|by Van © 2018
After I got home and over the course of the rest of the day my
nervousness transitioned from actual nervousness into a low,
simmering boil of, shall we say... intellectual tension?
Yeah, intellectual tension. I'm going with intellectual
So... I browsed the internet, blogged a little, read a little,
ate a light supper, browsed, blogged, and read a little more,
then went to bed.
So... intellectual tension. How to relieve my intellectual
tension. How to get Winnie's smiling face, deft fingers,
tight ropes, and Micki's boobs out of my head (so to
speak). How does a normal, talented, arguably attractive,
and charming young woman like myself relieve her intellectual
tension and relax? Suffice it to say, I managed.
Okay, don't stare at me like a puzzled pooch. I
masturbated, okay? I pretended I was a naked
damsel-in-distress, bound hand and foot, and being teased by
Winnie and Micki, okay? It happened. There was no
elaborate scenario, just Molly lying on her bed in her usual
pajamas imaging an imaginary Molly naked, tied up, and getting a
whoopee-massage and detailed face sucking from my favorite
Lifestyle Consultant and Librarian.
But where did the erotic aspect of watching Winnie
bind, gag, and blindfold a naked Micki come from? Who
knows? It certainly wasn't from Winnie. She was a
complete professional before, during, and after the
session. Micki the naked librarian was erotic, of course,
but that was hardly her fault. She just is.
Erotic, I mean. I suppose it's one of the Great Mysteries
of the Universe why I decided to fantasize about being
finger-fiddled and slobbered on by Winnie and Micki... I
Also, I told you (the reader) I wouldn't leave anything out, but
that's all I'm willing to share about what happened that
night... alone... in my bed. I absolutely refuse to rub
everybody's noses in all the squishy details (so to speak).
Afterwards, I slept like the proverbial log.
Winnie and I met for tea a few days latter. I'd watched a
few additional customers come and go to and from Winnie's abode,
but the women were all nobody I knew. We met at my place,
Me-Me's bungalow, which, of course, is now my bungalow.
I'd bought a new package of Twining™ English Breakfast Tea for
the occasion, as well as popping into World Market® for a
classic Little Brown Teapot and four really cute and functional
cups and saucers, and a white, cow-shaped milk
mini-pitcher. (It was really cute! I couldn't
resist.) While I was at it, I went whole hog tea service and
acquired a sugar bowl for sugar cubes and some sugar
cubes. Prior to these purchases I'd been a mug person, but
now I was prepared for my version of afternoon tea, only without
cucumber sandwiches. I recruited a package of Keebler®
Danish Wedding Cookies for "biscuit" duty. (I love Keebler®
Danish Wedding Cookies!)
Anyway, I wanted Winnie to feel welcome, and I guess I pulled it
off. We sat in the kitchen and sipped tea, nibbled on
Keebler® Danish Wedding Cookies, and watched through the bay
window of my breakfast nook as a squirrel emptied my bird
feeder. Winnie said she liked my place. I gushed
about her place. Winnie shared advice about various
methods of decreasing birdseed depredation by non-birds.
She also opened a small window into British Culture. I
learned the difference between tea (a normal "cuppa"), builders
tea, cream tea, and High Tea. It was... fascinating.
Finally, we got down to business (so to speak).
Was I okay with everything that had happened during the first
Did I want to audit a second session? Yes. (Hell
yes, actually, but I played it cool.)
Well, it turned out Winnie had found another of her clients who
was willing to let that happen; however, there were conditions.
"Conditions?" I inquired (meaning whined, nervously).
Winnie smiled. "The client insists on equal footing, one
"She wants you to be nude, as well," Winnie explained.
Winnie patted my hand, reassuringly. "That way she'll know
you're truly comfortable with the situation."
I nodded sagely. Also, my heart started thumping and I was
blinking again. "Uh..."
Winnie took hold of my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"You know I won't let anything happen if it'll make you feel
uncomfortable, don't you?"
