The Making Of Autumn Hale

The Faculty Advisor's outer door clicked shut behind Autumn as she entered the office. She held her black and orange backpack by the left shoulder strap. It contained all the text books she would need for the day's classes.

The email had directed her to see the Faculty Advisor first thing this morning. She expected that the Advisor knew her schedule and also knew this meeting would make Autumn late for the first class.

It was sort of annoying. But one thing that Autumn had learned in her three plus years in college; the faculty, regardless of tenure or standing could make or break her chances for graduating.

At least this Faculty Advisor was better than the previous one she'd been reporting to. This one actually seemed almost to have her best interests at heart. The Advisor's name was Rebecca Stone.

Though the Advisor was busy looking at her PC monitor and typing on the keyboard when Autumn entered, she looked over when Autumn cleared her throat, "Good morning Autumn!" It was a cheery sort of greeting that set Autumn back a bit.

Autumn had thought the sudden summons was going to be a herald of some unexpected unpleasantness. Tentatively Autumn replied, "Ms Stone," dipping her head in greeting in an effort to set a conciliatory tone in case the sunny greeting had been a disarming sort of initial contact prior to delivering a devastating setback.

Rebecca Stone smiled at her. The hackles rose on Autumn's neck. She couldn't be certain whether or not there was a predatory gleam in the woman's eye.

Ms. Stone said, "I've got great news for you!"

"This is indeed worrying," thought Autumn. Normally faculty critters were the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To be avoided if lucky, to be survived after an extended rehabilitation period at worst.

The advisor gestured to one of the two chairs positioned before her desk, indicating that Autumn should be seated. Timidly, Autumn approached and perched nervously upon the chair that seemed most angled to allow easy escape.

All the while, she expected that snakes might spring forth medusa-like from the Advisor's head and then where would she be. Petrified, and unable to move, that's where she would be. The janitor would come by tomorrow morning to remove the stone girl from the office and tip her into the dumpster. Backpack and all.

Autumn had spent most of her academic career trying to fly under the radar of the faculty overlords. Doing enough to satisfy and maybe impress her instructors enough for a good grade. She had never desired this kind of attention.

Ms. Stone smiled again. Autumn gulped. She steeled herself for the flying fickle finger of fate to deliver the final demise of her hopes and dreams.

"You've been chosen."

"Excuse me?"

"BBB Galleries requested the portfolios of your entire class and they decided to award you with an internship."

One of the tenuous thoughts that flitted through Autumn's mind was wondering who had enough clout to request and receive the portfolios of an entire class.

Ms. Stone continued, "Yes, I'm aware that you fulfilled your obligatory intern requirement last year. And before you object that you shouldn't be required to fulfill another internship requirement on top of a full class load the last two semesters before you graduate..."

Autumn eyed Ms. Stone with wide eyed shock as the Advisor shot down every last protest she might have thought of before she had even thought of a reason to protest.

The interchange inadvertently caused Autumn's mouth to open and close much as her poor goldfish had when it launched itself tumultuously from within the small bowl aquarium of it's initial and short-lived tenancy in Autumn's childhood bedroom.

"Uhm..."

"The dean has waived all of your necessary graduation requirements for your last two semesters in lieu of your completion of this assignment. You shall instead receive the same grade for all of those classes commensurate with the grade you earn during your internship," the Advisor finished.

"Huh? What?"

Autumn was sure of it now. The universe had contrived to dash her hopes to bits much as it had contrived to lure Ulysses' sailors to their doom upon the rocks by the sirens. She felt the jaws of doom closing on her world.

In the blink of an eye, the Advisor had produced a sketched note with address and name of her new fate, the same blink wherein Autumn had tried to realign her expectations with the new reality which was suddenly thrust into her lap.

Stunned, Autumn picked up the note from her Advisor's desk. She swallowed, trying to clear the parched feeling from her throat. It had been presented to her as a done

deal. The Dean had decreed a course of action. The Advisor had relayed the decree as instructed.

Autumn's choices were stark. Either she do as expected, or... well, the only options left open were to find another program, at this late date, or... to forgo graduation altogether.

BBB Galleries. The name seemed familiar to Autumn, but at the moment, she couldn't recall the significance.

After the shock she'd just received, it was surprising that Autumn even remembered she'd heard of BBB Galleries before.

