Winifred's Workshop
Winifred's Workshop

by Van © 2018

Chapter 2

Dramatis Personæ


Okay, okay, okay!  Wow!

After I got home and over the course of the rest of the day my nervousness transitioned from actual nervousness into a low, simmering boil of, shall we say... intellectual tension?  Yeah, intellectual tension.  I'm going with intellectual tension.

So... I browsed the internet, blogged a little, read a little, ate a light supper, browsed, blogged, and read a little more, then went to bed.

So... intellectual tension.  How to relieve my intellectual tension.  How to get Winnie's smiling face, deft fingers, tight ropes, and Micki's boobs out of my head (so to speak).  How does a normal, talented, arguably attractive, and charming young woman like myself relieve her intellectual tension and relax?  Suffice it to say, I managed.

Okay, don't stare at me like a puzzled pooch.  I masturbated, okay?  I pretended I was a naked damsel-in-distress, bound hand and foot, and being teased by Winnie and Micki, okay?  It happened.  There was no elaborate scenario, just Molly lying on her bed in her usual pajamas imaging an imaginary Molly naked, tied up, and getting a whoopee-massage and detailed face sucking from my favorite Lifestyle Consultant and Librarian.

But where did the erotic aspect of watching Winnie bind, gag, and blindfold a naked Micki come from?  Who knows?  It certainly wasn't from Winnie.  She was a complete professional before, during, and after the session.  Micki the naked librarian was erotic, of course, but that was hardly her fault.  She just is.  Erotic, I mean.  I suppose it's one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe why I decided to fantasize about being finger-fiddled and slobbered on by Winnie and Micki... I suppose.

Also, I told you (the reader) I wouldn't leave anything out, but that's all I'm willing to share about what happened that night... alone... in my bed.  I absolutely refuse to rub everybody's noses in all the squishy details (so to speak).

Afterwards, I slept like the proverbial log.

Winnie and I met for tea a few days latter.  I'd watched a few additional customers come and go to and from Winnie's abode, but the women were all nobody I knew.  We met at my place, Me-Me's bungalow, which, of course, is now my bungalow.  I'd bought a new package of Twining™ English Breakfast Tea for the occasion, as well as popping into World Market® for a classic Little Brown Teapot and four really cute and functional cups and saucers, and a white, cow-shaped milk mini-pitcher.  (It was really cute!  I couldn't resist.) While I was at it, I went whole hog tea service and acquired a sugar bowl for sugar cubes and some sugar cubes.  Prior to these purchases I'd been a mug person, but now I was prepared for my version of afternoon tea, only without cucumber sandwiches.  I recruited a package of Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies for "biscuit" duty.  (I love Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies!)

Anyway, I wanted Winnie to feel welcome, and I guess I pulled it off.  We sat in the kitchen and sipped tea, nibbled on Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies, and watched through the bay window of my breakfast nook as a squirrel emptied my bird feeder.  Winnie said she liked my place.  I gushed about her place.  Winnie shared advice about various methods of decreasing birdseed depredation by non-birds.  She also opened a small window into British Culture.  I learned the difference between tea (a normal "cuppa"), builders tea, cream tea, and High Tea.  It was... fascinating.

Finally, we got down to business (so to speak).

Was I okay with everything that had happened during the first session?  Yes.

Did I want to audit a second session?  Yes.  (Hell yes, actually, but I played it cool.)

Well, it turned out Winnie had found another of her clients who was willing to let that happen; however, there were conditions.

"Conditions?" I inquired (meaning whined, nervously).  "What conditions?"

Winnie smiled.  "The client insists on equal footing, one might say."


"She wants you to be nude, as well," Winnie explained.


Winnie patted my hand, reassuringly.  "That way she'll know you're truly comfortable with the situation."

I nodded sagely.  Also, my heart started thumping and I was blinking again.  "Uh..."

Winnie took hold of my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "You know I won't let anything happen if it'll make you feel uncomfortable, don't you?"

