TVixen Ep2 Preview

STANDING BESIDE THE BLACK LIMO, Jeeves—aka Steve—waited for us both by the entrance as we marched on out, arm in arm, all dressed for success in our stockings and high-heels, tight-fitting dresses and covered up warm wearing Sal’s gorgeous, almost matching, feathery fur coats—one of which, in black and green, I’d been eyeing up all morning.

We strutted our stuff through the glorious sunshine, with dark glasses maxing out our Ultra-Style, movie-star look, all readied for a fabulous New York City tour of the day.

“Morning, Jeeves,” called Sal, lifting her shades and giving out quite the full-on kiss to his lips. “What?” she asked, seeing my disapproving look towards her forward greeting. “Oh, me n’ Steve go way back.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said with some sarcasm.

“And morning to you, Miss Vix,” he said in his fake posh accent, doffing his chauffeur’s cap as his wandering eyes lingered a little too long on my chest. “And may I say, you’re looking quite . . . outstanding.”

Sal shrugged and gave out a playful slap to his face with her long silk scarf. “Jeeves, just shut up and drive.”  

But in that slight teasing gesture, I felt the irritable itch of self-consciousness coming over. I quickly covered myself up with my coat.

Jeeves held the door open for me, giving an extra apologetic bow. “Looking most splendid, I meant to say.”

“I’ll let you off,” I answered.

“That’s your first strike,” warned Sal to him. She followed inside, sitting herself down close beside me. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Vix,” she said. And I could see the slight concern on her face, clasping my hand with a reassuring little squeeze.

“No, I’m good. Really,” I said to her, giving a big, sure-as-anything smile. And I re-opened my coat, stroking and properly sticking out my chest. “I’m loving it . . . All of it!”

So there we were, back in that crazy-taxi limo, thundering around the streets like the party girls of the century once more. And I guess we’d missed most of the morning’s hectic rush hour, though the traffic was still quite chaotic—especially by my own small-city, UK standards. Once we hit the main centre, everything became chock-full, though I’m sure Jeeves didn’t know the meaning of traffic jams. He veered off at any opportunity, speeding into some of the most daring short-cuts and alleyway diversions, with manoeuvres that were pretty much insane—and most probably illegal.

“Steve, you’re not a stunt driver anymore, for god’s sake,” shouted Sal from the back.  

“Really?” I asked. “You were a stunt driver?”

“Only some of the finest darn movies you ever did see,” he yelled back proudly, reverting to his proper Texas drawl.  

Sal rolled her eyes.

We came to an abrupt stop right at the centre of it all. It was quite the relief to be still alive. But instantly, my eyes were dazzled the moment I stepped out . . .

So, this was New York City’s iconic Times Square—Nineteen-Eighties-style, a whole world away from the glitzy show-time, neon billboards, and entertainment capital of later years.  This Times Square really was a crowded mecca for the more-than-open-minded sexual revolution, with the resulting scene a total and utter Sleaze Central, as well as the most exciting, buzzing place I’d ever stepped into.

Adult theatres ran on every corner with queues running around the blocks, and giant billboards showcasing some headlining blow-job movie showed up everywhere. Sex shops, peep shows, live exotic dancing, and whatever gutter-type entertainment events took over pretty much every square inch.

But this whole place was so alive. I was in absolute awe. And I kind of think I pretty much fell in love with it in that very moment, right there and then.

“So?” asked Sal, seeing my overwhelmed expression.

“Amazing,” I said with a gasp. “And you guys really love your porn.”

She made a yelp. “Not just porn,” she said with some scorn. And then she threw out her arms with an over-blown, theatrical expression. “This is ‘porno chic.’ A celebration of sexual freedom. The golden age of lust and excitement!”

 I giggled at her exaggerated twirls as she totally sold it—finishing up with quite the revealing pose as her fur coat swept open for all to see.

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Oh, come on,” she continued, grabbing my arm and leading me on at a pace. “You prudish Brits need an education—get it outta the bedroom and start to share in the fun.”

I laughed . . . and yes, I got her point.

It wasn’t long before we were jostling at the heart of all the bustling crowds. I mean, there wasn’t much choice; there were just so many people rushing everywhere. And it seemed like things were kicking off in every direction, with so many crazy, colourful characters—strutting, dancing, singing, yelling, and just totally going for it in so many ways. And it all seemed like a mad explosion of so many wild and wonderfully weird outfits and scenarios. I almost felt a little understated and underdressed.  

