Winifred's Workshop
Winifred's Workshop


by Van © 2018


Chapter 12

Dramatis Personæ



OUR STORY CONTINUES


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

I dozed, resplendent in my Sexy Bunny costume, wrists decoratively cuffed behind my back, oh-so-comfortably reclined with my back, butt, and legs across the laps of three gorgeous Seniors (one of whom was my Senior, the seriously gorgeous Mrs. Irene Locke!), and basking in the role of pampered Sexy Bunny.

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

At some point I awoke (sort of) to find myself being carried (like a big baby) down a dimly lit hallway in Irene's arms.  (She's gorgeous and strong!)  I was still wearing my adorable Sexy Bunny costume, but my fancy cloth (with leather strap interior) wrist cuffs were no longer joined together.  I sighed, smiled up at Irene through half-closed eyes...  and went back to sleep.

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

I awoke again to find myself on a soft bed... Irene's bed... in Irene's bedroom.  Also, my Sexy Bunny costume was abandoning my body!  That is, my no-longer-joined-cuffs, collar, bunny-ears-hair-band, white fake fur bodysuit, and white fishnets were slipping, sliding, and slithering away!.  It was Irene.  She was the slitherer... the slithering agent... the one responsible for the slithering.  Okay, she was stripping me naked.  I didn't mind.  "Thank you," I whispered, smiling goofily.  (I think I whispered.  I may not have spoken aloud, but I'm positive my smile was goofy.)

I don't know why I was so damn sleepy that night.  I'm usually not such a lightweight.  Anyway, I closed my eyes again... and went back to sleep.


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

The next time I woke up it was in response to a bathroom summons.  My bladder was being bossy and insisting that I needed to take a tinkle.  The problem was... I was sprawled on the bed (Irene's bed) as the filling in an Irene/Molly/Winnie sandwich.  On my immediate and intimate right was the very naked body of the seriously gorgeous Mrs. Irene Locke... and on my immediate and intimate left the naked body of the also gorgeous Winifred Wilde.  Winnie's box-tie bonds were still intact.  If I was going to extricate myself and make my way to the bathroom—"Do it!  Do it!" my bladder urged—I was going to have to disturb one of my bed-mates... but which one?

It wasn't really a contest.  Irene was my Senior and party hostess (and was seriously gorgeous), so there was only one choice.

Being ultra-careful (so as not to disturb Irene), I rolled on top of Winnie, straddled her tummy, clamped my right hand over her mouth in a tight hand-gag, and used my left hand to take a firm hold on the most convenient part of Winnie's anatomy available: her right breast.

"Mrrrfh?"  Even in the dim, blue-green light of the bedroom's nightlights I could see Winnie's eyes pop open in surprise.  She squirmed under my charmingly girlish and minimal weight.

"Shhh!" I whispered.  "You'll wake up Irene."  I leaned close, withdrew my hand, and kissed Winnie's lips.  "I need to tinkle," I whispered in her ear, then used my tongue to give her ear a wet swirl.

"Molly!" Winnie admonished me in a shivering whisper.

Not at all like the well-mannered and arguably attractive Molly Schmeck we've come to know and love?  Naughty?  Impish?  Even wicked?  Well... yes.  Deal with it.

I crawled off Winnie's body and the bed and tiptoed into the bathroom.  I managed not to giggle.  Wouldn't want to wake up Irene!

I accomplished my mission, making as little noise as possible.  My bladder was very grateful.  I splashed water on my face, patted it dry with a towel, and with the help of the bathroom's blue-green nightlight (and despite the fact that my glasses were elsewhere, probably on one of Irene's bedside tables and anxiously pining for the return of their beloved owner), I could see my out-of-focus face and upper body in the bathroom mirror and noted that I wasn't quite naked.  My pink and white bucktooth-bunny-ball-gag was still dangling around my neck, its buckle locked on the strap's first hole.  Residual adorableness.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  I stifled a giggle, heaved the appropriately tragic sigh, and tiptoed back into the bedroom.

The warm, slot-like space that should have been waiting for me to reclaim between Irene and Winnie was now filled!  Winnie had wiggled close to our seriously gorgeous Senior, thus depriving me of my rightful position.  What an outrage!  The very nerve!  Both Irene and Winnie appeared to be fast asleep.

