|by Van © 2018
There I was, sitting atop a bed with my naked, fair-complected
skin smudged with dungeon dirt—ball-gagged—box-tied—my fingers
and hands encased in a pair of brown, expensively cured, locked
bondage-mittens—frog-tied with my knees widely splayed—and
with a pair of widely-splayed legs belonging to someone else
lashed across my thighs. Okay, but why did I scream
through my not ventilated, larger-then-usual, but not entirely
drool-proof ball-gag? I'll tell you why!
The widely splayed legs not my own lashed across my thighs
belonged to... wait for it... wait for it... Winifred Wilde!
The rest of Winnie was also present. She was naked, her
fair, freckled skin not smudged with dungeon dirt, her
butt elevated above the level of the mattress by a couple of
stacked pillows, and spreadeagled on the bed! And it was a
full spread-eagle, an "X"-type spread-eagle, not the
"Y"-type spread-eagle I'd endured the previous evening!
And we were in the exact same bedroom, Winnie's bedroom,
and on the exact same bed, Winnie's bed. Ignoring
minor differences, Winnie and I were in the same positions as
the previous evening in question, only with roles
reversed. And this time we were both bound,
gagged, and helpless, not just me!
Did I mention Winnie's gag? Winnie was gagged! And
with a tight, drool-containing ball-and-panel-gag with an
under-the-chin retaining strap! Her mouth was plugged and
her lower face covered, and she was unable to lower her lower
Anyway, we were both bound, gagged, and helpless! Last
night the backs of my thighs had rested atop the tops of
Winnie's thighs and it was involuntary for me and entirely
voluntary for Winnie. Tonight, the backs of her thighs
rested atop the tops of my thighs and it was
involuntary for both of us!
I blinked and stared at Winnie's stringently but not excessively
stretched form and noted that her bonds were more elaborate than
a simple four-point spread-eagle. Her wrists were lashed
in place near the upper corners with horizontal, vertical, and
diagonal multi-strand ropes pinning wide, inescapable, neatly
compacted rope wrist-cuffs to the surface of the bed. They
dimpled the edge of the mattress, disappeared over the edge, and
were presumably knotted to the base of the platform, somewhere
near the floor.
Also, what I had come to recognize as a "standard body-harness"
yoked Winnie's shoulders, encircled her upper torso, and framed
her breasts, only this harness also anchored horizontal multiple
rope strands on the left and right that dimpled the edge of
mattress, disappeared from view, and were also presumably
knotted down near the floor.
Also, a little further down, tight ropes encircled Winnie's
waist with yet more multiple strands on the left and right
binding her to her bed.
As for Winnie's legs, our knee and thigh bonds were elaborate,
separate, and mutual. That is, I was frog-tied (the
separate part) while hitched and cinched ropes lashed my folded
legs to Winnie's unfolded legs (the mutual part). Also,
yet more horizontal ropes on the left and right dimpled the
mattress and made sure our widely splayed thighs remained widely
I confirmed with quick glances over my rope-yoked shoulders that
Winnie's ankles were rope-cuffed and pinned in place using the
same horizontal, vertical, and diagonal technique that secured
her wrists. Whoever had perpetrated this outrage was
obviously highly skilled in the employment of hemp, possibly as
skilled as Winnie Wilde herself!
Also, while Winnie was spreadeagled with her arms and
legs fully extended and flung wide, her predicament was less
like Libby-on-the-rack down in her Mom's Playroom and more like
she'd been tied to a set of four rigid lashing points.
Libby had been stretched. (It's what racks do.)
Winnie could squirm and tug on her bonds and did so. She
was held in the spreadeagled position, rather than
Let's talk about breasts under such circumstances. Shall
Winnie's breasts are bigger than mine and are very nice,
albeit less volumetric than Micki's bazooms; however, when their
ginger, freckled owner is flat on her back and spreadeagled,
they don't sag to either side. They just sort of... sit
there. How shall I put this? They're like a pair of
dessert custards popped out of a pair of circular, bowl-shaped
molds (with dabs of whipped cream and cherries on top),
sufficiently firm to hold their hemispherical shapes, but
sufficiently flaccid that they wiggle and wobble whenever the
underlying substrate shifts. Also, they naturally deform
(a little) under the influence of gravity.
