#38858 - In a few exhilarating minutes for the adults, the boy had his limbs tied to ropes hanging from the ceiling, each fastening too hard for him to undo, even though he tried. Chewing her bottom lip in true nervousness, the young lass, thirteen at most, shuffled up to her desk while gathering her kilt, baring her delicious milk pink and marble smooth bottom and thighs. But more than that, he'd had freed Miss Marchant from a mountain of paperwork, a task she abhorred because it kept her from the day-to-day training and discipline of her young charges.
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