Coming Home (FF/FFF)

[AlexUSA3]

This story follows most of the events of The Bondage Model and complements the timeline of events that happen in that story. If you liked one story, you will like the other as well. Reading that tale isn't essential to enjoying this present tale.

Coming Home (FF/FFF)

The airplane circles high above Minneapolis as it makes its approach toward the area where I grew up. On the ground, from up here, I see two familiar and chilling sights a mere 4 miles apart. One is the Minnesota women’s prison; the other is the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center, which was not only in my hometown but was my home for over 13 months of my life.

When the plane lands with the usual frightening sounds, a tube connects to the plane. I walk through the tube with my backpack over my shoulder and go claim my luggage that's a big rolling suitcase. My time in North Carolina is over; my parents are out of my life forever. Now, instead of being rejected for being a convict, I’ve been rejected for becoming a Roman Catholic, albeit one with two major flaws. For one thing, I still enjoy doing bondage modeling, and NC gave me the incredible opportunity to get tied up by Elizabeth Andrews and to tie her up. My suitcase rolls behind me as I go out the door.

“Hannah!” there's the second major flaw.
“Michela!” I jump into her arms, embrace her, kiss her lips, and forget we're in an airport.
“Where to?” she asks after my bags are in the trunk.
“Club Fredericks… for a little ‘Welcome Home’ party,” I answer.
“We can stop by my place first so you can offload first,” she suggests hopefully.
“Michela,” I sigh and then smile, “All right. You win. We’ll enjoy it while I find my footing and work on Landon [my ex-boyfriend].”

Michela Palmeri is more than just a friend or a former cellmate. She was my lover for four years of my life, and our relationship only ended when Michela rightly told me she knew I wanted c-ck and babies. I’d had a brief relationship with a guy after we broke up, but I ended that to move to NC. We both held nearly every tenet of the Roman Catholic Church except those two things: we like bondage modeling and p-ssy.

She knows that the way to get me horny is to wear a skirt and bandana like she is at the moment. Exactly, she’s wearing her blue denim mini skirt, a navy blue bandana headband, and a light pink long-sleeve blouse with a plunging V-neck. We may not be a couple any longer, but we still love each other somewhere between best friends and romance. Her shoulder length curly brown locks are mesmerizing,

Maybe I planned it as well. Maybe I wore something that would work on both her and my friend Joy. Could the black sweatpants and lavender t-shirt be a gentle nod to our old prison jumpsuits? Maybe the black bandana headband I wore was a double nod to the Cool Girls’ Club, the group of friends who helped me heal in ways only folks who had never been inside could understand, and to my eventual earning of the privilege of wearing this same bandana after 7 months inside?

While I’d like to fornicate with Michela now, I have friends to visit. Lots of friends have made long journeys to be here on this occasion–Joy, Joyce, Nichole–after my year of absolute misery 1500 miles (2400 km) away from them. Then an idea strikes me, a very dirty idea. My beautiful company is… Why not? I promised I would be there after lunchtime, and my plane arrived 30 minutes early.

“Mmmm!” Michela groans as I knot the matching pink bandana OTM gag.
“That's my girl,” I say and run my hands through her wavy Italian locks.
“Mmmm!” she turns to me with vivacious arousal in her eyes.
“Hush,” I grab her head and bring my lips to her gagged lips.
“Mmmmmmm,” she melts in my hands, and I see nipples.
“We have to go to Joy’s now,” I whisper in her ear, “You will go in the trunk.”

Michela was tied up much better than the basic clothesline ties we did in modeling. I have bound her legs in five places, three below the knees and two above the knees. Her big toes are tied with a little string because I have stuffed her own socks in her mouth under the double-sided tape and OTM gag combo that is still her favorite. Her arms are boxtied and held with a breast harness and a crotch rope that goes under her mini-skirt.

While forcing Michela to hop to the car and we're still in the house (we are the only ones here), I grab her butt and breasts in tight squeezes to force her to walk instead of spanking her on the butt or pinching her nose. Once outside, I drop her onto her stomach on the ground by the door and hogtie her so I can easily carry her to the trunk of the car she drives. I open the trunk first and then run to pick her up and put her in the tight confines.