I blinked a few more times, then nodded.  "I trust you, Winnie," I said in a near whisper.

Winnie blushed.  It was very cute.  "Very well then.  Is the day after tomorrow at one PM okay?"

"Yeah, sure."  I gestured to the teapot.  "More?"

"Yes, please."

We emptied the pot, nibbled a few more Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies, and finalized a cunning strategy to kick the little gray furry butts of the neighborhood squirrels.  I already shopped at my local Wild Birds Unlimited® (as did Winnie), and on Winnie's advice made a mental note to check out their wire cages designed to let songbirds through to the feeder but frustrate bushy-tailed thieves.  I'd already noted that Winnie used such a cage in her backyard secret garden.

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 2

The Second Session!

The next day I rang Winnie's doorbell a few minutes ahead of the agreed upon time, noting that there wasn't yet a strange car in her driveway.  Apparently, I'd arrived before Winnie's client du jour (the one that wanted to see me naked).

Was I nervous?  Please.  No silly questions.

Winnie opened the door with a broad, welcoming smile, dressed in a pair of rust-brown tights and a sage-green tank-top.  (More pokies!)  As during The First Session, she was barefoot.  Winnie took my not quite trembling hand and led me through her home to the meditation studio.chair

One of Winnie's black metal chairs was already out of the closet and waiting.  This time it was one of her arm-less models, one of the chairs Winnie and Micki had used during The Great Post First Session Tea Party.  She led me past the chair to the hidden closet where Micki had stashed her clothes, opened the door, and indicated the hanging hangers.  "Here ya go," she said (unnecessarily).

"Thanks," I responded (in a pathetic near-squeak).

"Oh, Molly," Winnie chuckled, leaned close, and planted a kiss on my right cheek.  "Don't be nervous."

"I'll try," I sighed.  (I didn't try very hard.  I knew it was pointless.)  Anyway, I started disrobing, beginning with my sandals.  I then unzipped and removed my very pretty (IMHO), predominately periwinkle blue, floral print sundress, followed by my ho-hum-boring white bra and panties.  That's what I'd been wearing before undressing, but now I'd taken it all off and hung it up in Winnie's secret closet, so I was naked.  (Like I said... nervous.  Nervous and babbling.)  I closed the closet door and turned to face Winnie.  Oh, that's right.  I still wore my glasses.  I always wear my glasses (except in bed).  Except for my glasses, I was naked, and nervous.

Meanwhile, Winnie had padded to her rope cabinet and carried a coil of brown rope to the chair.  She smiled and said something, but my heart was pounding in my ears and I was busy staring at the rope, so I missed it.  "Uh, excuse me?"

"I said, you're beautiful, Molly," Winnie purred.

"Huh?  I mean, thanks."  My heart was still pounding, and now my face felt like it was on fire.  Winnie didn't seem to mind.

"Please," Winnie said, patting the seat of the chair, "have a seat."

Gulp!  I padded to the chair, turned, and sat.

Yep.  Still curious.  And now I was curious and naked.

"Arms behind the chair-back," Winnie requested (ordered).

I complied.  My armpits now rested on the chair-back's horizontal top rail.  Winnie placed my hands together, palm-to-palm, and I felt rope tighten around my wrists.  It continued tightening, was cinched, I felt a tug as Winnie looped the rope under the chair's seat—somewhere, somehow—then tied a knot.  I wasn't sure of all the details of how Winnie was binding my wrists, but suffice it to say they were bound, tethered to the chair, and the terminal knot was tied beyond the reach of my fluttering fingers.

So... I was stuck.  Not going anywhere.  Naked.  Curious.  Nervous.

Winnie turned, padded to the rope cabinet, and returned with several neatly coiled coils.  It took a while, but she used them all.

End result: I was tied to the chair—in the sense that Mount Rainier would make a nifty paperweight.

