree, if the gobstoppers in question weren't stuffed in their mouths and their lips taped shut."

Cynthia glared at Tori.  Their captor's self-satisfied, gloating grin was infuriating.

"Also," Tori continued, poking the bulging side of Kim's plastic-wrapped right breast with an index finger, "if you gaze through the plastic you might be able to make out something of the tiny clamps joining the professors nipple-to-nipple.  They're nasty little numbers, cage-clamps with tiny teeth that evenly and tightly grip the entire nipple, like a little grab-claw.  The clamps are joined by light cord with spring-loaded barrel clamps, so they can be tightened until either the ends of the clamps touch or the cord is taut, depending on the professorial endowments."

"She means nipple-stretching, fiddle-string taut, of course" Lillian added.

Cynthia gazed into Kim's eyes... then Ellen's.  Her friends didn't seem to be suffering actual pain, but they certainly weren't happy.  She turned and looked at Megan and Bibi, then back to Tori.

"Yes, it's the same with the Swede and the Fox," Tori confirmed.  "Dr. Pappas has been standing her post since early morning and Dr. Chen joined her mid-morning.  Dr. Knudsen reported for duty a little past noon, and Dr. Whelan around three."  She turned and strolled towards the same table that had been there during the party.  Cynthia padded after her, her eyes wide with horror (and/or excitement) and her heart hammering.

Arrayed on the table's black tablecloth were the same instruments of torture: flogger, riding crop, paddles, etc.  In addition, there were five small cardboard boxes.  Four of the boxes had been opened and except for their foam padding were now empty.  Tori opened the fifth and held it so Cynthia could see the contents.

Cynthia swallowed, nervously.  Nestled in foam inserts were a pair of chrome-silver, egg-shaped objects, one the size of a small hen's egg, and the other something that might have been laid by a large goose.  She looked up at Tori.  "Smart Eggs?" she whispered.

"Smart Eggs," Tori confirmed, "shape-shifting vibrators with Wi-Fi control and 100-hour battery life."  The Smart Egg was another of Sally's inventions.  Once inserted in the orifice of choice, they molded themselves to the shape of the "wearer," making them impossible to expel.  "This set is for you," Tori continued.  "Can you guess where we might find the other four?"  She leaned close and whispered in Cynthia's right ear.  "Your faculty colleagues think they're pre-programmed, but they're controlled by Sally, of course.  She has hidden biometric sensors planted throughout the house, and you know how good she is at frustration-torture, right?"

Cynthia was staring at the eggs.  "I know," she whispered, then glared at Tori.  "What have you been doing to them?"

"Oh, you want a demonstration," Tori chuckled, then lifted an iPad from the table.  She made a show of tapping and swiping the screen, then leaned close to Cynthia, again.  "This is just for show, of course, so the others will think the eggs are controlled by an app, and not Sally."  She tapped the screen a final time.

Bibi flinched in her bonds, her eyes popped wide, and she mewled through her gag.  Megan flinched as well, no doubt in response to the tug on her nipples as her fellow prisoner tried to move.  Bibi was doing her best to keep still, but was obviously finding it quite difficult.  The distance was too far to hear the buzz of the eggs nestled in her pussy and anus, but obviously something was happening.

"That doesn't look like frustration," Cynthia muttered.

"I quite agree," Tori purred.  "It looks more like modulated electrical shocks interlaced with waves of vibration.  Isn't she beautiful?"

Cynthia stared at the archeologist in horror.  Okay, not "horror," but if asked, that's what she'd go with.  She certainly wouldn't say "lustful appreciation" or that Bibi's smooth, tan, glistening skin and her futile efforts to control her exquisite, helpless body were making her hot.  That was for sure.  "That's enough," she huffed.

"Wait," Tori responded.  "I think the shocks are over and now it's all pleasure.  Sally has been randomly entertaining the ladies at infrequent intervals all day, with an actual orgasm thrown in every hour or two.  It would appear to be Bibi's turn."