Shakily Autumn rose from her perch while gawping at the written instructions. She was supposed to meet a Hayley Doyle at half past nine. That was not only 15 minutes away, but halfway through her scheduled class.

The address of the appointment was not very far away either. A mere handful of blocks away, easily within walking distance if she didn't dawdle. Not on campus, of course, but close.

"Run along Autumn. I've got another student coming in the next couple of minutes. Good Luck!"

Prodded by the Advisor's dismissal, Autumn exited the office. She looked at the note again. Then steeled herself to be pragmatic about the situation.

The prospects of transferring mid-term to another college and expecting to pick up where she was now in another program within a few months of graduation seemed like too steep a curve to negotiate.

Her mind helpfully supplied images of a Formula 1 car hurtling over the edge of a curve, airborne just long enough to catch the eyes of the erstwhile pedestrians at the end of it's fiery arc of collision, desperately trying to dodge the soon-to-be demise of their fandom.

Okay, so Autumn's choices were stark, but one path, arguably the path of least resistance, although itself a stark choice, comply or die, actually offered Autumn the option of being able to excuse her behavior with the cover of "they forced me to do it."

Autumn gave it a moment's thought to decide if this choice was actually morally acceptable. Being a sort of path-of-least-resistance kind of gal, she agreed that she would be amenable to being forced to comply provided it didn't precipitate grievous bodily harm. In this case, that didn't seem to be the most likely outcome.

She put her dithering aside and made her way as quickly as possible to the address provided on the note.

Exiting the Fine Arts faculty building into the daylight warmed her from the chill of the air conditioning in the office halls. It was kind of warm for an early October morning, but the air promised a change was imminent.

Autumn set a brisk pace, her appointment was scheduled for just a short time in the future and the gallery where that appointment was to occur was within walking distance. Unfortunately, it hadn't occurred to her to ride her bike to the advisor's office. Otherwise, it would have been quicker to make it to the appointment.

Autumn reached the gallery with less than a minute to spare. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reached for the door, but then halted before making contact with the handle. Vibrations emanated from the gallery door.

A sense of foreboding gripped her. Every fiber of her being told her not to touch it, but the college and by extension her career, compelled otherwise.

With bated breath, Autumn reached out, fingers tentatively grasping the handle. With contact, understanding pervaded her senses. She snatched her hand back away from the cool contact of the metal, "Oh Hell! This place is haunted!"

Autumn almost let loose with an exclamation. If she had, it would have been something along the lines of "Fuck me!"

Ordinarily, she might have made such an exclamation, but in this case, she wasn't too keen on being fucked by a ghost, so she bit back her exclamation and it came forth sounding more like, "Damn!"

No. In no way was Autumn in any way amenable to a sexual encounter with a ghost! Every moral fiber of her being urged Autumn to run. Run as far away as she could from this building.

And yet... every creative fiber of her urged the opposite. Her creative nature begged her to enter. That side of her cajoled, "Think of the opportunities to excel in art! Think of all you could learn!"

Autumn's moral side and creative side warred within her. It was a short battle. Her creative side was the dominant side after all, and it prevailed as it had in the past.

Autumn gripped the handle of the entryway thinking, "What in the hells have I done to deserve this kind of kind of messed up weirdness?"

She cringed as the sensation of coldness crept up her spine and culminated in the fingertips of her hand wrapped around the gallery's door handle, quite the opposite of the weather currently prevalent on her journey to the appointment.

She shivered, but couldn't quite make herself let go of the hardware that beckoned her onward. Autumn pursed her lips and steeled her spine.

As per doorways of past experience, this was no different that others. The handle turned. The mechanism, though apparently aged, moved deftly in lubricated manner and inner devices unlatched the entrance allowing passage.

Muscle memory proved inexorable, so before Autumn knew any better, her weight shifted to move her swiftly through the portal without further internal friction.

Well, that was sort of to be expected, considering that her artistic nature had bested her nature of self preservation.

Once through, Autumn exhaled the breath she hadn't really realized she'd been holding. Her diaphragm deflated with the release of air it had been restrained from letting go mere moments ago.

The door snicked shut behind her. Preternaturally loud in the open space that loomed before her. The rhythmic staccato clacking of high-heeled shoes, reminiscent of what Autumn had been hearing the past few minutes outside, approached her from the interior.

