Celia got her breath back and shivered as Mistress ran fingernails up and down her back. The sudden withdrawl of those viciously questing fingers from her vagina almost made her loose control and moan with disappointment. She was actually on the verge of a climax, and another few seconds or another pass with those fingernails would have brought her there.<br/><br/>Her hips were actually shaking and she took a second or two to compose herself, before looking up at Mistress with such a look of pathos on her face. None the less, she nodded silently and climbed obediently onto the chair. Standing up was tricky as her hands were still cuffed together and she couldn't stretch them out to balance, but she managed.<br/><br/><em>Oh god, now what?</em>she thought, the other voices in her mind silenced again, for the moment.<em>I hate heights, Does Mistress know I hate heights? Did I ever tell her that? I don't remember.... But I get dizzy wearing high heels. I am so glad this is not on wheels. Wait, it's not a swivel chair, is it? Swivel chairs are usually on wheels....</em>She tried to look down, but doing so made her head spin, and anyway she couldn't see beyond the seat of the chair. It didn't occur to her that if it had been a swivel chair it would have swivelled as she climbed up. She fixed her eyes on a book sitting on a shelf on the far wall. Frank Herbert came to her rescue:<em>I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer...</em>