by Van ©2010
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		Chapter 1
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The meal was over, the waiter had cleared the table and refilled the coffee cups, and the required leather bill-holder had discretely appeared.  Faith Blendel, editor at a successful publishing house, pulled a credit card from her purse and slid it into the appropriate pocket of the folder.  She then smiled at her friend, luncheon guest, and business expense.  "Like I told you, everybody gets blocked now and then.  Wise old editorial types like me know about such things.  And it's not like it's never happened to you before.  There's no need to panic."

Delfina Shaw, the friend, guest and business expense in question, sighed, took a sip of coffee, and gazed out the restaurant window at the passing pedestrians.  "I'm not panicked.  It's just that this is... different.  I usually have more ideas than I can write.  God knows my laptop is so crammed with notes I barely have room to write... but right now... I can't write anything."

"Oh, boo-frakkin'-hoo," Faith chuckled.  "Like I also told you, you need a break."

"I'm not going," Delfina huffed.  "I hate the beach."

"Liar," Faith countered.  "You love the beach.  You're just having too much fun basking in your Bohemian Funk."

Delfina favored her editor with a rueful smile.  "Self-pity is a lot of fun," she admitted, and sipped her coffee, again.  "I don't even know her."

"Christina Goddard is a sweetheart.  You'll love her and she'll love you.  You're going.  I'm invoking the do-what-your-editor-says clause of your contract."  Faith sipped her own coffee, then smiled at the waiter as he took away the holder to run her card.  "She's read all your books, you know."

"So, she has good taste," Delfina conceded.  "Big deal.  And you're right, I like the beach, as in beach resorts, as in last year in the Bahamas.  Pantera Key is way out in the middle of...  Where the hell is Pantera Key?"

Faith smiled.  "Nowhere near anything you can call a resort, that's for sure.  There's a good seafood restaurant about three miles up the coast, but the closest anything else is even further up the coast, in either direction.  The only way in and out is an unimproved road.  It's right up against a wildlife refuge full of mangrove swamps and is very private.  I'll give you driving directions.  You'll find it, no problem."

Delfina favored her friend with a dubious expression.  "Mangrove swamps?  Have you ever smelled a mangrove swamp at low tide?"

"The swamp isn't at Seaglass," Faith chuckled.  "Near the house it's all native dunes."

"Seaglass...  She named her house?"

"I believe it was Christina's grandmother who christened the place," Faith explained.  The waiter returned with Faith's card, the signatory ritual was completed, and they prepared to leave.  "I'll e-mail Chris and tell her you'll be there this weekend, 'kay?"

"Two weeks at a beach house in the middle of summer?"  Delfina heaved a theatrical sigh.  "If I have to."

Faith smiled and shook her head.  "Poor baby.  Let's buy you a new suit.  There's good swimming and snorkeling at Seaglass."

Delfina frowned.  "What's wrong with my—"

Faith silenced her friend with a peremptory gesture. "Del, I am not sending you out there with that frumpy old Speedo one-piece you swim laps in at the club."

"Frumpy?" Delfina demanded.  Her black, lycra tank-suit was old, and a little worn, and it was rather like a swim team uniform, style-wise, but the way it hugged her 34-27-36 figure (especially when wet) could hardly be described as "frumpy".

"You need a bikini," Faith responded, gazing at her friend's trim, athletic form with a critical eye.  "Hmm... Red or orange... paprika, papaya, cinnabar...  C'mon.  I know a good place."

Delfina rolled her eyes, grinned, and followed her friend out the door.

After more than a half-hour of concentrated effort, Polly Nestor had convinced herself that she wasn't going anywhere.  That is, the soft, well-conditioned, hemp rope binding her naked, twenty-year-old body had convinced her she wasn't going anywhere.

Her wrists were crossed behind her back and lashed to the bands of rope encircling her torso and upper arms and yoking her shoulders.  It was a box-tie, a Kinbaku/Shibari technique with which Polly was not unfamiliar; however, this was the first time she was experiencing the "sadistic" version, with her wrists pulled up near her shoulder blades in a reverse prayer.  She'd actually escaped from a less stringent box-tie once before, but this time, strands of hemp were lashed around her thumbs and the palms of her hands, making the manipulation of anything that might otherwise have been within reach completely impossible.