Great.  Now it was up to me to decide if there was going to be a Molly/Irene/Winnie sandwich or an Irene/Winnie/Molly sandwich.  There was less room and a tangle of sheets on the Irene side and an open, more generous space on the Winnie side.  Another tragic sigh was called for, but heroically I managed to keep my composure.  I then carefully climbed onto the bed, snuggled against Winnie's side (draping one arm across her tummy), and closed my eyes.

Several seconds passed.

"Molly?" Irene inquired in a whisper.

I blinked in surprise, then whispered back..  "Yes, Mrs. Locke?"

"Did you grab Winifred's breast?"

Busted!  "Yes, Mrs. Locke."

"Did you kiss her?"

"Yes, Mrs. Locke."

Irene rolled towards Winnie, leaned close, and planted a kiss on Winnie's smiling lips.  "Like this?"

I tried not to smile a goofy smile.  I don't know if I succeeded.  "Yes, Mrs. Locke."

Irene cupped Winnie's right breast, and squeezed.  "And this?"

I nodded, gravely.  "Yes, Mrs. Locke."

Poor Winnie, all naked and tied up and helpless.  She said nothing, but bit her lower lip in a coy manner and smiled at me with her gorgeous blue eyes... thus registering more than enough demerits to earn herself a slap.  At some point in the future I was going have to line up the entire Rope Chapter (except for our Senior, of course) and deliver deliberate, punitive slaps, one each, one at a time.  But if I was gonna do everyone at once, I decided that meant I'd have to cut Fern some slack and reduce her sentence to a single slap... plus time served.

"How 'bout this?" Irene purred.  "Did you do any of this?"  She'd released Winnie's boob and was sliding her hand between Winnie's legs, caressing Winnie's lady bits with the edge of her hand.  That was the "this" in question.

Winnie squirmed in her bonds.  "Ohh—Mmmf!"

Wanting to be helpful to my Senior, I'd clamped my right hand over Winnie's mouth.  "Hush," I whispered in her ear (loud enough for Irene to hear).  "Our Senior is talking."  I focused on Irene and slowly, gravely shook my head.  "No, Mrs. Locke.  I didn't do anything like that."

"Why did you squeeze Winnie's breast?" Irene purred.  She continued moving her hand and caressing Winnie's lady bits.

"As a control measure," I explained.  "I didn't want her to wake you up.  Also... because it was there."

Irene's hand continued gliding... and now her fingers were fluttering.

Winnie continued squirming and mewling through my hand-gag.  "Mrrrrr."

"It is a nice breast," Irene conceded.

I nodded and smiled.  "Both of them are nice," I agreed.

"Yes... both of them," Irene agreed.  Her fingers and hand was still moving... and Winnie was still squirming.  Irene's smile was wicked.  She was gorgeous.

Winnie's eyes were now clenched tightly closed.  It seemed kinda quick, but I suspected she might be approaching some sort of orgasm.  Maybe a mini-orgasm.  Go figure.

Abruptly, Irene withdrew her hand from between Winnie's legs.  "Well..."  She smiled in my direction.  "Thank you for your consideration."  She then leaned over Winnie's body (squashing her left breast against Winnie's right breast in the process) and kissed my lips.  "Go back to sleep."

"Yes, Mrs. Locke," I purred.  I was smiling, of course, and from Winnie's point of view I suppose I was being outrageously mean and gloating, but I'm sure Irene recognized my behavior as that of a loyal and obedient member of her Chapter.

Irene kissed Winnie's forehead (as my hand was still gagging Winnie's lips), then rolled away from her youthful and beautiful bed-mates.

I smiled at Winnie (who stared at me with the fury of a frustrated, bound, and hand-gagged damsel), and continued my hand gag.  I then squirmed even closer, rolled nearly on top of her body (in the process pressing our nipples together, quickly switched my hand-gag-hand from right to left, and used my right hand to caress Winnie's lady bits, picking up where Irene had left off.

Winnie shivered and clenched her eyes closed, once again.

