Susan got the drinking signal Friday morning. She had a momentary flare of excitement, thinking that this might be it, but it was tempered by remembering she had got such a signal last Friday as well. That night, she'd returned to herself, sitting in a chair at her kitchen table, dressed in her pajamas. Her disappointment at not finding herself tied up lasted only as long as it took her to see the small bowl sitting at the center of the table. It was filled with Skittles.

Among all candies, Skittles had been Susan's favorite as a child, and her mother had used them to pull Susan out of her occasional funks in which she was afraid to go to school. Susan associated Skittles with happiness and love, and a moment of excitement when she first saw them. Through her childhood she had somehow resisted requesting them at times when she didn't need them, instinctively knowing that eating them too often would reduce their power.

Obviously Quinn must have been here. Suzy would have foreseen Susan's expectation that this must be the weekend of the Big Bondage Adventure, and had known exactly how to manage Susan's disappointment on seeing that it wasn't. And she had told Quinn, who had to have brought the candy with her, since Quinn and Suzy probably wouldn't have given up that much of Suzy's limited time driving to the grocery store. Susan soon confirmed that Quinn had come over by checking the bed. The sheets had been changed again.

Now, a week later, Susan was pouring tequila into her glass once again, mixing it with orange soda, and drinking it, along with a few refills after, with her dinner. As the liquor warmed and calmed her, she reflected that last Friday had probably been Suzy's way of ensuring that when the big weekend did come at last, it would take Susan completely by surprise. Susan liked that idea. Suzy had removed drinking-on-Friday as a cue that it might be happening tonight. Susan suspected that it wouldn't be happening this night either.

Susan awoke, and a thrill of excitement flashed through her entire being. It's happening! she thought ecstatically. It's this weekend!

She flexed all of her joints, to determine how she was restrained. There was one sensation she couldn't identify in the first instant -- it was so unexpected and so far out of the proper context that she couldn't, for a moment, make it fit among the puzzle pieces. The rest of it she experienced in a flash:

She was outside. Nude, of course. It was a warm night, typical for late July, and Susan didn't think there would be any problem with shivering, if it stayed this way.

She lay on her back, her arms along her sides, tied next to her hips, each wrist wearing a leather cuff that was secured to something beyond her reach farther down beside her leg on that side. Her legs were spread, though not nearly as much as she had become accustomed to lately. Her ankles were in the leather cuffs, each tied to what seemed to be a wooden stake driven into the ground outside the ankle.

She was blindfolded, not surprisingly, and wore a gag that was very different from those she had used before. It wasn't one of her ball gags. It was a full head harness, with one horizontal leather band that encircled her head just above her eyes, and another that encircled her head vertically from top to bottom, so tight under her chin that it prevented her opening her mouth. There was a bit in her mouth, secured by attachment to that vertical band, a very soft one that allowed her teeth, above and below, to sink into soft grooves in what might be foam rubber, thick enough in front and back that her lips couldn't close with each other and her tongue couldn't touch her teeth. She could manage to swallow, but, unlike with a ball gag, she wasn't able to produce any remotely intelligible sound, only a hum. As she tried to raise her head, she found she couldn't: the gag-harness was secured to something, perhaps another wooden stake in the ground near the crown of her head.

Something was missing, and Susan realized what it was. There was no rope or chain around her waist, none running snugly through her crotch. She needed that physical genital stimulation. She wasn't sure she could come without it.

Within a few seconds after completing her instant assessment, she identified that sensation that didn't fit: she was holding someone's hand.

It was a lover's grip: the fingers of her right hand were interlaced with those of someone's left, and the grip was enforced by bondage. Something -- she suspected it was duct tape, as that was what it felt like -- was wrapped tightly around the joined hands, making them into a single immobilized ball, covering the hands down to the wrists. She could do nothing about her immediate instinct to shake her hand loose from the other. Her heart began thundering, her body quivering, she whimpered softly in fear, and she could only think: It better be Quinn. It better be Quinn...