Cynthia was mesmerized.  Bibi was a beauty under any circumstances, but like this...  She realized Tori had restored the lid to the box and tossed it to Lillian.  She then unbuttoned and removed her uniform blouse, followed by her bra.  "Well, might as well get this show on the road," she said as she stretched her upper body.  "I'll be busy flogging miscellaneous buttocks and thighs, so why don't you and Lillian go upstairs and take a load off?"

Cynthia's answer wasn't exactly profound.  "Huh?"

"I said, you and Lillian should go upstairs," Tori chuckled.  "I'm going to be a while."  She picked up the flogger and gave it a flip.  Its many tails rattled and shook as they came together.  "Also, I owe the Swede a little special attention with the Wartenberg Wheel."

"Tori, please," Cynthia whispered.

Lillian stepped forward and whispered in Cynthia's ear.  "Now, now, Little Mouse.  Don't ruin Tori's big gloating scene with pathetic begging.  Just be glad you aren't wrapped to one of the other columns, waiting for your turn to have your tushie flogged."

Tori smiled at Cynthia as she continued stretching.  "You lost the lottery the night of the party," she purred, "so you might say you won the lottery tonight.  You get to play with Lillian while I play with the gloating bitches who played with me."

Cynthia sighed and gazed at her fellow committee members.  They were staring at Tori with wide, anxious eyes.  They might not have heard much, if any, of the conversation at the table, but it was clear what was coming.

Lillian took a businesslike grip of Cynthia's hair and she complained.  "Ow!"

"Let's go, Little Mouse," Lillian chuckled, than started for the stairs with her prisoner in hand.  "If you need us, we'll be sweating-up Professor Pappas' sheets."

"Lillian, that hurts," Cynthia whined.

"Don't be a baby," Lillian purred.

Those remaining in the basement watched Lillian and her prisoner climb the stairs.  The door to the kitchen closed, and they were gone.

Tori smiled and turned to face her captive audience.  "Now... Who goes first, the bitch who made me stand down here all day, the bitch who flogged me like an insubordinate sailor, or the bitches who finished the evening's entertainment?"  She flexed her shoulders one last time.  "Decisions, decisions."

"This is mean," Cynthia muttered as she was dragged—okay, led—down the hallway and towards the master bedroom.

"Did you expect her to tie them up and host a tea party?" Lillian chuckled.  "Or were you referring to my hair-claw technique?"

"Ow!" Cynthia complained.  Lillian had momentarily tightened her grip.  "Both."

"Over-the-top gloating is par for the course," Lillian continued, "you know that.  Your fellow professors will have their rumps flogged, and no doubt Bibi will come to regret using the Wartenberg Wheel to prick poor Tori's skin, but then it'll be over.  I believe Tori intends to order pizza in a couple of hours.  Then, things will settle into a nice, relaxed evening of predicament bondage and making out."  She released Cynthia's hair and opened the bedroom door.  "As for my handling, be a good Little Mouse and I won't have to spank you..  Oh, wait, the evening's young.  No promises."  She released her grip.

"Very funny," Cynthia huffed as she stomped into the bedroom.  From years of experience she was getting good at stomping in her bare feet while naked and bound and being led around by Lillian Steele, but it did make her breasts bounce excessively.

"On the bed," Lillian ordered.

Several coils of the same Paracord binding Cynthia's upper body were waiting on the taut bedspread.  At least it isn't the floor, Cynthia thought as she flopped onto the mattress.  Not yet, anyway.

With her usual fluid grace, competence, and economy of motion, Lillian proceeded to frog-tie Cynthia, binding each of her ankles to its respective upper thigh.  Soon, the diminutive captive was on her back, resting on her arms and rump with her head cushioned by a pair of pillows and her knees slightly spread.

"I assume you expect me to boink you 'til my tongue gives out," Cynthia huffed.

"Not immediately, no," Lillian purred.  She was walking towards Kim's closet, her leather-clad hips swinging seductively.  "I have other plans."  She disappeared inside.