"Don't make me fetch some rope and hogtie you on the floor, young lady," Irene said quietly.  Obviously, the warning was for me.

Smiling sweetly, I removed both hands, then rolled away from Winnie.  "Yes, Mrs. Locke," I replied, all the while properly contrite... by which I mean I didn't giggle and gloat.

Winnie was now the frustrated filling in a sandwich with both of her bed-mates' naked butts pressed against her hips and our backs against her box-tied arms.  I don't know for sure if she was glowering at the back of my head (I did feel a slight burning sensation), but it was a safe bet.  Maybe she thought I deserved a slap.  Maybe I did.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and went back to sleep.


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

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 12

The next time I opened my eyes it was morning... and I was alone in Irene's bed, almost.  Irene and Winnie were missing, but Winnie's former box-tie bonds were present.  Fortunately, they were a jumble of brown hemp loops and snarls, and not binding my naked, fair-complected, and arguably attractive body.  The bucktooth-bunny-ball-gag was still in necklace-mode, securely locked around my neck and the key required to unlock the cruel (but adorable) device was nowhere to be seen (with or without glasses); however, the glasses in question were neatly folded and resting on Irene's right bedside table.  Good ol' glasses!

Obviously, I was behind the power curve.  As I donned my glasses and made my way to the bathroom, I noticed a very pretty silk robe draped across a chair.  Upon entering the tiled space I discovered it was warm and humid, evidence that Irene and/or Winnie had taken hot showers, but (unfortunately) had failed to wake me up in the process.  Anyway, I conducted my morning toilette and further humidified the space with a hot, quick shower of my own, then dried myself (including my hair), cleaned my glasses, brushed my teeth with Irene's toothbrush, brushed and straightened my charming pageboy with Irene's hairbrush, then returned to the bedroom and donned the robe.  It was a pastel shade of grape-purple with jade-green piping.  Like I said: very pretty.

The various elements of my Sexy Bunny costume were a rumpled heap on the floor beside the bed, but I decided to stick with the robe.  Also, donning the high-heeled white pumps with the locking ankle-straps was unappealing.  I decided to go with bare feet.  Of course, I was still wearing one element of my former costume: my bucktooth-bunny-ball-gag-necklace.  However, as mentioned earlier, the buckle was locked.  The key was still hiding and I was already late, so there was no time for a key hunt.  I padded from the bedroom, down the hallway, and set off in search of Irene, Winnie, the rest of the Chapter, any of Irene's fellow Seniors who had decided to stay overnight, and breakfast... not necessarily in that order.

I encountered one of the uniformed maids—a cute little thing with gorgeous blue eyes (amazing, like Fern's) and a brown pixie-cut—and she directed me to a dining room.  There, I encountered everybody else, meaning Irene, Winnie, Mickie, Libby, Fern, and a handful of Irene's guests who apparently had decided to stay overnight.  They were all wearing a variety of different robes, all very pretty (like mine), and enjoying breakfast.  Also present were more of the uniformed maids, pushing coffee, tea, and various fruit juices on Irene and her guests.

"Molly!"  "There she is!"  "How adorable!"  (That, again!)  "Good morning, Molly!"

"Mornin', everybody," I answered, covered a yawn with the back of my hand.

Irene smiled and, with a graceful gesture, indicated what was obviously a buffet table.  She's so nice.  Premission granted, I padded over and started loading a plate.  The chaffing dishes were full of the usual: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and sauteed diced potatoes.  Also, smoked herrings (smoked herrings?), beans (seriously, beans??), roasted sliced tomatoes, and other stuff, some of it clearly, uh, ethnic.

Irene, the French woman who had massaged my tummy and thighs, and the Lucy-Liu-like Asian woman with the magic fingers who had massaged my feet were all sitting together at the head of the table.  I found a place further down between Fern and Libby, accepted coffee from a pretty maid with pale blond hair done up in a bun and pale blue eyes, and started stuffing my face—politely, I politely stuffed my face—with yummy food.

The other Seniors present were ending their meals and taking their leave of Irene... as did the Asian woman... followed by the French woman.