She calmed slightly when her hope was confirmed. Quinn's voice said softly, "Susan, it's me. I've got you. You're okay. Shhh..." The shushing was issued as if Susan had made more sound than the momentary whimper. Susan suspected it was more directed towards her other fear reflexes. In any case, it worked: Susan began feeling more calm.

She felt Quinn's hand give hers a reassuring squeeze. Another hand, presumably Quinn's right, stroked her hair, where it was available between the bands of the gag harness, and Quinn whispered, "Good girl."

Quinn continued speaking, quietly, in a tone that somehow projected goodwill. "We're pretty safe from being found here. I'm sure you remember the place in the woods where you did your first bondage weekend. We're about twice that distance into the woods now. Nobody comes anywhere near here. You don't need to be very quiet, but I still want you not to make any sounds except when I ask you to. You understand?"

This, thought Susan, would qualify as one of those times when she was allowed to respond. She hummed affirmatively, "Mm-hmm."

"You like the gag?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Suzy bought that for you, some time back. She knew you weren't completely satisfied with the ball gags. With a ball gag, if you try carefully and slowly enough, you can still manage to speak and be understood." Susan, as she did so often, heard the smile in Quinn's voice. "Doesn't work with this one, does it?"

Susan gave her head a tiny shake, and responded negatively, "Hmm-mm." She was startled to realize she finally knew, now, what had been in that box she'd put in her equipment drawer unopened.

Quinn squeezed her hand again. "Now remember, no sounds. I want you to be as quiet as a tiny ant crawling across a pillow." Susan almost laughed at the image, but managed to stay silent.

Beside Susan, Quinn shifted slightly. Seconds later, Susan spasmed as she felt a completely unexpected touch between her legs. It took all of the concentration she had devoted to the task of remaining quiet to hold in a squeak of surprise.

Quinn said, very quietly. "Good girl." And the smile returned. "And a very aroused one. There's not enough moonlight to see if you're flushed, but your nipples look hard as little rocks. You've been breathing faster. Your labia are all puffy down here and..." she passed her fingers along Susan's sex, "...wow that is gooshy. I think you probably started getting wet as soon as you woke up."

Susan told herself, in astonishment, that Quinn had never taken anything like this liberty in touching her so intimately. And she recalled, then, that this was one of the things she had given permission for, when she had that first long phone talk with Quinn.

If Susan had been breathing faster before, it was nothing in compared with the rapid inhaling and exhaling she began doing when Quinn began focusing near the top part of Susan's sex, brushing her fingertips across the clitoris.

As it had at previous times when Susan had felt it necessary to stay quiet during stimulation, the effort to hold in any sounds in response to her sensations sent Susan's arousal spiraling upward. Her breathing grew more erratic. She was fully conscious of the fact she could do nothing to stop Quinn from doing what she was doing.

Susan held her breath against the making of noise, and worked in a few quick breaths as soon as it felt safe, only to hold it again as the tingling took over between her legs and began spreading outward. She clamped down hard in her throat as she spilled over into orgasm, her entire body in spasm, with part of her mind observing that her movements were confirming that she was indeed firmly bound, just before she lost the ability to form any rational thought.

As the climax slowly washed away, and she could start thinking once more, Susan evaluated the experience and judged it to have been one of those 80% orgasms -- bigger than any in her pre-bondage life, but not quite at the top level of which she knew she was capable.

She wondered what had been missing. She was outside, naked, in a place where it was possible to be seen, talked about and forever shamed. That should have had its usual effect.

The problem, though, was that her feeling of fear was muted, somewhat, by Quinn's reassuring presence. Quinn, in fact, from the moment Susan had become aware of her being here, had done everything she could to make Susan feel safe. Susan hated the idea of telling Quinn that her participation, in the way she was doing it, was causing a problem. She would have to, though. Susan felt she had lost, for the time being, something she couldn't bear to give up.

Those were Susan's last thoughts as her post-orgasm sleep began clouding her thoughts. She drifted off just as she felt Quinn lying down beside her.

Susan awoke, feeling Quinn pressed against her right side, Quinn's arm draped across her stomach.