And the box-tie was hardly her only challenge.  Her ankles were crossed and bound, and additional rope strands lashed her calves to her thighs.  Lying on her stomach, the ropes made it impossible for her to close her legs.  Adding overkill to helplessness, more rope was looped around her feet and toes, pulled tight, and hitched to her ankle-bonds.

And oh-by-the-way, her long, blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, braided, folded back on itself, wrapped with hemp to form a convenient lashing point, and then used to enforce a chin-lifting, back arching, knees-off-the-ground, hideously tight hogtie!  Polly could rock back and forth an inch or two and squirm a little—if she decided she enjoyed punishing her scalp and her tightly tied toes—but that was about it.  Where the key knots were located in the tight lattice of rope binding her body and what she was expected to do about them... Polly had no idea.

The door opened and her captor entered the room and sat on the floor in a semi-lotus.

"You're a cruel, sadistic bitch.  You know that?" Polly demanded.

Christina Goddard smiled.  "I warned you this would be a bad one."  She was in the same white cotton blouse and jeans she'd worn at breakfast, and when she'd tied up Poor Polly.  The 40-something brunette's feet were bare, as was usual when she was at home.

"You're still a cruel, sadistic bitch," Polly huffed.

"I just got an e-mail from Faith," Christina announced.  "Our guest will be here this weekend."

"Whoop-de-do," Polly muttered.

Christina smiled and climbed to her feet.  "Faith attached some pictures.  Wait here."  She turned and left the room.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a snappy comeback!" Polly retorted.

"I think you just did!" Christina's now distant voice responded.

Polly sighed, suppressed the urge to struggle—she knew it wouldn't do her any good—and stared at the bare walls.  This was the small, unfurnished guest room on the second floor of Seaglass.  The floor was hardwood, and the walls were clad in weathered barn-wood, like most of the living areas.  For all the world, it was an empty room in a very old house, but looks can be deceiving.  The entire house had been renovated.

Over the past decade, working room-by-room, Christina had carefully stripped the interior paneling, doubled the depth of the framing, filled the cavities with thick blankets of open-cell foam insulation, and restored the paneling.  The result had been a significant improvement in energy efficiency and comfort, and a marked decrease in the general noise level.  Of course, the surf and ocean wind could still make themselves known during a storm or at night, but the soundproofing effectively dampened the crashing surf and whistling wind to what most people would consider a soothing level.

Every window at Seaglass was protected by slatted, exterior shutters that doubled as sunscreens.  During storms, they could be lowered and locked down, and at the moment the shutter of the single window of this particular room was in just such a state, and hefty deadbolt locks flush-mounted in the casing made sure it would stay that way.  In addition, an expanded metal grill welded to a thick, steel frame covered the entire window, casing and all.  Its heavy-duty, flush-mounted hinges, hasp, and high-security padlock were as effective a deterrent to escape as any set of prison bars.

A little indirect light filtered between the slats and through the grill, and the door to the hallway was open, admitting more, but the stark, bare room was otherwise a rather dark and gloomy place.

Polly fluttered her fingers, exploring again the possibility of finding some slack in her thumb-bindings, and maybe using it to exploit some hypothetical weakness in the placement of her wrist bonds.  Fat chance, she decided.  She knew Christina had tied redundant knots during the process of rendering her a naked, hogtied captive, especially with the wrist ropes.  Even if she could heroically wiggle her thumbs free, the resulting slack would be immediately checked by a knot hitched somewhere in the elaborate and no doubt elegant macrame of hemp strands embracing her body.  Christina prided herself in her rope-work.  Inescapability was a necessary attribute of her "compositions", of course, but by itself was insufficient for one of Christina's works of art.  The ropes had to be symmetrical and pleasing to the eye.

Just then, the artist in question returned, with four small photo-paper prints in her right hand.  "Fresh off the HP," she announced, as she gracefully settled to the floor, resuming her former semi-lotus.  She held the photos before Polly's hair-tied face, one-by-one.  "Faith and Delfina at some charity event," Christina said.  "Something to do with dogs, I think... but there are certainly no dogs in this shot."

"She has a big nose," Polly observed.

"Faith?" Christina chuckled.

"Delfina," Polly corrected.  "And a big mouth... and a funny name."

"Don't be jealous, Little Bit," Christina purred.  She dropped the first photo on the floor and presented the second.  "See anything else you'd call 'big'?"