 Sal finally stopped at a corner where music blasted out to a gathering crowd around some manic dancing getup.  

“Hey, beat-box Tony!” she yelled over to the little guy sitting at the top of some steps, busily air-drumming away to his massive tape deck machine, blurting out tunes. “How ‘bout playing my soundtrack? You got it?” 

“Anything for you, Miss Red,” he shouted back with a bow.

I looked on, a little shocked.

He was soon quickly diving into his box of tapes, proudly holding up and waving a small cassette and popping it in. Then the dancing troop right in front responded to those new sounds, breaking out in a swarm of limbs with some wild, body-pop moves to those disco grooves—much to my own total awkwardness. Yet Sal unashamedly shimmied and wiggled herself into it, getting a whole load of claps from that crazy surrounding crowd.

I had to laugh. I no doubt realised right there, just the actual scale of what a massive show-off she really was! She was loving it.

So, with cheering shouts and whistles, Sal finally linked arms back with mine as we continued on walking through those crowded streets with those pounding Eighties drumbeats following our strides.

“Let’s go, partner,” she quipped. 

And I had to laugh—feeling the buzz and energy from it all. It almost felt like we were playing the part of two leading ladies in some gritty, undercover cop movie, with our own cool soundtrack playing in our ears.

Though Sal’s leading directions soon took us to a place definitely fitting of that. We turned a few streets—going somewhat off-road and off the beaten path—bringing us into some seedy backway alleys.

“So where exactly are we heading?” I asked, now a little unsure of the sense of my tour guide.  

“We’re here,” she announced.

“You sure?” I asked. “I mean, the other places weren’t exactly family-friendly. . . But this?”

And yes, it really did seem like some rundown back entrance to some dark and inhabitable little shop of horrors. That weird, creepy-looking place didn’t even look open.

I’m sure my face said it all . . .

“Oh, come on, Vix. This place has all the most wicked stuff around. Not just your touristy shit. Really, you’re gonna love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” I answered with a cringing amount of sarcasm.

Sal took my arm and dragged me inside . . .  

So, this backstreet sex shop (as it turned out to be) was definitely a little more than what I was expecting. I mean, yes, it was dark and quite dingy, with all the usual sordid walls of trashy mags, grimy videos, and some ugly-looking toys, but the neon lights strobing around the sides showed off some pretty amazing-looking displays, with futuristic-style manikins decked out in some of the most incredible and quite outlandish bondage outfits I’d ever seen.

“Right, this is where you do your clothes shopping,” I teased.

“Mainly,” said Sal with a smirk. “I gotta admit, though, even I get shocked at some of the other stuff they sell. I dunno, it can certainly get a little . . . murky.” 

“You don’t say,” I said, holding up a rubbery, dismembered female torso, complete with a thick mass of pubic hair.

“Yikes! Exactly.” She gave a wince. “Oh, put it down, Vix. That thing’ll have lice.” 

I started browsing over those bulging shelves of all those straps and belts and chains and a whole Aladdin’s cave of sexy things. I instantly found a whole load of pretty cool accessories I could definitely use on my outfits and clothes.

“Just grab anything you like,” said Sal, flashing her gold credit card and madly going through those swivel racks like it was her last day on earth. “But yeah, latex, leather, anything. All your high-class super-wear—this place is unreal. You won’t find half this stuff on the high street.”

She sounded like an advert.     

“You’re not kidding,” I said, gazing up at those super-wild outfits that could have easily come out of a sci-fi movie.

“And yeah, they’ve got some pretty unique toys, also.”

“Oh, you mean like your strap-on super-soaker?”

“Ha, Exactly!” She gave the biggest grin. “Proper ‘under the counter’ shit, that one.”

I shook my head at her. “You know, Sal, I still can’t figure it out, though.  So how did that thing actually—?”

“Oh wow, Vix, what about these?” she said, interrupting my questioning (on something I never managed to get an answer to). She grabbed a pair of latex stockings with matching gloves from the rack. “Pink n’ black. Your kinda thing, right?” I nodded as she continued in her own world. “Oh, and bodysuits to match. These’ll go nicely.”

She was already flying onto the next section. I continued browsing through the racks, looking over some pretty dark bondage magazines and video nasties . . . And there was that symbol again—the one from that infamous website we’d hooked up on—with the sharp crescent moons forming a weird star-shaped logo. And those images all looked pretty spooky and dark.