As she stirred slightly, she heard Quinn ask softly, "You awake, Susan?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You were out for about two hours. Not wearing my watch right now, but I can tell by how far the moon moved. I'm going to do something a little different now. I'll be setting your hands and feet free. You'll be able to move, but don't. Just stay motionless, as if you were still tied. And still no sounds. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

Completely at sea as to where this could be going, Susan gave Quinn's hand a quick squeeze.

Beside her, Susan sensed Quinn rising and shifting. Quinn did something near the hand she was holding, Susan's right, presumably untying the rope securing it to the presumed stake, and leaned across Susan's body to do the same with her left. She left both leather cuffs in place, but no longer held by anything, other than Susan's right hand still locked in its unbreakable grasp of Quinn's left.

It took longer to free Susan's feet -- Quinn, Susan knew, would find it awkward to reach them while not moving her left hand. But she managed at last, and finished up by releasing Susan's gag harness from whatever was holding it to the ground.

"Undoing the gag and blindfold now. But keep your eyes closed after. Don't open them for any reason. And still no sounds. You don't need a gag when you know you won't make any sounds. Squeeze if you understand."

Susan responded by tightening her grip on Quinn's hand again. She felt Quinn lift her head from behind to unbuckle the strap holding the blindfold, and kept her eyes tightly shut as it fell away. The elaborate gag took longer, with Quinn doing it one-handed, but at last Susan was able to open her mouth, pulling her teeth away from the soft grooves of the bit, and felt Quinn pull the entire apparatus away.

Quinn whispered, "Good girl. I want you to see you really are free. Your restraint is all going to be voluntary, for now. Bend your left arm at the elbow so your forearm points straight up in the air, then let it back down exactly where it was."

Susan complied. She was willing to trust Quinn telling her she had the freedom to move, but understood that Quinn wanted it based on certainty, not just trust.

"Now lift your right leg. Keep it straight, bend from the hips. Straight up in the air. Then set it down where it was." She waited as Susan did so, then said, "Now your left." Susan repeated the movement with her left leg.

"And here's your right hand." Quinn lifted it up several inches, and brought it gently back down.

"Now, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to use my hand again. No matter how nice it feels, no matter how much you want to react to it, you're not to move, not to open your eyes, not to make a sound. Do you understand?"

Susan almost said "Yes," but caught herself, and squeezed Quinn's hand once more.

Barely audible, Quinn said again, "Good girl. Now, because you could move if you wanted to, I'm going to make you not want to. Remember the paddle?"

Susan shuddered, her heart rate suddenly increasing once more. She squeezed Quinn's hand again.

"I brought the riding crop this time. If you move, open your eyes, or make a sound, there will be some punishment for that. I'll tie you up again, and then give you fifteen strokes. Five on each breast, and five right here." Quinn softly patted Susan's labia.

Susan tensed instantly, and began breathing faster. Quinn was silent, and Susan realized she was waiting for a response. She squeezed Quinn's hand again. Much tightly than she had before, but Susan knew Quinn would still take it to be a Yes.

Susan knew what was coming.

"Now, just so you know what it feels like, here comes a sample. Right breast, in five, four, three, two, one..."

Susan held her breath and made her whole body go rigid. And still she wasn't quite prepared for the stinging slap of the crop against her breast. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to keep her eyes closed, and she let her breath in and out in tiny sips as the pain settled in, took over her consciousness for the moment, and slowly faded.

I do not want fifteen of those, she told herself firmly. Especially not the ones between my legs...

Softly, Quinn asked, "You still with me, Susan?"

Her breathing returning to some version of normal, still feeling the stinging in her breast, Susan squeezed Quinn's hand once more.

"Okay," Quinn said, barely audible above the breeze sighing in the trees, "Here we go."

Once again, Susan felt fingers on her that knew exactly where to go. They stroked her clit, traced circles around it, gave attention to the rest of her opening but always came back to the right place.