Cynthia was surprised.  Lillian always expected (as in demanded) to be boinked.  Sometimes she did do a little boinking first, but afterwards it was always Cynthia's task to lick and suck and lick and suck—boink-boink-boink—lather-rinse-repeat.  "Other plans?"

"Don't sound so disappointed, Little Mouse," Lillian chuckled as she strolled back into the bedroom.  Swinging from her hand was one of Kim's gags.  This particular model was a combination panel and plug gag with a blunt, mouth-filling rubber cylinder pierced by a half-inch hole and attached to a face-hugging leather flap that secured with a broad strap at the nape of the wearer's neck and a much thinner strap that buckled under the chin.  The hole in the plug emerged through a steel ring in the panel.  "I know there's a dildo attachment for this thing around here someplace, but I can't find it.  I'll have to torture its whereabouts out of Kim at some point."

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Cynthia muttered.

"Oh, it'll be my pleasure, Little Mouse," Lillian purred, "literally."  She sat on the bed, presented the plug to Cynthia's pouting lips, and smiled.  Their eyes locked... then Cynthia opened her mouth and Lillian eased the plug inside.

Cynthia sighed as Lillian buckled the main strap—"Mrrrf!"—pulling the buckle tight until her cheeks bulged.  The plug was a mouthful, but not too bad.  The chin strap was next, forcing her to bite down on the rubber intruder.  They locked eyes again as Lillian straightened Cynthia's bangs with her fingers.  Her head cradled by Kim's pillows, her inescapable and expertly applied bonds as comfortable as such things could be, Cynthia heaved a sad sigh (and ignored the tiny little thrill throbbing between her legs).

Lillian opened the Smart Egg box and placed it next to her on the bed.  "Allrightiethen."  She lifted the smaller of the two eggs from its foam cavity.  "Relax if you can."  She leaned close and extended her hand towards her target.

Cynthia prepared herself.  She didn't attempt to close her legs and tried to relax, as ordered; however; she flinched when the egg touched her anus.  It was cold—okay, it was cool—and she couldn't help herself.  Lillian inserted the egg, applying gentle pressure to ease it past the sphincter.  Then—"Nrrr!"—Cynthia's eyes popped wide and she shivered in her bonds.  Once partway inside, the egg had changed shape and flowed the rest of the way.  The sensation was... unsettling.

"One down."  Lillian picked up the second, larger egg.  "And one to go."

The second insertion was easier, but equally quiver-inducing.  Cynthia relaxed in her bonds as Lillian restored the lid to the now empty box, placed it on the nightstand, and stood.  "Now," she announced, "I'm going back downstairs to Kim's Dungeon to watch the fun; but don't worry, Sally is recording everything and it'll be waiting on your DVR when you get home—whenever that will be.  I believe Tori's thinking of taking at least one of you home with her, so you might be a while."  She executed a graceful full-body stretch, then sauntered towards the bedroom door.

Cynthia frowned above her gag.  "Mrrpfh?"  She's abandoning me?  What a relief... and a disappointment.

Lillian opened the door, stepped through, then leaned back into the bedroom, doorknob in hand.  "Don't worry, though.  I will be back.  In the meantime..."  She eased the door closed and was gone.

Cynthia's frown remained.  In the meantime what?

The answer was immediate—"Mrrfh!"—and took two forms.  (1) The eggs nestled in her anus and pussy wiggled, squirmed, and vibrated, sending waves of intimate stimulation through some of her most sensitive (and favorite) nerve-endings.  And...  (2) The large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across the bedroom flashed to life, revealing the computer generated image of Sigourney Weaver; but Cynthia knew, of course, that it was really Sally.

"Hey, Cynthia," Sally grinned.

