by Van © 2018
		Chapter 5

So... Irene (Libby's Mom), gave me some really nice clothes and cab fare to get home, right?  Wrong!

Last in line, I shuffled up the stairs after Fern, who shuffled up the stairs after Irene.  We were sort of like a mother duck with two ducklings—only the mother duck (Irene) was wearing a really expensive and stylish traveling suit, one of the ducklings (Fern) was naked and box-tied with a ball-gag dangling around her neck and a skeleton key dangling from the light steel chain connecting her nipple rings—and the other duckling (me) was wearing panties and a disheveled sleep-shirt and was bound with her arms behind her back from shoulders to crotch with a ball-gag in her mouth.

Umm...  No, now that I think about it, it was nothing like a mother duck with two ducklings.  What an absurd analogy.  What was I thinking?

Anyway, we paused at the top of the stairs in the room with the fancy wooden lockers and the three doors.  Irene removed the skeleton key from Fern's nipple-ring-chain and returned it to its hook next to the door that led back downstairs to Mom's Playroom... where Libby was naked and stretched on the rack.  Mrs. Locke restored the end of Fern's connecting chain so that once again it swayed and dangled in a "U"-shaped manner between the Trickster's nipple-rings.  We exited the Room of Three Doors via the as yet unused wooden door (unused by me) as opposed to the semi-hidden door that led to the garage.

Quite obviously we were now in the mansion proper, and not in one of the service areas.  The walls were wainscotted with wood that matched the doors, the carpeting underfoot was plush, and the furnishings were all top of the line, expensive, and mostly antiques.  Art hung on the walls, and the framed oils and prints were the real deal.  Romanticism, Impressionism, Expressionism, Modernism, Post-Modernism... they ran the gamut of all the major "-isms" covered in the Western Art survey course I took at Lewis & Clark University. (Go Explorers!)  If it had been obvious before that the Locke family was loaded, very loaded, now I could add that they also had good taste, very good taste.  Everything was gorgeous... like Libby and her mom.

Also, there was no way they kept a place this big this spotless without a lot of help in the form of maids, cooks, chauffeurs, and a butler (or, if she was female... whatever you call a female butler).  There had to be help.  However, it was the middle of the night, so the staff would all be in bed, right?  But then (probably) somebody was up. Mistress Locke had just returned from overseas.  Logically, yes, somebody should be up, but there was no one in sight (except Irene, Fern, and myself), for which I was very grateful.  I didn't want anyone to witness my semi-naked bound and gagged humiliation unless they intended to rescue me.  However, servants are usually loyal—especially well-trained, well-paid servants—and I assumed all of Irene's servants would be well-trained, well-paid, and would already know about the Locke family "hobby activities."  Therefore, I'd only be rescued at Irene's command.  But if Irene was going to instruct one of her maids to rescue me, she probably would have already done it herself and I wouldn't need rescuing.  And she hadn't (so far).  And I did.  So they wouldn't.  If they were awake.  Which they didn't seem to be.

Sorry.  I babble when I'm nervous.  But you already know that.  Sorry.  I also blink when I'm nervous.

Anyway, we reached the top of the stairs, I followed Fern, and Fern followed Irene down a long hallway.  We passed numerous parlors and sitting rooms and... rooms... then started up a grand staircase to the second floor.  I don't know if the staircase we used was the mansion's actual Grand Staircase, but it was plenty grand (in my plebeian opinion).

And speaking of climbing the stairs from the Playroom and then the grand (or semi-grand) staircase to wherever we were going... my crotch-rope (or more precisely in my case, my crotch-cord) was making a pest of itself.  As previously explained, my black parachute-cord bonds were well-tied and inescapable without being overly tight.  That said, the pair of cords passing between my legs were tight enough to slide back and forth, especially when I lifted a leg to climb a step.  As they (the pair of thin black cords) did so, they nudged and caressed my lady bits.  They also encouraged my panties to become progressively more friendly.  My butt-crack was also involved.  The bottom line (pun intended) was that the cords and my panties now cleaved my butt-cheeks and labia.  Granted, nothing was especially tight, but it was a novel sensation.  Also, since my wrists, elbows, waist, and arms were bound with more of the same cord, I was unable to make the adjustments required to put things right.  Also, as the cords were one interconnected network, whenever I twisted or squirmed or tugged on my bonds, the crotch-cord was part of the action.  It was embarrassing and, I'm forced to admit, provocative.