(The derivation of
formulae for oscillatory frequency, amplitude, and damping are
left as an exercise for the student.)
Maybe I'm overthinking this. I'll try again.
Winnie's boobs sort of sat there and slumped a little, with her
nipples pointing at the ceiling. They quivered in a most
entertaining manner whenever she struggled. I liked
it. I wanted to play with them. I was box-tied with
my hands encased in bondage-mittens and I couldn't play
with them. Winnie was to blame for the ropes and mittens,
of course, but who had tied Winnie to her bed? Who had
tied our thighs together? Who had crafted this exquisitely
reprehensible and delightful situation?
"I think that's just about perfect," Fern Wu's voice
announced. "Don't you?"
Speak of the devil...
"I don't know," Libby Locke's voice replied. "Something's
Make that devils, plural.
I twisted at the waist, turned my gagged head, and looked
straight back. Fern and Libby had been hiding in plain
sight directly behind me all along! Obviously, they were
the pair of kidnappers who had rescued/abducted me from Winnie's
Dungeon, carried me upstairs, and lashed me to Winnie and her
They decided to be cooperative and polite and casually strolled
to either side of the bed so I could glare at them more
easily. Fern was on my left and Libby on my right.
Both were dressed in their urban-chic kidnapping ensembles:
black jeans, black hoodies, and dark tank-tops and/or
t-shirts. Also, what were either Steampunk or
civilian-grade night vision goggles were hitched up on their
foreheads. Seeing as how they'd been able to navigate
through the Stygian darkness of Winnie's Dungeon Complex, I
decided to go with night vision, probably of the infrared
variety. Yes, they were wearing night vision goggles.
Oh-by-the-way, the smiles on Libby and Fern's gorgeous faces
were both infuriating and terrifying. I was infuriated and
"What's missing?" Fern demanded.
"Clover-clamps," Libby suggested.
I blinked in distress. A Mean Girl suggestion if ever
there was one! No spring-loaded, self-tightening
nipple-clamps for Molly Schmeck, thank you very much!
"Mrrrrrpfh!" Winnie growled. Her blue eyes transfixed
Libby with a cold, stony, gagged, blue-eyed stare.
"I know, I know," Libby chuckled. "We already had our
formal debate concerning the rapidity with which we should be
exposing our adorable Baby Bondage Scout to new things."
She sketched a mocking, smiling bow. "And I agreed to
abide by the group consensus."
"Don't worry, Molly," Fern added, giving my left thigh a
reassuring pat just above the Winnie-on-Molly-bondage. "No
I was less than reassured. 'Tonight??'
How 'bout never!!
Libby reached out and delicately brushed the point of my right
shoulder with her left hand. "Look how grubby she
is. Quite the little ragamuffin."
I managed to muster an annoyed stare. Nobody emerges from
a Languishing Session in Winnie's Private Restrained Meditation
Studio as anything other than a grubby ragamuffin!
It's impossible not to be a grubby ragamuffin!
Libby should already know that, unless her experience with
Wicked Winifred's Dungeon is limited to "rescuing" Baby Bondage
I directed my gagged scowl from kidnapper to kidnapper, giving
each an equal drooling dose of Righteous Indignation and
Superior Disdain. Their smiles were at once infuriating and
gorgeous. They both deserved a good slap—which is yet
another thing you can't do while box-tied with your
hands encased in bondage mittens. Maybe later.
"Winnie's gonna have to change the sheets," Fern suggested.
Libby nodded. "Thanks to the grubbiness of her bed-mate and
what will no doubt be a colossal wet-spot."
Next, the Wacky Kidnapping Duo of Libby & Fern did two
1. Libby took my former hood, which I
could now see was black spandex with a doubled blindfold region,
half-climbed onto the bed, and pulled it over Winnie's head!
