by Van © 2020
			Chapter 12

The Great Hook-Knife Quest occupied most of Sunday, including lunchtime, and with no breaks.

Skye rolled, flopped, slithered, and squirmed her way from room to room, her nude body bound from ankles to shoulders with hemp rope, her big toes tied together with hemp cord, and her mouth plugged with a perforated ball-gag.  Unless Mistress was pulling a hideously mean and totally uncalled for prank, the knife that was the object of the quest was "hiding in plain sight," but not necessarily visible from the doorway of the room where it was hiding.  That meant Skye had to enter each and every room and convince herself the knife wasn't there.  Bummer.

Skye searched the entire first floor of Lacey's Lair (aka Mistress' Mansion)... including, as Mistress had "thoughtfully" left their doors ajar, the coat closet near the entryway, the cleaning supplies closet, and the walk-in pantry just off the kitchen.  No joy.

And so... she laboriously made her way to the main staircase... squirmed her way up to the second floor (with great difficulty)... and the search continued.

Skye was aware that Lacey's Lair also had a back staircase, but it would have to wait.  If she explored it now, she'd have to squirm her way down... then all the way back up again before continuing her search of the second floor.  That would mean three excruciatingly difficult vertical trips, one of which would be totally redundant.  Best to go all the way up to the attic, she decided, then down the entire back staircase.  And that would be necessary only if she didn't find the knife first.  Still, she was haunted by the thought of the knife tucked against a riser on the back stairs, far enough up that it couldn't be seen looking up from the first floor, but low enough down that it couldn't be seen looking down from the second floor.  Now that would be mean.

By this time it was... mid afternoon?  Anyway, Skye was exhausted.  She was also somewhat sweaty and in need of a bath.  She resolved to do an even better job of vacuuming Mistress' floors and carpets from now on, but that didn't help her now.

Progress was slow on the second floor.  Very slow.  Skye was starting to flag. 

And then... with Skye only halfway through the floor (and really starting to flag), Mistress appeared and called a halt to the quest.

Skye was very disappointed... not!  Once untied (and un-gagged) she released her hair from its braid, took a long, hot shower, then dragged her naked self to a day-bed in a first-floor sitting room, and took a much needed nap.

As always, dinner was delicious.

Afterwards, once the kitchen was clean, Mistress encased Skye's hands in black leather fist-mitts, buckled her into a box-tie-binder, binding her folded arms behind her back with her forearms encased and her upper arms strapped together.  It was the exact same ensemble Skye had worn way back on Day One, immediately after Mistress exposed her to her subterranean torture chamber, only minus the body-harness of thin straps that completed the system.

Mistress dragged (led) Skye to the Media Room and they settled onto the plush, oversized sofa facing the gigantic, flat-screen, wall-mounted television.  All the 21st Century equipment in the space (TV, cable-box, Blu-ray player, and speakers) were tastefully blended into the Victorian decor, by the way.  Mistress really did have a nice mansion.

Once Skye was comfortably reclined, with her naked, semi-bound body snuggled against Mistress' jeans and blouse-clad form, Mistress used a remote control to power-up the system and negotiate her way to the latest episode of The Mandalorian.  (Mistress didn't subscribe to every streaming services, but Disney+ was on her list.)

The episode was excellent.  But then, The Mandalorian was always excellent.  And The Child ("Baby Yoda") was very cute.  Something else that was par for the course.  Skye squirmed against Mistress' side as the end credits rolled.  "I love that show," she sighed.

Mistress kissed the top of Skye's head.  "Me too," she agreed, then turned off the system, stood, and lifted Skye into her arms.

"Weeeee!" Skye giggled as Mistress spun her around... then carried her from the Media Room, down the hall, up the stairs, and towards the Master Bedroom.  Mistress was strong, and Skye couldn't stop smiling.  "I can walk," she offered.

"Hush," Mistress purred.