Details: my everything was tied up, by which I mean my ankles, legs above and below the knees, waist, forearms, upper arms, torso (above and below my breasts), and shoulders were all lashed together and/or to the chair.  Just to be clear, my arms were not crushed together from armpits to wrists.  My upper and lower arms were far enough apart to be comfortable, but they were tied together, and to the chair.  I wasn't going anywhere.  I could barely squirm.  God knows I tried.  I couldn't help it.

Winnie smiled and watched my pathetic efforts for several seconds.  It wasn't like she was leering at my bound, helpless, naked body, of course.  I suppose she just wanted to make sure she'd gotten everything right.  She had.

Apparently satisfied with her efforts, I watched Winnie pad to her Gag & Blindfold Cabinet (although I seriously doubt that's what she calls it) and return with a ball-gag.  It had a black leather strap and a black, hollow ball pierced by a dozen or more circular holes.

"Winnie!" I whined.

"Open, Molly," Winnie ordered (in a friendly manner).

I opened my mouth to enunciate several well-reasoned arguments that would detail in cogent detail exactly why I should not be gagged at that particular moment, and—"Urrk!"—received a mouthful of black rubber for my trouble.  Winnie leaned close, buckled the strap behind my head at the nape of my neck, and the deed was done.

I tossed my head, worked my jaw, chewed on Winnie's gag, and resumed squirming against Winnie's ropes in Winnie's chair.

My hostess (captor) glanced at her wristwatch, her lips pouted in an adorable moue, then she planted a quick kiss on my forehead (which, like the last time I was in her studio, was slightly sweaty).  She then spun on her bare feet and padded towards the studio door.

Allow me to reiterate.  She turned and padded towards the studio door!

"Mrrrmpfh?" I inquired.

"I won't be long!" Winnie called back over her freckled right shoulder, then crossed the threshold, pulled the faux shoji screen glass door closed, and was gone.

I decided to remain in the chair, and had help from a great deal of tight, cinched, brown, natural fiber rope.  I think it was natural fiber.  Whether it was jute, hemp, sisal, flax, or pussy willow, I didn't really know; but whatever vegetable fibers were involved, the rope was surprisingly soft and pliable.  Also, it held a knot really well... not that my fingers could reach any knots.

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 2

Time passed.  It does that, even in Winnie Wilde's Restrained Meditation Studio.  So, I meditated, right?  Wrong!

I watched the Chickadees, Nuthatches, and—was that a Junco?  They're usually ground feeders.  Anyway, I watched as various songbirds flitted to and from the trees and bushes to Winnie's tubular seed-feeder, easily negotiating the green wire cage protecting said feeder.  The feeder and cage were suspended under a rain dome made of overlapping copper panels cut in the shape of maple leaves, and it all hung from a thin, taut, horizontal wire about fifteen feet above the lawn and midway between two tall wooden posts at least twenty-five feet apart.  No way a squirrel was gonna negotiate that wire, much less the dome, much less squeeze through the cage wire.  And...  I'm babbling again.

Anyway, I sat in my chair and nervously enjoyed Winnie's garden through the studio's window-wall.  Her water feature has a built-in birdbath, a very shallow, circular rock bowl, about three feet across, with water bubbling through a little hole in the center and dripping down the bowl's edges into the rocks and main pool below.  A dirty robin (I assume it was dirty) was taking a casual and very thorough bath, sending a shower of water droplets everywhere.  It was very cute, and...  Babbling.  I'll shut up about the birds and the garden... and Winnie's flowerbeds.  They were very pretty.  Very natural.  I recognized several perennial species that attract hummingbirds and butterflies.

So...  Tied to Winnie's chair.  Ball-gagged.  Nervous.  Naked.  Time passed.
Hana Mae Lee
Suddenly, I flinched as the faux shoji screen glass door slid open and a twenty-something woman entered the studio.  She was Asian, with long, straight, raven-black hair with bangs.  She was about my height (maybe a little shorter), with tan skin and a slender but shapely body.  Her features were very attractive, with full cheeks and a dimpled smile, but her most remarkable feature was her big, brown, almond-shaped eyes.  They were remarkable.  Very, uh, fey.

