I've made up my mind. I have been made-up like this because in everyone's mind I am, in fact, already dead. I whimper. My bowels, as the Bible has often put it, have turned to water. An older man, sipping a Cosmopolitan, perhaps (I'm no Mr. Boston!) puffing a cigar, appraises me meditatively, almost appreciatively, but nonetheless with blank unseeing eyes, as if he were thinking of something else entirely (which, quite naturally, he is), which would mean he wasn't appraising me at all now wouldn't it? for crissakes you're not the goddamned center of the universe, you fucking egomaniac, you!), that he was merely looking, absently, because I am absent; occasionally someone (is it Cyn?) quiets my groans by thrusting a sponge between my teeth; it's soaked, I think, with a lemon-flavored tranquilizer; the older man gets bored, resurfaces from his private meditation, gets tapped on the shoulder, knocks the ash off his cigar and extinguishes it, off-handedly, against the inside of my left. ?No, lie still.?Rusty flicked the sheet off of them. In that brief moment there was clarity, and he saw what looked like a tentacle coming from Slave’s crotch. The tentacle, black and slick like the rest of her body, was curled around his balls and his cock, throbbing, rubbing, and sliding in an up and down direction. The head of the thing looked like a woman’s pussy, and it was fitting itself slowly over the head of his penis like a snake swallowing a mouse. When it made contact, it wrapped itself over his cock and felt like a well lubricated condom.?JESUS CHRIST!? Rusty snapped out of his sexually-induced delirium. The moment of clarity passed and was replaced by a moment of panic filled with fright. The bed broke from his panic. The man was kicking and screaming; the ‘woman’ was slithering and splashing!Rusty was suddenly on his feet and running, left the room sprinting, nearly flying off the upstairs balcony to the bondage floor below; he nearly forgot there was no rail on this.
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