Cynthia glared at the TV as she squirmed on the bed.  She had long since succumbed to treating the avatar as a fellow human being.  Sally-as-Siggy could pass any version of the Turing Test with flying colors.  Real time interaction with the avatar was indistinguishable from interaction with a member of Homo sapiens by any method, and that included bi-synchronous, high-definition video-chatting.  As a specialist in the field, Cynthia was under no illusions regarding Sally's real-vs-simulated intelligence, and the avatar's ability to mimic normal human behavior was largely irrelevant to her work (their work), but it certainly made their interactions easier—and often quite entertaining.

Sally affected a pouting smile.  "Oh, don't be like that," she purred.  "You all knew Tori would get around to torturing you, collectively and/or individually, at some point.  This way Lillian and I also get to play."  Sally's smile widened.  "Are you listening to me, Cynthia?  You seem... distracted."

Cynthia's eyes popped wide.  "Mrrr!"  A strong and particularly effective series of pulses were rippling through her body.  Her heart was beating like crazy, she was panting through her gag, and she was beginning to sweat.  She continued fighting her bonds and wiggling and rolling on the bed.  Much more of this and she knew she would—  The vibrations stopped.  Damn.  So close.  She glared at the screen, continuing to pant.  So, she's in one of those moods.

Sally continued smiling her gloating, infuriating, friendly smile.  "Now, new topic: Clementine Ricci and Gwendoline Percy.  The girls may be Dr. Pappas' students, and not yours, but I know all of you are interested in helping nurture their development."  Her smile turned a little coy.  "That reminds me, I'm monitoring all of your students, graduate and undergraduate, for any who might share your interest in, shall we say, recreational restraint?  They'd have to be attractive and intellectually worthy of your personal attention, of course.  Anyway, I'm afraid I have no likely candidates for the position of Little Mouse Student Sidekick at this time, but I'll keep at it.  Perhaps you'd like something in a nice Mathematics or Neurobiology major?"  She shrugged.  "We'll discuss it when you're in a more talkative mood."

Cynthia favored the TV with her patented We-are-not-amused moue (gagged version).  The rubber plug in her mouth absorbed any objections and/or snappy retorts she might have otherwise wished to share.

"Back to Clem and Gwen," Sally continued.  "Allow me to bring you up to date on their relationship.  This was recorded shortly after Dr. Pappas took them out to breakfast the morning after the party.  Kim has already seen all of it, of course, and more."  Sally's image dissolved and was replaced by an overhead view of a darkened bedroom, and on the bed—

Clem still didn't know why she'd let Gwen talk her into it.  She was the one who indulged Gwen's "hobby" by tying her up.  Yet, here she was, naked and tied to her bed in their temporary apartment in a loose but inescapable spread-eagle.

Gwen was also naked, but she was not tied up, and was reclined against Clem's side in a languid sprawl.  It was much the same situation as the night before, in Dr. Pappas' guestroom.  The major difference was that Clem's bonds were not medical restraints but cotton rope.  The redhead had used the "Limb Loop" technique described in Kent's Complete Shibari, Volume 1 to give her wrists and ankles neat, non-compacting cuffs, the free ends of which were then tied to the four corners of the bed-frame, near the floor.  Obviously, the ditzy twerp had also been studying rope-craft in addition to her regular schoolwork.  Also like the night of the party, there was a blindfold, but it took the form of a neatly folded summer scarf instead of an elaborate and beautiful feathered mask, and it was robbing Clem of her sight, instead of Gwen.

Yes, it was a deep mystery why Clem had allowed herself to be bound by her BFF.  She'd have to give it some thought.  Perhaps she'd find an answer as she worked on the papers for Dr. Pappas.

"That's the whole story?" Gwen demanded.  Clem had been fulfilling her promise to relate her version of recent events.  "You spent the day dressed as Fifi the maid?"

Clem smiled.  "That's it."  She'd told how she'd returned to the Room of Requirement to find Gwen missing, had been "arrested" by Tori-what's-her-name, the campus cop, was "rescued" by Pappas, and "forced" into domestic service.

"Nobody did anything to you?" Gwen demanded.

"Being handcuffed, strapped down, and locked in chains is something," Clem muttered.

