||by Van ©2012||
Rory found the next three days to be very interesting.
As promised, Caitlin instructed the novice Bondage Brownie in the "basic ties" with Fiona as their practice dummy. The techniques covered included: (1) wrists ties (crossed and with the hands palm-to-palm), (2) ankle ties (again, crossed and with the ankles side-by-side), (3) the basic spread-eagle (with special emphasis on tying non-compacting knots), (4) arms-over-head, (5) hogties (loose and stringent), (6) frog-ties, (7) turtle-ties, and (8) ball-ties, as well as various hybrid variations.
For example, during one lesson Fiona's wrists were bound together in front. Then, her arms were lifted, her hands pulled behind her head, the free end of the wrist bondage passed through the back of a basic breast and torso harness, then down to her crossed ankles. Caitlin pulled out the slack and Fiona was left rocking on her stomach and thighs with her back in a stringent arch. It was sort of a hogtie, Rory supposed. In any case, Caitlin didn't give the technique a special name. Fiona's opinion, other than her general displeasure, remained private, thanks to a two-inch ball-gag.
All the while, Caitlin delivered what she called "elementary instruction" on the basic pressure points, vulnerable nerve locations, and the danger of positional asphyxiation. Again, Fiona's nude (and ticklish) body was her teaching aid.
There were also lectures on what were called the two big Bondage Brownie No-Nos.
(1) Under no circumstance was rope or collars of any kind to be used in a manner that might lead to choking or hanging, however remote the possibility, and not even in jest. In the same vein, "Breath Control" (a practice Rory had never even fantasized about and nurtured zero desire to attempt) was designated an "Advanced Activity," not suitable for Bondage Brownie play.
(2) A playmate was never to be subjected to an effective gag and then left to languish unsupervised. That is, mouth-filling gags that forced the "victim" to breathe only through her nose were allowed, but only if the "villainess" remained present and the tools required for rapid removal were always readily at hand. Rory considered this an eminently logical precaution. After all, as Caitlin explained, "In the dungeon, no one can hear you scream." That wasn't entirely accurate, of course (unless the villainess was deaf), but Rory got the point. Caitlin further explained that gags authorized for solo languishing were mainly for psychological value, anyway. That said...
"What about tape-gags?" Rory inquired. "Momma-Fox abandoned you with an Elastoplast tape-gag the night she got home. You can't breathe through Elastoplast."
"In the first place," Caitlin responded, "I'm a Damsel Scout, not a Bondage Brownie, and mom is even more senior. And in the second place, our bedrooms are bugged, wired into the clock radio on Mom's bedside stand. If she's 'punishing' one of us, she'll hear if we hum through our gags during the night."
Eyes wide, Rory nodded. "Uh... bugged?"
"It's not just a bug. Mom's got a friend in the Computer Science Department who hooks her up with cool stuff," Caitlin explained. "The 'safety monitor' has a computerized module that triggers the alarm when it detects a specific pattern of rhythmic sounds. Later on I'll teach you what we call the help-help-help hum."
Rory nodded again, then she frowned. "Wait, is my bedroom bugged?"
"Safety first, Bondage Brownie," Caitlin chuckled.
Fiona was also amused, but at the moment she was bound in an elaborate ball-tie and still ball-gagged, so her response was limited to her smiling eyes.
Rory shrugged, then frowned in thought. Fiona had used a tape-gag on her, up in the attic during her trials. Does that mean the attic is also bugged? In any case, Rory wasn't entirely happy to learn that her bedroom was being monitored, even by a non-judgmental computer program. But, like Catlin said, "Safety first."
Finally, there were lessons in style. In the Whelan household, "serious" bondage play always meant full nudity. The family wasn't into the kinky latex and leather scene, for no reason shared with Rory. That didn't count elaborate leather restraints, of course. Caitlin hinted at cabinets full of "some seriously kinky stuff" in various dungeon chambers, but refused to elaborate and forbade unsupervised exploration. For now, Rory's lessons would be limited to rope, and the emphasis was on neatness, symmetry, and achieving the proper degree of uniform tightness. The trick, Caitlin explained, was to fully envision the final result while binding your damsel. Otherwise, for example, knee-bonds might become too tight when the legs were folded into a hogtie. Sometimes the initial bondage had to be purposely slack, and only experience would make Rory an expert.