Anyway, we took a right turn at the top of the grand (or semi-grand) staircase and passed more parlors and other miscellaneous fully-furnished, luxurious rooms.

Our ultimate destination was a gigantic bedroom with a gigantic four-poster bed.  The general decor was easily up to the standards of everything I'd seen since coming upstairs in Stately Locke Manor, but the bed was really impressive.  Oak.  Gigantic.  The posts were elaborately carved and turned and were real posts, in no way spindly.  Also, the mattress was larger than a "California King."  If the Queen of England dropped by to spend the night, Irene's bed would definitely do.

I watched as Irene spun Fern around and untied her black parachute-cord box-tie.  It didn't take long.  "Take care of Molly," she said as she tossed the resulting tangle of cord on the foot of the neatly made bed.

"Yes, Mrs. Locke.  Thank you, Mrs. Locke."  Fern rubbed her wrists, smiled, batted her big, brown, amazing eyes, and dropped a quick curtsy.  The bouncing-ball-gag-necklace was still around her neck and the nipple-ring-chain still dangled between her boobs.

"Wise Ass," Irene purred through a wry smile, then smacked Fern on her naked rump.  "Go!"

"Eeep!" Fern yelped, giggled, and beamed in my direction.  "C'mon," she said as she padded to a closed door.  She opened the door and a magnificent bathroom was revealed.

Irene was also smiling at me.  "Go, Molly," she suggested (ordered).

I had no choice—no polite or prudent choice, anyway—but to pad through the bathroom door after Fern.  Okay, I admit it.  I scampered after Fern.  I'm not proud of it, but I'd fallen behind and had to catch up.  It made my not-quite-exposed and rope-framed boobs bounce (and didn't help with my crotch-cord situation, either).

Fern closed the door and we were, indeed, in a magnificent bathroom.  In terms of functionality the washbasin was normal, but the design was exquisite.  In other bathroom news, there was a huge shower alcove with one of those broad, flat, rain-type shower heads, the commode was a commode (but very stylish, like the washbasin), and there was a sunken bathtub easily big enough for two friendly bathers.  It had water-jets.  I could see the nozzles.

I watched (and blushed) as Fern used the commode.  (Number one.)  And the thing had a built-in bidet!  And she used it!  She then padded to the washbasin and used a dab of liquid soap and a washcloth to scrub her face.  Next, she borrowed a toothbrush and a dab of green toothpaste, brushed her teeth, rinsed her mouth, dabbed her lips with a small towel, then turned and smiled at me.

Gulp!

Fern padded over, spun me around, and began untying my bonds.  Finally!  However... I soon realized she was both untying and retying my bonds!   "Mrf?"  Also, she was using the occasion to remove my sleep-shirt and panties!  "Mrrrk!"  But not my ball-gag!  "Mrmpfh!"

End result:  Molly Schmeck.  Naked.  Box-tied with black parachute cord (with thumb-binding and palm-crossing cords).  No waist or crotch cords.  Ball-gagged.  Glasses.  Blushing.

I know what you're thinking.  Oh, Molly-Molly-Molly, you silently sigh, shaking your head in sad disappointment, how could you let a mischievous scamp like Fern do that to you?

In the first place, I didn't let Fern do anything.  She was clever and cunning and never untied me enough to give me a chance of preventing her from retying me.  She accomplished her nefarious stripping and binding scheme in stages, and I couldn't stop her.

In the second place, I already mentioned that self-defense training is on my to-do list, so cut me some slack.

And in the third place...  Shut up!

Anyway, I was now naked and tied the way Libby had tied Fern.  That meant it was entirely feasible for me to do my evening business, of course, so Fern plopped me down on the commode and waited patiently for me to take a tinkle.  I sorta had to go anyway, so despite the embarrassment... I went.  And afterwards, she flushed the commode and triggered the bidet function!  Water splashed my nether region, my eyes popped wide, and I let her know exactly how I felt about it!  "Nrrrf!"  I also blushed.  But then, it's entirely possible I'd never stopped blushing since we entered Irene's bathroom.

