by Van © 2003
Chapter 4: WHAT THE...?
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|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—4|
Robyn lay in her fellow captive's arms... and it felt good. She'd consumed more than a pint of orange sports drink through the plastic tube dangling from the bottle suspended overhead, suckling the delicious liquid through a hole in the ball-gag of her "filter hood". Her dark-skinned benefactor had unplugged the tube and restowed the hanging bottle, then settled back against the wall, and pulled Robyn back into her arms. She let her hands wander over Robyn's pale, sweat-slick, dirty, greasy skin... and it felt good. "My real name's Joelle, by the way," she explained, "not 'Jet'."
Still basking in the afterglow of orgasm, sore and aching from her labors and the restriction of her restraints, Robyn snuggled against Joelle's body and tried to organize her thoughts. She was still angry... outraged at her capture, incarceration, forced labor, and general abuse... although she had to admit her most recent treatment hadn't exactly been abuse... but it hadn't been voluntary either! I'll kick Frieda Saberhagen's 'Mistress' butt! Robyn fumed silently, biting on the ball strapped in her mouth in frustration. First chance I get! Joelle's strong hands began kneading her sore shoulders and Robyn's eyes rolled in ecstasy. Oooh... I'll kick her butt... Oooh...
Just then they both heard the sound of the iron gate down the corridor being unlocked, closely followed by the click of Frieda's boots on the concrete floor. She turned the corner and came into view... and Robyn's semi-complacent mood was shattered. Clearly the catsuited beauty was furious! Her blue eyes were flashing and her mouth was set in an angry scowl as she stomped towards the chained, naked prisoners.
Robyn whined through her gag and hood and shivered in Joelle's gentle embrace. "Shhh, easy," Joelle whispered. "I'll sort this out." Helpless in her elbow cuffs and close chains, Robyn was eased to the floor. Joelle stood, fluidly graceful in her chained nudity, and superimposed herself between Robyn and Frieda.
"What's your problem?" the dark captive asked. Frieda tried pushing past her, but (to Robyn's great surprise) Joelle gripped her right hand. Joelle's chains rattled and swayed as Frieda turned and glared in her face. "What's happened?" Joelle demanded. "What's wrong?"
To Robyn's even greater surprise, Frieda did not do something cruel and unusual to her inquisitive slave... but leaned forward and whispered in Joelle's ear... then handed her a pair of keys. Her head swiveled to glare down at Robyn. "Now!" she growled, then spun on her heel and stomped away.
Joelle continued staring at Frieda's disappearing back, then turned and knelt beside Robyn. She fitted one key to the padlock securing Robyn's filter hood, then began the lengthy process of removing the tight, latex encasement. Eventually the hood came free, she unstrapped the filter mask itself, and pulled the rubber ball from Robyn's grimacing mouth.
Robyn was relieved to be free of the hood (of course), but very confused. She licked her lips and stared up at Joelle's smiling, friendly face. "I... What...?"
Joelle's smile widened, and she used her fingers to part Robyn's tousled, dirty locks. "I don't know what her problem is; not yet," she answered, then reached behind Robyn's back and began unbuckling her elbow cuffs. The redhead twisted her torso to make the task easier. The cuffs came free and the clips restricting Robyn's chains were next. Finally, Robyn was helped to her feet. Her fetters, identical to Joelle's, were now restored to their original "work clothes" mode: a loop of chain traveling through rings in her manacles, collar, belt, and shackles.
The captives stood facing one another in the half-cleaned corridor. Both were glistening with sweat and Joelle was in need of a bath; but Robyn was absolutely filthy, covered with a film of greasy dirt from head to toe. Even Robyn's face, which had been "protected" by the filter hood until seconds before, was streaked and smudged, from her night of tossing and turning on the dirty mattress back in her dusty cell.
"We've been ordered to get cleaned up," Joelle announced. Then, with practiced precision, she began using the second, slightly larger key to unlock her own manacles, shackles, belt, and collar. The translucent red ball-gag dangling around her neck remained, the tiny key required to unlock its padlocked buckle remaining with Frieda.
Robyn held up her manacles, but Joelle shook her head sadly. "Sorry," she said. "Different key, and I'm afraid you haven't earned trustee status; not yet."