Skye smiled up at her Mistress' gorgeous face.  She had a dozen clever comebacks on the tip of her tongue, but orders were orders.  Still smiling, Skye closed her eyes and nestled her head against Mistress warm, soft, blouse-covered (but bra-free) breast.

They shared the master bathroom to prepare for bed, with Mistress rendering the assistance required by Skye's bound condition.  Mistress then led Skye to the bed, pulled back the sheets, and Skye flopped down onto the mattress.  She squirmed until she was comfortable, then watched Mistress finish undressing.  Her hostess, teacher, and captor had already removed her jeans and panties in the bathroom.  How else could she take her evening tinkle?  That meant all that remained was the removal of her already half-unbuttoned white cotton blouse.

A thrill rippled down Skye's spine and through her pussy.  Mistress was taking her time and making a show of it.  Not overtly, of course, but subtly.  A coy smile just barely curled Mistress' lips and her pale blue eyes were focused on nothing in particular (and especially not Skye) as she slowly unrolled the blouses' long sleeves... unbuttoned the remaining buttons... shrugged the white cotton garment off her shoulders... then removed it completely.  As had been obvious all day, Mistress had not been wearing a bra, so she was now completely, gloriously nude.  After days of nude yoga and naked exercise sessions and sharing the same bed, ogling Mistress' beautiful body was hardly a novel experience for Skye Gilroy, but the fair, firm, athletic, curvaceous physique in question had lost none of its fascination.  The thrill continued quivering between Skye's legs as Mistress carried her jeans, blouse, and panties into the walk-in closet.

Skye continued shivering with the arousal that went with her pathetic infatuation with her teacher.  Then, Mistress returned... and her smile faded.  Why?  A ring-gag dangled from Mistress' right hand, and in her left were the panties she'd carried into the closet and obviously hadn't deposited in the dirty clothes hamper.  The reason was obvious, but Skye asked anyway.

"What are those for?" she politely inquired (meaning pathetically whined), and nodded at the gag and panties.

Still smiling, Mistress sat on the edge of the bed and hauled Skye's body onto her lap, face down.

"Hey!" Skye objected.

Mistress delivered a very businesslike smack to Skye's left butt-cheek with her open palm.

"Ow!  What was—"

Smack!  (Right butt-cheek.)

"Mistress?" Skye exclaimed.  "What was that for Mistress?"

"That's better," Mistress purred, then began gently massaging her student's now slightly rosy derrière.  "In answer to your question, the gag is to dampen annoying noise, and the panties will enhance the sound-dampening effect... should they prove necessary."

"I'll be able to spit it out, Mistress," Skye huffed.  "I mean spit them out, Mistress.  'Panties' are plural, right, Mistress?"

"Yes, 'panties' are treated like a collective noun," Mistress purred.  "But I'll treat them as mouth-stuffing if you make any noise.  Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," Skye sighed.

Mistress proceeded to buckle the ring-gag around Skye's neck and under her hair, but on its first hole.  That placed it in "necklace-mode," not propping her mouth open, but ready for instant use.  It also served as a constant reminder that Skye was completely at her Mistress' tender mercy.  Oh, the drama!

By the way, the ring of the ring-gag was black, medical-grade, silicon-rubber, unlike any ring-gag Skye had seen before, but as this was also the first ring-gag Skye was actually seeing, other than on a computer screen, its material composition was less remarkable than might have been the case.

"Now..."  Mistress rolled Skye off her lap and squirmed next to her on the mattress.  When arrangements were finalized, Mistress and student were side-by-side and comfortably reclined against a pile of pillows stacked against the headboard.  They were very comfy and cozy.

"It's time for your education in Dominatrix Services to continue," Mistress purred.  "Specifically, with respect to erotic activities."

The thrill between Skye's legs returned in spades, and she swallowed nervously.  Her smile had become a grimace... or something.  "Erotic?" she inquired (in a slightly terrified squeal Mistress found to be quite delightful).

