Get up, he said to her. They were vibrators. A kneeling slave, trapped and captive, open and helpless to whatever attentions he might want to torment her with. Between the splayed cheeks of her athletic bum my inquiring fingers found the object of Roger's affection. A bone in her captured hand snapped. Between her thighs the hair was matted, wet from her secretions and my own saliva. The thought had always seemed abhorrent to me. She was only vaguely aware that something was occuring on her thigh, just above her knee, when she felt his hand pressing against the inner surface, forcing it to slide apart, widdening her. I came so often I lost count. She stood back in the mirror for a few minutes, looking at herself. |