Robyn bit her lower lip, disappointed but not angry (not with her new friend, anyway). "Please," the chained redhead whispered. "Can you help me? I didn't do anything."
Joelle smiled, put her left arm over Robyn's shoulders, and led her away. "I won't lie to you," the nude, dark-skinned beauty said. "I'm as much a part of this place as our 'Mistress'. You know the old 'Good Cop—Bad Cop' routine?" Robyn nodded. "Well..." Joelle continued, "think of this as 'Good Slave—Bad Mistress'."
Robyn stumbled in her chains and dropped her head. Joelle held her close and lifted the redhead's chin. Robyn's eyes were welling. "I... I swear... I didn't do anything. I'm not a thief."
Joelle smiled sadly and kissed Robyn's trembling lips. "It's not up to me," she said. "I can't change anything... but I make you a promise." She straightened Robyn's tousled hair and kissed her again. "I'll be your friend, and I'll make things as pleasant for you as I can."
"I'm not a thief," Robyn whispered. A tear rolling down her left cheek, leaving a track in the patina of dirt. "I... I can prove it."
"C'mon," Joelle sighed, put Robyn's head on her shoulder, and led her down the corridor. "Let's get cleaned up."
|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—4|
Their destination was a large, tiled chamber (different from the chamber with the hated "feeding machine.") At one end was an alcove with a dozen shower heads set at different heights. There were also stainless steel eyebolts with dangling chains set in the ceiling, walls, and floor. Elsewhere in the room there were a large, stainless steel bathtub, steel cabinets, and a padded table.
Her arm still around Robyn's shoulders, Joelle led her towards the shower. She turned a faucet, and water streamed from all the shower heads, converging above a large drain. Robyn noticed (with trepidation) that the various dangling chains framed the same position. "This is normally used with the water set on full cold and the 'patient' in a standing spread-eagle," Joelle explained (causing Robyn's eyes to pop wide), "but we'll just use it for a nice, long, hot shower with plenty of soap and shampoo. You don't mind, do you?"
"Uh... no," Robyn answered, then gasped as Joelle gave her a gentle shove into the stream. Once she got over the initial shock, it felt glorious! The water was hot, but not too hot... it was perfect! Steam was filling the air as Joelle joined her under the water. She had a large, soapy, sponge mitten on one hand, and used it to give the chained, smiling redhead a thorough scrubbing, replenishing the soap from a wall dispenser as required. She ran the sudsy mitt over her own body as well. Robyn stood, turned, and lifted her chained limbs one-by-one, as required to cooperate with her new friend and as dictated by her restraints. Joelle shampooed her own hair, then lathered and massaged Robyn's scalp and hair. Robyn shuddered with delight. She received a thorough rinse, then the water stopped.
Joelle fetched a thick, fluffy towel from one of the cabinets and used it to dry Robyn's pale, pink, lightly freckled body. "Did you enjoy your shower?" the dusky beauty whispered.
Robyn stood in her chains, shuddering delicately under the soft caress of the thick terry cloth. "Uh-huh," she whispered back, smiling coyly.
A second towel was used to dry Robyn's hair, then was deftly wrapped and twisted around her head and folded into a turban. Joelle held her close and kissed her lips. Robyn felt a frisson of pleasure course through her sex and up her spine as the combination of her implacable chains and Joelle's tight, warm, naked embrace held her completely helpless.
"Next time I'll string you up nice and taut and wide..." She nodded at the stainless steel chains dangling around them. "...and really take my time."
Robyn shuddered again, and let her chained hands embrace Joelle's narrow waist. "Next time?" she whispered, kissed Joelle's dark, full lips—then her eyes popped wide and she hummed a warning through Joelle's mouth. The steam had dissipated and the naked pair found Frieda standing nearby, in all her catsuited glory. Her gloved hands were on hips, but a strangely sad smile was on her face.
Her eyes still wide, Robyn stood as close to Joelle as she could. The dusky beauty was toweling herself dry and giving herself a towel turban. "Well," she demanded, "are you finally going to tell me—"
"Put her on the massage table," Frieda interrupted, gesturing at the padded table in the center of the room. "Then we'll talk."
Joelle led the captive towards the table. "What's she gonna do to me?" Robyn whispered.