No problem, Rory thought, smiling at the helpless Fiona. Practice, practice, practice.
Fiona wasn't bound and gagged nonstop, not counting most of the first day. Caitlin returned to work on day two and Fiona spent the daylight hours working in her shop. Rory's lessons became evening diversions, culminating in Fiona being "secured for the night."
The same tan leather medical restraints Megan had used on Caitlin the night of her return home were employed. Either they were transferred from Caitlin's bed, or the Whelans had a cabinet full of the stuff. (Rory suspected the later.) In any case, Fiona was tucked into bed naked, but for her steel chastity belt, with her wrists and ankles locked in leather and strapped down.
The first night it was in the classic "four-points" position with Fifi on her back with her legs slightly spread and her arms comfortably spread at her sides. Caitlin and Rory pulled the covers up to the prisoner's shoulders, then, Caitlin stretched a leather strap across her sister's body, from bed-rail to bed-rail and just below her breasts, cinched it tight. and secured the buckle. Then, they folded the top sheet and bedspread down, covering the strap and leaving Fiona's head, shoulders, and breasts exposed.
"It's a warm night," Caitlin purred as she stretched a wide strip of Elastoplast over Fiona's lips and smoothed it with her fingers.
All Rory could do was nod and stare.
The second night, Fiona was spreadeagled on her stomach. There was plenty of slack in the arrangement, but insufficient for her fingers to reach the Elastoplast plastered over her lips. Rory stared at Fifi's back, steel-encircled waist, and chain-cleaved butt, then helped Caitlin deploy the covers. Wow!
Night three was similar to the first, but with greater stringency and additional hardware. Fiona was on her back, but now her arms were close to her sides and her legs together. As before, cuffs bound her to the bed at the ankles and wrists, but four more cuffs and two more straps bound her lower thighs and upper arms. The covers were deployed, then three additional and totally unnecessary straps were tightened across the bed. They dimpled the edge of the mattress and stretched across Fiona's shins, waist, and just below her breasts. Only Fiona's head and shoulders were exposed.
"I have to get something," Caitlin told Rory, then left the bedroom.
Rory watched her go, then turned back to the helpless captive on the bed. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Fiona smiled and gave a halfhearted squirm. "It's tight, but not too tight."
"No," Rory responded, "in general, the punishment and the lessons and everything. Do you want me to say something to your mom?"
"What?" Fiona laughed, "and spoil the fun?"
Rory rolled her eyes. "Really," she sighed. "You're incorrigible."
"You have no idea," Caitlin chuckled as she reentered the bedroom. In her hands was... something.
"What the hell is that?" Rory demanded.
"Fifi's favorite hat," Caitlin chuckled. She held the whatever-it-was for Rory's inspection, and she realized it was a helmet of black leather. It would cover Fiona's entire head and incorporated a collar and a harness of straps with a gag-panel, earmuffs, and a blindfold!
"Wow!" Rory gasped.
The Whelan sisters laughed, then Fiona smiled at Caitlin. "She's so cute when she does that."
"She is," Caitlin agreed.
"Shuddup," Rory muttered. A full blush colored her dimpled cheeks (as usual).
Still smiling, Fiona watched her sister open the helmet's buckles and release the zipper running down the encasement's back. "Oh, the horror!" she gasped, and struggled in her inescapable bonds. Her covered, strapped down body quivered a little, but that was it. "Please, not... The Helmet! Anything but... The Helmet!"
"Oh, pl-ease," Rory sighed, shaking her head. "I've seen better acting in a third grade pageant."
"You go to a lot of third grade pageants, do you?" Caitlin inquired. "Here, hold her hair so it doesn't get caught in the zipper."
"Just my own pageant," Rory explained as she followed Big-Fox' directions. "I played a peach in an epic drama about the food triangle."
"A peach?" Fiona chuckled. "That's type-casting." Caitlin had turned her head to the side, so Fiona's words were partially muffled against her pillow, but she could still be understood.
Caitlin smiled at Rory. "That is type-casting."
"Shuddup," Rory responded, "both of you." She watched, arranging Fiona's hair as required, as Caitlin slipped the helmet over her sister's head, zipped it closed, and buckled the broad, stiff collar around her throat. The blindfold, earmuffs, and gag panel were still loose, so Rory could see Fiona's smiling lips and twinkling, blue-green eyes.