It only occurred to me much later, after I was back home in my cozy bungalow, that I'd never learned any of the Seniors' names, nor had I learned which Chapters they led (Leather, Latex, Steel, Rubber Bands and Other Common Office Supplies, etc.).  There had been no introductions during the party (none to lowly serving girl and Sexy Bunny Molly, anyway).  And there were none at breakfast.  I hadn't even heard any of the Seniors' names used in conversation (which, being gagged for most of the evening, I hadn't taken part in).  Go figure.  Was it for security purposes, like with Secret Agents?  In that case, they should have given each other cool code names, like "Madam Steel", "Lady Leather", "Mistress Rubber Bands and Other Common Office Supplies", etc.  How was I supposed to learn anything about The Club if the Seniors didn't talk to me?  Oh well.

Anyway, delicious breakfast over and Molly Schmeck still woefully ignorant (although I hadn't yet realized it), the Rope Chapter made its way to the changing room where we'd donned our Sexy Animal costumes before the party, removed our robes, and changed into our street clothes.  I had just finished dressing when Libby stepped behind me, unlocked my bucktooth-bunny-ball-gag, and removed it from my neck.  I turned, smiled, and kissed her lips.  "Thanks," I gushed.  Believe it or not, Libby blushed.  She's so nice.

As I watched Libby drop the ball-gag on one of the straight chairs, it occurred to me that Irene's staff probably faced a daunting task: reassembling all the various elements of our various Sexy Animal costumes for return to the costume shop from whence they came (assuming Irene didn't already own them).  Anyway... not my problem.  Also, I figured I'd soon get a chance to debrief Libby, Fern, and Micki on where, how, and with whom they'd spent the night (meaning which Senior or Seniors took them into custody as bedwarmers).  I couldn't wait to hear all the juicy details (so to speak) of everything that had happened.  As it turned out, We Don't Kiss And Tell is another Club rule that nobody bothered to share with poor, ignorant, Baby Bondage Scout Molly Schmeck.

Irene reappeared and it was hugs and kisses all around.  She's so nice.  We made our way to the garage and Irene and Libby waved as the rest of the Chapter departed.

On the ride back to Winnie's place (with Irene's smiling hunk of a chauffeur/bodyguard behind the wheel of the SUV), Winnie, Micki, Fern, and I quietly discussed the many compliments Irene had received about our Sexy Animal costumes.  It turns out that when it was their turns to host such parties, most Seniors put their junior member servers in costumes (meaning bondage or semi-bondage) related to their Chapter theme; slave-girl chains for the Steel Chapter, bizarre latex catsuits for the Latex Chapter, etc.  Irene's use of very entertaining but totally not rope costumes was considered daring and elegant.  And adding rope-bound Winnie as her party companion was a grace note, the exception that made the rule.  Or, in this case, the non-exception that emphasized all the other rule-breaking.

Fern suggested Irene had used "negative space."  Micki and I shook our heads.  Having passed an entire freshman-level survey course in Art Appreciation, I knew she was wrong.  Negative space was... something else.  There was some Modern concept at play here, but I couldn't put my finger on it.  Neither could Micki.  Winnie smiled and watched our scholarly debate but didn't participate.  "Zen?" Fern suggested after a while.  Micki shrugged, nodded, and agreed.  Zen would do.  It still wasn't the elusive art trope I was trying to remember, but it would do... well enough to provide closure, anyway.

We arrived at Winnie's place and once again it was hugs and kisses all around, except for the chauffeur/bodyguard.  He just smiled and drove away.  I felt sorry for him.  Anyway...

Fern and Micki departed in their respective motorized transports, and it was just Winnie and myself.

More hugs and kisses.

"Come over when you feel ready to talk," Winnie told me with a dimpled smile.  "I'll brew some tea."

Of course you will, I thought.  "Okay," I answered aloud, planted a final kiss on her lips, then crossed the street to the bungalow.

Well...  that's about it.  We had a nice chat the next day.  By then I'd had time to realize I'd learned bupkis about the other Chapters.  All the Seniors were hot old ladies (like Irene), but giving them names (even code names), sorting them into their proper bondage pigeonholes, and even labeling said bondage pigeonholes hadn't happened.  Winnie was sympathetic, but explained that I would have to learn more about The Club "in the fullness of time."

