|by Van © 2018
Talented, arguably attractive, and charming Molly
Now that everybody's up to speed, let's talk about the cart our
hostess was wheeling towards Irene and myself.
Naked. Ball-gagged (with breathing/drooling
holes). Bound from shoulders to toes with her crossed
wrists in front. Upper-arms squeezing boobs together
from either side. Fingers fluttering and hands
useless. Crotch-ropes cleaving labia and
butt-crack. Big toes tautly tethered to foot-bonds.
Seriously gorgeous, stunning, and HOT Mrs. Irene Locke.
Naked. Head-harness-gagged (without breathing/drooling
holes, but drooling anyway). Bound to Winnie's arm-chair
with her knees splayed and arms behind the back. Lashed
to the chair from shoulders to boobs to waist to crotch to
knees to ankles.
Freckled, ginger-haired, undeniably attractive,
diminutive (5' 2"), and exotically British Winnie Wilde.
Resplendent in Daisy Dukes and white tank-top (with
pokies). Not gagged. Not bound. Smiling and
in charge. Wheeling a steel lab cart in our direction.
Chickadee and Nuthatch Gang.
Absent. Not looting the birdfeeder in Winnie's
As previously mentioned, the cart was steel and it had two
shelves. The top shelf held some sort of electronic
component about the size and shape of a desktop printer.
Whatever it was, the thing had dials, switches, indicator lights
(all dark), and numerous places to plug in... uh... plugs.
Everything was neatly labeled, but the distance was too great
for me to be able to read the tiny print. The bottom shelf
held a collection of translucent plastic bins and boxes.
Winnie wheeled the cart between Irene and myself, then turned to
face Irene and the chair. With the cart and Winnie's body
in the way I couldn't see much of what she was doing.
She'd stooped and lifted something from one of the plastic bins,
plugged what I think was a USB plug into the top-shelf's
electronic component thingie, then turned back to Irene and...
started doing something. Like I said, the cart and her
body were in the way (and her freckled legs and denim-clad rump
were somewhat distracting). Anyway, it was all very
mysterious and technological.
Finally, Irene rolled the cart a few feet to the side and out of
the way and my eyes popped wide. I could see what she'd
Winnie had deployed what was unmistakably a wand-style vibrator,
similar to the vibrator Irene had used to expedite my initiation
into The Club back in the bedroom of her seriously magnificent
mansion! The vibrator's doorknob-like business end was
pressed firmly against Irene's rope-cleaved lady bits, and was
held in place by what appeared to be a couple of thin, stretched
bungee-cords clipped through Irene's waist and crotch-ropes!
Irene was gazing down at the wand. I was gazing up at
Irene (and the wand). Meanwhile, with the male end of a
very long power cord trailing from the back of the component
thingie in Winnie's right hand, she padded in the direction of
the paneled wall opposite the window wall, stooped, and plugged
the plug into a power outlet. Irene and I swiveled our
gagged heads, locked eyes, and heaved simultaneous sighs.
"Since Molly is new to our happy-fun-time-rope-activities,"
Winnie purred as she padded back to the cart, "I'll forgo the
TENS pads and pneumatic nipple suckers." She flipped a
switch and several red LED indicator lights on the component
I blinked in confusion. I wasn't sure what the "TENS pads"
she'd mentioned might be. Irene probably knew, but she was
gagged (like me) and unable to explain. I also noted that
Irene didn't appear to be terribly upset, but her
head-harness-gag made the fine nuances of her expression a
little difficult to read. In any case, "pneumatic nipple
suckers" was pretty self-explanatory.
Winnie smiled in my direction as she flipped open the
component's lid, revealing it to be a flat-screen hinged on one
side, like the screen of a laptop computer. Text was
scrolling down the screen from top to bottom. Once again,
the distance was too great for me to read anything. Eyes
on the screen, Winnie's fingers fluttered and I heard the sound
of keys clacking. I couldn't see it from the floor, but
obviously the thing had a keyboard. Apparently satisfied
with her efforts, Winnie folded the screen and smiled at her
guests (or clients, or victims, or... whatever).
"Well, enjoy your session, Molly," Winnie said to me, "and enjoy
watching Irene enjoy her session." With that, The
diminutive ginger goddess winked at Irene, turned, and padded to
the faux shoji glass door, and made her exit. "Click!"
(That was the door latch engaging, of course.)