Susan was aware that she had a choice, this time. She could stop Quinn if she wanted to, but couldn't imagine why she would want to. Quinn knew every part of her body already -- largely because of her experience during times when Suzy was in charge of it -- but Susan felt that part of it was instinctive, somehow knowing what Susan wanted without Susan ever having told her. Quinn could read her responses exactly, knew exactly how long to stay in one place, to linger or to move on and come back later.

Susan kept her body frozen, her eyes squeezed shut tight, her throat locked down to prevent any sound from escaping. She knew the penalty for violating the rules. Memory of that slap of the riding crop against her breast were vivid. She couldn't, mustn't move, must not make any noise of any kind.

She couldn't do anything about her breathing. Sometimes it was locked up tight as if she would never draw breath again; sometimes it escaped her in a rush, to be replaced frantically and lost again as soon as it had entered.

She felt the orgasm coming from a long distance away. It flew towards her, turned aside playfully, then came rushing on again -- and crashed against her, flooding her, pounding her, vibrating her from the inside so that her body itself must be humming a note beyond the range any ear could hear.

It seemed it would never let her go, but slowly, like a balloon with a hole so tiny only a few molecules of air could escape at a time, it leaked away and let her rest at last.

If her earlier orgasm had been 80%, this one, she judged, had to be 120%. She had never felt anything like it before. She had not thought human experience could encompass so vast an explosion.

And she hadn't moved. She knew she hadn't. Hadn't issued a peep of sound. No thrashing with a riding crop would be forthcoming.

Quinn gave her hand a squeeze, then lifted it and kissed the back of her wrist, above the leather band where she could feel it. Susan heard Quinn say, in a voice that seemed, for the first time since Susan had known her, awestruck, "Very few people could do what you just did, Susan. I've never met one. But there's a reason. Rest, now."

Susan barely had time to begin wondering what the reason was, before the question became too remote for her sleepy mind to process. Everything went away.

Susan awoke again, feeling she had slept longer this time. The first thing she was aware of was Quinn backing away from her and sitting upright, judging from the sounds of motion.

More light seemed to filter through her eyelids than before. Surprised, she realized it must be daylight. She remembered not to move, not to open her eyes. She could feel Quinn's hand still clasped in hers. She gave it a squeeze.

She heard Quinn's voice say warmly, and a little sleepily, "Morning, Susan. You can open your eyes if you want. And sit up. The restrictions are off."

Susan opened her eyes and considered what was in her field of view, moving her eyes but not yet her head. Quinn was sitting cross-legged beside her, resting her chin on her free hand, smiling at Susan. She was naked -- it occurred to Susan she had never seen Quinn wearing clothes, other than in the memories Suzy had given her. Quinn seemed perfectly comfortable that way, unlike Susan ever would be.

Cautiously, Susan sat up. She could see that it was, in fact, duct tape that was keeping her hand joined with Quinn's, with their fingers intertwined. Above the tape, the leather cuffs they both wore were joined by padlocks. Small padlocks secured the buckles as well. It seemed odd that, with all her other bondage equipment removed and discarded, scattered on the ground around her, there was still this one connection between them. The ends of the tape were tucked in under the connected leather cuffs. Without a knife, and a key to unlock the padlocks, there was no way to remove the tape.

Quinn saw where Susan was looking. "We can't get out of this for now. I don't know where the keys are. Or our clothes. Or your apartment key. Suzy hid all that stuff out of my sight somewhere. She'll say where to find it all when it's time."

Susan nodded. She understood: they wouldn't be able to leave this place until whatever they were to do here was done. Well, not quite true. They could wander at will around the woods. For the moment, there was nothing to be gained by leaving the spot where they sat.

Susan wondered just what it was they were supposed to be doing, given that she wasn't bound to anything but Quinn. This wasn't anything like Susan's previous bondage weekends. In a voice slightly raspy from sleep and still not quite certain of its welcome, she asked, "Could... Could we go get some water? I'm really thirsty."

Quinn had time to say, "There's bottled water behind you, and that trail mix you like..." before Suzy let loose a memory that disrupted Susan's concentration on what Quinn was saying.