"Poor baby," Fern cooed as she used a small towel to dry between my legs, then hustled me to the sink, unbuckled my ball-gag, re-secured it on the strap's first hole, then plucked the rubber sphere from my mouth and let it bounce against my pale, I mean fair-complected, saliva-splattered and cord crisscrossed chest.

I worked my jaw, licked my lips, and stared daggers in the mirror at my bathroom buddy.  "Fern Wu!" I huffed.  "Keep your hands to yourself, you... you... trickster!"  I was furious, but not irate.  Angry, but not enraged.  I was...  I don't know what I was, other than embarrassed, flustered, blushing, naked, and box-tied.

By the way, as my previous bonds had been more extensive, Fern had more cord to work with as she retied me.  For that reason, my box-tie was more elaborate that the one Libby had inflicted on her.  I had four strands each above and below my breasts, and an "X" arrangement that crisscrossed between my boobs.  I already mentioned the thumb and palm cords.  I wasn't any more helpless that Fern had been, but my thin black bonds were more numerous and complicated.

"Don't be mad, Molly," Fern sighed, still smiling, as she used a warm washcloth and a dab of soap to scrub my pouting face (and clean the gag-induced saliva from my chest).

I continued glaring as she loaded the same toothbrush she'd used and brushed my teeth.  I let her.  Might as well.  I still stared daggers at her smiling face, of course.  I spat in the sink (but not Fern's face), then rinsed my mouth from the cup Fern held to my lips.  I swished, gargled, and spat in the sink (again, not in Fern's face), gulped a final mouthful of water, and swallowed.  Wintergreen.  My mouth was minty fresh.

"On with the initiation," Fern chuckled.

"Fern!" I complained (whined).  "I demand—Mrrrpfh!"  That's right, the ball-gag was back in my mint-flavored mouth and Fern was buckling the strap at the nape of my neck!  If looks could kill, I would have cracked the mirror and Fern Wu would be a dagger-riddled, flaming corpse.  She wasn't, and all too soon we were through the door, back in the main bedroom, and I was being hustled towards the enormous/luxurious bed.

I noted the bedding was now turned down and the black cords that were Fern's former box-tie bonds were neatly coiled and draped across the foot of the bed.  There was still no sign of a maid, and our hostess was also missing.

Then, another door opened and Irene appeared.  She was emerging from a gigantic walk-in closet, but mostly I was staring at Irene and not the racks of clothes and shoes behind her.  She was naked!  She'd removed her stylish, hideously expensive, designer traveling ensemble, and was naked!  And if Libby Locke was a Viking-shield-maiden-princess, Irene Locke was a Viking-shield-maiden-queen!  She was seriously gorgeous, with the same shapeliness, allover tan, firm muscles, and generous boobs as her daughter.  I was... impressed.

"Fern Wu," Irene sighed, shaking her head as she took in my bound and gagged condition, "you are a trickster and a scamp."

That's what I've been saying!

"What have you done to poor Molly?" Irene demanded.  I noted she was still smiling, and wasn't it obvious what Fern had done to me?

"Isn't it obvious?" Fern purred.

That's what I said!  Fern's big, brown, amazing eyes and mocking smile were infuriating.  I seriously considered giving her a swift kick.

"Come here, you rapscallion," Irene ordered, picked up the black cord on the bed, and prepared it for use.

And then...

Face it, you already know what happened.  Irene box-tied Fern using the exact same technique Libby had used to box-tie Fern.  It was now obvious where Libby had gotten her training.  And speaking of obvious, wasn't the obvious solution to what Fern had done to untie my box-tie?  Apparently not.

Anyway, now both Fern and I were naked and box-tied.  However, Fern's ball-gag was still bouncing against her chest while mine was plugging my mouth.

And with that, we all climbed onto bed.

Despite her box-tie, Fern managed the horizontal transition quite gracefully.  Surprisingly, I didn't have to be dragged kicking and screaming (through my gag).  I went blushing, shivering, and whining (through my gag), but I went.  I don't know if I was graceful.  Irene joined us, and needless to say, she was definitely graceful.