“So, this star thing,” I said to Sal as she passed by. “I’ve seen it pop up all over that site . . . and it’s all over these—“

“Hey, RED!” called a gothic-looking guy working behind the counter. 

“Belzi, buddy,” she called back, leaving me again in mid-flow as she ran over with her stack of goods. “So please tell me you got it,” I heard her saying to him.

He went under the counter and came out with a plain box. “Y’ mean this one? Yeah. Told y’ it’d be here. It’s—”

“Sh-shush.” She glanced back over at me, looking shady as hell.  

“What’re you up to?” I called over.

“Oh, nothing,” she answered —her shifty grin almost saying it all. “And add on anything my girlfriend wants. Come on, get shopping. Whatever you fancy, yeah?”

So, after our stretch of cruising the shady underworlds, Sal took us on to doing the more everyday ‘touristy’ things. 

And, of course, we took a yellow cab—instantly getting into a jam within the first few seconds. That sweaty, rude guy behind the wheel really lacked Jeeves’ dangerous driving licence, getting us nowhere fast.

Then, much to my refusals, we took an unwanted trip up the Empire State Building. And yes, if I felt queasy at the height of Sal’s apartment, I was practically tapping out when we reached the top of that place. I just couldn’t look! Sal had to almost guide me around blindfolded that whole time. Again, she was doing all her usual flirty, showing off—even the lift attendant guy giving her preferential treatment (probably fancying the pants off her).

Then it was onto some proper clothing-store shopping . . .

We trailed for miles around the biggest department stores on the planet. I mean, you could totally get lost in those places for months! The lingerie section was like a zoo. And those prices—Holy shit! However, Sal and her hubby’s credit card didn’t seem concerned about any of that.

So, much to my further objections of the day, Sal insisted on getting me properly fitted and measured up—such fun!

“Stop being ridiculous,” she kept on telling me, finding my awkwardness hilarious.

But yes, I totally felt like some coming-of-age child getting my first training bra. And, of course, Sal totally knew the woman doing the fitting.

“Hey Sandra,” she called, running in and exchanging air kisses and some hush words I didn’t quite catch—me stood hanging back there like a lemon. “So she’s done a bit of growing lately and needs a whole new set.” She gave me such a teasing glance—I definitely completely blushed.

Sandra looked the absolute stereotypical, stern-looking librarian-type, with her scary horn-rimmed glasses and hair tight in a bun. She got to work with her old-fashioned tape measure, and I had to properly get half-naked, showing off my big fake tits right at her. Though, on reflection, she didn’t even flinch one bit.

“And make sure the material’s up to it,” added Sal, tweaking my nipples and tugging them forward. “Won’t want these bullets shooting holes in the front.”

“Will you stop it,” I whispered harshly as she fell apart laughing.

But yes, I guess the embarrassment was all sort of worth it. I came out of there with a fancy and pretty amazing selection of some really gorgeous, high-end bras and a load of other cute pieces—all kind of fitting my style of things nicely.

“See you at the party,” said Sal to Sandra before leaving—with the two of them exchanging a pretty full-on, passionate farewell kiss. 

Oh my god, they were all in it!

And I got to carry some of those high-style, high-class luxury bags around, totally looking the part on our glitzy Manhattan shopping spree.     

So yes, after many hours of all those crazy shops, busy streets, and all the constant noise of the big city, we took some timeout to just take a nice, non-chaotic, and totally unwinding stroll through Central Park . . .  

It was all just so pretty, even in winter. And with the golden sun still shining over us, our little walk around that vast labyrinth of trees was quite the cute and romantic affair—if not a bit freezing.

We took a break at a little food stall, sitting at a park bench opposite a little lake, and just watched the passers-by for a while. I sat eating ice cream (of all things) while Sal got herself a hotdog (or ‘dirty-water-dog’ as she insisted on calling it). But I had to laugh. I mean, she even ate that thing in a provocative manner.

“Second one of the day,” she smirked.

“And in your usual style,” I remarked, watching her almost down that thing in one.

I calmly just stared out for a while, sitting back and taking in the tranquillity of the whole mellowing scene.

“Wow, that thing’s making me feel even colder,” she said as I finished eating my ice cream. “Though I gotta say, whatever the weather, I just love it here when the sun’s shining on this place.” She gave a relaxed sigh and nudged in nice and close. “So gorgeous. . . And with gorgeous girlfriend in tow . . . So, this is actually your first States visit, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” I said, propping my head against hers. “Though I’d say that goes for pretty much anywhere, unlike yourself.”

