<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Handcart on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/handcart/</link><description>Recent content in Handcart on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sun, 20 Jan 2019 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/handcart/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Chest Piece</title><link>/stories/2019/01/20/chest-piece/</link><pubDate>Sun, 20 Jan 2019 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2019/01/20/chest-piece/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Phoebe was living someone else&amp;rsquo;s dream, she was sure of it. It just wasn&amp;rsquo;t hers. She had always wanted to be a lawyer, stepping into that courtroom and showing the big boys how it was done. However, community college was all she could afford, so her lawyer days would be relegated to a paralegal/administrative assistant in a local law firm. Now, don&amp;rsquo;t get me wrong, she would tell her friends, I enjoy my job. I can handle clients&amp;rsquo; papers, talk with them, ask them questions, etc. I can get to know them just as if I were the lead person on their case. Not ideal, but it works.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Anna 3: Surrender</title><link>/stories/2013/04/03/anna-3-surrender/</link><pubDate>Wed, 03 Apr 2013 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2013/04/03/anna-3-surrender/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;story continues from &lt;a href="anna2.html"&gt;part two&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 3: Surrender&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Thursday evening, Anna staggered through the door of her apartment. Dropping her book satchel by the dresser, she flopped face first onto her bed. After a moment she swept her arms across the rumpled covers, gathering them into a mounded pillow for her head. Hooking her toes on the back strap of her sneakers, she kicked off her right, then her left shoe, wiggling her toes in relief. It had been one of those days.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>At the Academy 3: Turning the Tables</title><link>/stories/2009/01/17/at-the-academy-3-turning-the-tables/</link><pubDate>Sat, 17 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2009/01/17/at-the-academy-3-turning-the-tables/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;continues from &lt;a href="at_the_academy2.html"&gt;part 2&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 3: Turning the Tables&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It’s odd to wake up and find your surroundings completely changed. Roger was confused as he rose slightly out of bed, taking the bedroom surrounding him in. Display panel, bureau, closet, door – all the standard fittings for a reasonably priced hotel room with the antiseptic decorating style that went with a large chain. Of course, it took a moment as sleep fell away and he remembered that he really should be waking in the Baron’s large, circular, stone study. When that realization hit, he nearly leapt out of bed, ready for anything. His training rapidly took over and he relaxed a bit as he started to take full stock of his situation.
He guessed immediately that he was still in the VR suite – he doubted that he could have been taken off the station and to a hotel without the use of some significant amount of drugs and his senses weren’t dulled in a way that would indicate those had been used. But obviously, things had changed. Andrea was nowhere to be found, he was now dressed in contemporary clothing, albeit just his boxer briefs at the moment, and the décor was modern. He was obviously in a suite – the open doors to a bathroom and sitting area made that obvious. A quick look around confirmed both that Andrea was nowhere to be found and he wasn’t a prisoner in any way since all of the doors worked.
He decided to give himself some time to wake fully before trying to figure more out and headed for the shower after engaging all of the locks on the door to the hotel hallway. Not that it would matter if he was in some training scenario, since the computer would simply provide some other way for any programmed assailants to enter his rooms. But it was a logical step as he tried to remember what happened. In the shower, he replayed the previous night in the suite – Andrea bound in a suspended spread-eagle as he teased and tormented her (he remembered grinning at the amazing ability of the suite – that position normally would become horribly painful in a short while, but not when pressor fields suspended the subject). Her gagged moans and groans finally become climaxes when he allowed her release, her eyes vacillating between glares that showed a desire for revenge and plaintive looks that just indicated desire. In the end, he’d let her down and they’d made love on the bed without the benefit of any bindings in the tender and romantic way that only new lovers can seem to capture.
As he applied the soap he wondered what had happened? How in the hell had the suite…&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>