She was still getting used to the ring gag he had bought her. Saliva had managed to spill from her pouty lips and now "adorned her chest like jewels." Or so she imagined he would say. She had put it all on herself, the blindfold, gag and cuffs, as she was instructed. He liked this submission, this admission that this was not forced but her own desire. It freed him of the guilt he'd been taught to feel, he was free to use her the way she needed him to.He took hold of the cuffs that she put on, gently fastened them, her hands behind her back. She could feel his eyes devouring her exposed flesh, drinking in her nakedness and vulnerabilities."Mmmmm, beautiful" he whispered low enough she had to process the sound twice in her mind to decipher the word.She could feel the heat radiating from the stove now.His gaze left her, she could feel it's absence.He was breaking up her gift, tiny nuggets of joy for him. Though she wondered at times if it may be his Master.The jangle of the knives. Martin was not handsome. He was lanky and angular, with a sallowcomplexion, spots and sunken cheeks. He was nervous, feared that he hadbad breath, had a low tolerance for alcohol and an even lower one fortobacco (cigarettes made his eyes run), and worst of all, he was avirgin. He was the sort of virgin who knew with total certainty that hewould probably die a virgin, possibly suffocating and frozen in an oilysea when his corvette sank under him, or cold and shivering, seasick andbleeding, in a life raft alone in the same sea. Not for Martin was thecertainty that he'd die in a cordite flash or in an explosion, orpierced by a bullet. But whatever certainty he had, it was that he'dnever know the true love of a beautiful woman, writhing underneath himas he pumped her full of his seed, and moaning softly with pleasure.Martin had escaped from his ship, which was a sitting target tied upalongside in Portsmouth Harbour, silent and unmoving, its engines underrepair and therefore devoid of.
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