I blinked a few more times, then nodded. "I trust you,
Winnie," I said in a near whisper.
Winnie blushed. It was very cute. "Very well
then. Is the day after tomorrow at one PM okay?"
"Yeah, sure." I gestured to the teapot. "More?"
We emptied the pot, nibbled a few more Keebler® Danish Wedding
Cookies, and finalized a cunning strategy to kick the little
gray furry butts of the neighborhood squirrels. I already
shopped at my local Wild Birds Unlimited® (as did Winnie), and
on Winnie's advice made a mental note to check out their wire
cages designed to let songbirds through to the feeder but
frustrate bushy-tailed thieves. I'd already noted that
Winnie used such a cage in her backyard secret garden.
The Second Session!
♫ DUM-DUM-DUNNN! ♫
The next day I rang Winnie's
doorbell a few minutes ahead of the agreed upon time, noting
that there wasn't yet a strange car in her driveway.
Apparently, I'd arrived before Winnie's client du jour
(the one that wanted to see me naked).
Was I nervous? Please. No silly questions.
Winnie opened the door with a broad, welcoming smile, dressed in
a pair of rust-brown tights and a sage-green tank-top.
(More pokies!) As during The First Session, she was
barefoot. Winnie took my not quite trembling hand and led
me through her home to the meditation studio.
One of Winnie's black metal chairs was already out of the closet
and waiting. This time it was one of her arm-less models,
one of the chairs Winnie and Micki had used during The Great
Post First Session Tea Party. She led me past the chair to
the hidden closet where Micki had stashed her clothes, opened
the door, and indicated the hanging hangers. "Here ya go,"
she said (unnecessarily).
"Thanks," I responded (in a pathetic near-squeak).
"Oh, Molly," Winnie chuckled, leaned close, and planted a kiss
on my right cheek. "Don't be nervous."
"I'll try," I sighed. (I didn't try very hard. I
knew it was pointless.) Anyway, I started disrobing,
beginning with my sandals. I then unzipped and removed my
very pretty (IMHO), predominately periwinkle blue, floral print
sundress, followed by my ho-hum-boring white bra and
panties. That's what I'd been wearing before undressing,
but now I'd taken it all off and hung it up in Winnie's secret
closet, so I was naked. (Like I said... nervous.
Nervous and babbling.) I closed the closet door and turned
to face Winnie. Oh, that's right. I still wore my
glasses. I always wear my glasses (except in bed).
Except for my glasses, I was naked, and nervous.
Meanwhile, Winnie had padded to her rope cabinet and carried a
coil of brown rope to the chair. She smiled and said
something, but my heart was pounding in my ears and I was busy
staring at the rope, so I missed it. "Uh, excuse me?"
"I said, you're beautiful, Molly," Winnie purred.
"Huh? I mean, thanks." My heart was still pounding,
and now my face felt like it was on fire. Winnie didn't
seem to mind.
"Please," Winnie said, patting the seat of the chair, "have a
Gulp! I padded to the chair, turned, and sat.
Yep. Still curious. And now I was curious and naked.
"Arms behind the chair-back," Winnie requested (ordered).
I complied. My armpits now rested on the chair-back's
horizontal top rail. Winnie placed my hands together,
palm-to-palm, and I felt rope tighten around my wrists. It
continued tightening, was cinched, I felt a tug as Winnie looped
the rope under the chair's seat—somewhere, somehow—then tied a
knot. I wasn't sure of all the details of how
Winnie was binding my wrists, but suffice it to say they were
bound, tethered to the chair, and the terminal knot was tied
beyond the reach of my fluttering fingers.
So... I was stuck. Not going anywhere. Naked.
Winnie turned, padded to the rope cabinet, and returned with
several neatly coiled coils. It took a while, but
she used them all.
End result: I was tied to the chair—in the sense that Mount
Rainier would make a nifty paperweight.