Whoever she was, she smiled, slid the door closed behind her, and padded in my direction.  Yes, padded.  Her feet were bare, and she was wearing faded bluejeans (with frayed and stylish rips), and a very pretty sleeveless, spaghetti-strap top in heather-blue with rose-pink piping.

She stood in front of my chair (and me) with hands on hips and smiled.  (Continued smiling, actually.)

"You would be Molly Schmeck," the doe-eyed stranger purred.  She had a pretty voice.

I blinked in reply.  It was just about the only way I could reply.

"I like your skin," the stranger continued.  "Very pale.  Very smooth.  I like it."  With that, she turned and strolled across the studio to the secret clothes closet already holding my clothes.  All of my clothes.

Uh, thanks, I silently thought, then watched as the newcomer opened the closet door, unzipped and removed her jeans, hung them from a hanger, then pulled her top over her head and hung it from the only remaining hanger.  She was now nude, like me.  That's right, she'd arrived at Winnie's door commando.  No panties and/or bra.  It made sense, of course.  The only way she could have been more prepared for her session was if she'd arrived wearing a string bikini, a robe, or already nude.

And speaking of string bikinis...  I already mentioned her healthy tan, but now I cold see it was a healthy, all-over tan.  No tan-lines!

Oh-by-the-way, her breasts were more-or-less similar to mine in size and shape; however, her nipples were pierced by metal rings, either gold or gold plated!  Both of them!  Wow!  And they were rings, not tiny hoops of gold wire.  I was impressed... or something.  I'd never have the courage to get my nipples pierced, which is just as well, I suppose, since I've never had absolutely any desire to get my nipples pierced.

So...  Tan, smooth skin, excellent muscle tone, the body of a dancer or acrobat (with pierced nipples), a neatly trimmed pubic bush, beautiful smile, and amazing eyes, which once again were checking out my chair-bound, naked body.  Gulp!

The faux shoji glass door slid open again and Winnie entered, a broad grin on her face.  "I see you two have met," she chuckled as she closed the door behind her, then padded to the stranger's side.  "Molly, this is Fern Wu."

Fern, I mused.  The name fit her.  It added a slightly nerdy twist to her commando dressing, nipple-pierced, doe-eyed, beautiful self (in my opinion).

Fern smiled, leaned close, and straightened my hair for me with her left hand.  "How do you do, Molly," she said quietly.  Meanwhile (with her body shielding her actions from Winnie) she gently brushed my left nipple and breast with her right hand, as if brushing away a speck of lint.

My eyes popped wide and I flinched in my bonds.  So, Fern Wu was a commando dressing, nipple-pierced, doe-eyed, grabby scamp!  She was still beautiful, of course.  And I still liked her, even though we'd only just met and she'd taken it upon herself to make sure my boobs were lint free.

Winnie smiled but was otherwise oblivious, as far as I could tell.  Also apparently, they both were oblivious to the saliva oozing from my ball-gagged mouth, dripping down my chin, splashing onto my chest, then sliding between my rope-framed breasts.  I didn't like the ball-gag.  I missed my nice, smooth, drool-containing tape-gag from the First Session.

"How does a nice hogtie sound?" Winnie asked Fern.

Fern's reply was a disdainful pout.  "Nice?  You want to be 'nice'?"  She used air-quotes for emphasis.  I hate air-quotes, but I didn't hold it against Fern.

Winnie smiled and nodded in my direction.  "Molly's new to all of this, but I'll make sure nice isn't that nice."

Fern grinned.  "In that case..."

I watched (and blinked) as Winnie padded to her rope cabinet and selected a single large coil of rope.  Meanwhile, Fern padded to the middle of the room and gracefully settled to the floor in a semi-lotus, the same thing Micki had done at the start of her session.