Caitlin held up a foam ball pierced by a half-inch hole lined by a stubby steel tube. "This fits into the socket in the gag-panel," she explained.
"So she can breathe through her mouth," Rory nodded. "Safety first."
"Exactly." Caitlin smiled down at Fiona. "Open," she ordered.
"The horror!" Fiona gasped one last time, then complied.
Caitlin stuffed the foam into Fiona's mouth, snapped the tube into the gag-panel's socket, then cinched the panel's strap and secured the buckle.
"Mrrfh!" Fiona complained.
Caitlin pulled a pair of foam plugs from her pocket, compressed them between her fingers, and inserted them into Fiona's ears—first on the left, then the right—secured the earmuffs, and then the blindfold. There was one last strap, passing under Fiona's chin and across the crown of her head. Fiona buckled it tight, and the deed was done.
Caitlin and Rory stood, side by side, watching Fiona wiggle in her bonds and turn her head from side to side on the pillow.
"It's going to be a long night for poor Fifi," Caitlin chuckled.
"Uh huh," Rory agreed.
"Just think," Caitlin continued. "Three days wearing that belt and not being able to relieve her sexual tension... All that naked bondage with you watching and asking questions... Mom sticking her head in now and then to make sure her punishment is being carried out... Poor Fifi."
Rory nodded. Momma-Fox had spent most of the last three days reading, working at her desk, or on the phone. But she remained always a comforting (and authoritative) presence.
"And now she has to suffer a fourth night without being able to play with herself," Caitlin continued.
Rory blushed (as usual) but was in no way scandalized. They were all adults, and Rory had spent the last three days watching and helping as "Poor Fifi" was repeatedly bound and gagged, naked. And most importantly, there was no restriction on Rory relieving her tension at night, in the privacy of her bedroom, with a wad of top-sheet in her mouth to stifle her moans of ecstasy, for politeness sake.
Caitlin gave Rory's shoulders a hug. "C'mon," she said. "Get ready for bed and I'll show you something."
"Uh, okay," Rory responded, then allowed herself to be led from the bedroom. Caitlin turned out the lights and pulled the door closed.
Behind on the bed—bound, gagged, blindfolded, her ears plugged and covered, and her loins locked in steel—Fiona drifted in subspace—and simmered in her thoughts.
It was going to be a long night—with three more long nights to follow before mother released her from punishment.
"Okay," Caitlin said as they approached the bathroom, "get ready for bed and meet me in your room."
"Bossy much?" Rory muttered, but it was a good-natured jibe rather than a complaint and she followed Caitlin's instructions to the letter. Something's up. Rory brushed her teeth, scrubbed her face, and took a tinkle. She's gonna do something to me. Her heart was racing and the butterflies in her tummy were aflutter (again). She made her way to her bedroom.
Caitlin was waiting by the bed with a small duffel bag. "Your final lesson of the day," she announced, "and this time you get to be the training aid."
"Huh?" Rory gasped. I knew it! "I mean..." She managed a halfhearted frown. "Do I have to?"
Caitlin smiled. "You know the rules. Mom is 'She Who Must Be Obeyed,' I'm the Senior Damsel Scout, Fifi is the Junior Damsel Scout, and you're barely a Bondage Brownie. Of course you have to do what I say, instantly, to the letter, and without reservations. Birthday suit."
"So unfair," Rory sighed, quoting Fiona. She kicked off her sneakers and left them in their usual place in the closet, then stripped off her shorts, tank-top, bra, and panties and dropped them in the hamper. She then padded to the bed and sat. But for the key to Fiona's chastity-belt still dangling from the chain around her neck, she was naked. "Woe is me," she declaimed, then heaved a truly heartbreaking sigh.
"Another drama queen," Caitlin chuckled. "Fifi's a bad influence on you."
"Fifi's a bad influence on everybody," Rory responded, then batted her eyes at the resident Senior Damsel Scout. "What are you going to do to me, Evil Kidnapper?"
"Get you ready for bed," Caitlin answered, then reached into the duffel and produced a pair of small, black spandex... bags?
Rory decided they were probably mittens, mittens without thumbs. She accepted the sleek, black, satiny accessories, dropped one on her naked lap, and examined the other, turning it in her hands. It was comprised of at least two layers. She could feel the inner layer sliding against the outer. And there was also a wide elastic wrist band.
