The holes were duly cut, the edge polished, the cross bar inserted and secured, the dimensions faithfully recorded and with disappointment writ large Downs was sent forth unrelieved. I should have sensed the danger, but I had no inkling of what she had set in train. My table was the sensation, my whore just a means to demonstrate its features and so her leather headpiece and face – mask went unremarked even as I stood aside and let her be used. “Indeed, I am master in this house.” I explained. “No!” I refused, “You are my whore, remember.” I told her as I eased my fingers ever deeper inside her. “Later,” she said, “For I am ravenous,” she paused, “For food, not for,”
“Fornication?” I queried. “Take me home,” she said to him. She cried in displeasure, and I felt suddenly guilty, or was it jealousy, how dare he use my whore I thought unreasonably, I fought down the feeling, she was nothing to me, nothing I told myself as Peasbody made a renewed assault upon her backside.