The diffuse lighting of the place obscured any visual acuity at present. Autumn gulped, awaiting her eyesight to adjust. Slowly, a figure coalesced as it perambulated through the intervening space.

A figure, no, a woman, crisp, professional, clean, proficient, smiling, unexpectedly wholesome and pleasant advanced and proffered a hand forward as if welcoming a reciprocal hand-shake.

Despite any trepidation Autumn may have experienced prior to entering, her hand extended in answer to the proffered grip, seemingly of it's own volition.

"Hello Autumn. I've been expecting you. My name is Hayley."

"Hayley? Hayley Doyle?" queried Autumn.

"That's me," Hayley beamed, "Don't be so shy Autumn. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"I'm just a student," Autumn protested.

"No!" Hayley exclaimed, "I've seen your work. You aren't just a student."

Hayley took Autumn's hand, firmly, invitingly, then looked piercingly into Autumn's light brown eyes, "You, are an artist. Don't let anybody tell you differently, not even yourself. The perfect artist, if I may be so bold. Come."

"What? Where?"

Hayley turned on the balls of her high-heeled feet and strode confidently further into the gallery. Overwhelmed by Hayley's presence and goaded by the Faculty Advisor's hint that her academic career hinged upon the success of this internship, Autumn spurred her feet to follow.

Hayley's figure drifted farther and farther while Autumn found herself distracted by the photograph and print and painted pictures that flanked the corridor through the gallery.

They all were a study in anatomy, detailed, not always flattering, but intricate and in some instances focused on exacting portions of anatomy. Without a doubt, to the last one, they all titillated; whether the focus was on an erogenous zone or highly detailed follicle study in erogenous adjacent zones.

Autumn neared the junction, but had lost track of Hayley and which direction she had taken from this location. She had been cognizant of footsteps attenuating through the hall as while traversing the distance. They didn't all sound as if they came from her. It was rather spooky.

Looking either way, Autumn was unsure which way to turn. From the outside of the gallery it didn't seem too large a building, but now it appeared rather daunting in scope.

Clearing her throat, it sounded preternaturally loud. She was on the verge of giving up when Hayley's visage appeared from behind a portion of anatomy that was rather off-putting.

Despite being rather disconcerting to follow after a dis-embodied head poking out from a portion of anatomy that Autumn had really rather not think about, she made haste to get caught up. The alternative was to listen once again to her Faculty Advisor gloatingly describe how her foibles were secondary to the prescribed goal of graduation.

She hadn't actually witnessed her Advisor talking in such a manner, but Autumn's imagination was adequate enough to supply the timber and tone.

Autumn forged on, and of course the displays only became more explicit and erotic in nature until she came to stand before one last display, dizzy, short of breathe, tingling all over in the most private of her anatomical bits.

The display was a holographic piece entitled "Stretched For Contact" that depicted a nude model blind-folded, tied up by her arms stretched wide and her feet dangling inches from the floor.

As Autumn watched the hologram in motion, figure after figure stepped up behind the model kneading her breasts as well as stroking her privates with the other hand causing much excitement to the subject.

While standing entranced and enveloped with empathy for the model displayed in the hologram, Autumn began to experience the same sensations on herself. Hands kneading her breasts, other hands grasping her sex, stroking intense sensations from her body almost exactly as was occurring in the display.

She glanced down, and though she saw no hands, she felt them regardless as if they were on her body and her garment was depressed as if those hands were manipulating her through her clothing.

Between gasping from the stroking sensations bringer her closer and closer to orgasm, she fought to regain her composure in an attempt to break free from the thrall.

The trouble was that while the sensation was the scariest she had ever endured, her body begged for that ultimate release.

"Captivating, isn't it?"

Hayley's words, spoken mere inches from Autumn's ears caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. The ghostly hands evaporated with the embarrassment that flooded her torso.

"I helped the gallery owner create and develop that exhibit. I didn't get credit for it. You'll get used to that if you agree to be my intern."

"What? Your intern?"

"Yeah," Hayley added nonchalantly, "I want to teach you to take my place in the studio. I'm looking for my replacement in other words. I need you Autumn."

Autumn shook her head as the ramifications of Hayley's revelation washed over her. "Wait. I don't understand."

Hayley turned back to look at Autumn then. "They didn't mention this at the college then. I was sure I told them why I was looking for an intern, but no matter. Yes. I want to open my own studio, and the patron has promised me backing as long as I hire a suitable replacement."