Details: my everything was tied up, by which I mean my ankles,
legs above and below the knees, waist, forearms, upper arms,
torso (above and below my breasts), and shoulders were all
lashed together and/or to the chair. Just to be clear, my
arms were not crushed together from armpits to
wrists. My upper and lower arms were far enough apart to
be comfortable, but they were tied together, and to
the chair. I wasn't going anywhere. I could barely
squirm. God knows I tried. I couldn't help it.
Winnie smiled and watched my pathetic efforts for several
seconds. It wasn't like she was leering at my bound,
helpless, naked body, of course. I suppose she just wanted
to make sure she'd gotten everything right. She had.
Apparently satisfied with her efforts, I watched Winnie pad to
her Gag & Blindfold Cabinet (although I seriously doubt
that's what she calls it) and return with a ball-gag. It
had a black leather strap and a black, hollow ball pierced by a
dozen or more circular holes.
"Winnie!" I whined.
"Open, Molly," Winnie ordered (in a friendly manner).
I opened my mouth to enunciate several well-reasoned arguments
that would detail in cogent detail exactly why I should not
be gagged at that particular moment, and—"Urrk!"—received a
mouthful of black rubber for my trouble. Winnie leaned
close, buckled the strap behind my head at the nape of my neck,
and the deed was done.
I tossed my head, worked my jaw, chewed on Winnie's gag, and
resumed squirming against Winnie's ropes in Winnie's chair.
My hostess (captor) glanced at her wristwatch, her lips pouted
in an adorable moue, then she planted a quick kiss on my
forehead (which, like the last time I was in her studio, was
slightly sweaty). She then spun on her bare feet and
padded towards the studio door.
Allow me to reiterate. She turned and padded towards the
"Mrrrmpfh?" I inquired.
"I won't be long!" Winnie called back over her freckled right
shoulder, then crossed the threshold, pulled the faux shoji
screen glass door closed, and was gone.
I decided to remain in the chair, and had help from a great deal
of tight, cinched, brown, natural fiber rope. I think it
was natural fiber. Whether it was jute, hemp, sisal, flax,
or pussy willow, I didn't really know; but whatever vegetable
fibers were involved, the rope was surprisingly soft and
pliable. Also, it held a knot really well... not
that my fingers could reach any knots.
passed. It does that, even in Winnie Wilde's Restrained
Meditation Studio. So, I meditated, right? Wrong!
I watched the Chickadees, Nuthatches, and—was that a
Junco? They're usually ground feeders. Anyway, I
watched as various songbirds flitted to and from the trees and
bushes to Winnie's tubular seed-feeder, easily negotiating the
green wire cage protecting said feeder. The feeder and
cage were suspended under a rain dome made of overlapping copper
panels cut in the shape of maple leaves, and it all hung from a
thin, taut, horizontal wire about fifteen feet above the lawn
and midway between two tall wooden posts at least twenty-five
feet apart. No way a squirrel was gonna negotiate that
wire, much less the dome, much less squeeze through the cage
wire. And... I'm babbling again.
Anyway, I sat in my chair and nervously enjoyed Winnie's garden
through the studio's window-wall. Her water feature has a
built-in birdbath, a very shallow, circular rock bowl, about
three feet across, with water bubbling through a little hole in
the center and dripping down the bowl's edges into the rocks and
main pool below. A dirty robin (I assume it was dirty) was
taking a casual and very thorough bath, sending a shower of
water droplets everywhere. It was very cute, and...
Babbling. I'll shut up about the birds and the garden...
and Winnie's flowerbeds. They were very pretty. Very
natural. I recognized several perennial species that
attract hummingbirds and butterflies.
So... Tied to Winnie's chair. Ball-gagged.
Nervous. Naked. Time passed.
Suddenly, I flinched as the faux shoji screen glass
door slid open and a twenty-something woman entered the
studio. She was Asian, with long, straight, raven-black
hair with bangs. She was about my height (maybe a little
shorter), with tan skin and a slender but shapely body.