2. Fern stepped behind me, unbuckled my
ball-gag, and rebuckled it on the strap's first hole.
And then, the still smiling duo—earning themselves even more
demerits in the process—left the bedroom!
Okay, three things:
3. Libby and Fern left the bedroom!
"G'night!" the black-clad evildoers chirped in cheerful unison,
smiling and waving from the bedroom door's threshold.
"Don't do anything we wouldn't do," Fern added as the
door closed (thereby earning herself two slaps).
And so... Winnie and I were alone.
back over my rope-yoked shoulder and stared daggers at the now
closed bedroom door... then sighed and returned my gaze to
Winnie's naked, spreadeagled, inescapably bound, gagged, and now
hooded body, then began the arduous task of working the ball-gag
from my stretched mouth. I'd gained a little experience
with that sort of thing down in Winnie's Dungeon Cell, so this
time it went a little easier. The glistening rubber sphere
popped from my mouth, dropped to the end of its strap, and
bounced against my rope-yoked, drool splattered chest.
I worked my jaws and licked my lips. I was thirsty.
Suddenly, the bedroom door reopened and Libby scurried to the
bed. Something was in her right hand.
I sent a steady stream of vicious, lethal,
gracefully-curved-and-counter-weighted daggers in her
direction. They were mostly Southwest Asian in origin
(possibly from the Mughal Empire) and entirely imaginary.
"Here ya go, Molly," Libby chuckled.
"How dare you—glub!" My righteous diatribe
was cut short by the half-pint bottle of spring water Libby was
pressing to my lips and the cascade of gloriously cool
and blessedly wet water filling my mouth (and dribbling
down my chin to splash my chest and boobs). I swallowed
and swallowed until my thirst was quenched and the clear plastic
bottle was empty.
I licked my lips again, preparing to resume sharing my outraged
opinions—but Libby had already escaped, closing the bedroom door
behind her. Okay, the water was a very nice
gesture (for a Mean Girl), but still...
I heaved a hydrated sigh, then turned back to the bed and
returned to contemplating my fellow prisoner.
The only light in the bedroom was provided by a pair of dim,
blue-green nightlights on either side of the bed, but my eyes
were totally dark-adapted so I could see. A little more
light would have been nice, but every curve, muscle, and freckle
of Winnie's squirming physique was visible... more or
less. Winnie was gorgeous, really gorgeous.
The skintight black hood shrouded her gagged head, of course,
but the ends of her ginger curls protruded from the hood's
collar region. And then, there were her semi-slumped boobs
(as per previous discussion). Gorgeous.
In journalism there's this thing called "burying the
lead." It's when a reporter submits a story to his or her
editor with something that should have been the
headline buried somewhere in the middle. An example would
be copy with the headline CITY COUNCIL DISCUSSES ZONING with the
sixth paragraph casually mentioning that during the debate over
the need for more low-cost housing the Mayor murdered the
Zoning Commissioner with his gavel! The police arrived, a
high speed chase down Main Street ensued, and the Mayor died in
a fiery car crash. Back at the Council meeting, it was
agreed that all discussion of low-cost housing would be
postponed until after the funerals. The end.
The true lead of the evening's bedroom story should have been...
Our lady bits were something like eighteen inches apart.
Mine were resting on the mattress, sort of, but Winnie's were
elevated by the two pillows under her butt. I had a
perfect view of Winnie's lady bits, and assumed it was similar
if not identical to the view Winnie and enjoyed of my lady
bits the previous evening. At the moment, of course,
Winnie was hooded and couldn't see my lady bits (or anyone
else's lady bits for that matter).
Winnie has very nice lady bits, like a peachy-pink
Georgia O'Keeffe orchid with kinky ginger curls on top.
Splayed, freckled thighs. Flat, sculpted, freckled
tummy. Ginger short-and-curlies. Lady bits.
I licked my lips, again. There was also the 800 pound
gorilla nibbling on a banana in the corner of the bedroom.
