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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER | |||
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| by Van ©2018 | ||||
| Chapter 4 |
| DRAMATIS PERSONÆ |
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OUR STORY CONTINUES |
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"Are you sure about this?" Tabby asked Robin as they casually strolled down a Manhattan sidewalk—and it was the third time she'd asked since they'd left Kirsten's apartment.
"Trust me," Robin responded, also for the third time.
"It's the first place she'll look," Tabby sighed, shaking her head.
"It's the last place she'll look," Robin purred. "Right now, Kitty is thinking this is some elaborate plot. Even if Shyster cracks and tells her all about me, she'll think I'm only a pawn. It won't occur to her that I'm actually the queen."
"Kitty doesn't play chess," Tabby sighed.
"Neither do I," Robin said with a dimpled grin. "In any case, this is a fabulously spectacular unexpected move."
Tabby rolled her eyes. "Fabulously spectacular," she muttered under her breath.
They finally arrived at their destination, the building that hosted Wynter & Finch Investigative Services, Kitty & Bertie's home-sweet-home, as well as Tabby's New York crash pad; however, they entered via the delivery door in the alley, not the lobby entrance on the street. Robin considered it astronomically unlikely Kitty or one of her street contacts had the building under some sort of enhanced surveillance, but nonetheless it was prudent to minimize their risk of discovery.
Tabby watched as the youngster deftly picked the back door lock and eased open the heavy steel portal. The little maniac really is good at this... detective stuff, she conceded silently. Once inside, she led them to her apartment, unlocked her apartment door the old fashioned way, disarmed the alarm, and hung her sling purse on one of a row of hooks in the entryway. Robin hung her purse next to her hostess'.
Tabby then strolled into her bedroom, removed her jacket, and headed for the walk-in closet. Robin followed.
"What comes next?" Tabby inquired as she hung up the jacket and continued undressing. When at home, it was Tabby's habit to lounge around in minimal clothing, which usually meant panties, t-shirts, tank-tops, and exercise shorts, depending on the season and/or the efficiency of the heating system. And sometimes she wore just a robe.
"What's next?" Robin responded, "phase two of my cunning plan. She then shrugged out of her own jacket, leaving just boots, jeans, and white t-shirt.
"Phase two?" By this time it was obvious that Tabby was going for the robe option; however, as she had a house guest, she retained her panties for propriety's sake.
"The ninjas are about to strike, again," Robin explained, then turned and left the closet.
Tabby cinched her robe and followed. It was a dove-gray silk happi coat in an attractive print of pearl-white cranes. As such, it had wide, three-quarter sleeves and a lower hem that stopped at Tabby's mid-thighs. She followed Robin into the bedroom and watched as the kidnapping teen opened the lowest drawer of her right bedside cabinet—Gulp!—the place she kept her supply of recreational rope. Actually, the neatly coiled ropes within were part of Kitty's vast collection, but her sister kept them in Tabby's apartment, so Tabby thought of them as her neatly coiled ropes.
"Actually, I misspoke," Robin purred as she selected four generous coils of rope and tossed them onto the bed. "I should have said nin-ja."
"Huh? You said ninja," Tabby frowned. She was staring at the rope.
"No, I said ninjas, plural." Robin grinned. "I should have said ninja, singular."
The bedspread was still rumpled from Tabby's homecoming "greeting" from her big sister. The rope in question was ¼-inch nylon with a twisted strand core in a brown and black braided sheath. Every visit I swear I'm going to throw that stuff in the dumpster when I leave, Tabby silently fumed. This time I'll do it... not that immediate access to rope would slow down Kitty for more than a minute. Kitty has lots of rope.
Tabby stared at Robin.
Robin smiled at Tabby as she selected a coil and released its retaining hitch.
"What'cha gonna do?" Tabby inquired (whined), nervously biting her lower lip.
"Continue driving your big sister insane," Robin explained.
It was the same winning argument Tabby had used to convince Kirsten Braslow to "acquiesce" to the first ninja strike. Logically, Tabby had no excuse not to at least listen to this stage of Robin's grand scheme. Also, she'd seen the youngster pounce on the much taller Shyster and take her down. Could Tabby hold her own against the smiling munchkin? Tabby looked Robin up and down, from her moppet hair to her booted feet. Probably not. I need to tell my agent to find me an action movie after my next role, so the studio will pay for fight training. "Insane?" she sighed.