Once again, Irene and I locked eyes. The situation was...
unique. (Unique for me, anyway.) Irene
turned her gagged head to the cart. I did as well.
The only sign that anything was happening was the red LED lights
that seemed to be blinking on and off with no apparent pattern.
So... what was happening? What had Wicked (but Undeniably
Nice) Winnie done to poor Irene?
Please. Isn't it obvious?
Irene flinched in her bonds when the vibrator suddenly
began to buzz. The wand was either exceeding quiet or was
set on low power (or both), but I could definitely hear it, even
over the pounding of my heart. Irene was squirming a
little, but was otherwise serene (sort of). Apparently,
the wand was on low power.
later, nothing had changed... other than the fact that I was
glowing (meaning was covered in a film of sweat), my slightly
squeezed breasts were heaving, my nipples were pointing, and a
few strands of my dark-blond hair were plastered across my
face. Also, my glasses really needed
cleaning. My heart was pounding, but that wasn't a
change. And I won't even bring up my gag-induced drooling
or the slimy state of both my chest and the valley between my
squashed breasts. It was disgusting, so I won't bring it
As for Irene, she was also sweaty, panting through her gag, and
afflicted with an acute case of acutely pointing nipples.
She also had a gag-induced drooling problem, but her case was
less severe than my own. The ball plugging her mouth
was solid, without ventilation/drooling holes, and may have been
slightly larger. Nonetheless, her chin and chest were
dripping with spit.
The vibrator was the overriding issue, of course, meaning Irene's
overriding issue. I was just tied up on the floor.
Nothing was buzzing my crotch. My crotch-ropes
did slide back and forth a little whenever I moved, but the pair
of hemp strands weren't buzzing. So, why was I
in such a pathetic, glistening state? It was a
byproduct of my empathetic, sympathetic,
bound-gagged-and-unable-to-help (meaning help Irene, not
the vibrator) state of compassionate, commiserating rapport.
Anyway, in the course of the last hour the wand had continuously
varied its power setting and timing. Yes, that's right, it
was a smart vibrator, and the component-thingie
on the cart was its brain!
Now, Molly Schmeck knows her way around a keyboard. I even
know a few function keys and keyboard shortcuts. That
said, the only hacking I do involves kitchen knives and
vegetables. That said, it was now obvious that
Winnie's cart-thingie was an actual computer and was running an
actual computer program! Winnie Wilde, Evil Technological
Genius and/or Consumer! Was there an Evil Technology
chapter of The Club? And where did Winnie buy her
fully programmable iDiddler? Does the company have a
website? A catalog? Smartphone apps?
Anyway, I could tell Irene was in a bad way... a very sweaty,
panting, repeatedly-aroused-and-rearoused bad way.
I suppose being diddled by Winnie's machine probably started out
as fun. (It had certainly looked like fun from my
naked, bound, and gagged perspective.) In any case, the
iDiddler system seemed to have good timing. I hadn't seen
Winnie attach any medical-type sensors to monitor Irene's
heart-rate, breathing, galvanic skin response, or arousal state
(if there's such a thing as a medical sensor for arousal state),
so I don't think the program was responding to actual feedback
from Irene's increasingly sweaty and helpless body. It was
probably just a simple program, which meant whoever had done the
actual coding had good timing. Irene had cum repeatedly...
then had been allowed to recover... then the buzzing would
resume and she'd cum again. I could tell. Poor Irene
"suffered" many, many orgasms... meaning five. I
counted five. The buzz and rest intervals were irregular
and unpredictable. Like I said, good timing. Poor
And speaking of good timing, the faux shoji glass door
clicked, slid open, and Winnie reappeared, still rockin'
her Daisy Dukes and white tank-top.
"Mrrrrm!" I exclaimed, rather frantically nodding my gagged head
in Irene's sweaty, depleted direction. This caused my
sweaty boobs to flop a little, despite being squeezed
together. My slightly damp hair did the same thing, except
for the strands still plastered across my face.
"She does look pretty pathetic, doesn't she?" Winnie
purred as she padded to the iDiddler machine, flipped up the
screen, and tapped a few keys. The vibrator abruptly
stopped in mid-buzz. The LEDs on the front panel still
glowed, but they'd stopped blinking. The screen display
had gone blank, but I could see a flashing cursor. Our
ginger hostess (and Very Nice Evil Technological Genius) then
folded the screen, padded to Irene and her chair, and began
untying her bonds.