The trunk’s not real; the car’s an SUV. Michela’s wails are such perfect company on a short car ride, and her cries for mercy in her dirty socks are music to my ears. My girl looks so sexy when tied in the slightly thinner but stronger white rope I prefer. Yes, I said that: my girl. I'm still in love with her and have a part that wishes to live a life in which I have a husband and her as well.

Now things get crazy. Thankfully, Mrs. Fredericks saw me and opened the doors so I could carry my sweet captive into the house. Mrs. Fredericks, my third cousin, is the main maternal figure in my life now. She let me live in her home during one summer when Michela’s family went to spend a month with the maternal grandparents down in Florida. I am like another daughter to her and immediately feel that same love.

“Mmmm!” Michela groans when I undo the hogtie.
“You are going to scrunch down those stairs to that basement,” I order her.
“Nuh uh! Nooo!” she defies me.
“Go!” I open the door and hear the girls talking, but Michela won't move.
“Ack!” I grabbed her by the hair.
“Go now, or I will make sure you don't orgasm until I do.”
“Mmph!” she began obeying me.

Little by little, the girl who at 5’9” is not only 6 inches taller than but the same to Joy and Joyce as well and 5 inches taller than Nichole, slinks down the stairs. The curly hair in its headband shakes about in a delightful manner that makes me want to jump after her. Raucous laughter emanates from the room below and makes me want to cry as my scenes with Liz Andrews were the only times I was happy in NC. In this kind of play, Michela and I, after some coaxing, would do nearly anything for each other as long as it was a silly, harmless, or reasonable demand.

“Michela!” I hear Joyce’s extremely feminine voice call out, and I shut the door.
“That means Hannah’s here!” I hear Joy start bounding up the stairs.

I only fornicated with three girls, and two are right in that basement. It was Miss Joy Fredericks, the only other girl for whom I ever truly lusted and who liked girls even if not like me and Michela. I expected her to be the first to come up the stairs, and she didn't disappoint me. Taking a seat on the stairs, I embrace my frumpy distant cousin and, perhaps in too much of an aroused state, also kiss her on the lips. She is dressed like the girl I have always loved: a brown ankle skirt, a purple t-shirt with minimal revelation, and a brown bandana kerchief.

“I’m sorry your reunification with your parents only brought you sadness,” Joy says.
“Don't,” I choke up immediately, “go there.”
“I'm here for anything you need,” she says, “I know our college experiments didn't go too well.”
“Like this?’ I ask and find myself unable to resist her lips.
“Mmmm. Too soon,” she says and pushes me back, “Wait for the games.”
“I’m sorry. After a year, I’m excited to do it all again.”

During senior year of college, Joy had been instrumental in helping me finally meet my parents again after 5 years without even hearing their voices. That had led to two brief sessions of unforgettable, passionate, bondage sex. I couldn't forget the sex, but I moreso couldn't forget her help in that fateful encounter on Christmas of senior year of school. It had gone so well that day; it seemed like I was their little girl again. We went out to dinner for my birthday, and they came to my graduation. But it all lasted only 12 months before I was back to being an unwanted child. The first time it was being arrested in body for drug dealing; the second time it was being arrested in spirit by newfound faith in the Church of Rome.

“You look pretty. Are we threesoming Michela?” Joy whispers to me.
“Not until I have had a chance with her solo.”
“That was cute the way you sent her down. I think Joyce is mad they can't talk.”
“Well, we will make Joyce be unable to talk, too,” I suggest and lead Joy by the hand.
“You're in the zone, aren't you?” Joy laughs as we walk down the stairs.
“Somewhere between bondage model and top lover,” I candidly admit.
“Hannah!” Joyce grabs me in a hug.

Joyce and I met before I went to Minnesota Tech by pure chance. As a sophomore, she and a couple other sorority girls, on a dare, did work with me at the studio. Joyce didn't need the money, but she had so much fun she came back more times after that. I remember those moments well, and no one smiled after a scene more genuinely than she did. This girl embodied the true spirit of TUGs in that regard. Every appearance Joyce made, I was asked to work with her, and I am glad I did. It was she who begged me most to transfer to Minnesota Tech, and to my shock and surprise I got enough of a scholarship package to be able to do that as long as I kept working.