Mistress kissed Skye's freckled forehead.  "Erotic," she confirmed.  "First, I'll repeat your introductory finger-fiddling lesson."

Skye blinked her wide, green eyes and opened her mouth to object (or something)—"Mrrrf!"—but was preempted by Mistress' right hand clamping down over her mouth!  Also, Mistress intertwined Skye's legs with her own, preventing her from closing her legs, rolling away, or otherwise impeding Mistress' demonstration.

Mistress' left hand slid down Skye's torso and tummy to her crotch.  Skye noted that her boobs hadn't received a preliminary squeeze, like last time.  Her nipples pointed and tingled in resentful neglect.  And then, the lesson began in earnest.

"Mrrrrrpfh!"

Hush," Mistress whispered in Skye's right ear, then gave the ear a kiss... followed by a wet, probing lick!

"Mrrrf!"  It was a hand-gag-muffled whimper, rather than a shout or squeal.  Mistress hand was slowly gliding across Skye's labia and once again working its magic, and there was nothing she could do to stop it!  (As if she wanted to stop it.)

"After finger-fiddling," Mistress purred, "we'll move on to the use of vibrators.  I have a suitable selection in the middle drawer of the left night-stand."

The fiddling continued, as did the hand-gag and Skye's efforts to miraculously burst her bonds and squirm her naked, glowing body free of Mistress' strong arms and legs.

"Pay close attention to my timing," Mistress whispered.  "Eventually, you'll learn how to increase and decrease the level of stimulation in order to prolong your subject's experience."

"Mrrrrr!"

"You'll learn to sense when your subject is approaching climax.  Simply forcing an orgasm is a relatively straightforward process, but holding your subject on the cusp of orgasm and not allowing her release is much trickier, a skill that only comes with experience and diligent practice.   It's also an especially exquisite form of torture."

"Mrrrrr!"  I bet!

Mistress licked the side of Skye's neck.  "And best of all, it leaves no marks."

"Mrrrrr!"

The next day (Monday), Mistress let Skye sleep in, but over breakfast she casually dropped a tactical nuclear bomb.

"I've cleared my schedule for the entire day," Mistress announced.

That pesky thrill rippled between Skye's legs as she sipped her coffee.  "N-no clients?"

"Actually, one client," Mistress clarified.

"One client," Skye nodded (in amazement).  "Mistress," she added belatedly.  Skye was finding it difficult to concentrate on proper protocol.  Mistress Monjeau was wearing jeans and a very pretty, eggshell-white, floral-print blouse with the sleeves rolled up and top three buttons unbuttoned, and once again, no bra.  Also, with her gleaming black curls loose about her shoulders and a coy smile curling her exquisite lips... it was distracting.  And the extended afterglow from last night's multi-orgasmic marathon finger-fiddling/vibratory lesson wasn't making it easier.

"After your morning chores," Lacey continued, "you'll dress in your first costume and help me entertain one of my oldest and most treasured clients."

Skye blinked her big green eyes.  "Costume?"

"It arrived last Wednesday," Lacey explained, "while you were otherwise occupied."

"Oh."  Skye shrugged.  I was probably locked in the Special Guest Bedroom.  She shook her head and tried again.  "Costume?"

"You'll see soon enough," Mistress purred.

And she did... after an interval of cleaning, vacuuming, and towel replacement.  Mistress took her by the hand, led her to the master bedroom and into the walk-in closet, then lifted a dress on a hanger from the rack holding her uniforms, and introduced Skye to her first role-playing costume.

It was a "candy-striper" uniform, the sort of thing teenage volunteers used to wear in hospitals—teenage girl volunteers.   It was a bib-style dress with red and white vertical pinstripes, and to the best of Skye's knowledge, such outfits had been obsolete for decades.  Nowadays, both nurses and volunteers wore "scrubs."  The dress was decidedly retro.  A blast-from-the-past.

There was more!  Completing with the outfit were...

●  A white cotton blouse with short sleeves and a pointed collar.