"Absolutely insane," Robin giggled. "It'll be great!" She'd prepared all four coils of rope for use, tossing them to the four corners of the bed.
"But surely we don't have to do something right now?" Tabby suggested (whined). "We just got here."
"Don't call me 'Shirley'," Robin giggled, then nodded at Tabby's robe. "Nice," she purred. "Very pretty. I like the cranes. It looks expensive."
"It is," Tabby conceded. "Japanese."
Robin nodded. "Thought so. Take it off."
"Huh?"
"Don't want to rip it," Robin said with a dimpled smile, "do we?"
Tabby stared at the devilish youngster... then heaved another sigh, released the sash, shrugged out of the happi coat, and tossed it aside.
Still grinning, Robin indicated Tabby's panties with a quick nod.
Tabby hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the white bikini briefs, eased them off her hips, peeled them down her legs, stepped free, and tossed them atop the crumpled robe. She then positioned the palm of her right hand over her crotch and folded her left arm across her breasts. Why? Tabby didn't have a conscious reason, although unconsciously she knew that coy modesty was seductive. "This better drive Kitty totally bat-shit crazy," the junior Wynter sister huffed. "This better put her in Bellevue."
"I'm pretty sure it will," Robin chuckled, "metaphorically." She pointed to the bed. "On your back."
Tabby sighed, rolled her eyes, and reclined on her bed. She considered yet another sigh, but decided that would be over the top. She watched as Robin stepped to the left side of the bed, grasped and gently lifted her left hand, and began wrapping doubled rope around her left wrist. She watched as Robin continued wrapping snug loops of doubled rope, then formed a rather elaborate hitch using both hands and pulled the rest of the coil through the nest of interwoven doubled strands. It was complicated, but the smiling teenager's actions were quick and deft. Obviously, as with lock picks, Robin also knew what she was doing with rope.
"How much do you know about rope techniques?" Robin inquired.
"Quite a bit," Tabby sighed, "but mainly from the receiving end."
Robin's smile widened. "This is called the 'Somerville Bowline Single Column Cuff'," she lectured. "Note that the securing hitch is non-compacting. Once I'm finished, you'll be able to tug on your wrist all you want and the ropes won't tighten. It's inescapable, but safe."
"Wonderful," Tabby drawled with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. She had three additional opportunities to observe the tying of the Somerville Bowline... thingie, and now rope was wrapped around both wrists and both ankles and Robin was working her way around the bed, tying the free ends to the bed frame at the four corners, binding Tabby in a full, stringent spread-eagle. Each time, Robin passed the free ends down to the frame, back up and through the dangling bight in the column tie hitch, and back down to the frame. She then pulled out all the slack and tied a series of terminal knots down near the floor.
"There," Robin said as she finished the last knot on the last rope, stood, and smiled down at her co-conspirator and victim-of-the-moment.
Tabby tugged on her bonds. She only had about an inch of wiggle-room in any given direction, and as advertised, her wrist and ankle bonds held firm but didn't compact and compromise her circulation as she struggled. It was exactly the sort of thing Kitty would have done to her—had done to her—and the bondage was just as tight... without being dangerous.
Robin continued smiling down at Tabby's spreadeagled, naked body.
Tabby sighed and locked eyes with her captor. "You're a lot like her."
Robin blushed. "Kitty?"
"Kitty," Tabby confirmed.
"Uh, thanks," Robin said quietly.
"Once the fur settles from the initial cat fight," Tabby purred, "you two will get along like gangbusters."
"We're not oil and water?"
"More like oil and oil," Tabby purred. "If she doesn't kill you—metaphorically—you'll get along. And you'll learn much more about the various ways to tie people up so tight they can't move."
Robin's smile broadened. "By watching her bind Bertie?"
Tabby suppressed a smile. "Uh, yeah... by watching her bind Bertie."
Robin nodded, then sat on the bed and rested her right hand on Tabby's stomach, palm down. "You're also a lot like your sister," she purred. Her eyes were focused on Tabby's breasts. "You're beautiful and fit, like Kitty. Not as much of a hard-ass, but fit."
"Uh... thanks." Tabby murmured. Robin's hand was moving, slowly sliding up and down. It was... disturbing. Yes, disturbing having a devilishly cute teenager massage her tummy while she was totally helpless. Disturbing. Tabby shivered and tugged on her bonds. She couldn't help herself.