Her features were very attractive, with full cheeks and a
dimpled smile, but her most remarkable feature was her big,
brown, almond-shaped eyes. They were remarkable.
Very, uh, fey.
Whoever she was, she smiled, slid the door closed behind her,
and padded in my direction. Yes, padded. Her feet
were bare, and she was wearing faded bluejeans (with frayed and
stylish rips), and a very pretty sleeveless, spaghetti-strap top
in heather-blue with rose-pink piping.
She stood in front of my chair (and me) with hands on hips and
smiled. (Continued smiling, actually.)
"You would be Molly Schmeck," the doe-eyed stranger
purred. She had a pretty voice.
I blinked in reply. It was just about the only way I could
"I like your skin," the stranger continued. "Very
pale. Very smooth. I like it." With that, she
turned and strolled across the studio to the secret clothes
closet already holding my clothes. All of my
Uh, thanks, I silently thought, then watched as the
newcomer opened the closet door, unzipped and removed her jeans,
hung them from a hanger, then pulled her top over her head and
hung it from the only remaining hanger. She was now nude,
like me. That's right, she'd arrived at Winnie's door
commando. No panties and/or bra. It made sense, of
course. The only way she could have been more
prepared for her session was if she'd arrived wearing a string
bikini, a robe, or already nude.
And speaking of string bikinis... I already mentioned her
healthy tan, but now I cold see it was a healthy, all-over
tan. No tan-lines!
Oh-by-the-way, her breasts were more-or-less similar to mine in
size and shape; however, her nipples were pierced by metal
rings, either gold or gold plated! Both of them!
Wow! And they were rings, not tiny hoops of gold
wire. I was impressed... or something. I'd never
have the courage to get my nipples pierced, which is just as
well, I suppose, since I've never had absolutely any desire
to get my nipples pierced.
So... Tan, smooth skin, excellent muscle tone, the body of
a dancer or acrobat (with pierced nipples), a neatly trimmed
pubic bush, beautiful smile, and amazing eyes, which
once again were checking out my chair-bound, naked body. Gulp!
The faux shoji glass door slid open again and Winnie entered, a
broad grin on her face. "I see you two have met," she
chuckled as she closed the door behind her, then padded to the
stranger's side. "Molly, this is Fern Wu."
Fern, I mused. The name fit her. It added a
slightly nerdy twist to her commando dressing, nipple-pierced,
doe-eyed, beautiful self (in my opinion).
Fern smiled, leaned close, and straightened my hair for me with
her left hand. "How do you do, Molly," she said
quietly. Meanwhile (with her body shielding her actions
from Winnie) she gently brushed my left nipple and breast with
her right hand, as if brushing away a speck of lint.
My eyes popped wide and I flinched in my bonds. So, Fern
Wu was a commando dressing, nipple-pierced, doe-eyed, grabby scamp!
She was still beautiful, of course. And I still liked her,
even though we'd only just met and she'd taken it upon herself
to make sure my boobs were lint free.
Winnie smiled but was otherwise oblivious, as far as I could
tell. Also apparently, they both were oblivious to the
saliva oozing from my ball-gagged mouth, dripping down my chin,
splashing onto my chest, then sliding between my rope-framed
breasts. I didn't like the ball-gag. I missed my
nice, smooth, drool-containing tape-gag from the First Session.
"How does a nice hogtie sound?" Winnie asked Fern.
Fern's reply was a disdainful pout. "Nice? You want
to be 'nice'?" She used air-quotes for emphasis. I hate
air-quotes, but I didn't hold it against Fern.
Winnie smiled and nodded in my direction. "Molly's new to
all of this, but I'll make sure nice isn't that nice."
Fern grinned. "In that case..."