That took a while. I lay on the padded floor in my bonds,
tried (and failed) not to drool, and watched. Unknotting
and unraveling all that rope took a while. Unbuckling the
head-harness-ball-gag's many buckles was trivial by comparison.
Eventually, Irene was rope and head-harness-ball-gag
free and Winnie was helping her extricate herself from the
chair. My sweaty, panting, Viking-shield-maiden-queen was
nowhere near as graceful getting out of the chair as
she'd been while getting into it. Also, her tan,
curvaceous, perfect body was crisscrossed with rope-marks, as
well as dripping with sweat. However, Irene was recovered
enough to pull Winnie into a tight hug and plant a deep, wet
kiss on her lips. Winnie returned both the embrace and the
kiss. I watched.
They came up for air, but were still hugging.
"Sauna?" Irene inquired.
"Ready," Winnie confirmed. "I assume you'll be indulging
in a little horrible revenge at some point?"
Irene smiled. "Count on it," she purred, then gently
clutched a handful of ginger curls and the kiss resumed. I
watched. 'Horrible revenge?' Irene was gonna tie
They came up for air, again. "However," Irene purred,
nodding in my helpless direction, "let's not discuss such things
in front of our Baby Bondage Scout."
"Oh, 'Baby Bondage Scout,'" Winnie giggled, smiling at my
blinking self. "That's adorable."
I stared daggers at my hostess. I hate being called
"adorable." Okay, it's nice to be doted on and Winnie is
nice, but still.
Hand in hand, Irene and Winnie turned and padded from the
studio. The faux shoji glass door rumbled closed, the
latch clicked, and I was alone in the studio. Sigh!
Obviously the two Mistresses were heading for the sauna.
Also obviously, my session wasn't over.
in Winnie's Restrained Meditation Studio forever and ever!
Nearly half an hour! It was horrible! Even the
Chickadee and Nuthatch Gang had abandoned me! Not even the
squirrels came onto Winnie's deck to stare through the
window-wall at my naked, helpless body and gloat! Woe was
The only things I had to occupy my time were (1) my rope bonds,
(2) my ventilated ball-gag, (3) the sight of Irene's former
throne, the black steel armchair with its disorderly tangle of
hemp ropes, and (4) the wand-style vibrator that was resting on
the chair's padded black seat. It was still plugged into
the front panel of Winnie's iDiddler computer, which was still
plugged into the wall. Woe was I!
Eventually, my heaving breasts stopped heaving and most of the
sweat on my well-roped body had dried. I continued
drooling, of course, my hair remained being a disorderly mess,
and my glasses hadn't cleaned themselves. So, I was
fine... other than the fact that I was suffering from AAD (Acute
Arousal Disorder) and CTS (Chronic Tingling Syndrome).
That's right. I was horny.
What had I gotten myself into? Naked? Tied up?
Gagged? Forced to watch Irene (naked, tied to a chair, and
gagged) undergo repeated diddling by Winifred Wilde's Insidious
iDiddler? When would it be my turn? And what
else did the future hold?
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't actually desperate that
Winnie come back and either use her Horrible Machine on me (or
use the wand by hand), only... hopeful? It was only
logical, right? What else could Winnie have in mind?
Woe was I!
As the saying goes, all suspenseful languishing interludes come
to an end. Irene and Winnie breezed back into the
studio. Both were naked and smiling, with damp hair.
Winnie knelt at my side and began untying my bonds, starting
with my cord-tied toes. She paused to pull her hair back
and use the cord to tie her ginger curls in its former ponytail,
then started on the ropes.
Meanwhile, Irene was getting dressed. She took her time,
apparently not in any particular hurry and watching as Winnie
undid her handiwork. Of course, it still didn't take Irene
very long to don her bra, panties, sundress, and sandal-heels,
no matter how much she dawdled. So, fully clothed, she
strolled to her former Throne of Rope Bondage and iDiddler
Torment and began neatly coiling her former bonds. She
returned the coiled rope to Winnie's Hidden Rope Cabinet, the
head-harness-ball-gag to the Hidden Blindfold and Gag Cabinet,
then lifted the vibrator from the chair's seat, coiled its cord,
and placed it on top of the iDiddler Machine.