"Shh," Joelle whispered back. "Just do as you're told, Red Robyn. On your stomach."
Robyn rolled onto the table. Her chains made this difficult, but she finally managed. The table was narrow and well padded, with an oval cutout for her face. She snuggled into the oval, and found herself staring into her own face. A mirror was mounted below, far enough to catch light from the room and give her eyes room to focus. Frieda joined Joelle at the table, and together they simultaneously removed Robyn's steel manacles, shackles, belt, and collar, and used tan, padded, leather restraints to bind her to the table. Frieda handled the glittering steel (having the required key, of course), and Joelle the buff leather. Their actions were quick, professional, and well-rehearsed. Robyn was never in a position to offer any meaningful resistance as her restraints were swapped, even if she hadn't been too frightened, confused, and exhausted to attempt escape. In less than two minutes she found herself comfortably stretched in a relaxed spread-eagle with broad padded cuffs linking her wrists and ankles to the steel rail running the periphery of the table. In addition, leather straps pinned her body to the table across her shoulder blades, the small of her back, and her thighs, just below her naked butt. Finally, a padded frame of some sort was inserted in two holes on either side of her throat. It slid in place and locked with an authoritative click, and Robyn found herself unable to lift her head free of the padded oval.
"What are you going to do to me," the helpless redhead whined, squirming in her new bonds (and clinching her dimpled buttocks, realizing how vulnerable she was to a spanking, paddling... or even a whipping).
"Quiet, or you'll be gagged," Frieda muttered, then mumbled something, apparently to Joelle.
Robyn was confused. Frieda's attitude was... different. She was still very much in charge, but... different. "P-please don't hurt me," Robyn whined, unable to stifle the outburst.
"I told you—umm—Just be quiet." It was Frieda's voice, but very different at the end, almost as if she were crying! Robyn was even more confused.
Apparently, Robyn wasn't alone. "Darling, what's wrong?" Joelle demanded. Much whispering ensued, then Frieda's boots clicked away, fading into the distance and through the chamber door. Robyn felt several thick, fluffy towels being laid across her strapped, naked body. "These will keep you warm and toasty," Joelle purred in Robyn's ear. "Mistress and I have something to discuss. You take a nice nap, okay?"
"J-joelle?" Robyn whispered. "Please... I'm scared."
"Trust me," Joelle's strong alto voice murmured in Robyn's ear, followed closely by a kiss.
Seconds passed, then the lights clicked out and the door closed. Robyn sighed and wiggled in her bonds. Suddenly, she heard shouting from the corridor. She surmised Frieda and Joelle were just outside, and the discussion Joelle had mentioned had rapidly degenerated into a full-blown argument. Robyn couldn't understand words, but she could recognize the voices. To her infinite surprise and even further confusion, Joelle seemed to be doing most of the yelling! After several seconds, the voices faded.
Robyn could just make out the reflection of her face in the mirror below. Apparently the bathing chamber had some sort of night light. She twisted her wrists in their tight cuffs, then tried to lift her head... and was defeated by the padded stock clamped around her neck. She sighed and closed her eyes... and within seconds... was asleep.
|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—4|
Naked and very angry, the translucent red ball-gag still bobbing under her chin like some absurd bauble, Joelle stomped into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and started gathering the makings of a light meal.
Frieda was right behind, her eyes on the floor. The fair-skinned, raven-haired beauty was in tight black leather from head to toe, the very image of a dominatrix: boots, catsuit, corset, and gloves. For several seconds she watched Joelle prepare some bacon for frying, then licked her lips and spoke. "Look," she muttered, "we have to—"
"I told you to shut up!" Joelle barked. She arranged the strips of raw bacon on a griddle, set the burner on low, then turned to her suddenly submissive Mistress. "Innocent. Not a thief. Just doing her job. So sorry. Mistakes happen."
"Look, I'm pissed too," Frieda growled, her eyes flashing. "When Chandler gets here—"
"Oh no you don't!" Joelle interrupted. "Don't even try pushing this off on Dragon Lady. Of course it's all her fault, but you're the one who sold this mess to me! It's your fault I'm a felon and... and... a Bitch!"
"We can't just let her go," Frieda mumbled, her eyes on the floor again.