●  A pair of snow-white stockings.

●  A frilly white garter belt.

●  A pair of white, sneaker-like Sketchers.

And conspicuous by their absence were...

●  Any sort of underwear.

Skye considered garter belts "intimate apparel," but not "underwear."   She realized she could be wrong.  Anyway, there were no panties and no bra.

Mistress and Skye carried everything into the bedroom, and once everything was arrayed on the foot of the bed, Mistress settled into her easy chair, smiled, and supervised as her student dressed herself.  First came the stockings... then the garter belt (Skye's first ever garter belt, but she figured it out)... then the white blouse... and finally, the dress.

And there she was.  Skye was a frowning, pouting, delightful/adorable candy-striper.  That would be Mistress' opinion, no doubt.  She was also "commando," meaning sans undies.  Skye glared at her Mistress with hands on hips.  "I look ridiculous," she huffed.

"You look adorable," Mistress chuckled, then knelt, helped Skye step into the white shoes, then tightened and tied their laces.  She then stood and led Skye to the dressing table, plunked her candy-striper ass down on the bench, and pointed to the comb and brush set and a shallow dish of hairpins and cloth-covered elastics.  "Put your hair up in a nice bun," she ordered.

Skye heaved a petulant sigh, then followed her orders.  She glowered at her reflection as she fussed with her hair.  She also watched at Mistress's reflection as she padded back into the walk-in closet.  Soon, Skye was sporting a neat ginger bun and her hands were in her lap.

Mistress returned to the main bedroom, smiling brightly.  In her hands was a typical (meaning stereotypical) nurse's cap.  It was white (of course), but prominent on its headband was a large red cross.

"Really?"  Skye whined.

"Really," Mistress confirmed, planted the cap atop her student's head, and helped her pin it in place.

"Ridiculous," Skye huffed.

"Adorable," Mistress reiterated.

Skye continued glowering at her reflection.  Unfortunately, Mistress' opinion was the only one that mattered.  Candy-Striper Gilroy was adorable whether she wanted to be or not.

Mistress pointed to an assortment of cosmetics in a small basket.  "Make yourself adorable and pretty," she commanded, "but don't get carried away.  I want you pretty, not slutty."

"Very funny, Mistress," Skye growled, then set to work.  It didn't take very long for Skye Gilroy to make herself pretty.  Arguably, she was pretty without any makeup.  Also the cosmetics Mistress had chosen perfectly complemented her ginger hair color and peachy-pink, freckled complexion.  Prettiness already achieved, Skye reached for the lipstick tube to apply the pièce de résistance.  She pulled off the cap, twisted the tube, and...  "Cherry red?" she objected.  It was true.  The lipstick was as red as red could be.  "I'll look..."  She noted Mistress dimpled smile in the mirror, and heaved a sigh.  "I know, adorable."

"Adorable," Mistress confirmed.

Skye heaved a petulant sigh, then carefully applied the bright red lipstick.  She delicately closed her lips on a facial tissue to remove excess pigment, then gazed at her reflection and heaved another sigh.  She did look adorable, in a cliché and decidedly retro and sexy-but-only-semi-understated sort of way, but she didn't have to like it.

"Now, wait here 'til things are ready," Mistress ordered as she turned and padded towards the bedroom door, "and don't wrinkle your dress."

"Yes, Mistress," Skye huffed as Mistress make her casual (and glamorous) exit.  The bedroom door closed, she heard the click of a key turning the lock, and Candy-Striper Gilroy was alone.  She rose to her Sketcher-clad feet, strolled into the walk-in closet, and "admired" herself in the full-length mirror-wall at the far end (the mirror-wall concealing a cramped, inescapable languishing-cell on its far side).

A smile curled her cherry-red lips of her "pretty" face as she gazed at her reflection and struck various poses.  I am adorable, she was forced to admit.  Oh well.