“Oh, I’ve done it globally.” She burst into giggles.

“Course you have . . . I’ve seen your journals,” I said, laughing along. 

 “So, does that mean you’ve never been outside the UK?”

“Well yeah, course I have . . . Though just the usual trips; France, Spain, y’know . . . Oh, and that dirty day’s trip to Amsterdam.” I gave a chuckle. “Though it was pretty much me majorly tripping out on something weird I ate . . . and that was about it, really.”

She grimaced. “Yikes, Amsterdam? I dunno . . . Way too many vampires for my likes.”  

I gave her a funny look, not entirely sure what she was getting at, but she was soon onto the next subject.  

“So come on, Vix, how does it feel?”

“How does what—?”

“Oh y’know, sitting in a park in the great outdoors, with joggers and dog walkers and loads of other people just hanging out n’ all . . . And you—the new you . . .”

And I guess it was probably then that I came to realise my totally relaxed state of it all. “Pretty normal,” I replied with just a casual smile. “I guess I’m just kind of taking it for granted at the moment.”  

“See? And no anxieties or doubts or self-conscious thoughts right now?”

“No . . . Not really.”

“And no giant pervert-monster leering down your top and—”

“Yeah, I get it, I get it.” I laughed. “Though I kind of like the leery bits . . . sometimes.”

“Really?” She gave me a cheeky smile.

“No, I don’t mean like some yobbish brutes hanging off scaffolding, shouting, ‘get yer tits out,’ or that. But it is sort of nice to be checked out, you know?”

“Exactly!” she said. “It’s only what you’d intended to show off anyway. And yeah, you put in the hard work to make yourself noticed . . . and then you get noticed. There’s the payoff, dontcha think?”

“Though I can’t say I’ve really had all that much—”

“Oh, come on,” she said, giving out an elbow jab. “I’ve noticed them. One guy on Fifth nearly got run down by a cab; he was leering you out so much.”

I laughed. I wasn’t really sure if she was exaggerating or not. “Okay, so the odd stealthy glances, of course.”

“Oh yeah. And I always do the ‘check behind’ when a hot guy does the ‘sneaky peek’ on me. Catch em in the act and throw out a sexy wink. Gets me every time . . . Though I gotta admit, it’s usually me doing the leering, HA!”

I laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“But yeah,” she said. She turned and gave quite the serious look. “Like you say . . . feels normal, right?”

“As normal as eating ice creams in the dead of winter with my new mistress on a park bench.”

She gave another high squeaking laugh before pausing to ask. “And sooo, whaddya think . . . Y’know, doing this in your hometown?”

“Well, the scenery’s a bit different, but—”

“Oh, c’mon,” she said with a sigh. “Look around you. It’d be no different to doing it here.” 

“Well, yeah . . . I suppose.”

But I’m sure she could read my little doubts creeping back into play.

“Look,” she said, looking me straight in the face—her expression even more serious. “Whatever we do, there’s always the shit . . . Whatever. That’s life . . . But this is yours. And you’ve got to live it how you want to be—to be who you want to be . . . And yeah, it may seem a little ‘out there’ right now, but it’s not fake or unnatural—none of that. And like I say, you’ll always get adversity no matter where or whichever way you go. But the way I see it, the only way you’re gonna avoid it, to please everyone, is to totally go under the radar—become the dullest version of ‘you’ you can be. In the end, you’re not impressing anyone . . . SEE?”

I gave a pause before croaking my reply. “I-I really do . . .” And my bottom lip trembled . . . I even began to shed a tear. Her words just hit home so much.

“So yeah, Vix,” she continued in gentler tones, squeezing my hand. “Do what you’re doing. I mean, look at you—well, makeup running a bit now—But yes, you look amazing. You are amazing. You’re the cool goddess in furs and so much more . . . Embrace it. Be the person you like the most.”

And with that, she gave out a hug. I held on tightly, feeling such warmth in her words—in her. Right there, right then, Sal really was my rock.

“Go on,” I whispered in her ear. “Tell me more.”

“Ha, now you’re just digging for compliments.” She pushed back and held firm at my shoulders. And she looked me directly in the eyes once again.  “But really, Vix . . . you got this!”