Joelle flipped the bacon, returned to the refrigerator, and pulled out a package of thin-sliced, smoked turkey. "I know that," she said. "The situation's just too complicated... especially in New York. Too many unknowns. We need time to think... time to find a new arrangement."
"Well," Frieda said, "for starters—"
"For starters, you can shut up!" Joelle interrupted. Her hand went to the ball-gag around her neck. "Key!" she barked. Frieda fumbled in the pockets of her catsuit and produced the tiny key required to unlock the tiny padlock securing the buckle. Joelle unlocked the gag and tossed it to Frieda. "In your mouth, good and tight," she ordered.
"Joey," Frieda whined, "it's not time to swap roles 'til next week. I know I—"
"Shut it!" Joelle shouted. "This has nothing to do with schedules and who's on top. This is about you dragging me into that Evil Warburg Bitch's evil scheme when I told you it was wrong! This is about me paddling your Snow White behind 'til you develop some sense! In your mouth!"
Frieda sighed, stared at the translucent red rubber ball for several seconds, then followed her orders. She threaded the buckle and tightened the strap until the corners of her mouth were pulled back in a permanent grimace. She then interlaced her fingers atop her head and spun on her booted heels.
Joelle slid the padlock through the hasp in the gag's buckle and clicked it closed. She then spun Frieda around and tested the fit of the ball. It filled Frieda's mouth to capacity and was obviously a very effective silencer. The gagged, catsuited "Top" locked eyes with the naked "Bottom." Brown eyes stared into pale blue for several long seconds... then Joelle's scowl faded. "We need time to think," she repeated. "We also need time to calm down. I'll vent my anger on you for a while..." She reached out and caressed Frieda's leather covered breasts with her strong, dark hands. "You can vent your anger on Chandler, whenever she gets here..." Her hands traveled down over Frieda's tight corset and on to her leather-clad loins. "And we can both start apologizing to poor Robyn, even if we can't set her free." Frieda nodded. "I'm a little underdressed for the part of Avenging Bitch-Goddess," Joelle said, "so I'm going upstairs to correct that oversight. In the meanwhile, I want you to prepare a light supper for two: club sandwiches, fruit salad, and white wine." She pattered to the kitchen door and favored Frieda with a coy smile. "If you're wondering how you're going to eat with that gag in your mouth... you aren't. The other sandwich is for Robyn. You're fasting 'til breakfast; and when I get back, we'll see about getting you a little less over-dressed." She blew Frieda a kiss, and was gone.
Frieda sighed and turned to the browning bacon. She flipped it again, then set about making toast.
|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—4|
Robyn came awake as the last of the towels were pulled from her body. She was momentarily chilled. "Who's there?" she muttered, pulling on her leather wrist cuffs.
"Don't be afraid, Red," Joelle's voice answered. "It's just your fellow slave, Jet." The straps over her upper back, lower back, and thighs were unbuckled and pulled back.
Robyn's nostrils flared. A complex, musky scent with floral highlights filled the room. Red heat lamps clicked on and her exposed skin began warming rapidly. "What—oh—ah!" Someone (presumably Joelle) was rubbing her hands over Robyn's back and spine. Their passage was eased by warm, fragrant oil. Robyn pulled on her wrist and ankle cuffs and slowly twisted her neck in its padded stock-clamp, reassuring herself that she was still helpless. "That feels goooood," she whispered. The clamp pinning her neck was pulled away, and the massage continued. All thoughts of her helpless plight and uncertain future were gone. Robyn lay in her restraints and let the delicious feelings wash over her.
"You have the prettiest skin," Joelle purred, pouring a fresh dollop of heated oil on her hands, rubbing them together, then resuming her massage.
Robyn was limp as the proverbial dishrag. "I... thankss," she whispered, her voice slurred. Joelle massaged her shoulders, upper and lower back, her spine from neck to buttocks, her thighs, each of her limbs... the languid prisoner neither noticed not resisted as her cuffs were released, one-by-one, re-secured to the top and bottom rails of the table, and she was rolled onto her back.