In fact, Joyce is wearing the outfit she wore during one of her scenes. She has a tight yellow denim mini-skirt and her own vertically striped button-up long-sleeve top, very much like the ones Michela wears. A couple of hair clips hold her blonde-brown hair back, as often is the case. Unfortunately, Joyce Verdi was the one every lesbian and bisexual girl in her life wanted and couldn't have, but she was a sweetheart enough that she'd let girls feel her up, kiss her, vibe her, and such while she was bound and gagged. She is now married and happy at this point.

“And you. The Gangsta Queen. You never stopped believing in me.”
“You were a good roommate, Hannah, and you're a better friend,” Nichole’s embrace is more meaningful than the others for some reason.
“You mean so much to me.”
“Hey, did you ever start that book?”
“I’ve been playing with the idea,” I admit.
“No pressure,” she pulls back from me.

Nichole Petersen is a work of art and proof, more than I, that good friends transform your life. Her hair is very similar to Michela’s thanks to being part Portuguese, but her face is distinctly Irish, including a handful of freckles and being much paler. She, too, came from a non-religious family; actually, Nichole was a straight-up atheist. It was odd for us to be outnumbered, but we were overcome by the actions of different people. Despite this, even before her own conversion, Nichole had a distinct spiritual approach to life and to loving others. The first of the Cool Girls’ Club members, the one and only Gangsta Queen, the one whose fashion inspired a network of now thirty or more people across America, stands before me in fashion just like she wore back in the founding days of the Club. Icy blue trainers, navy blue t-shirt, and her blue floral bandana as a kerchief with her feed shod by crew socks and canvas sneakers are such a standard for her still. Hard to believe she has been married almost 5 years.

Nichole was the one who asked me to call her while I was inside. I was glad I did so because she never once ignored my calls or made me feel like I was wasting her time by calling her. She wrote me one long and beautiful letter that I still keep and cherish in my small collection of prison materials. She pushes me to write a book about my downfall and comeback to inspire others, but it's a lot of work for little reward since I can guarantee no standard publisher is interested in a book about a girl like me.

“Mmmmm!” Michela interrupts our reunion.
“Yes, I haven't forgotten you at all,” I turn and see her being fondled by Joyce.
“Mmmm!” the captured Italian can't escape the other Italian’s grip.
“Now, Michela, you don't have to act like we're on the set,” Joyce taunts her.
“That's not set behavior. That's horniness,” I laugh, “See how she's looking at me.”
“Well, take her, then, since she's your bedfellow.”
“Thank you,” I sit down and enjoy the transfer, “Joy, Nichole, tie her up for this.”

If Michela has the perfect pair of “Oh, God, no” and “I think I hate you” faces to go with being kidnapped or, while tied up, getting exposed, then Joyce has the perfect “Don't you dare do it” and “Of course you did it” faces for the same actions. Nichole is more than happy to humor my request, and the strong Joy assists in the dirty deed while Joyce verbally protests and puts up a weak resistance since she is a rather weak girl compared to Joy or us prison beauties.

Joyce has this awesome hunter green ball gag, a 1.75 inch I think, that includes a chin strap, and Nichole jams that into her mouth with ease and tightens both straps while the damsel-in-distress is tied by Joy. A crossed wrists tie with her own rough brown rope is perfect for the attitudinal but neither spunky nor energetic girl. Nichole takes her ankles to tie them together, and Joy begins a simple breast harness that doubles as an elbow bond for a girl who isn't flexible. It has to be tight and numerous in ropes or else this one will just escape!

I turn to Michela and bring her gagged lips to my lips with my right hand while my left is slowly pulling her shirt down to expose her. I missed her so much that tears roll down my cheeks while we repeatedly kiss, and I begin squeezing her hardening tits. Michela starts crying, too, and now I realize I placed all of my hope in an unlikely new relationship with my parents and forsook my healthy friendships. How much happier I would have been staying up here!

“Your socks are that awful, hmmm?” I taunt her about her tears, “I missed you, too.”
“Mmmmm!” she groans as I dry them with my shirt sleeve.
“I promised an orgasm first; ready?”
“Mmm hmm,” Michela is shaking with happiness as I sit up on the sofa with her across my lap.
“I,” I see my other friends and feel the tears immediately restart, “I missed you all so much!”
“It’s good to have you back!” Nichole smiles widely.
“Minnesota was lacking something without you here,” Joy added.
“Mmmm!” Joyce moans into her ball gag.