And then, a hogtie happened.

When the metaphorical dust had settled, Fern was, indeed, hogtied.  She was lying on her stomach with her hands behind her back, her knees folded back, her ankles crossed, and her hands under her ankles and resting on her butt.  Her back was arched.  In fact, her breasts were off the floor with her nipple-rings dangling about an inch above the matting.  I was impressed by her nonchalance in the face of what I considered to be a truly punishing, contorted position.

Fern wiggled, squirmed, and tested her bonds.  "This is too nice," she complained.  "You didn't even tie my wrists."

That's right, she complained!

"And yet, you're completely helpless," Winnie purred.  "If I stop right now, you'll find you won't be able to escape my ropes; but what makes you think I'm done, Fern?'

I blinked and stared.  Winnie was teasing her latest victim—I mean client.  I decided it was because Winnie knew Fern was a trickster and a scamp and was treating her accordingly.  It wasn't because Winnie actually enjoyed tying up beautiful, naked women and mocking their helplessness.  After all, she was a Lifestyle Consultant helping Fern meditate, not a kidnapping villainess.  Don't be crazy.  Winnie's a sweetheart.

Anyway, Fern's upper arms were pinned to her torso in a simplified box-tie harness, and her arms together and bound at the forearms but not the wrists.  As the harness also yoked her shoulders and ropes traveled back and forth to her crossed and bound ankles and all the slack had been removed, she was hogtied.  The remaining rope was wrapped around itself with the final knot tied just above the bands loosely binding her forearms.

But Winnie had implied she wasn't done, and she meant it.  Boy did she mean it!  She padded to the rope cabinet and returned with, of all things, a length of thin brown cord.  It was brown parcel cord, the stuff they used to use to wrap packages.  (That was before my time, of course.)  Anyway, Winnie used the cord to tie Ferns thumbs together!  That was totally unnecessary and not at all "nice" on Winnie's part (in my naked, bound, and gagged opinion).

Fern seemed to have the opposite opinion.  A wicked smile curled her lips and dimpled her cheeks.  "That's all ya got?" she purred.

"Incorrigible," Winnie chuckled, went to the cabinet, yet again, and returned with two short coils of rope.  She used half of one coil to bind Fern's wrists together—I supposed that would finally make her happy—then used the other coil to first give her client a ponytail, then fold Fern's long, straight hair back on itself and lash it into what I suppose might be called a bun.  She then demonstrated that whatever the thing was called, it was well suited as an anchoring point for more bondage.  The free ends from Fern's wrist ropes were looped around her crossed ankles, then tied off to her hair!

To be clear, the initial rope harness was doing the real work of bending Fern's spine, lifting her breasts (and nipple rings) off the floor, and enforcing the hogtie.  The "only thing" the wrists-to-ankles-to-hair ropes were doing was lift Fern's chin, pull her head back, and further limit her mobility.  All the ropes of Winnie's masterpiece (Fern's predicament) were taut and restrictive, but only the initial hogtie was unquestionably stringent.

I watched Fern wiggle her fingers and toes and squirm on the floor-mat... and decided the British must have a slang use of the word "nice" of which I was previously unaware.

Winnie also watched, then padded to the Gag and Blindfold Cabinet and returned with yet another ball-gag.  It appeared to be a twin of the breathable spit-dribbler currently inadequately plugging my mouth.  Without further ado (or any famous last words on Fern's part), Winnie popped the hollow, perforated sphere into her client's mouth, threaded the strap, and buckled the buckle at the nape of her neck.

"There," Winnie said as she stood and took a step back.  "Now, Molly—"

I focused on Winnie—as opposed to the hogtied, ball-gagged Fern, the one with the big brown eyes and bangs—and tried not to blink.

"Fern is a more advanced client than Micki," Winnie continued, "so her sessions are usually two hours, but as you're a novice, today I'll limit her meditation to only one hour."