"They're difficult to put on without help," Caitlin explained. She took the mitten from Rory and stretched open the wrist band. "Inside there are individual channels for your fingers and thumb."
Rory swallowed, extended her right hand, and thrust it inside. It was a tight fit, and required some wiggling and twisting until her finger and thumb tips reached the bottom of the channels, but with Caitlin's help she finally succeeded. The mitten more or less immobilized her thumb, fingers, and hand, locking them in the position of a military salute.
"Darlex?" Rory asked as Caitlin helped her squirm her left hand into the second mitten. "Rubber on the inside and spandex on the outside?"
Caitlin shook her head as she reached back into the duffel. "Both layers are spandex," she said. The inner glove is thicker and more heavy duty, and the outer shell is fake-fur with the pile facing inwards, to act as padding. Actually, they're mitten liners." She produced a leather pocket with buckles, straps, and a wide wrist cuff. "Here's the real mitten."
"Wow," Rory sighed. The mitten was chestnut brown leather with a distressed finish. The metal hardware was all dull bronze. Most of the mitten was chamois-thin, but a network of narrow, somewhat heavier straps of the same chestnut leather crossed the hand portion, traced the outer edge, and closed across the back by means of three small buckles. The broad, substantially thicker wrist cuff was secured by three more straps and buckles. Finally, there were two hefty rings, one at the tip of the fingers and the other on the back of the wrist cuff. The attachment points were suspension-grade. "Wow!"
"C'mon," Caitlin chuckled as she produced a second, identical leather mitten and dropped it on the bed. "Let's get these things on. We both need our beauty sleep." One by one, she slid the leather mittens over Rory's spandex-encased hands and began the process of tightening the straps and securing the buckles. When she was finished, the smooth brown leather was tautly stretched against the spandex liner and there was no slack in either the narrow hand-straps or the wide wrist-cuffs.
Rory stared at the mittens, watching the rings flip and flop as she slowly turned her leather-encased hands. "Wow."
Caitlin smiled, hugged Rory's shoulders, and kissed her forehead. "You do that 'Wow' thing when you're nervous."
"Well, duh," Rory answered with a weak smile.
"Fiona wants to start calling you 'Wow-Fox'," Caitlin chuckled. Hers arms were still around Rory's arms and shoulders and she gave Rory another hug. "You know we'd never do anything to hurt you."
Rory stared at her smiling cousin. Caitlin's statement had caught her by surprise. "Of course. Don't be stupid."
"Good." Caitlin reached back into the duffel and pulled out two more wide cuffs. They were the same chestnut leather and had the same brass hardware as the mittens. These were buckled around Rory's upper arms, then Caitlin folded Rory's arms behind her back and engaged three small clips. Snick, snick, snick. "There." she said. "That should hold you."
Rory tested her new bonds. The left mitten's fingertip ring was attached to the right upper-arm cuff, the right mitten's fingertip ring to the left upper-arm cuff, and the mittens' wrist-cuff rings were joined together. It was the box-tie position, only this time enforced by leather and brass instead of rope.
Caitlin smiled. "Wow?"
"Shuddup," Rory muttered, blushing again.
Just then, Megan entered the bedroom. "Almost ready?" she asked.
"Almost," Caitlin nodded.
Rory's response was a wide-eyed stare directed at the Whelan matriarch.
"Nice and comfy, Rory?" Megan asked as she walked to the bed. She was wearing an emerald green robe over a matching nightie and a pair of green slippers. The ensemble complemented her long, straight, ginger locks and freckled skin with perfection.
Rory managed a nervous smile. "Uh, yeah—Hey!" Caitlin had lifted her legs, flopping her onto her back and bound arms, and was tightening a strap around her crossed ankles.
Megan sat on the bed and combed Rory's hair from her face with her fingers. "Your heart is pounding, Aurora," she noted.
"Wow!" Caitlin said with a smile and a wink.
"I said, shuddup," Rory pouted.
"Don't tease," Megan scolded her oldest daughter, then leaned close and kissed Rory's lips. "I'm going away for the weekend, to visit a friend, and I wanted to tell you myself."
"A special friend," Caitlin chuckled.
"Watch it!" Megan warned.
"Sorry, mom," Caitlin chuckled.