The massage continued, but now Robyn could see her masseuse. She was a little surprised to find Joelle clad in skintight leather from head to toe. Her costume was similar to Frieda's black catsuit, but this one was medium brown with butternut trim and accents. It was skintight, but had no corset. Robyn shuddered in her bonds, intoxicated by the sight of her "fellow slave." A shy smile curled the naked redhead's coral lips. "I... I like your skin too," she whispered as Joelle's strong, dark hands caressed her breasts. "And I like your outfit. It's... oh..." (Joelle's hands manipulated Robyn's erect nipples.) "...oh... It's perfect... oh..."
Joelle smiled, replenished the oil on her hands, and resumed her massage of Robyn's breasts and abdomen. "Feeling hungry, Red?" she inquired.
"Oh... oh..." Joelle's hands had reached Robyn's sex. The panting redhead closed her eyes and she shuddered in her bonds. "H...hungry? Yesss... oh..."
"Good," Joelle purred, continuing her skilled manipulation of Robyn's captive flesh. "We have sandwiches waiting for us upstairs. Does that sound good?"
Robyn's was writhing in her bonds, increasingly oblivious to everything but Joelle's continuing massage of her most intimate person. "Oh... oh..." Her panting gasps became a squeal of delight, and she bucked and fought her inescapable restraints—and came. Her frenzied, shuddering, squirming reactions continued for several seconds, then she collapsed in her bonds... still panting... and smiled up at Joelle through half-closed lids.
Joelle smiled down at the happy captive. "I'll take that as a yes," she said with a chuckle.
|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—4|
Robyn was happy. She basked in the afterglow of her massage and orgasm at the very skilled hands of her "fellow slave." Always keeping her helplessly tethered to the massage table by at least three cuffs, Joelle dressed Robyn in a fluffy robe, placed fluffy slippers on her feet, then snapped her leather wrist cuffs together behind her back. Robyn wasn't afraid. Frieda might be her enemy, but Joelle was her friend.
Robyn was led upstairs to the kitchen, deposited in a comfortable chair, and was hand fed by Joelle. The club sandwiches and fruit salad were accompanied by excellent wine... an abundance of excellent wine. Conversation became more and more... giggly. Eventually Robyn found herself being led from the kitchen, up the grand staircase, and into a large bedroom with a large bed. (The bedroom also had a large bathroom, and things got even more giggly when Joelle helped Robyn answer the call of nature, then washed her face and brushed her teeth.) The slightly tipsy redhead then found herself in the bed.
Joelle climbed in behind her captive, pulled Robyn's robe off her shoulders, reached around and opened its sash, then pulled the thick, fluffy garment down and over her captive's cuffed wrists. "I have to make you a little more secure," she explained as she buckled a collar of tan leather around Robyn's throat, "so I can let you share my bed without fear of you escaping in the night." The collar was followed by a matching tan harness than pinned Robyn's arms to her sides.
"I... I don't mind," Robyn whispered as she was rolled onto her stomach, "not if it's you." The harness buckled to the back of the collar. Her wrist cuffs were separated, the robe pulled free and tossed aside, her arms folded across her back, and each cuff secured to the harness. Finally, a broad flap of leather was buckled over her forearms. Even if she had wanted to resist, Joelle had taken full precautions, pinning her arms first, sitting with her weight astride Robyn's buttocks, and working quickly and efficiently; but truth be told, the grinning redhead didn't want to resist (didn't mind being controlled). The prospect of sharing a warm bed with her "fellow slave" was... delicious... "delicious as cool, white wine."
"What did you say, darling?" Joelle asked as she rolled off the bed.
Robyn blushed, and giggled. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud. "Nothing," she answered, then whispered "oh" when Joelle snapped one end of a light chain to the front of her collar. The prisoner followed the chain with her eyes and found its other end snapped to a decorative iron ring in the bed's headboard.
Meanwhile, resplendent in her skintight catsuit, Joelle was standing, hands on hips, and smiling down at her captive. "I have a surprise for you," she said. "Wait here."
"'Wait here'," Robyn quoted, a sardonic smile curling her lips. Joelle laughed, spun on her heel, and left the bedroom. Robyn tested her bonds. They were tight, inescapable, but comfortable. 'Surprise', she mused. I wonder what—
Robyn gasped. Frieda Saberhagen had stumbled into the room. A large red ball-gag was strapped in her mouth, and she was bound in black, gleaming leather! A wide, stiff collar was around her throat. A heavily boned corset was laced tightly around her waist. Behind her back a single-sleeve encased her hands, wrists, and arms, pulling her elbows together and causing her large, firm, pale breasts to point. The sleeve incorporated straps that encircled her wrists and elbows, pinned her forearms to the corset, linked the top of the sleeve to the back of her collar, and linked the fingertips of the sleeve to the front of the corset (cleaving her buttocks and sex in the process, of course). Finally, her ankles were cuffed and linked by a hobbling strap. All her restraints were cruelly tight, and obviously completely inescapable.