By this time, Winnie had finished untying my bonds. More
correctly, she was as finished as she intended to be. My
feet, ankles, legs, crotch, and upper body were free, but my
wrists were still crossed and bound in front, and several feet
of rope dangled from my wrist bonds! "Mrrrm!" Oh,
that's right. The ventilated ball-gag was still plugging
my mouth! "Mrrrm!" ("Winnie!") I reiterated, stamping my
right foot. This caused my no longer squeezed together
boobs to bob, further signaling my outrage.
"You poor thing," Irene purred as she stepped behind my
outraged, naked self and reached for the buckle of my
ventilated-ball-gag. "With your permission, Mistress?" she
inquired, apparently (obviously) addressing Winnie.
"By all means, Mistress," Winnie chuckled.
Irene unbuckled my gag, rebuckled the strap on its first hole,
then spun me around, plucked the disgustingly slimy ball from my
disgustingly slimy mouth, and pulled me into a tight hug and a
deep, wet kiss.
I endured this, uh, outrage for several outrageous seconds
(ignoring the tingling between my legs). Apparently, I was
experiencing an unexplained resurgence of the teasing effect of
my former crotch ropes. Is "phantom crotch-rope" a
thing? I also ignored the way my bound hands were pressed
against the light, frilly fabric covering Irene's upper thighs,
lower tummy and, uh, other anatomy.
Finally, our lips parted.
"You poor thing," Irene reiterated, smiling and combing my hair
with her fingers.
"Enough," Winnie chuckled. The free ends trailing from my
crossed and bound wrists were in her right hand and she gave
them a firm tug. Simultaneously, Irene released her hug
and spun me around.
"Hey!" I complained as Winnie turned and padded to the open faux
shoji glass door, taking my naked, wrist-bound, and
ventilated-ball-gag-necklace-wearing self with her.
"Hush," Winnie purred. "Sauna."
"Oh," I said quietly. I could hear Irene behind us,
following in our wake.
We made our way to the tiled space with the shower and
sauna. Winnie dragged me (okay, led me) to the
shower and reached for the handle of the pull chain.
"Wait," Irene purred, spun me around, and kissed me again.
(And once again I experienced inexplicable crotch-rope
aftereffects.) Kiss. Long. Deep.
Wet. Finally, we came up for air. "Thank you for
letting me observe your session," she purred.
I blinked and smiled an unabashedly goofy smile. "Uh,
sure. My pleasure," I responded.
"Oh," Winnie chuckled, "it was your pleasure. I
must have loaded the wrong program."
"Shut up!" Irene and I simultaneously snapped, then giggled.
Irene gave me another kiss, this time a quick smack on the lips,
gave our smiling, ginger hostess a similar kiss, then spun on
her heels and made her exit. "Later!" she called back over
her shoulder... and was gone.
I heaved a sigh, then shrieked when Winnie tugged on
the handle and triggered the shower. "Eeeek!
Winnie said nothing, made sure I was thoroughly wet, then led me
into the sauna. Needless to say, the air inside the
cedar-lined chamber was dry and hot. I idly tugged on my
wrists as Winnie used the sauna's bucket and ladle to wet down a
generous section of upper-tier cedar bench, then helped me step
up and sit. The heat felt good, and I knew it would help
my rope-marks fade away.
"All right then," Winnie said. "Enjoy the sauna. No
more than ten minutes."
My response was instantaneous and succinct. "Winnie!"
Winnie leaned forward and kissed my left nipple—she was too
short to reach my lips—then spun on her bare heels and retreated
to the sauna door.
"You're leaving me?" I whined.
Winnie smiled with her hand on the door's cedar handle. "I
already had my sauna with Irene," she explained, then opened the door and passed
through. "Remember, no more than ten minutes!" she
reiterated, then closed the door behind her.
I watched in abject and increasingly sweaty and overheated
horror as she waved at me through the door's glass window... and
"Winnie!" I belatedly whined in a pathetic near-whisper.
I heaved a sigh and tugged on my bonds. The
breather-ball-gag was still around my neck in necklace mode and
my wrists were still crossed and bound with conditioned
hemp. And, of course, my former leash, the free ends
dangling from my wrist-bonds that Winnie had used to drag (lead)
me from the studio to the sauna, were still there. Winnie
hadn't used them to tie me to the bench and/or tie my ankles
together, so I was "free" to leave the sauna whenever I so
chose. I suppose it was a safety thing. I didn't yet
know The Club's formal rules (assuming The Club actually had
formal rules), but had figured out that the first
rule had to be Safety First. Abandoning a bound and
helpless fellow club member (or anyone else) in a hot sauna
would be taking a stupid risk. A trivial stupid
risk, yes, with Winnie being free and able to come to my rescue,
but a stupid and unnecessary risk, nonetheless. Anyway,
that was how I saw the logic of the situation.