Autumn's jaw dropped at the sudden informational deposit. An incredulous "Me? You want me to be your replacement?" escaped her lips after she hastily snapped her mouth shut.

"'Duh... Yes, you! Do you think I would swing the patron's weight around for a mere prospect? You're the only capable artist in your class love. Don't worry, you'll grow into it. I have faith in you."

Autumn didn't realize how much those words would affect her. That solitary utterance of "I have faith in you," did more to bolster her confidence than anything her parents had ever said.

Hayley took Autumn's shoulders and steered her away from the exhibit she's been enthralled with toward the right. "One foot in front of the other girl. Let's go meet the gallery owner. Soon enough you'll be working for her and I plan on leaving her in your capable hands."

Once she had Autumn in motion, she walked alongside Autumn as she led her through the rest of the labyrinthian pathway to the enclosed studio deep within the gallery.

The studio door was open as the two turned the corner and Autumn followed Hayley through and then stepped to the side a bit in mimicry of Hayley before turning her attention to the center raised platform inhabited by a rather tall woman wearing a painter's smock over a faded yellow linen dress. Both were spattered with splotches of paint.

Hayley nodded in the direction of the woman standing in the center of the room adding, "That's the gallery owner and resident artistic talent, Zsa Zsa Azzanti, the boss. She's an artistic genius, but atrocious with names. Half the time she remembers my name, the other half she calls me Bailey. You'll get used to it."

Autumn glanced back at the artist who held aloft in her right hand what appeared to be a light meter. Zsa Zsa moved over slightly and revealed a young man sitting on a stool wearing a robe.

Holding the meter near his face, she spoke with a thick eastern European accent, "Very good darling. Now stand and put robe on stool. Turn and bend over stool, bend and display rear."

As Autumn watched, stunned, the young man did as the artist bid. It wasn't exactly the first time a model had disrobed in front of her, there had been several classes where a male artist posed nude. For her, it was the first time she'd seen a model with such ample equipment hanging between his legs.

"Very nice darling," Zsa Zsa commented before grabbing said equipment and stroking it to erection before Autumn's wide and bulging eyes.

Autumn grew weak in the knees imagining that tool poised and ready to enter her. She tore her eyes away from that humongous erection and happened to glance upward in time to see his gaze lock with hers. She gasped.

Zsa Zsa's head turned their direction then. "Ah, just in time Bailey darling, take the girl to dressing room, have her strip and bring her back."

"No, No, Zsa Zsa, this is not a model, this is my intern. I'm just showing her the ropes."

A look of disappointment quickly flashed across Zsa Zsa's features. "Fine darling," she added, "whatever, if you tire of her, send her. I use her for exhibit. She's got marvelous features."

Then the artist's attention returned to the male model. "Where were we darling? Ah yes. Nice boy. Hold still."

Autumn gawped as the artist reached between the model's legs and grabbed his member again and stroked it back to erection. This time, it was his turn to gasp. Zsa Zsa tugged gently, rhythmically, urging the model closer and closer to climax.

Once again, Autumn's attention was diverted by Hayley away from a vision that enthralled her. She heard Hayley's commanding voice, "One step at a time love, one step at a time. We're headed back to the curator's, my office. Let's go."

Autumn watched over her shoulder as Hayley directed her onward. She spied the male model's back undulating as he writhed while the artist milked his shaft onto the floor.

For a moment, Autumn wandered if maybe this internship was the right prospect for herself. It was beginning to seem rife with sexual overtones.

The further away from the studio they stepped the clearer Autumn was able to think rationally. She knew she'd need to be careful to not get wrapped up in the overtly sexual aspects of the job.

"Does she do that kind of thing often?"

"What's that dear?"

"You know, digitally stimulate or overstimulate the models?"

"Please don't let Zsa Zsa's eccentricities put you off of working for me Autumn. She is quite serious about her art. I wouldn't say that she does it often, but if the model is not relaxed enough, or already stimulated and that's not what she's looking for in whatever she's working on at the moment, she will take the matter in hand and do what she needs to do to get the model ready."

"Gosh!"

"Don't get me wrong. You may not be the type of artist that throws herself into her work, body and soul the way Zsa Zsa does. None of us knows what we will be like when we get to her level. Only time will tell."

"Has she ever gotten handsy with you? Isn't that sexual harassment?"