I blinked in relief. 

"Mrrrf!" Fern objected, shaking her ball-gagged head as much as her hair-tie would allow.

"Fern," Winnie sighed as she favored her "advanced client" with a disappointed moue.  "Between the time it took me to settle Molly in her chair, then prepare you for your meditations, it's already been more than an hour."

"Mrrrf!" Fern reiterated.

"You really think she can handle two hours?" Winnie inquired, "plus however long it takes me to untie the pair of you?"

"Mrrrf!" Fern replied.

"Well..."  Winnie turned and padded to the studio door.  "I guess we'll see."

"Mrrrf?"  That was me, and I was definitely blinking.  The deer was back in the headlights.  Two hours plus?  Seriously?

The faux shoji door rumbled open, Winnie stepped through, and it rumbled closed.  I think I heard a click that may have been Winnie engaging the locking latch in the handle.

I turned back to Fern to find her gazing at me with her big brown eyes and smiling around her ball-gag.  I stopped blinking and glared back.  Trickster! I accused (silently).  It only occurred to me much later that Winnie was also something of a trickster.  Of course, in my defense, up 'til just then she'd always been nice—meaning nice to me, not nice the way she'd made Fern's hogtie nice.

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 2

Two hours is a long time, especially when you're naked, tied to a chair, and ball-gagged.

Neither Fern nor myself were in any position to chat and get to know each other.  Exchanging gossip about Winnie and her Lifestyle Consulting business would have been nice, but obviously it would have to wait.  To pass the time, Fern and I squirmed in our bonds, fluttered our fingers, and wiggled our toes.  Fern's thumbs were bound, of course, so I had the edge in the finger-flexing department.  We also drooled... a lot.  Saliva dripped down my chin to my breasts, as I've already mentioned, and now was heading for my bellybutton.  Fern was gradually building a slimy pool on the mat under her chin.

I've mentioned Fern's amazing eyes, and they are amazing.  Big.  Brown.  Expressive.  You can't help but be impressed, even when she's being a trickster and messing with you in some manner.

Time waits for no chair-bound observer or hogtied client.  The two hours passed, Winnie breezed back into her studio, and immediately began untying Fern.  (And of course it was Fern and not me who she untied first.  Fern was her client, after all.  I was just her nosy neighbor.)  I heaved a sigh as the cord was untied, freeing Fern's thumbs, followed by the various ropes.  I watched, sighed through my ball-gag, and drooled.

Finally rope-free, Fern stood, removed her ball-gag herself, then dropped it atop the tangle of ropes and reached for the ceiling in a full-length, full-body, boob-flattening stretch.  "Is the sauna ready?" she inquired.

"Of course," Winnie replied, then strolled in my direction, smiling her usual smile.  "After a long session, there's nothing like a nice sauna."  She leaned close and planted another kiss on my now unquestionably sweaty forehead, then strolled towards the studio door.  "You're invited, of course, and you're both staying for dinner."  She shifted her smile to Fern.  "Take care of Molly, would you?"

"Of course," Fern purred, gazing at me with a dimpled smile and her big, brown, amazing eyes.  I blinked and checked out her body.  Rope-marks.  Fern had rope-marks.  I assumed I'd have them too, once she untied me from the chair.

Fern set to work, attacking the knots at me knees, ankles, waist, etc., etc.  I noted she was leaving my wrists 'til last.  In fact, she freed me from the chair completely before untying my wrists.  In fact, when my wrist bonds and ball-gag were my only remaining bonds, she helped me stand, stretched an arm across my shoulders and gave me a sideways hug, then led me from the studio!

"Mrrrf?" I inquired.

"Don't worry," Fern chuckled as she padded through the sliding door and deeper into Winnie's house, taking me with her, "I know the way."