Joyce was bound with the crossed wrists and her ankles accompanied by the harness that went on either side of her tits, through her armpits, between her tits, around her neck, and even to the dual waist and crotch rope. Her legs were tied at her shins, on either side of her kneecaps, and below her skirt, which now rode up her legs enough that I could see her matching pale yellow panties.

“Put Joyce here so I have an Italian on either side of me,” I say to Joy.
“Since it's your coming home party, sure.”
“How's my little Joyce?” I teasingly ask her and plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Mmmmm!” she struggles against the ropes.
“There, there, my dear,” I unbutton her shirt, “You are a doll.”
“Mmmm!” she angrily grunts as I pull her shirt aside to expose her standard white bra.

Joyce plays the angry role so well that one would think I wasn't her friend and that she had been kidnapped by slavers. Even as I pulled her tits out, she continued her routine while I beamed with pride at having two exposed girls alongside me. I roughly fondle Joyce with my right hand and draw her forehead in for a kiss while she loudly groans in resistance to my actions. Michela then plays the jealousy card and starts groaning to everyone's amusement.

“Yes, Michela, I promised you an orgasm. Joy, hand me my bag.”

I ignore Joy and Nichole wrestling with one another trying to tie up the other. Joy is strong and Nichole is a bit bigger even if considerably weaker. Size and strength guarantee nothing, though, when the other person is more wily; and Nichole is the smartest girl I know. She figures out a way to get Joy’s wrists handcuffed behind her and smiles widely when I finally look away from Michela and Joyce. Not only is Joy cuffed but also she is gagged with her own head harness that has a matte red ball gag in the style of my old studio. Looking more closely at the ball, I realize that her sister probably picked up the gags when my studio had its “going out of business” sale!

“Our brown Gangsta Girl!” Nichole proudly zips Joy’s elbows together behind her.
“You know I got gagged with that harness two or three times starting in August of 2015?”
“You what?!” Nichole is astonished while zip tying her friend's arms.
“Mmmm!” Joy groans against the tight plastic.
“Oh, yeah, I am sure of it,” I watch more closely, “That's my old studio’s.”
“Ggggggg!” responds Joyce.

Nichole wraps Joy’s skirt around her legs as best as can be done before zipping her lower legs and upper legs in a mess of plastic. The same is true of the arms and the torso. On top of this, her torso from her waist to her breasts, from her hips to her knees, and from her knees to her ankles, are also wrapped in class gray duct tape. A zip tie also gets used on Joy’s big toes after her feet are stripped.

“Those other two are Hannah's for now, so you have to play with me,” Nichole taunts.

I have a vibrator in my bag, and Joyce has one in hers. I use cinch straps to attach the devices to the respective girl’s thigh and crotch. I take both girl’s glasses off their faces so that they won’t get broken. How lucky I am to have two, short-haired, glasses-wearing, skirted and bloused, tied and gagged, exposed, crotch-roped, and vibrated Italian girls at my disposal! I sensually kiss one on the cheek and then the other; one responds with similar sensuality and the other with angry resistance.

Binder clips are a strong ally in a time like this and cause Joyce to squirm quite a bit before she shrieks from the pain of the application. I respond by gently rubbing her sore tits a little and kissing her on the forehead. I get less crying and more yelling when I do the same to Michela. The blonde was aroused by her bondage, and the brunette was aroused by me.

Nichole has taken out a hair brush and begun assaulting Joy’s feet. Howls of laughter fill the room as my cousin cannot resist this in any guise. While watching Joy, I grab the clamp strings and slowly pull them out just shy of taut while Joyce mutters threats into her gag before I cruelly jerk on both at once. How that shriek turned me on! At least I knew their limits, because I laid Michela out lengthwise down the sofa with Joyce wedged between Michela and the back support cushions. I was unique among the girls present in that I was OK with carpet, but I’d vibrate my teeth at the moment and had to save that for Joy.

At the moment, I am kissing an angry Joyce. Joyce and I share an awful experience in that we individually suffered forced sex at the hands of men we trusted then; this is all she permits now. I, too, only am OK with doing this with girls, but unlike Joyce I am into girls. The feigned anger is Joyce’s style of play, and Michela sweetly groans in orgasm while my lips focus on Joyce. Giving the blonde girl a break from kissing, I fondle her scrumptious tits and turn to my ex-girlfriend with whom I even lived for a time. Once upon a time, her eyes would be empty except for a confused lust; lust remained and now was accompanied by love and pleasure.