I watched (and blinked) as Winnie padded to her rope cabinet and
selected a single large coil of rope. Meanwhile, Fern
padded to the middle of the room and gracefully settled to the
floor in a semi-lotus, the same thing Micki had done at the
start of her session.
And then, a hogtie happened.
When the metaphorical dust had settled, Fern was, indeed,
hogtied. She was lying on her stomach with her hands
behind her back, her knees folded back, her ankles crossed, and
her hands under her ankles and resting on her butt. Her
back was arched. In fact, her breasts were off the floor
with her nipple-rings dangling about an inch above the
matting. I was impressed by her nonchalance in the face of
what I considered to be a truly punishing, contorted position.
Fern wiggled, squirmed, and tested her bonds. "This is too
nice," she complained. "You didn't even tie my wrists."
That's right, she complained!
"And yet, you're completely helpless," Winnie purred. "If
I stop right now, you'll find you won't be able to escape my
ropes; but what makes you think I'm done, Fern?'
I blinked and stared. Winnie was teasing her latest
victim—I mean client. I decided it was because
Winnie knew Fern was a trickster and a scamp and was treating
her accordingly. It wasn't because Winnie actually enjoyed
tying up beautiful, naked women and mocking their
helplessness. After all, she was a Lifestyle Consultant
helping Fern meditate, not a kidnapping
villainess. Don't be crazy. Winnie's a sweetheart.
Anyway, Fern's upper arms were pinned to her torso in a
simplified box-tie harness, and her arms together and bound at
the forearms but not the wrists. As the harness also yoked
her shoulders and ropes traveled back and forth to her crossed
and bound ankles and all the slack had been removed, she was
hogtied. The remaining rope was wrapped around itself with
the final knot tied just above the bands loosely binding her
But Winnie had implied she wasn't done, and she meant it.
Boy did she mean it! She padded to the rope
cabinet and returned with, of all things, a length of thin brown
cord. It was brown parcel cord, the stuff they used to use
to wrap packages. (That was before my time, of
course.) Anyway, Winnie used the cord to tie Ferns thumbs
together! That was totally unnecessary and not at all
"nice" on Winnie's part (in my naked, bound, and gagged
Fern seemed to have the opposite opinion. A wicked smile
curled her lips and dimpled her cheeks. "That's all ya
got?" she purred.
"Incorrigible," Winnie chuckled, went to the cabinet, yet again,
and returned with two short coils of rope. She used half
of one coil to bind Fern's wrists together—I supposed that would
finally make her happy—then used the other coil to first give
her client a ponytail, then fold Fern's long, straight hair back
on itself and lash it into what I suppose might be called a
bun. She then demonstrated that whatever the thing was
called, it was well suited as an anchoring point for more
bondage. The free ends from Fern's wrist ropes were looped
around her crossed ankles, then tied off to her hair!
To be clear, the initial rope harness was doing the real work of
bending Fern's spine, lifting her breasts (and nipple rings) off
the floor, and enforcing the hogtie. The "only thing" the
wrists-to-ankles-to-hair ropes were doing was lift Fern's chin,
pull her head back, and further limit her mobility. All
the ropes of Winnie's masterpiece (Fern's predicament) were taut
and restrictive, but only the initial hogtie was unquestionably
I watched Fern wiggle her fingers and toes and squirm on the
floor-mat... and decided the British must have a slang use of
the word "nice" of which I was previously unaware.
Winnie also watched, then padded to the Gag and Blindfold
Cabinet and returned with yet another ball-gag. It
appeared to be a twin of the breathable spit-dribbler currently
inadequately plugging my mouth. Without further
ado (or any famous last words on Fern's part), Winnie popped the
hollow, perforated sphere into her client's mouth, threaded the
strap, and buckled the buckle at the nape of her neck.
"There," Winnie said as she stood and took a step back.
I focused on Winnie—as opposed to the hogtied, ball-gagged Fern,
the one with the big brown eyes and bangs—and tried not to
"Fern is a more advanced client than Micki," Winnie continued,
"so her sessions are usually two hours, but as you're a
novice, today I'll limit her meditation to only one hour."