"Do you think she'll let me play with you when you're in town?" Robin asked, "the way she plays with Bertie?" Robin was still blushing... and smiling... and sliding her palm over the smooth, firm, stretched skin of Tabby's abdomen.
"No," Tabby huffed, shivering in her bonds. "I mean, I don't know. Probably not. No."
"I see," Robin sighed, then enlarged the scope of her massage until her palm was gliding from the upper margin of Tabby's neatly trimmed pubic bush to just below the lower slopes of her breasts. "Well then..." She cupped Tabby's left breast and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Better not let this opportunity pass."
Her eyes locked with her captor, Tabby bit her lower lip and continued testing her inescapable bonds.
"By the way," Robin purred, "I think Kitty will let me play with you." She began toying with Tabby's left nipple... which pointed in response. Both of Tabby's nipples pointed in response. "She'll think it'll drive you insane."
Tabby continued tugging on her bonds. The little devil was probably right, but she wasn't about to confirm her suspicions.
"Anyway..." Robin sighed, released Tabby's nipple, and stood.
Tabby watched as Robin returned to the lowest drawer of her right bedside cabinet—the "rope drawer"—and rummaged through its contents. She then swallowed nervously—Gulp!—when Robin stood erect, turned to the bed, and smiled.
In Robin's right hand was a ball-gag, a red rubber ball pierced by a black leather strap with a second, much thinner leather strap that would buckle under the wearer's chin. The two-inch, mouth-plugging sphere was marred by visible teeth marks.
In the youngster's left hand was a bit-gag, a black cylinder of hard rubber with a black leather strap. The stiff bit was in the stylized shape of a bone, like a dog's chew-toy.
"Hmm... decisions, decisions," Robin purred, her gaze shifting back and forth between the ball-gag and the bit-gag. "The ball has the edge in terms of functionality, but I think the bit is more... aesthetic." She smiled at Tabby. "Don't you agree?"
Tabby heaved another sigh. "Bite me," she huffed.
"No," Robin giggled, then held up the bit-gag. "Bite this, but maybe I'll bite you later." She then tossed the ball-gag back into the drawer and eased it closed with the toe of her right boot.
Tabby glowered at the grinning teenager as she stooped and retrieved her discarded panties from atop her discarded robe, then sat on the bed. "You're a cruel, sadistic, horrible little twerp," Tabby accused. "Once Kitty gets over herself, you'll fit right in next door."
"Oh, isn't that sweet," Robin cooed, then stuffed the wadded panties into Tabby's scowling mouth and wedged the gag's rubber bit between her teeth. She then threaded, tightened, and buckled the strap at the nape of Tabby's neck, under her tousled brown hair.
"Mrrrf!" The gag deserved a courtesy test, just like Tabby's rope bonds. Neither were found wanting. Yes, Tabby silently fumed, Robin knows her stuff (pun intended with respect to the panties). That said (or thought), Tabby knew she hadn't presented her captor with much of a challenge. Robin didn't need to be Kitty Wynter to tie a fancy knot or buckle a simple strap with an unresisting victim.
Robin sat up straight and smiled. "Remember how I told you I liked that ballerina movie you were in? The one where you went down on the star ballerina?"
Tabby blinked and stared at the teenager's grinning face.
"I loved the way you stared up into her face with those big brown eyes with your head between her legs as you munched on her carpet. It was so hot." Robin placed her hand on Tabby's tummy, once again. "Now that was acting."
Tabby's nipples were still pointing (for some reason). "Mrrrm." She shook an errant strand of hair from her gagged face and tugged on her bonds.
Robin gave Tabby's tummy a playful pat, then stood. "Well... gotta go." She turned and strolled towards the bedroom door.
Tabby's eyes popped wide in alarm! "Mrrrf?" What the hell?
"That's phase two," Robin said as she stepped across the threshold and into the hallway. "Now, I've gotta start on phase three. But don't worry, I'll be back. Then, maybe, we can play." She blew Tabby a kiss, then closed the bedroom door.
Tabby was now alone in her bedroom... naked... spreadeagled on her bed... gagged.
"MRRRRRF!" Tabby fought her bonds with all her strength, to no avail. The ball-gag might be a more effective silencer that the bit-gag, like Robin had said, but the bit-gag over panties stuffing was more than adequate. That little twerp! Tabby fumed, leaving me in the lurch with my pump half-primed... so to speak. That does it! I'm changing sides!