Namely, the fact that Winnie had nibbled on my lady
bits the previous evening. I'd watched Fern nibble on Mrs.
Irene Locke's lady bits, Winnie had nibbled on my lady
bits, and now...
"See one, do one, teach one?" No, that wasn't a good fit,
and "see one, enjoy one, do one" isn't a thing.
Anyway, Fern had unbuckled my ball-gag, so obviously Trickster
expected me to nibble Winnie's lady bits. Why else
had she done it? It wasn't so I could entertain my hooded
and gagged hostess with a clever monologue, warble a medley of
pop classics, or recite my favorite passages from Shakespeare.
The Mean Girl was probably in on it as well.
Also... while I was up in the bedroom contemplating Winnie's
lady bits (specifically, what to do with them), what was the
kidnapping duo up to? Were they downstairs in Winnie's
pitch black dungeon (wearing their night vision goggles) and
playing with Micki's lady bits (and bazooms)? Were
they raiding Winnie's liquor cabinet and mixing cocktails?
Had they ordered a pizza!
I ignored my suddenly grumbling stomach and stared at Winnie's
lady bits. They stared back.
So... decisions, decisions. On the one hand, there was
ample precedent that this sort of thing (lady bit nibbling)
happened in The Club on a regular basis, at least in the Rope
My lips curled in a goofy grin. I couldn't help it.
Then, I leaned forward and gave Winnie's lady bits a slow, wet,
languid slurp! With my tongue!
Dork! Of course it was with my tongue! What
other body part do you use to deliver a slow, wet,
languid slurp? Dork!
Anyway, Winnie flinched, went rigid in her bonds, and moaned
softly through her gag. I continued slurping and licking
and probing and doing all the things that Winnie had done to my
lady bits, including nibbling.
What's that you ask? I wasn't gagged, so why didn't I ask
By this time I also had ample precedent for Club members being naughty.
I decided to be naughty. I'm usually not naughty, but
tonight, I was naughty.
Encouraged by my initial naughtiness, I took a second to review
my limited notes on effective cunnilingual technique... then
continued slurping, licking, probing, swirling, thrusting,
nibbling, and teasing "Ginger." (I'd decided that from now
on "Ginger" was my pet name for Winnie's pussy. There,
see? "Pussy." I'm so naughty.)
Time passed... my tongue started getting tired... and Winnie's
struggles became more frantic, her gagged moans somewhat
desperate, and finally, she went rigid in her bonds and whined
through her gag!
Score one for Molly Schmeck! Score one orgasm for Winifred
Wilde. Oh-by-the-way, I had olfactory and gustatory
supporting evidence that confirmed my success, as well as
kinetic and auditory. "Ginger" was all squishy. I
licked my lips.
And then, not being able to think of anything clever to say (I
chickened out), I stayed quiet. I would have welcomed a
critique of my oral efforts, but wisely decided to wait 'til the
subject of said efforts wasn't gagged.
My back was complaining from the mild contortion that had been
required to plant and keep my lips and tongue on and in Winnie's
lady bits. So, I squirmed, stretched, and twisted in my
bonds as best I could, leaned forward as far as I could, and
rested my upper body, boobs, and head against Winnie's lower
body. Panting through her gag and hood, her freckled skin
shining with sweat, Winnie wiggled in response and
complained. "Mrrrm." I think it was a complaint.
"Sorry," I whispered. Posture-wise, I didn't have a lot of
options. I couldn't sit upright all night. It was
either lean forward or lean back. Forward had the
advantage of body-on-body contact with Winnie's warm, freckled,
helpless body. Maybe I'd try leaning backwards later.
I relaxed for a while, the side of my naughty, smiling head
resting on Winnie's abdomen. We rose and fell as Winnie
breathed, "we" being Winnie's tummy and my head. I'd sure
my smile was decidedly goofy. How could it not be?
And then... after two or three relaxing minutes... I heaved
myself upright, leaned forward, and...
"Once more into the breach, dear friends!" (William
Shakespeare, Henry V, Act I, Scene III.)