"You're not too old to spank, Cuddle-Kitty."
"Cuddle-Kitty?" Rory inquired, smiling up at her cousin.
"This time you shuddup," Caitlin replied, and now she was blushing. She pulled bandage scissors and a roll of Elastoplast from the duffel, cut off a seven inch strip, and handed the sticky rectangle to her mother.
"Anyway," Megan said, smiling down at Rory, "I'll be back sometime Monday. Give us a goodnight kiss."
Rory puckered her lips and they were kissed by Megan, again. "Good night, Aunt Megan," she whispered. "Have a fun visit."
This elicited another chuckle from Caitlin, which was silenced by a cool stare from her mother. (And was Aunt Megan blushing, or was it a trick of the light?)
"Thank you," Megan answered, "and good night, Aurora." She stretched the tape over Rory's lips and mouth and smoothed it with her fingers. "You girls play nice while I'm gone."
"Yes, mother," Caitlin answered.
"Mrrfh," Rory added.
Megan stood, then kissed her daughter. "Good night, Kitty-Cat."
Caitlin returned the kiss. "Good night, mother."
Megan left Rory's bedroom while Caitlin pulled back the covers and helped Rory get comfortable. "One more thing," Caitlin said, then pulled the chastity-belt key and chain over Rory's head, slipped the chain over her own head, freed her hair, and dropped the key down the front of her tank-top. "Here's the deal, Ginger-Fox."
Rory's eyes popped wide. "Mrrpfh!" Caitlin had reached under the covers and was cupping her left breast!
"Trials are over," Caitlin said, "you're a Bondage Brownie, and, unlike Fifi when she achieved BB status, you're over eighteen." She slowly squeezed Rory's breast, then began teasing the nipple between her index finger and thumb. "Fifi and I agree you're more than ready for your first round of unrestricted games."
Rory shivered and squirmed in her bonds, staring up at her smiling cousin.
"And don't think Momma-Fox is gonna come to your rescue this time," Caitlin purred. "This weekend Fifi and I are going to continue your lessons, and you'll continue being your own training aid." She pulled her hand from under the covers (and from Rory's breast) and stood. "Sleep tight," she chuckled, then walked to the bedroom door.
The lights winked off, the door closed, and Rory was alone. Wow! she thought. She couldn't help it.
Minor detail: with her hands encased and box-tied behind her back and her ankles crossed and strapped together, she was no more able to release her boiling sexual tension than was poor Fiona, back in her own bed. And between the evening bondage lesson, helping Big-Fox tuck Baby-Fox into bed, allowing herself to be rendered helpless, hearing Momma-Fox' news that she was going to be abandoned to the questionable "mercy" of Big-Fox and the sexually frustrated Baby-Fox, and the promise that tomorrow would bring "unrestricted games"—Rory was under a LOT of tension.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, but she knew it was gonna take quite a while to get to sleep.
Princess Aurora was in great peril and distress!
Queen Megan was on a Grand Tour of her kingdom with most of her court in train. Princess Caitlin had been left in charge of Castle Whelan, and only Princess Fiona, their personal servants and cronies, and Princess Aurora had remained behind. And if reports were true, Her Majesty was currently more than thirty leagues to the south and with no plans to return until late Summer.
Aurora knew her half-sisters were jealous of her Legendary Beauty, Sparkling Wit, Stunning Intelligence, and especially her long, straight, Ginger Locks. Their own long hair was merely red and a constant tangle of wavy curls. Yes, they were jealous, but Aurora had no idea of the depth of the Royal Sisters' animus until the day of the Queen's departure. An hour after the last of the court's baggage carts had disappeared down the Royal Road, Caitlin and Fiona's servants had pounced, physically restraining Aurora, stuffing a distressingly large cloth into her protesting mouth, tying a bandage to keep the gag in place, and dragging her to the Great Hall!
There, Princess Caitlin was lounging on her mother's throne with Princess Fiona at her side. Both were dressed in stunningly beautiful gowns that were daringly décolleté and had fashionably long, drooping sleeves, tightly laced bodices, and long, full skirts. Gauzy veils here draped over their hair and held in place by golden coronets appropriate to their rank.