Frieda's pale skin glistened with sweat. Her blue eyes peered through a curtain of tousled raven curls, locking with her fellow captive's amazed green eyes. Her nipples were flushed and erect, her breasts heaving slightly above the tight restriction of the corset.
There was a loud whack and the business end of a riding crop landed on Frieda's right buttock. The crop was Joelle's, of course. The dusky, catsuited beauty grabbed a handful of Frieda's hair, and dragged her towards the bed. "On your knees," she hissed and Frieda complied instantly. "I told you you'd be surprised," Joelle said to Robyn.
In fact, the redhead was dumbstruck! Her eyes darted from Joelle to Frieda and back, her mouth hanging open in amazement. Joelle stooped and unbuckled Frieda's ball-gag, tossed it aside, placed the shaft of her crop in its place, and Frieda submissively bit down and held it like a thin, overly long bit. Joelle stood and began peeling off her catsuit.
Robyn was finally able to speak. "What the...?"
Joelle sat on the bed and was pulling off her boots. "Hush, Red," she scolded, a smile on her face. Nude at last, she crawled onto the bed, behind Robyn, and pulled the still amazed redhead with her to nestle against the pillows piled at the headboard. She reached out and adjusted a control on the night stand, and the lights slowly faded, leaving only the dozen candles burning at various locations around the bedroom.
Joelle snuggled against the pillows, hugged Robyn close from behind, and spoke softly in her ear. "There's something I have to tell you, Robyn," she said. "We know you're innocent."
Robyn half turned her head, but her eyes were still on Frieda. "You what?"
"We know you're innocent," Joelle repeated. "More precisely, we know now. Chandler Warburg has admitted she screwed up. You didn't steal anything, and you're not a thief. We're sorry we let her talk us into this mess."
Robyn squirmed in her bonds. "You're letting me go?"
"We can talk about that in the morning," Joelle answered, then gestured towards Frieda. "Get up here, slave," she ordered. Encumbered by her bonds, the crop still in her mouth, Frieda climbed to her feet, then onto the bed.
"I... I want to be let go now," Robyn whined. There was a hint of anger in her voice... but only a hint.
By this time, Frieda was kneeling on the bed. "We can't do that, Honey," Joelle whispered, then intertwined her legs with Robyn's, and pulled the squirming redhead's legs apart, enforcing a wide splay. "We'll talk in the morning."
Robyn struggled, but Joelle's legs were too strong. "No! Let me go—m'mmpfh!"
Joelle's right hand was over Robyn's lips in a tight hand-gag. "Hush," she cooed, then spoke to Frieda. "I believe you have something to say to our guest?"
Frieda dropped the riding crop, licked her lips, then flopped onto her stomach, her mouth inches from Robyn's sex. "Robyn, I'm truly sorry for all the cruel things I did to you earlier. Of course, it's really Chandler who—"
"None of that!" Joelle barked, continuing her hand-gag, and letting her free hand wander over Robyn's pert breasts.
"You're right," Frieda muttered, then locked eyes with Robyn. "I'm really, really sorry. Please accept this small token of sincere apology." With that she wiggled even closer to Robyn's splayed crotch, extended her tongue, and gave the redhead's glistening labia a long, languid lick.
Robyn rolled her eyes and squealed through Joelle's hand, then shuddered as Frieda's tongue slid between her nether lips.
"The first of many such tokens," Joelle purred, "from both of us." She maintained her hand-gag, and concentrated on gently teasing the writhing captive's left nipple. "It's going to be a loooooong night," she said, pausing to insert her tongue in Robyn's right ear, then nibble the lobe, "...but we've got a lot to apologize for, don't we?"
|Tales of CHATTEL MOUNTAIN LODGE||PERSONNEL PROBLEM—Chapter 4|