Frakk that noise!  I wanted to know now!  At least she could tell me the names and Chapter designations of the French and Asian women who had massaged my torso and feet, respectively, on Irene's couch!  She didn't.  (Dammit!)  Anyway... the tea was delicious, as always.

Anyway, there were more Sessions, I got tied up in various ways, various permutations of my fellow Chapter members did various erotic and wonderful things to me, etc., etc.  Oh, and Winnie started teaching me how to tie people up!  I think she may be grooming me to be her assistant!

So... that's my story.  I hope you've found it stimulating and elucidating.  Thanks for listening... by which I mean, of course, thanks for reading!


xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

~ ☺ ~ ☺ ~ ☺ ~  The End!  ~ ☺ ~ ☺ ~ ☺ ~

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 12

Ow!  Ow!  Hey!  Stop throwin' stuff!  What's the matter with you people?

What's that you say?  You want more?  Gimme a break!  No!  Wait!  Not that kinda break!

Look, I said at the very beginning I'd tell you exactly how I came to be a member of The Club, and that's what I've done. 

(Wait here while I go back to page one and check...  Okay, I'm back.)

Granted I was a little vague, but... that's all there is... other than endless accounts of naked Molly Schmeck being tied up and gagged in various ways by Winnie—or the naked other Chapter members being tied up and gagged by Winnie—or naked Winnie being tied up and gagged by the other Chapter members—or Irene doing various and sundry things to Winnie and/or myself and/or the other Chapter members down in her Playroom—or the other Chapter members doing various and sundry things to tied up and naked me with their lips, tongues, vibrators, and common household appliances.  You certainly don't want me to waste your time with any of that, do you?

Oh...  You do...  But I got things to do!  Okay, okay, I'll stop whining.

If you're gonna be that way... ONE more story.  Just ONE more.  (I do have things to do.)


Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 12

The Mystery
          of the Library Basement

Sometimes I can be really dense.

"The Library is putting on a Nancy Drew Day for the school kids," Micki said.  "Want to help?"

Micki had sort of invited herself over to the bungalow for coffee and cookies, but I was glad to see her.  I'd just purchased a squirrel feeder from Wild Birds Unlimited® and installed it on the side of a tree in my backyard where I could see it from my home office window.  It was a little cedar wooden box with a plexiglass front panel, a hinged lid, and a cute little platform for a squirrel to sit on, open the lid, reach inside, and retrieve one of the peanuts I'd cleverly hidden inside.

What's that you say?  I've gone on and on about how much I detest squirrels, want them to stop emptying my birdfeeder like furry little seed-pirates, and have taken technological countermeasures to that effect?  Hey, squirrels are people too, ya know.  Also, they're kinda cute and pathetic when they go up on their hind legs with their fore-paws tucked against their furry white chests, stare at me through the window, and mentally shout "Hey!  I'm starvin' here!  What's with the cage?"  Also, watching them solve the puzzle of how to get to the peanuts was entertaining.  (Not that it took them very long.)

Anyhoo... Nancy Drew Day at the local branch of the Regional Library.

"What do you need me for?" I inquired as I nibbled on a Keebler® Sandie.

"Just for general ambiance, and to help control the crowd if things get rowdy," Micki explained.

My response was up to my usual sagacious level.  "Huh?"

"You've read all the Nancy Drew books, right?"

"Duh!" I answered (rather rudely).

All right then," Micki beamed.  "That settles it.  If any of the boys and girls have questions, you can answer.  I'll help you find the right costume."

"Costume?"

Micki nodded.  "Costume."

Cutting to the chase, an hour before the library opened on The Big Day, I found myself in Classic Nancy Drew uniform: two-tone saddle shoes, white knee-socks, plaid pleated skirt, white blouse with Peter Pan collar, sky-blue cardigan, and white headband.  I suppose we could have gone Contemporary Nancy (sneakers, jeans, blouse, etc.), but then I would have been just a grown up lady (to the kids) in sneakers, jeans, blouse, and etc.