That night, Winnie enjoyed a second orgasm... followed by a
third... and I'm willing to take credit for all three.
And then, we slept. (I did, anyway.)
At some point
during the night, someone—at least two someones—untied me—and
Winnie. It was Fern and Libby, of course, but I barely
opened my eyes and barely moved during the untying
process. I don't know if they were wearing their night
vision goggles. Anyway I was rolled around and my
limbs straightened, but I didn't do any of it. It was done
to me. Not that I minded. Anyway, the
proverbial dust settled and I was still naked but no longer
bound or gagged. Also I was snuggling against a naked but
not bound or gagged Winnie. I'm pretty sure it was
Winnie. I went back to sleep.
It was Winnie. She was shaking my shoulder. It was
morning. Birds were singing in the Secret Garden beyond
the bedroom window. Winnie was naked, smiling, and
chipper. It was disgusting.
"C'mon," Winnie chuckled as she tossed aside the tangled sheets
and lifted me to my feet. "We'll be late for breakfast."
"Okay," I sighed as I was bodily dragged into the
bathroom. I'd managed to redistribute some of my
dungeon dirt to Winnie's sheets (and Winnie), but was still a
I conducted my morning toilette, as did Winnie, and finally
managed to actually wake up. Also, we saved time by
sharing the shower. (After all, I didn't wanna be late for
breakfast.) Getting clean was very much a mutual
affair. Liquid soap, a washcloth, sliding hands, and a
great deal of unnecessary cuddling and kissing all played a
Mission accomplished, Winnie turned off the shower, tossed me a
towel, and we dried ourselves. My towel wrapped around my
body and my semi-dry hair lightly brushed, I cleaned my glasses,
slid them in place, and squinted in the mirror. I was a
little sore, but appeared to be none the worse for wear with no
visible rope-marks, bruises, or contusions. I did have a
slightly silly smile curling my lips, but I guess that was
normal... or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
Winnie's smiling face appeared in the mirror over my
shoulder. "C'mon," she chuckled, then took my hand and led
me from the bathroom, through her bedroom, and down the hallway
towards her kitchen. She hadn't bothered to get
dressed. Not even a towel. Not even a robe.
Just freckles and damp, ginger curls.
We arrived at the kitchen to find Libby and Fern cooking
pancakes and bacon. Dirty bowls and spoons were
everywhere, as well as splattered batter and spilled
grease. Apparently, the Kidnapping Duo had misplaced their
sneakers, jeans, and hoodies. They were wearing only
panties and tank-tops. Fern's ensemble was white panties
and a dark, heather-gray tank. Libby's was pale blue
panties and an indigo-blue tank.
Winnie's smile became disapproving and lopsided. "You lot
are cleaning up this mess," she announced.
"Good morning to you too," Fern purred.
Libby filled a cup with coffee and placed it in my hands, then
leaned close and kissed my startled lips. "Morning," she
said with a sunny smile.
"Uh, morning," I responded, blinking somewhat frantically.
This was twice that Libby had provided a comforting
beverage. Maybe Libby was a nice Mean
Oh-by-the-way, Micki Booker was also present. She
was sitting in a straight chair with her box-tie, leather
bondage-mittens, knee, and ankle-foot-toe-bonds completely
intact. That's right, Micki's bondage from yesterday was
unchanged! Her ball-gag was missing, but in its place a
long, wide strip of off-white micro-foam tape sealed her mouth
and covered most of her lower face! The 3-D shape of her
lips was clearly visible, her skin was smudged with dungeon
dirt, and her blue eyes scowled at the others (myself
I delicate thrill quivered between my legs. I really
like Micki's bazooms, and there they were!
The breakfast nook was set for five. I turned, gazed out
the window at Winnie's Secret Garden, and sipped my
coffee. The Chickadee and Nuthatch Gang was busily looting
the birdfeeder. I watched for a while, then turned back to
find that Winnie was still naked, Micki still had bazooms, and
Fern and Libby were carrying the food to the table.