We sat at the kitchen bar, back in the comfort of Sal and Michael’s gorgeous apartment. I was so happy to finally kick off my heels and coat and just unwind—my ears still ringing from all the blaring, chaotic noise of the big city streets. But being back in the calm near-silence of that heavenly place just melted back in. I gave out a long, satisfied sigh and slumped into that highchair.

“I don’t know about you,” I said to Sal as she rustled up refreshments, “but my feet are totally killing me. I don’t think I’ve worn heels so long in my whole life.”  

“Oh, come on. To be a fashion star, you’ve gotta feel the burn.”

 “Speaking of which, Sal,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her, “I still can’t believe it with you. I mean, it’s like everyone in New York knows you. What is it? Do you have the key to Manhattan or something?”

She casually planted coffee and snacks on the counter in front. “Like I say . . . I get around.”

Without much prompting, I quickly began to really scoff down those muffins she laid out. Having almost forgotten to eat in all the excitement, they were definitely much needed.

“Oh god, Vix, you must be starving.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled through mouthfuls.

“Jeez, veggies and New York really don’t go together . . . I mean, we’ve got a million steakhouses and such . . . and we do amazing pastramis, burgers, salted beef, mutton chops . . .”

I laughed and almost choked on my muffin.

“What?” she asked, sounding confused.

“Nothing,” I spluttered. “Just sounds funny . . .”

“Though I guess there’s always cheesecake,” she continued.

“I’m in!” I said—my eyes lighting up. “My favourite.”  

“Right, then we gotta do the place of Eleventh Street. God, yeah, wow. We’ll do that tomorrow.”  

She momentarily disappeared into the small TV room at the side, coming back quickly whilst holding a note.

“Oooh . . . looks like Michael’s back,” she said, reading through it. “Hmmm, interesting . . .” She continued on in silence, browsing over that note with a widening smirk growing, only a few seconds in.

“That look,” I said, already starting to recognise Sal’s obvious patterns of quite devilish behaviour. “So I’m guessing that’s something to do with whatever his ‘big surprise’ is, right?”

“Maybe,” she teased, giving a cheeky side-glance and reading on.

“A-n-d?” 

“Aaahhh!” She snatched the note away from my wandering eyes, giving out a high-pitched laugh. “Well, I hope you’re ‘up’ to it.”

And I suppose that’s when I kind of realised my tiring energy levels . . . I mean, okay, so we’d been pretty much walking around that ginormous big city all day for god-knows how many miles on end, but on top of all that, I’d been wearing that bloody cock-cage-thing for hours . . . and . . . well things were feeling a little less ‘up’ for it.  

I prepared myself to attempt to explain it to her . . .

“Oh shit,” she called out suddenly before I’d even uttered the first word. “Oh god, no, I totally forgot that cage . . . Oh, Vix, you poor thing.”

If anything, I was more than taken by how she’d read my mind again. It was almost getting spooky how—

“I could tell by your expression,” she chuckled, completely doing it again. “But no, what the hell was I thinking? So, is it sore? Bruised?”

“Well, not exactly,” I replied before trying and failing to explain myself. “I dunno. Maybe just a bit . . . not quite . . . you know . . .”

“Up to it?” She gave a look of concern.  

“Um, yeah . . . I guess. I mean, today’s been absolutely amazing and all, but—”

“I get it. The big bad city can do that . . . B-u-t, I think I’ve got just the thing.”

Sal began by searching through the cupboards and drawers, producing packets of herbs or whatever it was she was after. And I wasn’t quite sure if she had so much of a plan for what she was doing or if she was just making it up as she went. I’m sure the latter came to mind, especially when adding and mixing it all up in a blender jug, with that stuff coming out in the strangest blue colour I’d ever seen.   

“Ha. Come on, it’s nothing illegal or anything,” she assured, seeing my face as I watched on like a hawk. “It’s all-natural, everyday kinda stuff like—”

“Eye of newt, toe of dog?”

She laughed. “Yeah . . . stuff like that.”

And then she added quite a dodgy-looking packet of white powder to the mix.

I raised an eyebrow, giving her such a suspicious look. “Are you sure it’s not—

“Corn flour . . . for thickening,” she said, seeing my face and giggling.  

She poured the whole jug into a tall milkshake glass and slid it forward, seemingly trying to keep a straight face.

“Just call it a health drink or something.”