The second photo was from a studio session, and showed Delfina in jeans and a pink top—a tight, form-fitting pink top.  "Hmm... Big nose, big mouth... no, that's about it," Polly said.

"Big tits," Christina suggested, with a wry smile.

"Okay, she has knockers," Polly admitted, "unless she's getting help from a push-up bra under that top."

Christina leaned close and kissed Polly's forehead.  "I've told you a thousand times, Polly," she chuckled.  "There's nothing wrong with your perky little A-cups."

"B-cups," Polly huffed.  "Credit where credit's due."

"Okay," Christina laughed, "B-cups, and still big enough for me to tie up."

"Lucky me," Polly sighed.  The 34-Bs in question weren't tied up at the moment, thank god—just framed with neat bands of tight hemp and squashed against the hardwood floor.  But Christina was right, they were big enough to be tied up.  They both knew this from experience.

She tapped the second photo with her index finger.  "This was a proposed dust-jacket photo for her last book," Christina explained, "but she rejected it... like this one."  She placed the second photo beside the first and presented the third.  It had probably been taken at a beach or pool party, and depicted Delfina in a bikini-style top, some sort of loosely woven sweater or robe, and what was probably a sarong.  "Now, be honest," Christina chided.  "She's hot."

"I never said she wasn't hot," Polly responded, "but she does have a big nose and a funny mouth."

"And a figure to die for," Christina added.  "She's one of those rare beauties in which the whole is greater than the sum of her parts."

"I suppose," Polly agreed. She was not jealous, not really.  "I love that necklace, or boob-chain or whatever you call it."  The jewelry in question was a pair of silver chains.  One was draped over her shoulders and drooped to her cleavage, where it was linked to the second chain.  That chain dove between her breasts, under the bikini top, and encircled her torso.  "I ought to try that."

"Sorry, Little One," Christina said, "but there are some looks that do require 'big tits' to work."

Polly sighed.  "You're probably right," she admitted, then smiled up at her captor.  "You've got enough of a rack to pull it off."

"I suppose I could," Christina scoffed, "if I wanted to look like a cougar on the prowl.  It works for Delfina, but on me, I think it would me look a little... desperate.  Anyway..."  She presented the fourth and final print.  "The non-rejected dust-jacket bio photo, the one used for her last bestseller."

"Showing less bod," Polly observed, "but still unable to conceal her hotness."

"Faith tells me she rejected the others 'cause she wants to be taken as a serious writer," Christina explained, "and not as a 'sexpot', as she put it."

Polly grinned.  "And yet...  hot."

"Yes," Christina agreed.  "Anyway, she'll arrive this weekend.  I want you to read her books before she gets here."

"I'll get right on it," Polly huffed, squirming in her bonds, "as soon as you untie me."

Christina smiled sweetly.  "Untie you?  What makes you think I'm going to untie you?"

"You're going to sit here all afternoon and turn pages for me?"

"Oh, I'm much more clever than that," Christina laughed.  "Be right back."  She climbed to her feet and left the room.

Polly sighed, and stared at the array of photos on the floor.  Her hair bondage had just enough slack to make this possible.  "Looks and brains," she whispered under her breath.  "You gotta have brains if you're a writer, don't you, Del?"

"What was that, darling?" Christina asked as she reentered the room.  She had her new Apple iPad in her right hand, and was using her left to hide something behind her back.

"Nothing," Polly sighed.

Christina set the iPad in front of Polly and touched the screen.  The nine-point-seven inch screen flashed to life, displaying the tastefully lurid front cover of Delfina's first bestselling mystery novel, I Scream, You Scream.  She rearranged the photos to either side, so Polly could still see them.

"At least untie my hair so I can try and touch the screen with my chin or nose or something," Polly muttered.

"That's part of the plan," Christina chuckled.  She leaned close and untied the knot pulling Polly's head back.

"Thank you," Polly huffed, grimacing as she rolled her neck.

"I'm leaving the ponytail," Christina purred, "to keep your hair out of your face."

"How considerate."

"And here's part two of my fiendish plan," Christina announced, producing a ball-gag from behind her back.  Its inch-wide strap was black leather, and the black, inch-and-a-half diameter rubber ball was pierced by a quarter-inch breathing hole; however, the end of a number-two pencil had been jammed into said hole.  The pencil's shaft was unpainted wood, and it terminated in the usual pink eraser.  "Your page turner," Christina explained.