"No," Gwen continued, "nobody... touched you?"

"Oh."  Clem swallowed before answering.  "Dr. Chen grabbed my boob, once; but she was drunk and...  Anyway, that was it."

Gwen smiled, reached out, and gently squeezed Clem's left breast.  "Like this?"

"Gwen!" Clem gasped.  "Stop!"  The squeeze turned into a gentle massage.

"Inga also did a lot of that to me," Gwen purred.

"I said stop!" Clem huffed.

"Stop?  Are you sure?"

"Gwen!"  Clem was tugging on her bonds and squirming on the bed.  It was impossible to remain still.

"Why don't you make me stop?" Gwen suggested.  Now her fingers were teasing Clem's left nipple, and it was growing rigid and flushed in response.

"I can't stop you, you little twerp," Clem complained.

"Which is kinda the whole point of the rope," Gwen chuckled.  "It's grossly unfair that Inga showed me such a good time and all you got was to wear a costume and work."

"Gwen!"  As protests go, it was decidedly weak and halfhearted.  However, Clem did continue tugging on her wrists and ankles.

"Tell me again about the mouse," Gwen said.  She'd shifted her attention to Clem's right breast... and nipple.

"T-the one in the mask with the nipple clamps?"

"No, the one in the tuxedo twirling the flaming batons," Gwen chuckled.  "Of course the one in the mask."

Clem stopped squirming.  Gwen's hand had disappeared, so it was easier for her to talk.  "Well, to review, she was naked."

Gwen smiled.  "Check."

"Leather armbinder and collar."

"Check."

"Nipple-clamps with silver chains and dangling diamond pendants."

"Check."

"Mouse mask and harem-girl veil."

"Check."

"That's it."

Gwen heaved a disgusted sigh.  "Young?  Old?  Tall?  Short?  Details."

"I told you, she was short and cute."

"I believe you said killer bod and a nice rack," Gwen purred, then resumed her massage of Clem's slightly modest but undeniably nice rack.  "Or words to that effect."

"Ahhh..."  Clem resumed squirming.  "I-I don't know how old she was, exactly, but I don't think she was a student.  She had an all-over tan... and was brunette."

Gwen let her hand trail down to Clem's flat, quivering tummy.  "Let me know if you recognize her on campus."

"That'll be kinda hard with the mask and veil."

Gwen smiled.  "Maybe you'll see her killer bod, nice rack, and all-over tan in the gym."

"M-maybe."  Clem was finding conversation a challenge, once again.  "Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"Where is this going?"

Gwen's smile broadened.  "I was thinking of a little further south."  Her fingers nudged the margin of Clem's pubic thatch.

"N-no."  Clem shivered.  "I mean, where are we going?  Are we... a couple?"

"Jeez, I don't know, Clem," Gwen sighed.  "Right now I think we're just two friends having a little fun.  What do you think?"

Clem's heart was hammering, and she was beginning to breath a little deeper than normal.  "The same... for now."

"For now," Gwen agreed.

"Okay," Gwen continued, "I'm gonna show you the stuff Inga showed me," Gwen continued.  "It'll be a hoot, I promise, but if you start hooting, I've got a couple of scarves ready to keep you quiet.  Understand?"

"N-no promises," Clem muttered.  "Mwrf!"  Gwen's lips were pressed against hers and her BFF's tongue was in her mouth!  "MRRF!"  And Gwen's hand was now sliding back and forth across her crotch!

Gwen broke the kiss.  "Why Ms. Ricci, I do believe you're wet."  Her hand continued sliding along Clem's labia.

"Shut up, you little twerp," Clem chuckled, "or—mrrpfh."

The kiss had resumed.

I let her tie me down, Clem thought, I 'tolerated' her reverse-blindfold-prank, and now I'm 'letting' her diddle me.  Things are getting... complicated.  She began squirming and pulling on her bonds in earnest, as well as returning her BFF's deep and very wet kiss.

And wonderful... things are getting wonderful!