So... all three of us were now in bed.  The thread count of Irene's cool sheets was in the hundreds.  The order was—left to right from the point of view of a hypothetical voyeur hovering above the bed—Fern, Irene, and moi.  We were all on our backs.  That meant Fern and I were also lying on our box-tied arms.  Irene, however, had her right arm draped behind Fern's cord-yoked shoulders and her left arm draped behind my cord-yoked shoulders!

"Good night, girls," Irene purred, then leaned close and kissed by ball-tied mouth.

"Mrrrpfh!" I mewled, by which I meant (not wanting to be impolite), "Good Night, Mrs. Locke."  It also meant "What about my gag?"

Misinterpreting or ignoring at least part of my response, Irene turned to Fern and tried to kiss her, as well.  Fern turned her head and the kiss landed on the side of her neck.

"Wait," Fern objected, turning back to smile at our hostess.  "That's it?"

Irene sighed and rolled her eyes.  "I'm tired, you scamp," she purred.  "It was a long flight."

"Well, yeah," Fern responded.  A wicked smile curled her lips.  "Of course you're tired, but doesn't that mean you need to... relax?"

Irene rolled her eyes, again.  "A good night's sleep is all the relaxation I require, young lady, and—what are you doing?"

What Fern was doing was scooting down the bed, rolling onto her stomach and positioning herself between Irene's legs!

"Stop that," Irene purred.  "Stop!  Get back up here and... oh!  Oh!  Stop it you scamp!  Ooooh!"

Fern's box-tied maneuver had taken several seconds of squirmy effort, so Irene had had plenty of opportunity to nip things in the bud (so to speak) by physically evading her affections, but all she'd done was act mildly annoyed, which Fern ignored, of course.  Anyway, Fern was using her lips and tongue to lick, slurp, and suck Irene's private parts!

Wow!

What an outrage!

How incredibly hot!

I confess my pussy was quivering in sympathy as Fern went down on Irene's pussy and Irene quivered.  Irene's hands were now clutching Fern's hair, but apparently she was having a great deal of difficulty forcing Fern's head away from her crotch... if that was what she was doing.  She might have been pressing Fern's face against her crotch.

This was my first experience observing cunnilingus, the first time the exercise moved from the theoretical and into the real world.  In junior high and high school my girlfriends and I had "practiced kissing boys," and I understand this to be perfectly normal behavior for adolescent girls (even nerds), but we'd never done anything like this!  Being a perfectly normal, arguably attractive, and intellectually curious young women, I found what was unfolding between my two naked bed-mates to be... educational.  I watched.  Besides, I was bound and gagged and powerless to help Fern—I mean Irene!  I was powerless to help Irene!

It took a while—for some reason I was finding it difficult to accurately gauge the passage of time—but eventually Irene's body went tense, she gasped, her incredibly gorgeous body shivered, her boobs shook, her forehead glistened, her gorgeous blue eyes popped wide... and she actually yodeled!

"Aye-yi-yi-yeeegh!"

I hoped the bedroom was as soundproof as the Playroom down below.  Otherwise, the servants were going to barge in at any second armed with baseball bats, golf clubs, umbrellas, brooms, and mops.  More time passed.  No rampaging servants appeared and there was no embarrassing scene.

Mischievous mission accomplished, Fern squirmed up the bed and back to Irene's right side, a disgusting, pussy-eatin' grin on her Trickster face.  Irene was also grinning.  I watched as she used her fingers to comb Fern's bangs.

Irene heaved a sigh.  "You little..."

"Mrmf?" I suggested.

"Yes, scamp," Irene agreed.  "Thank you, Molly."

"Ur eh uh," I replied.  ("You're welcome.")

Several seconds of relaxed cuddling ensued... then Irene sat up in bed, flipped Fern over onto her stomach, straddled her tan, slightly glistening body with her tan, slightly more glistening body, and began untying the grinning scamp's box-tie.  Once Fern was cord free, Irene gave her a resounding smack on her bare butt.  Smack!

"Ow!" Fern complained, still smiling.

"Out!" Irene ordered, and Fern complied by squirming out from under Irene and off the bed.  She rubbed her offended posterior, but was still smiling.  "Out!" Irene reiterated, pointing to the bedroom door.  "And don't you dare go back down to the playroom and do unspeakable things to and with my disobedient daughter."

"Yes, Mrs. Locke," Fern chuckled, then scampered to the door and made her giggling exit.