Halyley pulled up short and turned to face Autumn.

"I won't lie to you dear. Yes. She has. And it wasn't exactly unwanted at the time. If she does so with you, the choice will be yours. Either accept it or don't. Just be polite and firm with her and tell her you don't want that kind of contact. I'm sure she'll respect your wishes."

"Really?" Autumn gulped at the revelation.

"Seriously. I've turned her down on at least two occasions, and I'm still the curator."

Autumn wasn't into girls. She wasn't opposed to it, but she didn't think she would be interested just the same.

Hayley took her rumination as evidence no more questions would be forthcoming and turned leading Autumn further through the exhibits.

The area of the gallery to which Hayley led Autumn was roughly a third of the way from the front entry toward the studio where she had met the owner of Bare Body Bravery Galleries. The two of them approached a polished wooden door. A plaque on the door read -- "Curator Hayley Doyle" -- in bold lettering.

"Welcome to my domain Autumn," Hayley intoned. "This will be your home away from home from now on I hope," before heading through the doorway.

Through the door, Autumn discerned a well lit interior office structure. Within, as they entered, Autumn spotted another polished door standing partially open. Through that portal, an exterior window could be seen, flooding the room with filtered sunlight.

"My office is through that door," stated Hayley. Then she gestured at the desk in the current room and said, "That is your desk Autumn. The assistant curator's station. From there you will answer calls to my office, type correspondence, file, and generally take care of the office work that I'll be too busy to handle myself."

Autumn scanned the desk and then took in the rest of the space which was replete with easels and other equipment facilitating sketching and painting. She even recognized some of her own charcoal sketches from her very own portfolio already placed upon the easels.

She was astounded, and all she could utter at the current was, "Ummm...."

"Yes," Hayley interjected, "when you are not busy with office chores, you will be honing your own craft, your own skills. I insist on it. Don't you dare think that you will be resting on your laurels while you are my intern. No, No, No, you are too much an artist to let your talent go to waste darling."

Autumn was flabbergasted. Never before had she ever dreamed of being in such a position. She thought it might be too good to be true. It had to be so. She pinched herself to see if she would awake to the real world where her life would not be in a dream-state any longer.

But the pinch hurt. She must be awake already. Autumn looked to Hayley, near hyperventilating, hoping for some assurance, some normalcy to indicate that she hadn't been plunged head first into a Stygian type river that would wipe her memories and replace them with dreams.

Instead, Hayley had moved on and rounded the corner of what was supposedly Autumn's new desk. Reaching within a drawer, Hayley retrieved a key ring with at least three keys.

"Here," she stated singling out a key with a large rounded head, "The gallery's key to front and back door. You should probably stick to using the front door for a while."

Grasping and displaying the key with the square head, Hayley said, "The key to our offices. Please try to be here by eight thirty Monday through Friday. I won't always be ahead of you but sometimes I will. I value punctuality. I expect the same from you darling."

"Lastly," Hayley held up a key with a rectangular head and a large numeral seven upon it, "this is a key for a gallery-owned studio apartment. It's yours, by this weekend you should have your stuff out of that dorm room you are in and be in the apartment, okay?"

"But I can barely afford the dorm room rent!" Autumn protested.

"Autumn, Autumn," Hayley admonished, "This is a paid internship darling. Didn't the school explain this? The apartment rent is part of the compensation. Now... take the afternoon, and acclimate yourself to your new reality, okay? Come back Monday morning and be ready to work your tail off to be successful. Capisce?"

Hayley's stern missive left Autumn slack-jawed. On the one hand, Hayley seemingly appeared as equally a co-conspirator, confidant, and close friend and on the other hand she appeared equally as a tough task-mistress, rigid boss, and concerned manager.

Not knowing how to approach the situation and not having a good read of the room, Autumn gave in to her initial inclination, which was to back away toward the exit to disappear as expeditiously as possible.

The trouble was... Hayley's gaze continued to follow her, so she hesitated. Hayley pounced on the hesitation, "You forgot the keys babe," which of course compelled Autumn to return to the assistant curator's desk to pluck at the key ring.

Hayley grinned at her, "See you Monday morning bright and early dear."

Autumn felt the hook setting as if she were a fish to be reeled in. In a way, she felt trapped. But also in a way, she felt suddenly unconstrained, almost free. After collecting the key ring, Autumn turned to exit.