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 4 |
Robin couldn't be happier. Her carefully crafted genius plan was unfolding without a hitch (rope not counting) and right on schedule... not that there was an actual schedule... not a precise schedule, anyway. Granted, once the specific steps of a specific phase (or sub-phase) began to unfold, things had to happen as she intended. But so far... they had!
She strolled through Tabby's apartment, shrugging into her jacket and heading for the front door, ready to commence Phase Three: The Kidnapping of Bertie Finch!
Robin paused in the entryway to shoulder her purse, go up on her toes, and tap the virtual buttons of the small touchscreen of the apartment's alarm system control panel. After she left the apartment, there would be a thirty second delay before the contact sensors in the door frame and the motion sensor in the ceiling directly overhead armed themselves. Tabby would be safe and snug in her bedroom (and her bonds) until Robin returned.
Robin frowned as she fumbled in her sling purse for the duplicate keys to the deadbolt locks in Tabby's door, then placed her hand on the doorknob. She had to admit that calling Phase Three a "plan" was a bit of a stretch. It was more like: wait for Bertie to separate from the others, follow her, and look for an opportunity to jump her, tie her up, and sequester her someplace safe to await rescue by Kitty Wynter. Bertie Finch was a fighter, but under the right circumstances and with the element of surprise, Robin was sure she could take her... probably... almost certainly.
Robin turned the doorknob, opened the door, and—"Mrrrrpfh!"—found herself spun around, her elbows squeezed together behind her back, and being hustled back into the apartment! The keys in her right hand and her purse went flying. "Mrrrr!" Also, a strong hand was clamped over her mouth!
The door slammed, then Robin was released and received a firm push between the shoulder blades, propelling her several feet into the apartment. She spun on her heel, dropped into fighting stance facing the doorway and her attacker—then froze in surprise. (See also shock, alarm, and abject horror!)
Kitty Wynter was tapping the touchscreen of the alarm system. The detective then turned the inside knobs of the two deadbolt locks—stooped, retrieved Robin's key ring, and dropped it in Robin's purse—then stood and focused her angry, glowering countenance on Robin Fey.
Robin's heart was beating like a drum solo and her stomach was twisted in an icy knot. After a few seconds she remembered to breathe. She noted that her future employer was dressed as usual, unchanged since the last time Robin had seen her: boots, jeans, and one of her leather jackets. Also, she was hot! Of course, Kitty Wynter was always hot. But scowling and dangerous? Kitty was hot! Double hot! Erotically hot and pissed off hot. A thrill rippled through Robin's pussy and up her spine. So. Very. Hot!
"Robin Fey," Kitty growled. Her brown eyes stared daggers at the cute teenager with the unique way of seeking employment.
"K-Kitty Wynter," Robin stammered in return.
"Jacket," Kitty said.
"Huh?"
"Give me your jacket," Kitty clarified.
Eyes locked with her idol and future mentor, Robin slowly, carefully, her hands shaking and fingers clumsy, removed the jacket in question... then tossed it to Kitty. She watched as Kitty—double-hot professional that she was—gave it a quick but through going over. She discovered the folding knife in the left breast pocket... the tiny folding knife in its tiny little hidden pocket sewn into the lining... the stiff wire tucked in the lining of the right lapel... and the handcuff key in its hidden pocket. Kitty tossed the jacket aside and dropped the escape aids into Robin's purse.
"Boots."
Robin swallowed, sat on the floor, unlaced and removed her Doc Martins, then tossed them to Kitty, one at a time. They were also examined and tossed aside.
"Socks."
Robin removed her wool socks and tossed them to Kitty to be examined and discarded.
"Up," Kitty ordered. "Jeans."
Robin scrambled to her bare feet, unzipped her jeans, peeled them down her legs and stepped free, then tossed them to Kitty. Her clothing were now reduced to panties and white cotton t-shirt. (Robin's modest breasts didn't really require the services of a brassiere and she wasn't wearing one now.) She watched as Kitty discovered another lock pick, her other handcuff key, and an additional folding knife before tossing the jeans aside.
"And so forth and so on," Kitty drawled.
Robin swallowed, again, pulled the t-shirt over her head, tossed it to Kitty, then peeled off her panties and tossed them over as well.
"Hands on top of your head."