"Cruel, sadistic, and clever," Polly huffed, but offered no resistance as Christina thrust the ball into her mouth and buckled the strap at the nape of her neck.  The pencil protruded from her gaping, gagged mouth, ready for her to flick the eraser tip across the lower corner of the iPad's screen to advance the pages as she read.

"I'll be back before supper to check your progress," Christina announced.  "And in case you're thinking of cheating, I've got an app running that will tell me the amount of time you spend on each page.  Don't bother trying to navigate away from the e-book.  The main interface is password protected.  All you can do is turn the pages.  One last thing for me to arrange," she said, and once again she strolled towards the door, "and then you can start reading."

Christina entered her bedroom and flopped down on the bed.  After making her final arrangement and leaving her young protege to "enjoy her e-book", she'd gone for a run on the beach.  She'd left her wet, sandy running-shoes on the back porch, but was still wearing baggy running shorts, French-cut T-shirt, sports bra, and panties.  It was a hot, humid, Summer day, typical for Pantera Key, and Christina's skin glistened.  Her running clothes were damp with sweat, especially under her armpits, between her breasts, and through her crotch.  She settled her head and shoulders against the pillows piled against the headboard, then reached for her touch-screen remote and gave it a tap.

The large, flat-screen TV mounted on the far wall flashed to life.  With repeated taps she navigated her way through an onscreen menu.  Eventually, a video-image filled the screen, and she snuggled into the pillows, stretched... and smiled.

The tiny camera concealed in the ventilation duct in Polly's prison du jour was functioning perfectly.  The hogtied, gagged, naked, beautiful young blonde was studiously reading the screen of the iPad, as she had been for more than—Christina glanced at her alarm clock—two hours.  The full details of Christina's meticulous final arrangements weren't visible, only the electrical cord trailing from between Polly's splayed legs.  It was plugged into a digital timer, which in turn was plugged into a wall socket, and Christina knew it originated from the base of the phallus-shaped vibrator she had placed in Polly's pussy.  And there was no way the vibrator could come loose, not with the tight, well-hitched strands of cord she'd used to anchor the base of the shaft and lash it to the squirming captive's rope bonds.

Christina glanced at the alarm clock, again.  Anytime, now, she thought, grinning in anticipation.  She had set the timer to energize the vibrator (and Polly) every fifteen minutes, for exactly one minute... and only for one minute.

The timer had its own clock, of course, and while Christina had set it to match her other clocks, there was bound to be a little variation; but, the next "event" would be soon... anytime, now.

And then it happened.  Polly flinched in her bonds, yelped through her gag, and her young, delicious, inescapably bound body began to writhe.  She clenched her eyes tightly closed.  Seconds passed, and her smooth, tan skin began to take on a shine.

Christina's hands reached under her shorts and panties and she began fingering herself.

On the screen, Polly continued to rock her hogtied body and and struggle against the tight ropes... and then her eyes popped open and she screamed through her gag.  The vibrator had turned itself off, as programmed.  Her blue eyes glared up at the hidden camera.  Christina knew the camera was one that Polly, herself, had installed, and the diminutive prisoner knew the "cruel, sadistic bitch" who had done this to her was watching... probably... maybe.

"Poor Polly," Christina whispered, continuing to masturbate.  "Sooo helpless... sooo frustrated... Poor Polly."

On the screen, in her dark, secure prison, Polly rested the side of her head on the hard floor for several seconds, then sighed through her gag, lifted her head, and resumed reading.

"It wasn't enough, was it darling?" Christina inquired.  "And you know it will happen again, and it won't be enough the next time, either... or the time after that.  It will never be enough, until I return and... and... Ahhhh!"  She put her head back and clenched her eyes shut, knowing she was mimicking her precious prisoner's expression when her pussy had been the one receiving attention.  Her body tensed... and she came.

Later... Christina lay back against the pillows, her eyes still closed, basking in the afterglow.

Christina opened her eyes and focused on the screen.  Polly was still reading.  A thrill of affection shivered through Christina.  "You're a good little sub, Polly," she whispered, addressing the still air.  "Strong, beautiful, full of life, anxious to please, and you always try your best... even when I make things impossible for you."  Polly wasn't merely obedient, of course.  The youngster knew when to fight, when to show spirit and resist, when to pretend she wanted to do something other than exactly what her Mistress asked of her.  Beautiful... and sharp as the proverbial tack.  God, I am sooooo lucky, Christina thought, and not for the first time.