Skye returned to the main bedroom, sat in the easy chair facing the French doors leading out onto the deck, and gazed out at the garden and backyard.

Suddenly, she focused on the French door's handles and her smile faded.  Is it possible?  She stood and tried the handle.  Rattle-rattle-rattle.  It was locked.  Mistress hadn't made a mistake.  But then, Mistress never made mistakes, so why should she start now?  It wasn't an escape attempt, of course, but it would have served Mistress right to return to the bedroom, suffer a flash of panic, then discover her student lounging out on the deck.

Skye settled back into the easy chair, heaved yet another sigh, crossed her white, stocking-clad legs, and returned to enjoying the garden.  The Chickadee and Nuthatch Gang was busy looting Mistress' seed-feeder and drinking from the birdbath/water-feature.  The tiny songbirds were very cute as they fluttered from tree-branch to feeder to tree-branch to birdbath to tree-branch.

Poor Skye languished in the luxury of Mistress' master bedroom for something like an hour.  A whole hour!  And now that the candy-striper costume was a done deal, she had no distractions.  Mistress was going to make her help entertain one of her clients!  Okay, 'make' wasn't entirely accurate.  Skye wasn't totally reluctant.  Whatever Mistress had in mind would almost certainly be, uh, amusing... meaning fun... see also arousing.  That said...

There's no way Mistress is gonna make me do anything yucky, is she? Skye asked herself.  Mistress has waaay too much taste for yucky stuff.  Just look at the decor.  Just look at the way she dresses... when she isn't naked.

Skye wasn't really worried, but it was enough to take a little of the edge off the situation.  Nothing was happening between her legs.  No anticipatory thrill.  Her pussy had adopted a wait-and-see attitude.

Finally...  Click!  The bedroom door opened and Mistress reappeared—and Mistress had changed clothes!  Instead of jeans and a pretty floral print blouse, she was wearing high-heeled pumps, stockings (or pantyhose), a very flattering, heather-gray, summer-weight dress, and a white lab coat.  The presence or absence of underwear was TBD.  Mistress' hair was still loose about her shoulders, framing her gorgeous, smiling face (and ample bosom, as the cut of the blouse and the open lab coat were allowing the display of significant cleavage).  Given the context of Skye's uniform, Mistress looked very medical, but in a very contemporary way.  She was in no way retro, unlike Candy-Striper Gilroy.

"All right," Mistress said brightly, "everything's ready, so off we go!"  She took Skye by the hand and led her from the bedroom.  "And until further notice, you're to address me as 'Doctor.'  Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," Skye responded.

Mistress squeezed Skye's hand.  Her grip was a firm reminder.

Skye rolled her eyes.  "Yes, Doctor," she muttered.  Idiot!  Get it together.  Her heart was pounding and she was nervous.  Understandable?  Yes, but she had to get over it and and get it together.

Their journey towards the 'it' in question led down the stairs to the first floor... on to the kitchen... then down to the basement.  Everything underground was exactly the same as the last time Skye had been there (which was the last time she'd done the laundry); but this time, Mistress led her to the Secret Sliding Wall that sealed off the torture chamber, as well as the many still unknown chambers!

Skye resolved to closely but surreptitiously determine exactly how Mistress triggered the mechanism that opened the wall, but Mistress stymied her efforts with a simple command:  "Close your eyes, darling."

Skye pouted, heaved a sigh, and closed her eyes.  After all, Mistress was Mistress.  She heard the rumbling noise that went with the Secret Sliding Wall opening... Mistress led her across the unseen threshold... then the noise repeated as the wall closed.

"You may open your eyes," Mistress purred (in an amused tone that Skye didn't find to be at all irritating), and they continued forward.

Mistress' Sinister Subterranean Domain was exactly as Skye remembered it, with its checkerboard of Cotswold-limestone-gold and laurel-green vinyl tiles underfoot and sealed cinder block walls.  They passed steel door after closed steel door... then Mistress paused, pulled a set of keys from her lab coat pocket, and unlocked one of the doors.  "Be a good girl," she admonished Skye as she pocketed the keys, then opened the door in question.