I am lost and quite forgetful of my company when the lust is going strong. It is my escape from the horrors during that 2 year window of my life that started with when I first smoked and ended when my boyfriend went to prison and eventually met his well deserved end. Nothing in this is new to my friend Nichole, who kindly humors my emotional needs by entertaining Joy with the mentioned tickle torture.

“You two are both so beautiful,” I whisper in their ears.
“Mmmm!” Michela responds with a gag kiss.
“Hank -ou,” Joyce blushes and squirms.
“Now, for you both–”
“Mmmmmm!” Michela interrupts me with a second orgasm that excites me.
“I love you so much,” I rub my crotch against Michela's thigh to finish myself off.

Joyce is struggling, though. Most of this could be filed under “nonsexual torment” for her, and I have to respect that. She is merely permitting my kisses under the pretext of being unable to resist since she is tied up. I gently fondle her breast in the way I know she likes best while enjoying the emotional rush from my orgasm, and I reach down to rub her crotch. That does it, and it's all we need.

After orgasms that are that good, typically Michela and I go to sleep with the tied one in the other’s arms. Joyce is too loud for me to sleep, though, especially not with Joy being tickled in the background. Maybe we can have that threesome after all. I am so self-absorbed at the moment that I am being rude toward Nichole.

“Trade you Joyce for Joy?” I ask Nichole.
“Deal! Sounds fair to me!” she says, and we make the exchange.
“You take the sofa. I am going to the laundry room to have a little more privacy.”
“Mmmm!” Michela groaned a bit when I stood her up.
“Guggg!” Joy agreed when I did the same to her.
“Let's go,” I began dragging them behind me.

Now I can do the thing my appetites truly crave. Once I have them where I want them to be, I expose Joy’s tits, and my lips begin exploring. Face, neck, tits, and p-ssy are all fair game with me. (My ghost editor is trying not to vomit while helping me with this part). No vibrators are needed any more; my lips and fingers are doing enough of an invasion of these two squealing, aroused damsels. Michela squirms erotically, and Joy squirms in feigned resistance.

Forcing them to be arranged just so allows me to rub my crotch against Joy’s face and kiss Michela’s head and neck at the same time. Nothing gets me like rubbing myself against a captive's face or actual c-ck in my body. I have my clothes on and have put on a thin pad so I won't orgasm on Joy’s face or even on my panties too much. How I missed a good orgasm!

Then the grinding. I rub one leg, especially my knees, against each girl's crotch with them lying down side by side. Until I force a loud orgasm from each of them, I do not stop this phase. For the last part I am bottom and they are on top so they can kiss each other and then me. But Joy then pulls out and leaves me and Michela for a few erotic minutes. Now, we finally have that post-orgasm nap, and Joy scrunches away to go back to being Nichole’s toy.

When I open my eyes, I wake up Michela by kissing her, and from the sounds I can tell that Joy and Joyce are still imprisoned. I now have an idea for the grand finale to an afternoon of brutal bondage fun. I take Michela out to join the others, and I put my plan into motion.

I make sure each is tied the same: ankles, below the knees, above the knees, below the waist, harness, waist and crotch, wrists, and elbows as best as possible. A vibrator is strapped to their thigh, and their gags remain. Each is exposed, and their nipples are clamped.

“It's a race, girls. Whoever is last to escape will get forced to orgasm!” I explain the rules, “Go!”
“Hannah, I don't agree with your lifestyle, but I’m glad to have you back. Welcome home,” Nichole puts an arm around me.
“I know some of you girls struggle with my sexuality,” I admit, “But no one rejected me for it ever.”
“You're still human, Hannah. I know you struggle with lots of things. Confusion is a natural problem for everyone, especially ones with your experiences. How many girls can boast of having dominated Elizabeth Andrews? I don't even know who she is, but these three all said it was a big deal. Our Club promises to always show love and to never expel a member.”

“You don't know it!” I start crying, “Dealing, being imprisoned, being molested, being tied up and left to die! Michela gave me a reason to live, but, Nichole, it wasn't Jenny or Casey who brought me and my friends from the outskirts of society to being truly the survivors we are. It was you. You not only welcomed us but invited us to join in on club activities and suggested I transfer to Minn Tech and let me live with you and put up with me occasionally fornicating with Michela and Kylie and gave me advice when I was dating Landon and made sure I had clothes and I can't repay you or any of the girls here for what you did for us misfits from Pod F.”

