by Van © 2018
		Chapter 10

"MRRRPFH!"

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 jaw!

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 splayed.

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 stretched.

Let's talk about breasts under such circumstances.  Shall we?

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.

	F = G	(	( m1 m2 ) / r2	)

(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 missing."

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 bed!

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 terrified.

"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!  Nosiree!

"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 nipple-clamps tonight."

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 Scouts.

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 things:

     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.

I looking 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, needle-pointed-and-razor-sharp, 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.

However...

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.

Anyway...

The true lead of the evening's bedroom story should have been... lady bits.

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.  Yum!

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 Chapter   So...

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 permission?

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.

.......zzzzzzz.......

"Molly...  Molly!"

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 dirty girl.

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 role.

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 Girl.

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 excluded).

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.

"Mrrrrmpfh!"

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 you—"

"Tell us what Molly did to you last night," Fern interrupted, addressing Winnie.

I reacted by blushing bright red and nearly doing a coffee spit-take.

"Hush, you scamp," Winnie chuckled, then reached across the table and gave my hand a reassuring pat.  "It's none of their business."

"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?"

I chewed a strip of bacon and looked from Winnie to Libby.  Winnie had said "shed-yule" again.  Her accent is so adorable!

"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?'  'Drinks'  'Hors-d'oeuvres?'

"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," Fern clarified.

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 date."

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.

Breakfast 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 hand!

"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 quietly.

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).  "Oh...  Oh!"

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 imagined.

"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.

Wow!