“Something Weird,” I added sarcastically, looking on at that thick blue stuff like it was about to attack. I reluctantly took a sip and tasted something . . .  alien? I mean, it wasn’t all that terrible, but again, it really was WEIRD!

Sal laughed at my grimace. “No,” she said, “Not like that. You’ve gotta chug it . . . All of it.” And she began to chant. “Chug, chug, chug, chug.”     

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I replied, showing some defiance as she got louder and more animated, banging her fists on the counter at the same time.

So without another word, I held my nose, tipping it back, and did just that . . . 

“Ughhhh . . . what—?” I gave out an exaggerated shiver.

“There you go. You did it.” And, rather less than reassuringly, she fell about in more fits of giggles. “Oh, come on.  It’s not that bad.”

It really was!

I was more than relieved to step back into that gorgeous walk-in shower once more. Again, it felt amazing! I could already feel my energy levels boosting back to life as those soothing, tingling jets hit my face and body, washing away the dirt and grime of the big, bad city. And maybe it was that drink I’d had, or a combination of both, but either way, I could really feel my senses sharpening and my mind and body quickening with positivity once again . . . But that’s when the first twinge hit down below. . . I didn’t really think much of it or even react—those lovely warm sprays taking me over and soothing my mind. . .  And then boom! The next twinge hit like a hammer! I stirred, wiping my face to open my eyes, but before I had a chance to even look down, along came another.

“What the—?”

Again, I tried to look, but the squeeze down below—given that restrictive little cage—almost doubled me over . . .   

I ran out of there, not even grabbing a towel, and ploughed on through to the lounge. Every further step I made started to hurt more and more as the throbbing strains down below became almost unbearable.

“Sal,” I shouted, searching the place desperately. “Sal, where are you? Sal!”

I heard a door open further along the corridor around the side . . .

“Vix? What is it?” came Sal’s high voice.

She ran in to meet my naked, broken, zombie-like state as I stumbled towards her voice.  

“The key!” I cried, feeling those strains more and more by the second. “Give me that key!” And I’m sure at that point she totally got the gist of the situation—seeing me bent over, doubling up, and clutching between my legs. “QUICK!”

I hadn’t even properly noted the insanely tight and gorgeous latex bodysuit she was now wearing (if I had, I’d have probably blown a fatal fuse). 

“Keep still,” she said, struggling to reach the padlock as I writhed. “Nearly there . . . Hold still and . . . there!”

She released the circular bar as quickly as she could, and the cage practically flew off and hit the ceiling.

“Fuck!” she gasped, staring on. 

Still feeling the shockwaves, I hunched over again. I tried to breathe deeply until the pain somewhat subsided. Then I straightened out, reluctantly looking down to see. “Awww, what? Oooh,” I gasped in sudden surprise. “Wow, you’re not kidding.”

And there in all its glory: a bulging, swelling, still-growing erection, twitching on like it had a life of its own (and I’m sure, whatever was in that flippin’ potion drink, it most likely DID).   

“Well?” asked Sal, almost waiting for my delight.

“What the hell did you do to me?” I gasped. “What was in that shit? It-it’s—”

“Magnificent,” she said, her eyes glued to my insanely hard, swollen shaft, sticking out all erect right there in front. “Wow . . . That was a good result!” And she moved to reach in.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” I screeched, trying to back her off. I gave a wince and gritted my teeth as she insisted on taking hold . . . But quite unbelievably, the pain had subsided. It didn’t burn or hurt or give off any of those feelings I was so certain it was going to. “Ohhhhh,” I gasped, feeling a fizzle of tingles rise up through her soft gripping hand. “Wow . . . that actually feels—”

“Good?” she asked with a grin. “Told you!”

“No, you didn’t. And you actually left me in that bloody cage.”

“Yeah . . . Oops. Um, I guess I didn’t think it’d work so fast.”

“You guess?” I said, suddenly feeling like some sort of lab rat. “So wait, am I the first one you’ve given your voodoo magic tonic to?”

“Oh, it’s not voodoo,” she said quite seriously. “No. It’s just an ancient remedy, like—”

“Like witchcraft?” I cut in with my usual—though thoroughly earned—sarcasm.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

I had to laugh. I shook my head in surrender. “Sure. I’ll give it that.”

“And it’s not feeling sore or anything?” she asked.  

“Not any—Alright,” I said, seeing her smugness expand right before me, “Yes, oh-kay . . . You win.”