“You weren't misfits. You just hadn't found where you fit. I speak for everyone when I say, ‘We love you, Hannah, and we’ve been blessed by the new friends you brought into our lives.’ You opened our eyes to the realities of life, and I’m grateful you let me be such an integral part of your recovery.”

I start bawling at this point and hug Nichole like never before. I have hugged many of my loved ones over the years, but this one is special. I’m home, where I am wanted. This is where I belong, where I fit in, where being a convicted felon is just a blemish of the past that is merely but another part of the story of who I am today.

Michela, bless her heart, is so innocent despite her own sins, and she blissfully works on escaping first while Joy and Joyce paid more attention to me. The brunette whom I call my bestie and still occasional partner unpeels her gag and pulls the socks out of her mouth before walking over to me. She's half a foot taller than me in height, but in spirit we are one.

“Welcome home, baby,” she brings her lips near mine, and we kiss.
“So f-cking gross, but somehow adorable. You two sure you're Papists?” Nichole teases us.
“I am sure of it,” Michela says, “I’m honest with myself.”
“Sheesh!” Joyce interrupts as she orgasms, “Oh, God, no!”
“Sounds like Joy lost,” Michela brushes my hair aside, “May I?”
“Have fun,” I step back, “Today is about all of us, not just me.”

Joyce is on the sofa and grunting a bit because the orgasm dragged the energy from a girl who is used to maybe two orgasms tops and got three or four instead. Escaping is a natural art for her, and she is absolutely sexy as she unties her legs. Her acceptance of my sexual attraction to her despite being the one of us most utterly opposed to my sexuality, of all the Club members except maybe one or two, was when I understood just how powerful true love is. I don't mean erotic or platonic love; I mean love for your fellow people.

“I have to admit, Hannah, that once in a while I still do it out of passion for the art.”
“What about your husband?” I ask, “It's a pretty grievous sin for us Catholics.”
“I know,” she smiles mischievously, “But I just love the cameras and lights and being a performer.”
“You and me both,” I remark, “I hope you come back up here someday.”
“After I am Dr. Verdi, perhaps I will! It's sometimes emotionally hard to model though.”
“Because of what happened?”

Joyce's first boyfriend had first met her through a mutual friend and then connected her to her bondage modeling. He enjoyed bondage films too much and lived out some gruesome fantasies using poor Joyce as his test subject or, rather, victim. Like me, she had an ex-boyfriend who went to prison for what he did to her, but thankfully mine was dead, killed by another inmate who was quite disgusted by what he’d done to me.

We all had our experiences: Me with my imprisonment and my ex, Michela with her father and imprisonment, Nichole with her family, Joyce with her ex and with losing her parents. Only Joy hadn't such trauma, but she never for a second pretended to know how we felt while unconditionally supporting us.

“Your shampoo is delicious,” Joy said to Michela while they necked a little.
“Orgasm, remember Michela; forced orgasm.”
“I am forcing an orgasm,” she deadpanned.
“Is she ever,” Joy agreed when the vibrator did its trick, “Ooo eeee!”

While Michela untied a very aroused and happy Joy, I walked over to the table and saw the cake that was on there. In bright letters, “Welcome Home, Hannah Bandana” was written on the top of it. We’ve had our fun; now it is time for the actual party. I will never forget this day, the day I finally closed the door on the one aspect of my life as a druggie that I had still clung to, my biological parents. I couldn't forget the other things that had happened, but I could reject those who rejected me first and embrace those who embraced me when I needed it most.

Joy, Joyce, Nichole, and, most of all, Michela, thank you.

THE END

[Lucky Lottie]

Some great bondage in this one. It's also a nice heart-warming story

[LunaDog]

Now THIS, Sir, is just i call a 'homecoming!' One to remember, beyond any doubt.

[Caesar73]

Now THIS, Sir, is just i call a 'homecoming!' One to remember, beyond any doubt.

Agreed 100 Percent!

[AlexUSA3]

Now THIS, Sir, is just i call a 'homecoming!' One to remember, beyond any doubt.

Agreed 100 Percent!

Until I saw your comments, I never realized the double entendre of the title with "come" and "cum"