The memory was of a handwritten note, Suzy's one way of communicating with Susan directly. The note read, in Susan's handwriting, "Susan: You and Quinn aren't allowed to feed yourselves. You feed her, and hold the water bottle for her to drink from. She will do the same for you. I won't tell you where the keys and clothes are unless you do it that way."

Susan blinked, and looked at Quinn. Quinn smiled back at her. "Saw the note, did you? Those are the rules for today."

Susan stared at Quinn for a moment longer, then nodded. Suzy and Quinn had obviously worked all this out, and there had to be some reason. Susan had no clue what it might be, but she trusted that there was one. She twisted around, and saw the mound of trail mix and an unbound six-pack of water bottles, just as Quinn reached for one of the bottles. Quinn held it up towards Susan. "I'll hold it. I need you to twist the cap off. I can't do it one-handed."

Susan smiled. She saw now what the idea must be. Part of it, at least. With the handholding, and each helping the other meet her needs, it had to be that Suzy wanted Susan to feel closer to Quinn in a very personal way. As a friend, not just someone who had helped Susan to her most powerful orgasm yet, for which Susan was very grateful already. She twisted the cap off, and Quinn held the bottle up for her to drink from.

After drinking, Susan asked Quinn if she wanted some. Quinn nodded, and Susan took the bottle and held it for her. Afterwards they took turns grabbing handfuls of trail mix, each holding it for the other to eat out of her hand.

Susan found that, if she was right about what Suzy was going for here, it was definitely working. To be feeding Quinn and be fed by her, while holding her hand, made Susan feel closer to Quinn than she had ever thought she could be to another person. The intimacy somehow went beyond even Quinn touching Susan's most private of all places last night and rubbing her to two orgasms.

Quinn smiled at her. "Let's go for a walk. Nowhere in particular, and definitely not any closer to people, I promise. It's just that it's a really pretty day. Let's see more of it."

Susan nodded. Quinn was on her feet first and helped Susan up while brushing dust and grass from her own butt. Susan did the same, and looked around. In the distance, she could barely hear traffic on what was probably Stockhouse Boulevard. She pointed the opposite way. "There?"

Quinn gave her hand a slight squeeze. "That looks fine."

They walked slowly in that direction for a few minutes. Susan reflected on how friendly it felt to walk with Quinn holding her hand, as if Quinn were the boyfriend Susan had never had... girlfriend... neither word felt quite right, but either one would serve to describe the feeling, Susan decided. In Susan's world it wasn't possible for her to forget she was naked, but at least she was conscious of being with someone who didn't care. When she accidentally brushed the length of her arm against Quinn's, she let it remain touching rather than flinch away.

Quinn stopped suddenly and pointed. Susan realized Quinn was calling her attention to a bird in the upper branches of a tree that had decided at that time to give an elaborate concert. They listened for a few minutes until the bird, at some unobserved cue, suddenly flew away.

Quinn looked at her. "Back?"

Susan almost didn't want to stop, but thought that perhaps Quinn had something planned back at the original site, and Susan felt eager to know what it was. "Okay." They walked back.

Quinn sat next to the supplies. "I got a little thirsty again. You?"

Susan, after sitting herself beside Quinn, nodded and reached for a bottle. She asked if Quinn wanted some more of the trail mix.

Minutes later, Quinn wiped her mouth with her free hand, licked the remaining salt away, and said, "I want you to know more about me. As much as Suzy knows. There are people who know parts of this, but I've never told all of it to anyone but Suzy. And now you."

Susan's jaw dropped momentarily. Whatever she'd been expecting, this wasn't it. She closed her mouth immediately, thinking her reaction rude. "Sorry. I'm... Go ahead."

Quinn nodded. "It was hard to decide where to start, to make a whole story out of this. I'll start with my mother, because she died when I was three. That probably has a lot to do with... everything. I don't really remember her. But all the other kids had moms. So I always thought something had been taken away from me.

