| by Van ©2013
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
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
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
"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
"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
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
Kim smiled. "You haven't seen Inga's dissertation."
She sipped her coffee. "You'll be earning those two
|Oh, the Humanities!
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"
"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
"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
"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
"What have you done with her?" Cynthia demanded, glaring at
"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
"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.
"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
|Oh, the Humanities!
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
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
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"
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
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
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
"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
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."
|Oh, the Humanities!
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
"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
"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
"I assume you expect me to boink you 'til my tongue gives out,"
"Not immediately, no," Lillian purred. She was walking
towards Kim's closet, her leather-clad hips swinging
seductively. "I have other plans." She disappeared
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
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
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
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?
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
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
|Oh, the Humanities!
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
Gwen smiled. "Check."
"Leather armbinder and collar."
"Nipple-clamps with silver chains and dangling diamond
"Mouse mask and harem-girl veil."
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
"Where is this going?"
Gwen's smile broadened. "I was thinking of a little
further south." Her fingers nudged the margin of Clem's
"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
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!
|Oh, the Humanities!