Good girl, Skye silently pouted as Mistress (meaning 'Doctor') led her across the threshold.  Why shouldn't I be a good girl?  Granted, her heart was hammering and she might be sweating a little, but—Skye's green eyes popped wide, she gasped in astonishment, trepidation, and/or alarm), and her heart skipped a beat... maybe two.

The decor was the same as the hallway (and the Torture Chamber somewhere behind one of the other steel doors), with vinyl-tiled floor and sealed cinder block walls, but tucked against the walls were stainless steel cabinets with glass-front doors, the kind one sees in a hospital or clinic.  The lighting fixtures were appropriate for a surgical suite, and in the center of the room was a stainless steel medical, surgical, or whatever table with black padding and lots and lots of side-rails, steel attachment points, and steel gears and hand-wheels to allow the adjustment of a hypothetical patient's position.

However, the table held an actual patient, and she was anything but hypothetical!

Reclined on her back on the table's padding was a naked woman with long, wavy blond hair and quite obviously smooth, firm skin with a rich tan.  And as far as Skye could tell, it was an allover rich tan.  Her physique was athletic, with defined muscles and very feminine curves.  Her boobs were magnificent (much like Mistress' hooters).  Ethnically, she was a Viking Queen, with gorgeous blue eyes.  Unfortunately, a ball-gag and a nose-to-chin and ear-to-ear strip of off-white Elastoplast tape interfered with Skye's appreciation of the woman's visage, but it was obvious she was a rare beauty!  And this was despite her being old, like Mistress.  She was... over forty!

And whoever she was, she wasn't on the table by choice.

A pair of curved steel brackets prevented her from sliding her exquisite tan body towards the head of the table.

Her arms were extended to either side and bound to trough-like steel extensions by brown, padded leather cuffs, one pair around her wrists and a second pair around her biceps and upper arms.

Her legs were splayed widely apart, resting in a pair of elevated, padded troughs, and bound in place by brown straps tightly buckled around her legs above and below her bent knees and her upper thighs.  Her bare feet dangled in midair.

Additional straps pinned her torso to the table above and below her breasts (which, as already mentioned, were magnificent), across her tummy, and across her hips.

Finally, a padded collar was buckled around her neck and strapped to the table, further pinning her in place.  And the collar was wide, very nearly what Skye recognized as a posture collar!

All the cuffs and straps were lockable, meaning the tongues of the buckles had the flanges required to accept mini-padlocks; however only the wrist cuffs and the straps above and below her knees were, in fact, padlocked.  The Viking Queen, whoever she was, would remain bound to the table until Mistress released her.  Skye certainly didn't have the required key.

"This table is new," Mistress purred, obviously for Skye's benefit, "but the brown restraints go with an antique Victorian examining table in another chamber, a place I call my Dr. Frankenstein venue.  I have modern Posey restraints on order to match this table, but they haven't all arrived."  She indicated the surrounding chamber with a graceful flip of her right hand.  "I've christened this my Bondage Clinic, in honor of Maestro Saudelli's Clinica Bondage."

Skye nodded.  Her gaze remained riveted on the gorgeous Viking Queen.  Skye was pretty sure Posey was a brand name, and "Maestro Saudelli" was obviously Franco Saudelli, the famous Italian bondage artist.  Luckily, Skye's heart had restarted and she was breathing again.  However, her sweating problem had grown slightly worse.  Skye wasn't in a flop sweat, but she was a tad... moist.

"Over here," Mistress called, and (with entirely understandable reluctance) Skye tore her eyes from the captive Viking Queen and joined Mistress/Doctor in front of one of the steel cabinets.