"My dad raised me. And he was great." Quinn smiled to herself, and teared up slightly, wiping the moisture away with her forearm. "It wasn't really his kind of thing, at first, but he did the best he could. He eventually got to where he knew what he was doing." She frowned slightly. "He never got married again, or had a girlfriend. Maybe he just didn't feel the need. I hope it wasn't because of me -- like he didn't want anyone coming between us. I don't think it was, I think it was just him. But I worry about it sometimes.

"He had the auto body shop, so he taught me all the things a dad always teaches a daughter -- car repair, engines, tools, that kind of thing." Quinn gave Susan an ironic smile, and Susan laughed.

"He gave me the name Quinn, when I was about 15, kind of accidentally." Her smile turned rueful now. "My real name is Paula. I always hated it. I don't tell anybody that voluntarily now if I can help it."

Susan blinked. She understood what a privilege it was to be told what she was hearing.

"My dad loves music, especially pop songs from the 1960s. I think he got that from his parents. He has mix CDs he plays on the auto shop's sound system through the day. One day back then, when I was 15, just after the shop closed for the day, and the guys had gone home, and dad hadn't turned the music off yet, he had some big boxes of parts he decided he wanted to move. Right then, the CD was playing 'The Mighty Quinn.' You know it?" Quinn started singing, "'Come all without, come all within, you'll not see nothing like the Mighty Quinn.'" She looked at Susan. Susan shook her head. Quinn grinned. "Dylan. Recorded by Manfred Mann in 1968. I know all that now. Anyway, dad found the boxes were heavier than he thought. He was always kidding me about how I could lift heavier stuff than most of the guys. I was across the shop putting away some tools I'd been using, and he called out, "Hey, a little help over here, Mighty Quinn." We both thought that was funny. He called me Mighty Quinn a few times after that, then made it shorter, just Quinn. I liked it, so when school started up again in the fall, I told all my teachers I go by Quinn. All the kids looked at me like What The Fuck, but I started telling my friends I wanted to be Quinn. The ones who wanted to stay friends used it."

Quinn paused to reorganize her thoughts, then went on. "I love my dad, and never wished I was raised by anyone else. But I guess there was always an empty feeling, not having a mom. And it made me act out. I got in fights. I was kind of known for it. Got a few suspensions. My dad never liked that, and tried to get me to stop. Got me in kind of an anger management thing for kids, had me talk to people. Everybody had a simple answer for why I was doing it, but nothing about what to do about it.

"Finally in high school, I got in this big fight. Two weeks suspension. The school psychologist told my dad, and she was the first person to see this, that it wasn't so much about anger, though that was part of it. She thought that I liked to hurt people." Quinn passed her hand in front of her face, looking a little ashamed. "She was right. I did. I don't know why nobody caught that before, and I wasn't exactly conscious of it myself. I mean, I'm me. I've never been anyone else. I didn't know my internal feelings were different from other people. But she was right. I would get this... satisfaction from causing pain.

"I got angry then, as if I needed more of that. I was conscious of the feeling now, of wanting to hurt people, and that feeling was me, deep inside. It's how I was -- how I am. I didn't want anyone trying to change me, taking what I am away from me. I'd had enough of that already, about being gay. Some people wanted to change that about me.

"After we got home, I expected to get a big speech from my dad about how bad it was to want to hurt people. But instead..." Quinn looked at Susan. "You know how there's moments when your whole life suddenly changes? This was that. My dad said, 'Quinn, there are people who want pain. Focus on them. Do them some good. Help them find what they want.'"

Quinn closed her eyes, remembering the moment. "I tried to say something back, but I couldn't talk. I was just so floored by the way it made everything come together. I always wanted to be a good person, I really did. And here dad was saying that I could be me, the innermost me, and be a good person at the same time.

"I asked Dad where to find these people, and he couldn't help on that. But I'd heard the terms sadism and masochism, so I started looking up stuff on that online, and that led me to domination and submission. Online info led me to some books, so I read those too. There was so much stuff out there! I gradually got to know which sources were reliable, which ones had authority, which ones made sense. And I studied those, all of those.