Robin interlaced her fingers and placed her hands atop her tousled mop of brown curls, as ordered. She was now naked before The Great Kitty Wynter, whose attention she had gone to such great lengths to attract... and had succeeded... even if she was only halfway through her "genius plan." Granted, this was not the way Robin had envisioned things going... but here she was.
Kitty stepped forward, spun Robin around, and pulled her wrists behind her back.
Robin stared straight ahead. Her heart rate was still elevated and her stomach in a knot, but she wasn't in the controlled near-panic as she'd experienced earlier. She felt what she diagnosed as plasti-cuffs, the kind the cops use when making mass arrests, vrip closed around her wrists. Next, a much smaller single cable-tie vripped closed around her thumbs... followed by a much longer cable-tie that vripped closed around her upper arms, just above the elbows. This pulled her shoulders back and made her decidedly modest, depressingly girlish breasts more prominent—meaning it rendered them there, as opposed to barely there. The arrangement also nullified every escape-from-cable-ties maneuver Robin had ever learned. Shifting her hands from back to front was impossible, as was mustering the leverage required to over-stress the cable-ties' or plasti-cuff's locking tabs to the point of failure... not that Kitty would passively stand there and watch her try.
"Where's my sister?" Kitty demanded, spinning her naked, diminutive prisoner back around.
Robin gazed up at her idol's frowning face. "The bedroom," she said quietly. "Ow!" Kitty had grabbed a full, firm handful of her short curls and was dragging her across the living room.
"Shut up," Kitty growled.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 4 |
Tabby lifted her gagged head and stared at the bedroom door as it flew open—"Mrrrk?"—then blinked in surprise. Kitty was dragging a naked and obviously bound Robin into the bedroom!
Her right hand firmly gripping the teenager's moppet hair, Kitty was now gazing down at the bed and giving Tabby the once over—meaning glowering down at her little sister's naked, spreadeagled body, bit-gagged and panties-stuffed mouth, and wide, questioning, brown eyes.
Sister stared at sister.
Robin's eyes darted from Tabby to Kitty. Her heart was still hammering, but a ghost of a smile curled her lips. Did Kitty approve? Was she impressed by Robin's expertise? Was she totally pissed off? All of the above? Robin swallowed nervously.
Kitty abruptly turned and headed for the walk-in closet, taking her naked prisoner with her.
Tabby could now see the milky-white plastic ties and plasti-cuffs binding Robin's elbows, thumbs, and wrists, including their flopping free ends.
"Ow!" Robin complained as they entered the closet.
"I said, shut up!" Kitty growled.
The closet door closed with a bang—and Tabby was alone, again.
What the hell? Tabby seriously doubted this was "phase three" of Robin's genius plan. It was highly probable the entire plan had exploded in the little twerp's face. Obviously, Kitty was taking the naked little twerp through the "magic mirror" secret door and into her own apartment, probably for a lengthy interrogation and (Tabby hoped) a well deserved spanking.
Tabby heaved a gagged sigh and settled in to wait for Kitty to remember to come back and release her little sister. Experience suggested she was probably in for a lengthy wait. I never got a chance to tell her I've changed sides, Tabby thought, not that it would have made any difference. She knew Kitty would have left her tied to the bed, regardless. Her rationale would be that it kept her sister safe, out of the way, and under control... and Kitty was a big fan of control.
Yes, Tabby was sure she'd have lots of time to ponder this unexpected and abrupt turn of events... but with almost zero new information to work with. How did Kitty catch up with them so quickly? What had happened—was happening—back at Shyster's place? And where was Bertie? Tabby squirmed in her bonds and tugged on Robin's handiwork with predictable results. It's frustrating being a pawn, she mused.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 4 |
Kirsten had finished preparing and serving three magnificent BLTs, accompanied by bottles of Blue Moon. Together with her guests she'd consumed her share of the meal at the kitchen counter, then cleaned up the kitchen, accomplishing all of this despite the fact that she was naked (not counting her hunter green cook's apron) with her wrists locked together in antique handcuffs. With her wrists behind her back it would have been impossible, of course, but it had surprised Kirsten to learn how much she could accomplish with her wrists cuffed in front.
Bertie had been "nice" enough to remove Kirsten's apron before they ate, so Kirsten was as naked as the little Brit, who also had her hands cuffed together in front (with Nikki's police handcuffs). Bertie made idle chitchat during the meal, all the while smiling her adorable dimpled smile (and gazing appreciatively at Kirsten's naked boobs).