She reached for the remote and tapped the screen, navigating her way to the photo folders on the household's server.  The screen split into two windows.  The "Poor Polly Show" continued playing on the left, and a slide-show of the Delfina photographs Faith had sent her began playing on the right.  There were more than thirty photos.  The four Christina had shared with Polly were among the best, but Delfina Shaw was a feast for the eyes in every image.

Christina let her hand slide against her wet labia... not really trying to stimulate herself to another orgasm, but prolonging the fading remnant of the last.  "We're going to have a lot of fun, Delfina," she muttered under her breath.  It was a dangerous game Christina intended to play with her soon-to-be house guest, and she knew it... probably her most dangerous game to date.  "But some risks are worth taking," she whispered.  She focused on Polly.

The helpless little blonde was still reading the glowing iPad.  As Christina watched, the hogtied captive carefully maneuvered the eraser-tip of the pencil protruding from her gag to the lower right corner of the screen and deftly slid it from right to left, advancing the page.  She then lifted her chin and rolled her gagged head, flexing her neck, as best she could.

"Poor Polly," Christina purred, continuing to slide her hand under her panties.  "You're getting tired of trying to read like that, aren't you, darling?" she whispered.

Yes, some risks were worth taking—like Polly, one of a gaggle of college friends invited to a weekend retreat and literary symposium (beach party) waaaaay out on Pantera Key, at the home of a friend of one of her professors.  And now, after careful maneuvering on Christina's part (although the seduction had hardly been one-sided) here she was, a year after graduation, a permanent resident of Seaglass.

Another photo of Delfina wearing a bikini and the between-the-boobs chain flashed on the screen, this time showing even more of Delfina's exquisite, athletic, hot body as she cavorted in the surf.  Apparently, it had been taken at a beach party... somewhere.  Yes, this is going to be risky, Christina mused.  She would be gambling everything.  The payoff would be spectacular, but if she lost—disaster!  Christina smiled at the screen.  "But worth the risk," she whispered.

Time for the next phase, she decided.  She pulled her hand from under her panties and running shorts, and rolled off the bed.

Polly knelt on the hardwood floor, the same floor of the same bare space that had been her "reading room" for the last two-plus hours.  Her butt rested on her heels and her wrists were crossed behind her back.  She was still naked, from the neck down, but she was no longer a bound captive, also from the neck down.  Her skin was crisscrossed with rope marks, but she knew they would fade, and without leaving bruises or rope-burns.  Christina had done her usual expert job of tying her up tighter than a tick, but in a manner that wouldn't have long-term aftereffects.  Even the stiffness in her joints would fade... especially after she was finally able to stand and stretch.  But now was not the time.  The game wasn't over, and she suspected it might not be over for some time.

Christina had removed her ball-gag and replaced it with her sweaty panties and a wide strip of white medical tape.  Then, she had pulled a "Gwen hood" of black leather over Polly's head, and it was laced tight until it hugged Polly's cranium like a second skin.  Its oval opening left her upper face exposed from forehead to nose, and a much smaller opening allowed her blond, still-braided ponytail to cascade down her back.  A wide, locking leather collar had followed.  It covered the lace's final, double-knotted bow and made the hood's wear mandatory, even if Polly was otherwise unbound and/or was inclined to be disobedient.

She'd been denied any opportunity to resist while the panty-tape-gag, hood, and collar were applied.  Christina released her from her hogtie only after the collar's padlock had clicked closed.  Futility aside, Polly knew she actually wouldn't have resisted.  Her games with Christina were not of the simple Top/Bottom, Dom/Sub variety.  Okay, sometimes they were, but usually, they were much more... complicated.  Sometimes it seemed right for Polly to pretend she wanted to escape, that being anything other than Christina's housekeeper, friend, protege, student, lover, and slave was not her every dream come true.  Yes, sometimes, she played the total subservient, devoid of personal will, living only to serve and please her Cruel Mistress.  And sometimes she was the feisty captive, struggling for her freedom.  Sometimes... but not today.  Today the game was about Christina venting her nervous energy.  Role-playing was largely irrelevant.

And vent her nervous energy she had—on Polly!