Aurora's gown was even more stunning, stylish, and attractive—but not for long! Using their bare hands and small daggers, the servants tore and cut Aurora's gown from her struggling body! Her coronet and veil were snatched from her head, and then her camisole was ripped from her body! Even her loincloth, stockings, and slippers were rudely removed—and Princess Aurora was as naked as a newborn babe!—in the Great Hall!—and it wasn't even bath day!
Her Royal Captors cackled like evil crones (stylishly dressed, twenty-something evil crones) as Aurora was held before them, blushing with shame. Princess Caitlin made a dismissive (and contemptuous) gesture, and Aurora was dragged to the castle yard. There, the leering (and smelly) smithy fit her wrists, ankles, and throat with shackles and an iron collar, pounding red-hot rivets into the rudely worked irons' flanges to fix them in place. Our Lord be Praised, he was skilled at his craft and the Princess was neither burned nor bruised during the process.
Aurora spent the next several days being dragged about in chains and tormented for Caitlin and Fiona's amusement. Her only food was paltry scraps from the Royal Table, and she was whipped and forced to dance while the Royal Sisters and their lackeys drank and laughed. At night she was locked in a dungeon cell, where she prayed for rescue and cried herself to sleep.
Finally, chained and gagged, Aurora was dragged to a torchlit chamber under the Black Tower and her naked body was stretched on a heavy cross. It was the same "X" shape as the cross on which The Blessed Saint Andrew was martyred. Aurora's chains were struck away, but long, heavy spikes were pounded through the shackles' staples and into the cross, leaving her spreadeagled on the rude timbers.
The smithy and servants departed and only Caitlin, Fiona, and their nude, frightened, gagged, and helpless prisoner remained.
Smiling their typical, leering, evil smiles, they slid their hands along Aurora's sweaty and somewhat soiled body, squeezing her breasts, stroking her flat tummy, and teasing her thighs.
"She is beautiful," Fiona purred, "in a fashion."
"Mrrrpfh!" Aurora tugged on her bonds, did her best to shake her ginger locks from her shining face, and blushed with shame.
"Yes," Caitlin agreed. "A pity we can't simply sell her to the Northmen or the Moors. One can never have too much gold."
"A bargain is a bargain," Fiona said. "We promised the Green Witch of the Wood that her brute of a son would have his bride, in exchange for casting the spell that will make you queen."
"Yes," Caitlin sighed. "A bargain is a bargain."
The Royal Sisters turned and left the chamber.
"M'mmfh?" Aurora continued her futile struggles. The cross was solidly mounted at a shallow angle. Her head and arms were elevated with her feet nearly at the level of the filthy stone floor. Her captors made their exit and the timber door closed behind them with a solid thud.
Treason! Aurora thought. I'm a pawn in a treasonous plot! That's not very nice! That's not nice at all!
There was another door to the chamber, protected by a gate of heavy iron bars. With a groan and the clatter of an unseen winch, the bars began to rise. Beyond was a wooden door. The gate finished its ascent and then the door opened.
"Nrrrf!" Looking down her stretched body and splayed legs, Aurora beheld a monstrous figure silhouetted in the doorway. It was more ape than human and was at least six feet tall, with bulging muscles, shaggy hair and beard, and truly ugly features.
"My pretty," the slobbering monster grunted, and shambled towards the helpless Princess.
The monster was quite obviously male. Between his legs was a distressingly long, wide, and erect—
Rory screamed through her tape-gag and sat up in bed—or tried, anyway. What she actually did was flop, once, like a fish out of water. She was still box-tied in the brown leather mittens and elbow-cuffs, and her crossed ankles were still strapped together.
A dream, she realized. It was a dream.
Rory shook the hair from her tape-gagged face, with limited success, and gazed at the bedroom window. Her dark-adapted eyes beheld a soft glow, but it was still fully night. I've gotta buy a clock with an LED display, she thought. The digital travel alarm on the bedside stand had a bar she could push to make its LCD numbers glow for a few seconds, but that didn't do her any good with her hands encased and bound behind her back. The display was invisible in the darkness, and all Rory could tell was that it was not yet morning.
She lay her head back down on the pillow and sighed through her tape-gag. The covers needed adjusting, but that wasn't going to happen. I'll be okay, she decided. It's a warm night... the middle of a long... warm... night. A thrill rippled through her crotch—although it might have been her imagination.
That's not helping, Rory chided herself. No more dreaming!
She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep... eventually.