Facing me were five women, tied as tightly as I was, each to her own pillar. All were gagged. Four wore flaring blue skirts. One was dressed in a gree... and gold embroidered sari. I recognised Ambika’s eyes and forehead above her tight gag. Beside Ambika stood my captor, dressed in a vivid red flared skirt. Ambika had warned me that a red skirt would be dangerous for me and that blue skirts would be safe. Something had gone wrong. Ambika and the ‘safe’ blue-skirted priestesses had been captured.. They said nothing, but each knew Ms. Watson was going to have a hard time of it. Ms. Watson herself sat nervously in an antechamber, sipping Eliza’s famous rose hip tea. She would have died of embarassment if anyone else had seen her performance, but the first thing she’d had to do was change her panties. She couldn’t believe how wet she’d been, how wet she still was, after what had happened to her. “I talk about how wrong sexualizing women is all the time,” she whispered to herself. “How. More

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