"I got in contact with some dommes, and except in a couple of cases, they let me watch sessions, usually through peepholes. The good ones, the really committed ones, did pre-interviews, like I did with you. They told me a lot of dos and don'ts. A few of them let me assist in sessions -- two of them even let me take charge in a few sessions -- so I could learn about using the tools, so I could get a feel for them, and learn to match up the amount of strength I was using with what the clients expected or wanted -- that's important. Paddles and crops, like I've used on you, and floggers, whips, all the other stuff. And they let me know afterward if I was doing anything wrong. They were great teachers. I did that for two years. I learned a lot.

"I explained to my dad what I wanted to do, and he let me start turning the basement in our house into a dungeon -- I didn't call it that, with him, but that's what it is. I even dug up the dirt to make a private entrance outside, poured the concrete for the steps down into it, with the entrance hidden by an arbor, so it's discreet. I ordered some of the equipment for it, and built some of it myself. It all took two more years. And I kept reading.

"All that time, four years altogether, it was kind of like going to S&M college. And all that time, this thing I have, of liking to cause pain -- I kept that in check. I could do that, because I knew someday I would finally have an outlet for it, one that helped other people, like my dad said. It helps them, because they have something inside them too, that's the exact complement of what I have, and it needs an outlet like I do.

"That's why I charge so little money for it. I want it to be for anyone who needs it, not just rich people who can always get whatever they want. Like I told you once, I even did it for free, at the very start, but that wasn't good. The clients didn't take me seriously, and they didn't take themselves seriously either -- sometimes it was just a lark, something they could do to tell their friends how adventurous they are." Quinn said this with a curl of her lip. "But as long as they've spent some money on me, they are looking for an experience that is worth something to them.

"So I finally started advertising four years ago, on websites where people might go to find somebody like me. I schedule all sessions on nights and weekends, because I still work for my dad and I will as long as he wants me to. I've had a lot of clients. Some meet me at the dungeon, and as you know, sometimes I go to their homes. Some of them have worked out really well, and some found it wasn't right for them. Or I wasn't right for them. But the ones that didn't work, it wasn't because of me not trying."

Quinn, still holding Susan's right hand within the grip of the duct tape, turned to face her directly, took her other hand as well, and looked intently into Susan's eyes. She began speaking again, softly now, slowly, distinctly.

"Susan, there's a reason I told you all this. I want you to see I'm a good person, I try to look out for people's needs, and I'm really determined and work very hard to do what needs to be done.

"Susan, I love Suzy. I would do anything for her. She is the one woman I will never hurt. She is the one woman I will never want to hurt."

Susan felt a sudden burst of surprised excitement that didn't seem to be her own. She knew it must be Suzy, coming closer to direct mental contact with Susan than she ever had. Susan barely gave the event a thought. All her attention was on Quinn.

Quinn's voice slowed still more. The rhythm of her voice was almost hypnotic. "Susan..." It struck Susan that there was significance in Quinn using her name so often. In Susan's body, there was Susan and there was Suzy, and Quinn wanted it to be clear whom she was addressing. "...You don't have to stand guard over Suzy anymore."

Susan's eyes went wide. Stand guard? she thought in wonder. What the hell is Quinn talking about?

"I promise, I will never let anything or anyone hurt her. You know me now, and you know I can keep her safe, and let you rest. And as long as she lives, she promises that you will never die. She won't let you. She and I will make sure you have the wonderful life you deserve, after everything you've done. Remember last night. I can do that for you. We both promise that. Feel that promise inside you."

Susan suddenly felt a flood of warmth from inside. She knew it was coming from Suzy.

Quinn went on speaking. "Let us take care of you, the way you took care of her all these years."

Susan couldn't look away from Quinn's eyes. They were so focused on her that they almost seemed to shine with their own light.

"Susan: Let me join you in that wardrobe. Let Suzy come over to me. You don't have to protect her anymore."

Susan felt a shock flash through her of lightning intensity. Wardrobe! She had no idea what Quinn could possibly mean. But it meant something!