Panty-gagged, hooded, but not yet released from her stringent hogtied, Polly had been flipped onto her back.  Christina had then straddled her waist and settled her weight on her flat tummy.  Locking eyes with her captive, a wicked grin on her flushed face, she proceeded to reach behind her back, thumb the vibrator still lodged in Polly's pussy to "HI", and repeatedly slide it in and out of the squirming captive's already well-lubricated slit.

Polly's pump had been very well primed, so it didn't take her long to reach a crushing orgasm.  She screamed through her gag, struggled for all she was worth—then went perfectly rigid and stopped breathing.

Smiling evilly, Christina stopped frigging the spasming captive, thumbed the vibrator to "OFF", and pulled it all the way out.

Polly resumed breathing, panting through her flaring nostrils, her rope-framed bosom heaving, and glared at her tormentor (lover) with angry (loving) blue eyes.

"You're not fooling me," Christina had purred, gently caressing Polly's rigid nipples.  "You love it when I 'torture' you like this."  She flipped the prisoner back onto her stomach, and began the long process of untying the hemp ropes.

The hood remained, of course, and here she was, naked, kneeling, and watching her Mistress coil her former bonds.  Christina bundled them together and tossed them out into the hallway.

Polly sighed through her gag, wishing she had one more chance to discuss what they were about to do, to remind Christina of the terrible danger of the path they were about to take.

The vibrator, timer, extension cord, and running shorts were next.  They joined the rope out in the hall.

Polly sighed, again.  Risk was what it was all about for Christina, of course.  She loved gambling, not with money, but by taking what most people would call reckless choices.  She simply couldn't resist reaching for the brass ring, even when she already had a dozen identical brass rings in her possession.  In any case, Polly knew the Mistress of Seaglass knew what she was doing.  As unlikely as it might seem, at times, Christina always knew what she was doing.

A shudder rippled up Polly's spine as she watched her naked-from-the-waist-down Mistress.

A coy (and heartbreaking cute) smile dimpling her cheeks, Christina retrieved her iPad and gazed at the screen.  "Hmm..." she said, after a few seconds of reading and tapping, "you've been a good little girl and done your homework, I see."  She returned the iPad to the floor, next to the prints of Delfina.  "Continue reading, and when you finish the first book, I give you permission to play with yourself... one time, and one time only.  Then, you can cook us some supper."  She stepped to the door and paused, with her right hand on the doorknob.

Polly gazed at her lover.  She looks so sexy like that, Polly sighed, standing there bare-legged and sweaty and casually flaunting her pussy.

"Until later, darling," Christina purred.  "Remember," she added, waving a warning finger, "one time only!"  She stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her.

Polly heard the lock turn, but the door was too thick and solid for her to hear Christina gather her possessions and patter away.  Polly stood, reached for the ceiling, and went up on her toes in a too long delayed, glorious, full-body and back-arching stretch.  Finally, she sighed, then performed a series of torso-twisting, hip-rolling, and arm flexing exercises.  It felt very good to finally be able to do more than wiggle her bound body and grind her tits into the hard floor.

Her sore muscles dealt with, for the moment—she'd try and seduce Christina into a full-body massage after supper—Polly sat back down and picked up the iPad.  Ever the thoughtful Cruel Bitch, Christina had returned the e-book to the page she'd been reading when she was interrupted, her gag changed, frigged mercilessly, and "freed" from her hogtie.  Only four more chapters to go, Polly noted.  Delfina really is a good writer.  She shivered and squirmed on the hard floor, savoring the aftermath of her ravishment.  Maybe I should defy Her Majesty's orders and take my 'one time, and only one time' reward for finishing the first book early.  No... Chris hates it when I top from the bottom.  She knows I'd be doing it just to tick her off, assuming she's watching, of course.  She'd probably lock me in my chastity belt, drag me to another of the 'special rooms', and put me to bed without any supper... and I've already missed lunch.  No... better to play along... this time.  She knew Christina had something special planned for tonight, and it would be foolish to spoil her plan, whatever it might be, by "demanding" an immediate punishment.

Polly carefully ignored her pussy (her flushed, moist, vibro-teased but currently satiated pussy), and prepared to resume reading—but first, she paused to gaze at the four photos of the e-book's author, still lined up, side-by-side, on the floor.  You poor thing, she mused.  You have no idea you're walking into a trap, do you, you pretty, big-nosed, big-boobed, tall, tan, intelligent, supremely talented, beautiful, and HOT thing... do you, Delfina?