I examined my wrist bonds in detail (and sweated). The
knot or hitch or whatever you call the neat, asymmetrical nexus
of tightly compacted hemp securing my bonds was... a neat,
asymmetrical nexus of tightly compacted hemp. I suppose I
could use my teeth to pry the thing apart. I glanced at
the window in the sauna door. Mistress Winifred was
nowhere to be seen. It's a prisoner's duty to escape, of
course, so I did. Or more precisely, I tried.
I used my teeth, lips, and tongue (mostly my teeth) to attack
the... let's just call it a knot, okay? After much
diligent effort—okay, after about thirty seconds—I gave
up. It was a puzzle-knot. What obviously had to
be the key knot—the knot that had to be untied for me to free
myself—apparently wasn't. I suppose if I'd kept at it I
eventually would have stumbled upon the compacted loop
of rope that would loosen and start yielding results,
but why bother?
I heaved another sigh and added Evil Rope Genius to Winnie's
list of titles. Nice Evil Rope Genius.
Anyhoo... I sweated. A lot. My rope-marks
more-or-less faded. I was thirsty. Something in the
general neighborhood of ten minutes passed.
I heaved yet another sigh, awkwardly coiled my
wrist-bond-leash-ropes and clutched them in my left hand, and
made my flushed, sweaty, overheated exit from the sauna. I
stepped under the shower and pulled the handle with my right
hand. The cold water felt good! I got myself
thoroughly wet, meaning wet with water. I was already wet
with sweat. Or had been wet with sweat.
Now, I was just wet.
I looked around for a towel, but none were in evidence. I
found what was probably a linen closet, but it was an empty
linen closet. So, hair dripping wet, the rest of me
dripping wet, my glasses dripping wet, I went looking for
Winnie. Oh no! I'd drip all over her floors!
What a pity! I went looking for Winnie.
Winnie was in her kitchen, wearing her hunter-green cook's apron
(and only her hunter-green cook's apron), and working
on some sort of stir-fry. I carefully ignored the way the
loops and free ends of the bow securing Winnie's apron strings
waist trailed down and/or caressed her firm, dimpled, freckled
"There you are!" Winnie said brightly. "I was about
to come looking for you. She turned her left cheek in my
direction. "Come give us a kiss."
Knowing I probably looked like a wet hen, I glowered and stepped
forward. I gave her a sullen peck on the offered
cheek. "Untie me," I demanded, offering my bound hands.
Winnie turned and continued cooking. "The session isn't
over," Winnie responded.
I started to say something... but instead heaved an exasperated
sigh, stamped a foot, and stomped (padded) to the breakfast
nook. There was already a place setting for one in the
form of a placemat, napkin, two Chinese teacups, a pair of
chopsticks resting on the arched back of a cute little ceramic
fox, and a tall, clear glass of icewater with a straw. I
sat and immediately commenced sucking on the straw. Glorious!
I really had been parched. I sipped slowly enough to avoid
brain-freeze, but did develop a mild case of sudden-onset-mouth-freeze.
Meanwhile, Winnie finished cooking, turned off the stove, and
transferred the steaming, delicious looking and smelling
contents of the wok to a largish bowl and carried it to the
Scoot," Winnie ordered, I did so, and she sat next to me—and by
next to me, I mean right next to me! Our hips
touched. Our upper-arms touched. The outsides of our
upper-thighs touched. Winnie was right next to me!
She was up against me! My heart started pounding
Winnie used the chopsticks to stir the contents of the bowl
(noodles, veggies, chicken, shrimp, and beef), lifted up a
small, steaming portion, blew on it a little, smiled, and
presented it to my pouting lips. I grudgingly listened to
my growling stomach, paused to give my hostess a two second dose
of resentful stare, then accepted the first bite.
I chewed and swallowed. "Delicious," I conceded.
"Thank you," Winnie purred.
The meal continued.