Winnie and I scooted into the nook and took the seats next to
the window. Fern and Libby carried Micki and her chair to
the nook and planted her at the end of the table, then settled
into the two remaining places. Libby was next to me and
Fern next to Winnie.
"Dig in, everybody," Fern chuckled as she used her fork to
transfer pancakes to the five plates. Libby did the same
with the bacon. Soon, our plates were fully loaded.
There was a problem, of course.
Libby smiled, reached over, and carefully, delicately peeled the
tape from Micki's glowering face. The off-white strip
stretched and distorted Micki's lips and the skin of her lower
face as it surrendered its adhesive grip. Once that was
accomplished, Fern picked up the glass of apple juice at Micki's
place and held it to her lips so she could drink.
Meanwhile, Winnie and I buttered our pancakes and dribbled them
with maple syrup. I was somewhat distracted by the
sideshow, but I managed.
Her thirst quenched (I assumed), Micki glowered at Libby and
Fern. "I'm not speaking to either or you," she announced,
then watched as her own pancakes received butter and
syrup. It was a joint effort by Fern and Libby.
Micki lifted her scowling gaze to Winnie. "And as for
"Tell us what Molly did to you last night," Fern interrupted,
I reacted by blushing bright red and nearly doing a coffee
"Hush, you scamp," Winnie chuckled, then reached across the
table and gave my hand a reassuring pat. "It's none of
"Sure it is," Fern countered. "It's Club business."
"Eat your breakfast," Libby huffed, rolling her eyes as she cut
up Micki's pancakes, then loaded a fork and lifted it to Micki's
still pouting lips. "Is that enough syrup?"
Micki chewed and swallowed. "If I was speaking to
you," she said, "I'd answer yes."
I recovered my composure (mostly) and resumed eating. We
all ate, Micki with Libby and Fern's assistance.
"Speaking of Club business," Libby announced at one point,
"Mother's hosting a party and we're all invited."
"Did 'Mother' say when this party was gonna take place?" Fern
inquired with a grin.
Libby shook her head. "Up in the air. Notional RSVPs
are trickling in and the date is under multilateral
negotiation. Soon. I'll let you know."
"This wouldn't be the next Senior Club party, would it?"
Winnie inquired, "the one for which our Chapter is
scheduled to serve?"
chewed a strip of bacon and looked from Winnie to Libby.
Winnie had said "shed-yule" again. Her accent is so
"Afraid so," Libby sighed.
"So by 'invited' you meant we'll be required to wear costumes
and serve drinks and hors-d'oeuvres?" Fern drawled.
"All true," Libby nodded.
I blinked and looked from face to face to face. 'Costumes?'
"Don't worry," Winnie said, giving my hand another pat.
"Mother will take care of all the details," Libby said.
"Mother always does," Fern purred with a saucy grin.
Winnie gave my hand a squeeze. "There's something you
should understand. The most senior, most experienced
members of all of The Club's many Chapters are
considered the Senior Club."
"By 'senior' and 'most experienced' she means the old ladies,"
Libby frowned at The Trickster. "Mother is not an
old lady," she huffed.
I had to agree. Mrs. Irene Locke might be the most
experienced member of our Chapter with the greatest number of
accumulated birthdays, but she was no old lady.
"Anyway," Winnie said, reclaiming the conversation, "the members
of the Senior Club take turn hosting parties, and the junior
members of the hostess' Chapter have the honor of serving."
"Yeah," Fern chuckled. "The honor."
"Don't make me slap you," Libby warned, but I could
tell she was joking..
That reminded me that I owed Libby one slap and Fern two, but
decided to forego Libby's slap in recognition of beverage
services rendered, and Fern was diagonally across the table, too
far for a resounding and satisfying slap. Maybe later.
"Like Libby said," Winnie continued, "Irene will take care of
everything. I'll give you a ring as soon as we have a firm
I nodded (and managed not to steal a glance at Micki's bazooms
in response to Winnie's use of the word "firm").