This particular cabinet had a waist-high, narrow shelf, thanks to the exceptionally shallow glass-front cabinet directly behind it.  Through the glass Skye could see packages of various kinds of medical tape, gauze squares, boxes of latex gloves, and... other stuff.  Resting on the shelf were an open box of latex gloves, a box of medical-grade wipes (more or less facial tissues), and a pump bottle neatly labeled "Therapeutic Lotion/Lubricant."

And on the far left edge of the shelf was a glass petri dish, and through its clear cover Skye could see a couple of very pretty gold necklace-chains, a pair of gold hoop-earrings, and a gold ring, but the ring were probably too decorative to be a wedding band, in Skye's opinion.  The jury was out as to whether or not the Viking Queen was married.

And just to the left side of the cabinet, hanging from hangers on a compact, free-standing, wheeled clothing rack, were the skirt and jacket of a tan, summer-weight casual suit, a very pretty lightweight blouse in an abstract, mottled print of gray and salmon-pink on white, a very pretty matching set of nude-colored panties and bra, and a pair of nude pantyhose.  Obviously, the Viking Queen had disrobed, removed her jewelry and placed it in the petri dish, then allowed herself to be strapped in place.  Either that or Mistress had used her invincible damsel handling skills to subdue her and strip her naked.  Anyway...

"Gloves," Mistress purred, pointing at the appropriate box.  "Then, lubricate the patient from head to toe, then bring her to orgasm, repeatedly, until I return.  Do you understand?"

Skye's heart stopped again.  She waited for it to restart... then nodded.  "Y-yes, Doctor," Skye stammered.  And Skye was proud of herself for remembering to call Mistress Doctor.  Also, she was doing her best not to quake in her Sketchers, swoon, and collapse to the tiled floor.

"Good girl," Mistress purred, then leaned close and whispered in her right ear.  "I know you'll do the best you can.  But don't try anything fancy.  Just diddle her 'til I return.  If your hands get tired..."  Mistress slid open the steel drawer beneath the table and Skye's green eyes popped wide.  In the drawer was a row of three silver, wand-style vibrators, each nestled in a recharging stand.

"Remember," Mistress said in her normal voice, "until I return."

"Yes, Doctor," Skye answered, still gazing at the vibrators.

Mistress slid the drawer closed, planted a quick kiss on Skye's slightly open mouth, then strolled to the chamber door.  "I'll be back in an hour... possibly two."  And with that, she opened the door, crossed the threshold, closed the door, and was gone.

Click!

That was the door locking, of course.  Skye blinked a few times, swallowed, pulled a pair of gloves from the appropriate box, slid, stretched, and snapped them onto her ever-so-slightly shaking hands with only minor difficulty, then turned and walked towards the table and its captive Viking Queen.

Skye stared at the Viking Queen in question.

The Viking Queen stared back.

She was gorgeous, in Skye's humble opinion, as hot as Mistress, in her Viking Queen sort of way.  Skye's pussy shivered in agreement.  Apparently, it had finally made up its mind.  Time to play?  Sure, why not?  So... how to proceed?  Skye decided to go with her classic Cheeky Monkey Mode.  It was more or less her forte.

Skye locked green eyes with her patient's incredible blue orbs, and smiled sweetly.  "Hello," she said brightly.  "My name is Skye, and I'll be your therapist this morning.  This is my first time, but I'll try not to damage anything important."

The Viking Queen stared back in... haughty disdain?  Skye decided to go with haughty disdain, meaning tape and ball-gagged haughty disdain.  Skye couldn't help but heave a deep, sincere sigh.  Sweet Gwendoline she's beautiful!  Her pussy emphatically agreed.  Skye pursed her lips in a charming little moue of concentration, then looked down at her latex-gloved hands.  "Silly me."  She giggled, batting her green eyes at her patient (who glowered in return).  "I'll be right back."

Skye spun on her heels, strolled back to the steel cabinet/table, pumped a generous dollop of lotion/lubricant onto her gloved hands, rubbed them together, spun on her heels again, and strolled back to her patient, resolving to give the Viking Queen the "therapy" she so richly deserved.