Nikki had also been an ideal dinner guest, not counting her infuriating smile and the twinkle in her baby-blue eyes. Little sister remained fully clothed, of course.
And speaking of fury. Kirsten seethed with Righteous Anger, but managed to play her part in the unfolding farce with only the occasional blush and disdainful pout. She ate her sandwich, drank her beer, and participated in the small talk, sharing innocuous gossip from the office but keeping her participation in the "dinner party" to a polite minimum.
And the worst part was Kirsten knew the others knew she was thoroughly ticked off, and were actually enjoying it. Bertie was also a naked captive, but by all appearances was completely at ease with the situation. No mortified discomfiture for Bertie Finch, no siree. As for Little Sister... it was all Kirsten could do not to slap the grinning idiot's silly face. It was infuriating, all of it!
Finally, Kirsten finished cleaning up the kitchen and joined the others in the living room. She was halfway to her favorite easy chair when the opening bars of Hey Kitty Kitty, an obscure British pop tune, began playing from somewhere in Bertie's piled clothing. Kirsten wouldn't have been able to identify the alleged music if she didn't already know it was Bertie's ringtone for her partner.
As she settled into the chair, Kirsten watched as Bertie bounced from the sofa where she'd been lounging next to Nikki and gracefully sauntered to her clothes. And the sight of Bertie's strong legs and dimpled butt as she bent over at the waist and rummaged for the still warbling phone did nothing to assuage Kirsten's outrage at her current situation.
Bertie stood, smiled down at the phone's tiny screen, then strolled back to the sofa and sat, listening attentively to the voice on the phone. "Brilliant," she purred. "See you soon." She terminated the call, then leaned to the side and whispered in Nikki's ear.
Kirsten watched as her little sister listened to whatever Bertie was saying. Her smile widened, but she said nothing in reply. They were going to make her ask, of course, just to add to her humiliation. "Well?" Kirsten huffed.
"Kitty says she caught herself a robin," Nikki announced, "and wants us to come home, meaning to her place. All of us."
Bertie climbed back to her bare feet and smiled. "Well then. We better get ready."
Nikki also stood and reached into her pants pocket. "I'll unlock your cuffs." She shifted her infuriating smile to her big sister. "I have the key to my cuffs," she purred.
Kirsten glowered, but didn't otherwise reply.
Meanwhile, Bertie turned her naked back (legs, butt, shoulders, head, etc.) to the Braslow sisters... there was a brief series of clicking noises... then she turned back around and tossed the now empty handcuffs formerly imprisoning her wrists to Nikki, who returned them to the little leather case on her belt at the small of her back.
"You could have freed yourself at any time," Kirsten accused the smiling Brit.
"Of course," Bertie giggled, "but what would be the fun in that?"
Still glowering, Kirsten held up her cuffed wrists.
Bertie heaved a deep and obviously sincere sigh. "Sorry. Different model. You should ask Kitty for lessons," she suggested as she padded back to her piled clothing and began dressing.
"That would mean hours and hours of wearing handcuffs," Kirsten scoffed, "without learning how to escape from them."
"Probably," Bertie giggled.
Kirsten turned to her sister and found her leering at Bertie, mesmerized by the process of "Muffin" donning her panties, bra, skirt, blouse, and jacket, then stepping into her high-heeled pumps. It was disgusting. "Well?" the naked, handcuffed ADA demanded.
"Well what?" Nikki responded (oh-so-innocently).
"Even you aren't mean and stupid enough to leave me here like this," Kirsten huffed, clicking her cuffs for emphasis.
"Of course not," Nikki laughed, then climbed to her feet. "You're coming with us."
"Kitty did specify everybody," Bertie noted as she finished adjusting the drape of her skirt and jacket.
Kirsten blushed. "And how can I do that?" she muttered.
"We'll find something for you to wear," Kirsten said as she headed for her sister's bedroom.
Bertie strolled to Kirsten's easy chair, smiled her infuriatingly cute dimpled smile, and held out her right hand. "Come."
Kirsten rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet, as gracefully as she could, and allowed herself to be led towards her bedroom in her sister's wake. "I can't get dressed like this," she complained, tugging on her cuffs, once again.
"It does limit our options," Bertie conceded, "but we'll manage... somehow."
| The End of... | ||
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 4 |