We finished eating and shared the cleanup. The exception
was Micki, of course. She was still box-tied,
mitten-bound, knee-bound, ankle-foot-toe-bound, smudged with
dirt, and only marginally happy.
over and Winnie's kitchen spotless, Winnie untied Micki's
toe-foot-ankle and knee bonds, used the knee-rope to give the
pouting librarian a leash, and placed the end of that leash in my
"Please take Micki to my bedroom, untie her, and see that she
gets a good hot shower," Winni ordered.
I nodded, blushed, and blinked, but said nothing.
"Would you like me to turn on the sauna?" Winnie asked Micki.
"I'm not speaking to you, either," Micki huffed, then turned to
me. "Please tell her yes."
I blinked a few more times, then focused on Winnie. "Yes."
Winnie smiled. "Go," she chuckled.
I turned and headed for the bedroom. Micki followed, of
course. The leash. No choice.
As we entered the bedroom, I noted (or noted again) the rumpled
sheets on the bed, the tangle of hemp ropes, mostly on the
floor, and the abandoned leather bondage-mittens tossed on the
left bedside table. Next to them was a barrel-style key,
obviously what the Kidnapping Duo had used to free my
hands. My standard-damsel-silencer-ball-gag and Winnie's
ball-panel-gag were on the right bedside table. I don't
know what happened to the hood.
I untied Micki's leash. That was the easy part. The
elaborate box-tie wasn't going to be so easy. I bit my
lower lip and absently gazed at Micki's boobs—I mean bonds—and
tried to decide on a strategy. Also... nothing ventured
nothing gained, as the story goes.
I swallowed, somewhat nervously. "Uh, Micki?" I said
Micki smiled. "Molly?"
"There's something I've been wanting to do since yesterday," I
explained. "Do you mind?"
"That depends," Micki responded (quite understandably).
I'd reached out, cupped her bazooms with both hands, and was
giving them a firm but gentle squeeze. They were
everything I'd imagined they would be. Firm.
Pliant. Firm and pliant! Everything I'd
"When you're quite finished..." Micki purred.
"Oh!" I released my double handful of hot librarian
bazooms. "Just curious."
I returned to the task at hand (so to speak). It took a
while, but eventually the last of Winnie's "puzzle knots"
surrendered to my deft (fumbling) fingers and the last of the
hemp slithered to the floor. I used the key from the
nightstand to unlock and remove Micki's bondage-mittens, then
tossed the mittens and key on the bed. Micki stepped out
of the tangle of brown rope and was free. Naked, covered
with rope-marks, and free.
I took her hand, led her to the bathroom and into the shower,
and helped her get clean. I didn't need another shower,
but had fresh (so to speak) experience with the dungeon dirt
removal process, so it was my duty to assist. No words
were spoken. I did most of the scrubbing, and Micki
allowed it. Also, we sucked face a little. It was
the polite thing to do. Eventually, Micki was squeaky
clean. (I checked!) I turned off the shower, toweled
her dry, toweled myself dry, then she took my hand and we headed
for the sauna.
Again, no words were spoken. I left my glasses outside and
we sat together on one of the upper-tier benches. A few
sweaty minutes into the process I found myself lying full-length
on my back with my head on Micki's lap. She leaned back
against the bench's slightly sloping backrest, eyes closed, and
idly combed her fingers through my hair. We continued to
sweat... a lot. Our bodies were flushed and glistening...
including Micki's bazooms.
Eventually, we were sauna-satisfied. We rinsed off under
the pull-handle shower, expended more of Winnie's soft, fluffy
towels, then padded to the Restrained Meditation Studio and got
dressed. Libby and Fern had already left (no doubt to plan
their next nefarious kidnapping). Winnie wished us
farewell, kisses were exchanged, and Micki drove away. I
crossed the street to my bungalow.
Like I said, no words were spoken. Either that or I was in
so much of a daze that anything that was said either
wasn't addressed to me and/or went right over my head.
So... all of that happened... and apparently... I was
invited to a party.