Micki was in an old fashioned business lady's suit, by the way, something from the 40's or 50's: sensible pumps, gray skirt and jacket with wide lapels and padded shoulders, and a white blouse and cravat/scarf.  Also, glasses on a long, decorative bead necklace.  (They were just for show.  Micki doesn't need glasses.)  She was very much a hypothetical Nice Librarian character from a Nancy Drew novel who provides exposition and dispenses clues to Nancy and her chums and helps move the plot.

I was introduced to the other librarians, meaning the other real librarians, Micki's colleagues, although she's also a real librarian, of course.  Anyway, they were all very nice, but carefully and politely explained that the whole Nancy Drew Day thing was Micki's cockamamie brainstorm, so we should leave them out of it as much as possible.

I waited to be briefed on my actual Nancy Drew Day duties, for Micki to tell me the details of what was expected of me when the yellow school buses full of kids started arriving.  I was afraid I was going to get stuck with the role of Nice Lady Who Hands Out Fruit Punch and Cookies, but, as it turns out... not so much.

Micki took me by the hand and led through the staff area, unlocked a locked door, and led me down a set of stairs to the library basement.  The library had a basement.  Who knew?  There were the expected stacks of slightly dusty reading tables and chairs, some obviously much older that the ones currently in use upstairs, as well as cardboard boxes that might contain holiday decorations, office supplies, or... oh, I don't know... books?  There were also steel posts supporting the library overhead and tiny little basement-style windows protected by anti-burglar bars set high in the outside walls.

Still clutching my hand, Micki led me to the far side of the basement and towards a steel door.  It had one of those Velociraptor-friendly "L"-shaped handles and a heavy-duty hasp secured by an unusually large padlock.  Micki finally let go of my hand.

I wondered if maybe I should make a run for it.  (Foreboding.  What a concept.)  I decided to stay put.  Curiosity.

"The Library has its own padlock for this door," Micki explained as she pulled a rather imposing key from her jacket pocket and unlocked the nearly fist-sized padlock, "but this one's mine, the exact same make and model.  Any Staff who wander down here to Secure Storage—which never happens, by the way—won't notice the difference, but if they try unlocking the padlock, they'll assume there's something wrong with the padlock and file a maintenance report, but they won't be able to unlock this door."

I blinked in surprise (as usual).  "Uh... 'Secure Storage'?"

Micki opened the door.  The hinges needed oiling.  "Also known as 'The Restricted Section'," she said with a grin that wasn't at all Evil and Mischievous (but was beautiful).

The room beyond was surprisingly large, maybe thirty by sixty feet, and had a single barred window up near the ceiling.  It was like the rest of the basement windows.  There were also a pair of widely separated eight-inch steel support columns that were also like the basement's other support columns.  And resting on the floor at the base of the far column were several coils of white rope.

I stared at the room... and the rope... then crossed my arms under my breasts and glared at Micki.  "This is a Chapter prank, admit it."

Micki smiled, walked to the rope pile, and selected a coil.  "What was your first clue, 'Nancy'," she purred, then released the coil's hitch and readied it for use.

I heaved an appropriately tragic and pathetic sigh, then strolled forward.  "I shouldn't let you do this," I groused.

"But you will," Micki responded, "because you're a good sport."  She pointed at the post.

I heaved another sigh, then backed against the cold (okay, cool) steel and crossed my wrists behind the column.  Micki set to work.

End result:

This was my first "post tie."  Now that I think of it, it may have been Nancy's first post tie as well.  It's been years since the last time I read one of the NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES, and I never read all the books, just almost all the books.  Okay, I lied when I told Micki I'd read all the books, but I have read most of them.  Anyway, my wrists were crossed and bound behind the post and horizontal and lateral bands lashed me in place from ankles to shoulders.  Everything was hitched and cinched and very snug.  I wasn't going anywhere, and my fluttering fingers were useless.  The rope was cotton clothesline, by the way, and I could tell it had been washed and conditioned to make it slightly fluffy and not at all harsh.

Micki watched as I tested her handiwork, tugging on knots and sliding a finger along the bands of rope framing my rope-framed sweater-puppies.