Irene turned back to me, smiled, and reclined in her former place, once again.  Her arm was back behind my cord-yoked shoulders and I could feel her left boob pressing against my right arm.

So... what happened next?

I'll tell you what happened next!

---

Irene squeezed my body in a sideways hug and we cuddled for a few seconds... or a minute.  No more that two, I'm sure.  Pretty sure.  During the process her left boob squeezed against my right arm, and there was even a little boob-on-boob side-action.  My heart started thumping again.

Finally, Irene turned my head, unbuckled my gag, and like she'd done with Fern down in the Playroom and like Fern had done with me in the Bathroom, buckled the strap on its first hole.  I eased the ball from my mouth, let it slip down and assume necklace duty, then worked my jaws, licked my lips, and locked eyes with my hostess/captor.  Okay, technically Libby and Fern were my captors, so I guess that made Irene my... hostess/custodian?  Anyway, we locked eyes.  I was still wearing my glasses and they were solidly in place and didn't need adjustment.  Good old glasses!

"I hope you aren't going to throw a tantrum," Irene said with a smile.

I pursed my lips in what I was later assured was an adorable pout.  "Nope," I said quietly.  "Maybe later."

To this day, it's a mystery why I didn't immediately pitch a screaming fit.

Right before answering my front door to admit the kidnapping duo of Fern and Libby, if I'd been handed a one question yes/no exam, and the question was:

Molly Schmeck, are you up for being kidnapped, stripped naked, bound, gagged, and forced to watch various scary torture-related and/or erotic activities, including a devilishly cute Trickster licking the pussy of a seriously gorgeous Viking-Shield-Maiden-Queen?  (Circle one.)   YES.   NO.

I'm absolutely certain I would have circled "NO," put a check-mark next to it, then lined through "YES" several times!

But now, naked and box-tied, lying next to naked, gorgeous, and slightly sweaty Irene, and with naked Fern on her way downstairs to do who-knows-what to naked Libby... not so much.  No immediate hysterics.  And no plans for future hysterics.

"Good girl," Irene chuckled, leaned even closer, and kissed my slightly sweaty forehead.  (More boob-on-boob side-action!)  I blushed.  "I'm sorry I interrupted your initiation into the club," Irene sighed, hugging me close, again.  "Now you'll have to repeat the entire process."

I swallowed, nervously.  "Uh, what?"

Irene sighed.  "All prospective members are required to show their commitment to the club with at least one demonstration of unmistakable genuine enthusiasm, and it must be mediated by at least one member-in-good-standing of the club."

"Uh, what?"  I blinked several times.  "And what do you mean by 'genuine enthusiasm?'  It's not at all clear what—"

"Orgasm."

I blinked several times while my brain digested this information.  "Uh, what?"

"It's a tradition," Irene purred.

"Uh, what?"  (I was stuck in a rut.)

"Silly girl," Irene chuckled and hugged me again.

We snuggled for several more seconds.  My heart was still pounding, but now I wasn't so sure it was entirely from the fear and trepidation related to being kidnapped.

"It would be a shame if this entire evening turned out to be a waste," Irene purred.  "I suppose there is a way I could help."

"Uh, what?  I mean... how?"

Irene kissed my lips.  "I'm a member of the club.  I suppose I could be your mediator."

"Okay," I whispered, then my eyes popped wide.  Why did I say that?  To this day I'm not entirely sure.  I opened my mouth to negate my last statement, but nothing came out!

"Very well," Irene chuckled, then popped the ball-gag back into my mouth and tightened and buckled the strap!  Maybe she took my open-mouthed amazement as an invitation.

My next response was unintelligible and too late!  "Mrrrf!"

"Yes, that's right," Irene purred, "I quite agree."  She then rolled away from my blinking, astonished, nude, bound, and gagged self, reached out, and opened a drawer in the bedside table.  (I told you, it was a huge bed.)  She rolled back and in her hand was—Gulp!—a cordless vibrator!  Or maybe it was a cordless microphone!  Not karaoke!  Anything but karaoke!  No, she held it close for my inspection and it was definitely a cordless Vibrator!  Gulp!  And it was wand-style, with a body or shaft of silver plastic, control buttons, and red LED indicator lights!  The business end was doorknob-shaped and covered in black latex!  Gulp!