Hayley abruptly halted Autumn's exit with, "Don't forget, next week we're starting prep for the Gallery's Halloween Special. I'll be relying heavily on you, it'll be tiring, but I think you'll find the experience rewarding just the same."

Hayley then went to the adjoining office and began working behind the executive desk.

Autumn's new office was as much art studio as office space with easels, canvas, sketch pads, paints, pencils and charcoal for drawing. Her attention once again surveilled the sign on her desk -- Assistant Curator.

She didn't feel like an Assistant Curator. That part just wasn't sinking in yet. It still seemed too new. Maybe that was it, the whole situation was too new. Perhaps she would get accustomed to being one after a time working at the gallery.

Right now she barely even felt like an intern, an unpaid intern at that. But the key ring in her hand with the address of her new apartment was contrary to her feeling, and gave her a flicker of hope.

As Autumn broached the threshold of the office, Hayley called out, "Be a sweetie, and close the door behind you Autumn. Thanks!"

Autumn did as Hayley bid. Then turned about trying to decide the best route to exit the gallery.

Unfortunately, she'd been rather discombobulated with all the sensory inputs on what should have been a normal Thursday, but ended up being a mind-bending journey playing upon her wildest dreams and simultaneously shredding her conceptions of what normalcy would be.

Autumn looked left and right, and remained undecided until she heard a faint vocalization to her right. She'd been leaning toward taking the leftward route, but her curiosity drew her to the barely audible conversation. For just a moment, she regretted not having brought her pepper-spray.

Today seemed to be the day for ignoring regrets though. After all, it had led to an enormous opportunity she'd never expected. Perhaps it was time to shed inhibitions and explore the open possibilities that might present themselves.

Autumn faced right, took a deep breath to bolster her courage, and strode forth to find the source of the distraction, er vocalization.

Left turn, then another left, while the audible grew more distinct. The hackles at her neck intimated that Autumn was headed the wrong direction. She heard groaning ahead and stopped at a corner to peer around.

Further down the aisle was the male model she'd spotted earlier with the artist, Zsa Zsa. He was in a pillory, suspended a few inches off the floor, chin, neck and wrists held aloft, legs dangling with ankles trapped in manacles.

Autumn watched as he squirmed and moaned and panted. His erection protruded obscenely before him while his hips undulated erotically, rhythmically in his suspension.

Her consternation and slight proprietary feelings got the better of Autumn. She rounded the corner and advanced toward the display, suddenly feeling the urging to fit her new role of assistant curator.

Autumn frowned and stated, "You probably shouldn't be climbing around on the exhibits!"

The models eyes sprang open at her approach. His cheeks flushed and turned scarlet as he panted.

As Autumn waited for explanation, hands grasped the waist band of her pants and suddenly, forcefully dragged them past her hips and down to her ankles.

"Hey," she yelped, turning about to catch the culprit. The action tangled her legs. The lack of a visible culprit made her own eyes spring open in shock and a sudden pressure on her chest forced her backward.

She landed in a heap on the floor before the male model as he dangled and undulated and exclaimed, "Oh God!"

She was exposed, and before she could collect herself and pull her trousers up, something pulled her tunic and bra up to her shoulders and covered her head with the fabric.

Startled momentarily, Autumn felt wet droplets splatter her bared chest and stomach.

"Ewww! Gross!" she exclaimed before she dragged her tunic down to cover her bosom. She reached down and pulled her trousers and undies up to cover her sex and then looked up toward the fellow to berate him for his temerity in accosting her with bodily fluids when a singular drop of semen parted from his tool and splashed on her nose, dribbling into her open lips.

Spluttering and spitting and also finally released from her position, Autumn surged to a standing position before the male model with a look of ferocity in her eyes.

"How dare you!"

"It's not my fault!" he pleaded, "Please! It's not my fault! I was walking out when I was shoved down and fastened in this contraption. Please don't fire me? I need this job!"

Autumn was taken aback by his pleading. She'd never before had such authority to hire or fire anybody. And now, this fellow was suddenly deferring to her as if she had that power.

The feeling was heady to say the least. It set her mind on a different path. At the very least, she was suddenly willing to forgive being unwittingly bukakked by an unwilling participant in her humiliation.

The ghosts or spirits inhabiting Bare Body Bravery galleries would have to be dealt with though. Of that she was certain.