"I suppose you're the one behind the plot to swindle Farmer Brown out of his land down by the river and build a new hotel, pachinko parlor, and rock and roll concert venue," I accused the gloating Evil Librarian.

"Actually," Micki purred, "I just wanted to see how you'd looked dressed like Nancy Drew and all tied up."

"Well?" I huffed.

"Very cute," Micki sighed, "even cuter than Winnie looked as Daphne Blake the last time the library hosted a Scooby-Doo Day."

"I should think so," I muttered, then started blinking.  "Wait!  Winnie as Daphne Blake?  Do you have pictures?  Please tell me you have pictures!"

"That would be telling," Micki purred.  "I can't wait for the next Scooby-Do Day."  She nodded towards the second, unoccupied support column.  "The Restricted Section has two posts, so we have room for a Daphne and a Velma Dinkley."

"Velma?" I asked (blinking again).

"You, silly," Micki chuckled, then readied the inevitable gag.  It was a ShamWow!® super-absorbent towel (in Hideous Gold) folded and wrapped around a summer-weight scarf (probably synthetic).  "Any last words?"

"You'll never get away with this?" I suggested.

"That'll do," Micki purred, then cleave-gagged me with the thick, super-absorbent ShamWow!® gag.  And I let her.  (Not that I could have stopped her.)

"One last thing," Micki said (gloated), then tucked a pair of sport-style earbud headphones in my ears.  They had retaining loops to keep me from jarring them loose if I shook my gagged head.  And then, I watched as she left the room... a few seconds passed... and she returned with a chair and a laptop computer.  She placed the chair near my post, opened the laptop and placed it on the chair, then plugged the earbuds into the laptop.

Resuming her gloating station in front of bound and gagged Nancy Drew, she crossed her arms under her smartly suited bazooms, and began the inevitable Villains Declamation/Exposition.  That is, she explained the details of her Nefarious Plan.

"Several of the library's Nancy Drew audiobooks are loaded on that laptop," she explained, "set on continuous play, of course."

Of course, I mused.

"You'll like them," Micki continued.  "Laura Linney does the reading."  She kissed my slightly sweaty forehead, ignored my glowering stare, then tapped a few keys on the computer and headed for the door.  "I'll be back after the library closes and the rest of the staff have gone home," she announced, then closed the door.

I heard the rattle of what was probably the hasp and padlock being secured, then had just enough time to heave a gagged sigh before the introductory music of the first audiobook started droning in my ears.  It was The Secret of the Old Clock... and I knew I was in for a very long day.  The post was hard, the ropes tight, and the ShamWow!® bit-cleave-gag was a drool absorbing bitch (even if it was soft, like the ropes).

By the way, Laura Linney has a very nice reading voice.

True to her word, the Evil Librarian waited for the library to close, rescued Nancy Drew and took her out for dinner (Italian), then took her home, stripped her naked, tied her up, and did things to her that would have absolutely scandalized Carolynn Keene.

The End.

Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 12

That's about it.  Eventually I did learn more about the other Chapters in our area, a lot more; but that's another story (or stories, plural).

Oh-by-the-way, the hummingbirds found my new feeder, and they visit it regularly.  They're so cute, both the Anna's and Rufous species.  So cute.

Also, I've learned to use "Squirrel Trail Mix" from Wild Birds Unlimited® in my new squirrel-feeder, as opposed to peanuts-in-the-shell.  The "Mix" in question is a jumble of shelled almonds, peanuts, walnuts, cashews, pistachios, and Brazil nuts.  You see, Western Gray Squirrels (Sciurus griseus) lack the very concept of common courtesy.  I don't know about Douglas Squirrels (Tamiasciurus douglasii).  We don't have any living in our neighborhood.  Anyway, gray squirrels never, ever clean up their peanut shells after they've finished dining.  Imagine!  And after I was nice enough to provide them with an endless smörgåsbord of nutty yummies!  The ungrateful little furry roof-rats!  (Sigh.)

So, that's how I learned about Winifred Wilde's Restrained Meditation business, made some new friends, and was introduced to The Club.

I can't wait 'til Winnie gets to the "Meditation" part!


Winifred's Workshop 
 Chapter 12


The 
 End



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