I blinked in relief.
"Mrrrf!" Fern objected, shaking her ball-gagged head as much as
her hair-tie would allow.
"Fern," Winnie sighed as she favored her "advanced client" with
a disappointed moue. "Between the time it took me to
settle Molly in her chair, then prepare you for your
meditations, it's already been more than an hour."
"Mrrrf!" Fern reiterated.
"You really think she can handle two hours?" Winnie inquired,
"plus however long it takes me to untie the pair of you?"
"Mrrrf!" Fern replied.
"Well..." Winnie turned and padded to the studio
door. "I guess we'll see."
"Mrrrf?" That was me, and I was definitely blinking.
The deer was back in the headlights. Two hours
The faux shoji door rumbled open, Winnie stepped through, and it
rumbled closed. I think I heard a click that may
have been Winnie engaging the locking latch in the handle.
I turned back to Fern to find her gazing at me with her big
brown eyes and smiling around her ball-gag. I stopped
blinking and glared back. Trickster! I
accused (silently). It only occurred to me much later that
Winnie was also something of a trickster. Of
course, in my defense, up 'til just then she'd always been
nice—meaning nice to me, not nice the way she'd made Fern's
Two hours is
a long time, especially when you're naked, tied to a chair, and
Neither Fern nor myself were in any position to chat and get to
know each other. Exchanging gossip about Winnie and her
Lifestyle Consulting business would have been nice, but
obviously it would have to wait. To pass the time, Fern
and I squirmed in our bonds, fluttered our fingers, and wiggled
our toes. Fern's thumbs were bound, of course, so I had
the edge in the finger-flexing department. We also
drooled... a lot. Saliva dripped down my chin to my
breasts, as I've already mentioned, and now was heading for my
bellybutton. Fern was gradually building a slimy pool on
the mat under her chin.
I've mentioned Fern's amazing eyes, and they are amazing.
Big. Brown. Expressive. You can't help but be
impressed, even when she's being a trickster and messing with
you in some manner.
Time waits for no chair-bound observer or hogtied client.
The two hours passed, Winnie breezed back into her studio, and
immediately began untying Fern. (And of course it was Fern
and not me who she untied first. Fern was her client,
after all. I was just her nosy neighbor.) I heaved a
sigh as the cord was untied, freeing Fern's thumbs, followed by
the various ropes. I watched, sighed through my ball-gag,
Finally rope-free, Fern stood, removed her ball-gag herself,
then dropped it atop the tangle of ropes and reached for the
ceiling in a full-length, full-body, boob-flattening
stretch. "Is the sauna ready?" she inquired.
"Of course," Winnie replied, then strolled in my direction,
smiling her usual smile. "After a long session, there's
nothing like a nice sauna." She leaned close and planted
another kiss on my now unquestionably sweaty forehead, then
strolled towards the studio door. "You're invited, of
course, and you're both staying for dinner." She shifted
her smile to Fern. "Take care of Molly, would you?"
"Of course," Fern purred, gazing at me with a dimpled smile and
her big, brown, amazing eyes. I blinked and checked out
her body. Rope-marks. Fern had rope-marks. I
assumed I'd have them too, once she untied me from the chair.
Fern set to work, attacking the knots at me knees, ankles,
waist, etc., etc. I noted she was leaving my wrists 'til
last. In fact, she freed me from the chair completely
before untying my wrists. In fact, when my wrist bonds and
ball-gag were my only remaining bonds, she helped me stand,
stretched an arm across my shoulders and gave me a sideways hug,
then led me from the studio!
"Mrrrf?" I inquired.
"Don't worry," Fern chuckled as she padded through the sliding
door and deeper into Winnie's house, taking me with her, "I know
Up ahead I heard the sound of what was probably a shower
running. I assume Fern heard it too. We entered a
tiled space just in time to see the back (and butt) of either
Winnie or some unknown and previously unseen naked redhead
disappear through a cedar door and into what I assumed was the
sauna in question.
