Millie stopped walking and juggled the small velvet pillow back and forth between her right and left hands. It wasn't until she after finally regained control of the pillow that Millie over heard snippets of conversation around her."He's drunk..." My god, is that really his..." He's a girl..." If he's a girl, what's he doing with a..."Between the Champaign, embarrassment, and her near orgasmic state, Millie's face burned so red she was sure it must be glowing. Doing her best to make it to the far end of the hall, Millie began her slow march. Three steps later she realized yet another complication in her life."Oh shit," she said, hoping afterward that she had said it softly enough not to be heard by the people sitting on the aisle. Millie realized that she had to pee, and rather urgently at that. The end of a huge strap on dildo rubbing her wet over-stimulated pussy; her nipples rubbing on the inside of the heavily starched faux shirt front; her head spinning from the Champaign; and. Her eyes were flinty. I would not swear to it, but it seemed her breathing had hiccupped, just a small catch. She glanced at her notebook as if she needed to refresh her memory, and I think that is true, in so far as the thread of her memory is unraveling. ?Exactly, where am I?? She asked.?You are in The House of Singing Wind.? I replied, hinting in my voice that this was an illogical question. ?I mean, exactly where is the House of Singing Wind? Generally speaking, I don’t want to know the GPS coordinates or anything, just where I am.? Her confidence was returning, though not to full force.?Generally speaking, on Earth. Great pains have been taken to assure my privacy, my client’s privacy and the privacy of my novitiates. You are an investigative reporter. Investigate. The precautions we have taken with you are the same that any client, the hired help, or the newly chosen experience. Blindfold, hood and blacked out windows on my jet. No contact with the crew. Timing.
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