I stared at the device with wide-eyed, blinking dread.  At the time I didn't have a whole lot of personal experience with vibrators (and still don't) but I knew what it was, and it was in Irene's hand!

I stared into Irene's gorgeous, smiling face.  "Mrrrpfh?"

"Patience, Molly," Irene chuckled, then arranged the pillows into a pile against the headboard.  She then heaved herself up, reclined with her back against the pillows, then hauled me up to join her.  We were now back-to-front, with me cradled against her incredibly gorgeous, naked body!  The back of my gagged head rested against her chest, my shoulders on her breasts, my box-tied arms against her stomach, my butt on the mattress, and my hips against her thighs.

"Mrrrpfh!" I reiterated as Irene placed the heels of her bare feet against my inner knees and forced my legs apart.  Okay, she sort of nudged my legs apart.  Things were happening fast and I was still deciding if I even wanted to resist.  That said, in the back of my fevered mind I already knew that resistance on my part would be futile.

And then... it happened!

Irene thumbed a button, I flinched, and the vibrator began buzzing.  The thing was surprisingly quiet, or maybe I couldn't really hear it over the pounding of my heart.  And then... she touched the humming head to my left nipple!  The touch became a gentle, vibrating massage... and grew to include my entire left breast... my right breast and nipple... my chest, neck, tummy, and etc.  And by "etc." I mean my inner thighs and labia!

I squirmed and shivered and fought my bonds and Irene's embrace.  She was sooo strong!  I was sooo helpless!  Her magic wand felt sooo good!  And she played me like a fiddle (or a Stradivarius), increasing the pressure here, making it light as a feather there, picking up the pace, backing off, and varying the wand's power setting.  It took me a while to complete my initiation... but eventually I succeeded... and it was glorious!  I screamed into my gag.

Irene clicked off my new cordless friend and placed it on the bed at her side, then unbuckled my ball-gag, plucked it from my mouth, and once again it was around my neck in necklace-mode.  I was panting, my heart thumping, by rope-framed breasts heaving, my nipples pointing, my pussy flushed and quivering, and I was sweaty.  Irene then removed my glasses, folded them, and despite the distance, succeeded in placing them on the bedside table

And then, we made out.  We sucked face.  As Winnie would say, we snogged.  That was also glorious, but it took some time for me to get into the groove.  Irene was patient, but I was flustered and still panting from the final act of my initiation.

Finally, we came up for air, as the saying goes.  Without my glasses Irene's smiling face was out of focus, but she was still gorgeous.  I knew I had to have a rather goofy smile on my shining face, but didn't care.  Goofy was fine, as long as I was with Irene.

"Well..." Irene purred, "welcome to the club, Molly.  How do you feel?"

"Uh, feel?"

"Let's not start that again," Irene chuckled.  "How do you feel?"

I smiled my goofy smile.  "I feel good."  I leaned down and kissed Irene's right nipple.  It was erect.  All four nipples in the bedroom were erect.

"You little minx," Irene chuckled, then kissed my forehead.  "Now..."  She touched something on the headboard.  All the lights in the bedroom lights dimmed... then winked out, leaving only a pair of nightlights, one on either side of the bed.  "I really am tired from my flight, so..."  She slid down the pillows, taking me with her.  "Good night, Molly," she said, then kissed my lips.

I kissed her back (of course).  "Good night, Irene," I whispered.

We snuggled together under the covers, and by together I mean Irene snuggled and I let her.  After all, my naked body was completely under her control.  I was still helplessly box-tied.

I didn't mind.  I was in the club!  I smiled my goofy smile, the afterglow between my legs slowly faded, and I closed my eyes.  I made a mental note to ask for more information (meaning any information) about this "club" that I'd just joined and what membership entailed.  Maybe there was a brochure.

I awoke the next morning naked but cord-free.  Obviously, at some point during the night Irene had untied Fern's handiwork.  The cord was gone, as was my ball-gag necklace.  Irene was also gone.  I was alone in the tangle of warm, slightly moist sheets.  (They smelled like Irene!)

Then, the door to the bathroom opened and Irene entered the bedroom!  She was here!  Naked!  Using a brush on her blond locks!  Gorgeous!