Fern removed my glasses, carefully folded and placed them atop a
fluffy white towel on a bench next to an open cabinet holding
more towels. I was working up to a full-blown bound,
gagged, and naked rebellion, but wasn't quite there when Fern
led me under a dripping shower head with a dangling pull-chain,
reached up, and pulled the handle!
Needless to say, I was shocked and distressed as cold water
drenched both my naked, grinning handler and my naked,
bound and gagged self!
"Yes, invigorating!" Fern sighed, pretending to agree with me.
Invigorating hadn't even been on my list.
Fern released the handle, the icy torrent stopped, and she led
me to the sauna. She opened the door, led me across the
threshold, and into what was, indeed, a sauna. It was like
walking into a wall of heat! It was a dry sauna, paneled
with cedar. A stainless steel heater surrounded by a cedar
railing and topped with lava rocks was in the middle, and the
walls were lined with two tiers of cedar benches.
Oh by the way, Winnie was, indeed, the redhead who had preceded
us, and she was, indeed, naked. Not counting our current
setting, naked Winnie is as hot as clothed Winnie, and she has
freckles. Winnie has lots of freckles, and
they're widely distributed, suggesting she indulges in naked
sunbathing, like Fern.
"Fern Wu!" Winnie scolded her wet, naked client. "You're a
rascal and a scamp."
I was glad to have my earlier diagnosis of Fern's personality
confirmed, but not happy to be standing in her sauna, naked,
dripping wet, bound, and gagged. Actually, the naked and
wet part was fine. This wasn't my first sauna. It
was my wrist bonds and ball-gag that were problems, but not for
"Don't have kittens," Fern chuckled as she spun me around and
untied my wrists, "or in your case, cute little fox kits."
She unbuckled my gag, then tossed the rope and ball-gag on the
lower bench next to the door. "Is it fox kits, or fox cubs?"
Winnie ignored Fern, climbed to her feet and padded around the
heater, pulled me into a naked embrace (!!!) and planted a light
kiss on my startled lips. "Sorry, darling," she purred.
"Darling," Fern mocked with a dimpled grin as she used a cedar
ladle and cedar bucket to wet down a length of upper tier bench.
"Shut up, darling," Winnie chuckled. This time the darling
in question was Fern, of course. She took my hands, held
them away from my body, and examined my rope-marks—and I did,
indeed, have rope-marks. "Not bad," she purred.
"They'll fade quickly."
"Uh, okay," I responded. I was flushed bright pink from
cheeks to breasts to, uh, cheeks. It was the extreme, dry
heat, of course, not the embarrassment of being hugged,
kissed, and examined by a naked Winnie Wilde.
"She has a lot of experience with rope-marks," Fern added
helpfully. She continued wetting the upper tier of
benches. "Although, with your pale complexion, Molly,
you're something of an outlier."
"Hush," Winnie admonished her client, then led me to a freshly
dampened (and already drying) stretch of bench. I sat on
the warm cedar and settled against the warm, wet backrest.
Winnie returned to her perch on my left, and Fern sat on my
I was already sweating. We were all sweating, and
we continued sweating. I stared across the sauna at the
tangle of rope and perforated ball-gag near the door.
Without my glasses they were out of focus, but I already knew
what I was looking at, of course. I'd been hazed by Fern
and Winnie had allowed it, but I wasn't offended. I
appreciate a nice, friendly prank as much as the next normal,
talented, arguably attractive, and charming young woman, and
while Fern was a trickster, she was a nice trickster. As
for Winnie, Winnie was Winnie. They don't come nicer that
I continued staring at the blurry rope and ball-gag. So,
I wondered, am I still a novice? And a novice
what? I've been restrained, but haven't done any meditating.