Up ahead I heard the sound of what was probably a shower running.  I assume Fern heard it too.  We entered a tiled space just in time to see the back (and butt) of either Winnie or some unknown and previously unseen naked redhead disappear through a cedar door and into what I assumed was the sauna in question.

Fern removed my glasses, carefully folded and placed them atop a fluffy white towel on a bench next to an open cabinet holding more towels.  I was working up to a full-blown bound, gagged, and naked rebellion, but wasn't quite there when Fern led me under a dripping shower head with a dangling pull-chain, reached up, and pulled the handle!


Needless to say, I was shocked and distressed as cold water drenched both my naked, grinning handler and my naked, bound and gagged self!

"Yes, invigorating!" Fern sighed, pretending to agree with me.

Invigorating hadn't even been on my list.

Fern released the handle, the icy torrent stopped, and she led me to the sauna.  She opened the door, led me across the threshold, and into what was, indeed, a sauna.  It was like walking into a wall of heat!  It was a dry sauna, paneled with cedar.  A stainless steel heater surrounded by a cedar railing and topped with lava rocks was in the middle, and the walls were lined with two tiers of cedar benches.

Oh by the way, Winnie was, indeed, the redhead who had preceded us, and she was, indeed, naked.  Not counting our current setting, naked Winnie is as hot as clothed Winnie, and she has freckles.  Winnie has lots of freckles, and they're widely distributed, suggesting she indulges in naked sunbathing, like Fern.

"Fern Wu!" Winnie scolded her wet, naked client.  "You're a rascal and a scamp."

I was glad to have my earlier diagnosis of Fern's personality confirmed, but not happy to be standing in her sauna, naked, dripping wet, bound, and gagged.  Actually, the naked and wet part was fine.  This wasn't my first sauna.  It was my wrist bonds and ball-gag that were problems, but not for long.

"Don't have kittens," Fern chuckled as she spun me around and untied my wrists, "or in your case, cute little fox kits."  She unbuckled my gag, then tossed the rope and ball-gag on the lower bench next to the door.  "Is it fox kits, or fox cubs?"

Winnie ignored Fern, climbed to her feet and padded around the heater, pulled me into a naked embrace (!!!) and planted a light kiss on my startled lips.  "Sorry, darling," she purred.

"Darling," Fern mocked with a dimpled grin as she used a cedar ladle and cedar bucket to wet down a length of upper tier bench.

"Shut up, darling," Winnie chuckled.  This time the darling in question was Fern, of course.  She took my hands, held them away from my body, and examined my rope-marks—and I did, indeed, have rope-marks.  "Not bad," she purred.  "They'll fade quickly."

"Uh, okay," I responded.  I was flushed bright pink from cheeks to breasts to, uh, cheeks.  It was the extreme, dry heat, of course, not the embarrassment of being hugged, kissed, and examined by a naked Winnie Wilde.

"She has a lot of experience with rope-marks," Fern added helpfully.  She continued wetting the upper tier of benches.  "Although, with your pale complexion, Molly, you're something of an outlier."

"Hush," Winnie admonished her client, then led me to a freshly dampened (and already drying) stretch of bench.  I sat on the warm cedar and settled against the warm, wet backrest.  Winnie returned to her perch on my left, and Fern sat on my right.

I was already sweating.  We were all sweating, and we continued sweating.  I stared across the sauna at the tangle of rope and perforated ball-gag near the door.  Without my glasses they were out of focus, but I already knew what I was looking at, of course.  I'd been hazed by Fern and Winnie had allowed it, but I wasn't offended.  I appreciate a nice, friendly prank as much as the next normal, talented, arguably attractive, and charming young woman, and while Fern was a trickster, she was a nice trickster.  As for Winnie, Winnie was Winnie.  They don't come nicer that Winnie.

I continued staring at the blurry rope and ball-gag.  So, I wondered, am I still a novice?  And a novice what?  I've been restrained, but haven't done any meditating.

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 2


Chapter 1 Թ Chapter 3