"Good morning, Molly," Irene said.

I rolled and reached across the bed for my glasses, slid them in place, and smiled.  "Morning!"

"Why don't you take a shower while I arrange to have some of Libby's clothes delivered."  She strolled to the bed, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet.  "You're a couple of inches taller than my Pumpkin, but I'm sure we'll find something that fits."  She then pulled me into a hug and we kissed.

It was glorious!  (I almost had myself a tiny little initiation, right then and there.)

And then, Irene delivered a teasing smack on my naked rump with the brush—Smack!—handed me the brush, and sped me on my way.  I giggled and scampered into the bathroom to take the ordered shower.  Disgusting, I know.  I tried to muster an offended pout (like Fern had mustered after her similar slap) but only managed another goofy smile.  I'm not proud of it, but I couldn't help myself.  I was chipper.

When I returned to the bedroom I was squeaky clean (including my glasses) and my hair was dried and brushed.  Breakfast had been delivered in the form of warm pastries, assorted fresh fruit, and coffee.  Irene loaned me a robe.  She'd already dressed in slacks and a silk blouse, and we enjoyed an absolutely scrumptious morning repast.  ("Absolutely scrumptious."  I really was quite disgusting that morning.  If I wasn't careful I was gonna start giggling and skipping around the bedroom.)

Anyway, Irene succeeded in finding me something nice to wear in the form of a dove-gray business suit (skirt and jacket) over a very pretty long-sleeve cotton blouse with a fancy white cravat sewn into the collar.  All I had to do was button the blouse all the way up and I looked... spiffy.  Underneath were fancy bikini-panties, a demi-bra, and a garter-belt.  (Yes!  A garter belt!)  Also, stockings to go with the garter-belt, and finally, a hideously expensive pair of dove-gray high-heel pumps.  And Irene told me it was all mine to keep!  I tried to refuse, but she assured me Libby wouldn't miss any of it and the ensemble looked good on me.  And besides, Libby was still in the doghouse.  All she'd be wearing for the immediate future was a dog collar.  I think she was kidding about the collar.

And speaking of Libby and Fern, Irene explained that they were busy in the Playroom, sent their congratulations on my making it into the club, and expressed their regrets that they would be unable to see me home.  Again, I think she was kidding.  Maybe not.

Irene and I exchanged effusive goodbyes (as I blushed and blinked), and I was driven home in the back of one of the Locke family town cars.  My chauffeur was a ruggedly handsome, very fit, thirty-something dude in a dark suit and tie and wearing sunglasses.  I'm not absolutely sure, but I think he was packing, meaning had a pistol in a shoulder-holster under his jacket.  I suppose super-rich people like the Locke family need protection against kidnappers.  Either that or they like having minions available to help when they decide to kidnap people like myself (assuming Fern Wu is busy doing something mischievous elsewhere).  Anyway, he was polite, the exact opposite of talkative, and drove me back to the bungalow.

Irene had thought of everything, including dropping my keys in my jacket pocket as we said goodbye at her front door.  I used them to let myself in my front door and strolled towards the bungalow's master bedroom to change into something more casual and less... businessy.

I was halfway down the hallway when the front door chimed.

"Bing-bong!"

More visitors?  Were Libby and Fern back for more? 

Note to self:  At first opportunity, purchase a cute umbrella stand to go next to the front door to hold your umbrella and a baseball bat suitable for discouraging kidnappers.

Anyway, I spun on my expensive heels and returned to the front door, peered through the peephole, and grinned like a fool.  It was Winnie!.  I quickly turned the deadbolt and opened the door.

"Molly!" Winnie gushed, then kissed my lips and breezed right past.  "Irene called!  I'll make some tea and you can tell me everything!"  She was barefoot and wearing a pair of faded, tight, super-short, denim cutoffs (aka "Daisy Dukes") and a sage-green tank-top.  (Pokies!)  Her ginger curls were loose about her freckled shoulders and she smelled like cocoa butter.

"Uh, please, do come in," I muttered, somewhat belatedly.  I leaned out the door to confirm the absence of lurking, kidnapping ninjas on or near the porch, then closed and locked the door and followed my self-invited (but most welcome) guest into the kitchen to help her find my tea things.  We had a lot to talk about.