"I forgot the tea!" Winnie exclaimed, squirmed away, stood,
padded to the island in front of the stove, then returned with a
really pretty teapot that matched our teacups. She resumed
her former seat (and our intimate skin-to-skin intimacy), and
poured tea into the cups.
Winnie made sure I got my fair share of the stir-fry. She
even replenished my icewater after I'd sucked out all the liquid
and all that was left was ice. She was the perfect
hostess... except for the not untying my wrists part. The
tea was different. It was also delicious, but was
different from the Twinnings® English Breakfast Tea Winnie
usually served me and I served her. I suppose I could have
inquired as to the brand and/or origin. I might also have
asked for the ethnic origin and accepted name of the stir-fry,
but I didn't.
I was still horny, and my pouty, resentful act was an act... or
half an act. And the continuing contact with
Winnie's warm, firm, freckled skin wasn't helping. I had
my bound hands in my lap, but with every motion of our bodies—as
Winnie fed me the stir-fry, or she fed herself, or I leaned
forward to sip my icewater, or Winnie lifted her cup and sipped
her tea—our thighs and arms slid together, at least a
little. It was... disconcerting.
Finally, the food was gone and the meal was over. Winnie
stood, cleared the table, and began cleaning up the kitchen.
I would have helped, but, you
know. Bondage. I looked out the bay window to find
things were getting darker. It wasn't exactly dusk, but
the sun was definitely dipping towards the horizon. The
Chickadee and Nuthatch Gang was still AWOL.
Suddenly, I caught a flash of motion, craned my neck, and for
the first time realized that Winnie had a hummingbird feeder
dangling from a hook set just under the protective edge of the
bay window's roof. The feeder wasn't very far away and it
had a visitor, an Anna's Hummingbird male! He had an
iridescent green and mottled white body, an iridescent
purple/red head, and was tiny and so cute!
I gasped and froze in place. I knew hummers can be
skittish and I didn't want to scare him away. He drank and
drank and drank, tanking up on nectar for the coming hours of
"Hummingbird!" I gasped.
Winnie had finished her cleaning and removed and hung up her
apron. She smiled and slowly, carefully eased into a
position to look up over my shoulder.
The Anna's male continued drinking for a few more seconds,
paused to look around... then zoomed across the yard and
"I didn't know we had them around here," I sighed. "I
mean, I never see them. I know we're supposedly within
but I didn't know they were here."
"I take it you don't have a feeder?" Winnie asked. I shook
my head. "I get Anna's and Rufous hummingbirds,"
Winnie continued, "and Anna's year round. I firmly believe
the saucer design of feeder is best," she stated. "They're
easy to take apart and thoroughly clean. Pretty, elaborate
feeders you can't disassemble are mold farms waiting to
happen. I have two identical feeders and change them out
at least once a week, when I replenish the nectar. One
quarter-cup of white table sugar to one cup of water. I
use a little less sugar and a little more water, to compensate
"No red dye?" I inquired. "I thought you were supposed to
use red dye."
Winnie shook her head. "Totally unnecessary. The red
color of the feeder is quite sufficient to attract
visitors." She beamed a smile in my direction. "That
does it. I'm taking you to the Wildbirds Unlimited® store
tomorrow, and the second feeder is on me."
Naked Winifred Wilde lecturing me about hummingbirds was kinda
hot. I couldn't help but smile. "Okay," I conceded.
Winnie's expression grew serious. "This is a solemn
commitment, Molly," she intoned. "We're near the edge of
the Anna's year-round range. If you start feeding our
little flying jewels, you have to promise to keep feeding
them, especially during Winter, and that includes
making sure your feeder doesn't stay frozen on cold days.
That's not much of a problem around here," she added, "only a
handful of days per year, but it does happen. If
you wake up and your feeder is frozen, all you have to
do is swap it out for an unfrozen feeder, bring the
frozen feeder inside, and let it thaw. On especially frigid
days you might have to do it more than once. Anyway, you
have to promise."
I stood and took a step away from the breakfast nook, raised my
crossed and bound hands, and opened my right palm. "I
"Brilliant," Winnie grinned, gave me a quick kiss, then headed
for the doorway leading deeper into the house. As she'd
also taken a firm grasp on my wrist-bond-tether, I was pulled
forward—"Eeep!"—and had no choice but to follow. Where we
were going, I had no idea.
Okay, I had an idea, but didn't actually know,
and was too nervous to ask.