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Summary
She nudges the door at the end of the corridor open with her hips and her head continues to bob side to side in time to her song as she sets the glass down on the nightstand. She reaches into the drawer just underneath and pulls out a small black remote and casts Clorinde a look.
“Would you like a drink, ma cherie?”
The response she gets is the rattle of handcuffs against their headboard and a long needy whine seeping from the edges of Clorinde’s makeshift gag—
Clorinde has the time of her life