I can't see anything. I am tied up and I feel helpless. He knows I am scared but excited too. He walks around outside the door. I can hear his foot falls. He has kept me here for a very long time with out a feed. I am hungry and I hunger for him. I can't believe that even so, I still prefer sex over my feed. I laughed at my sick thought and feelings.
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One day I was out trying to drum up sales for my entrepreneurial business. I was going door to door around the surrounding neighborhoods to see if people would be agreeable to being added to my mailing list to receive my catalogs. I was dressed to give the impression of a knowledgeable business woman so that people could put their trust in me enough to be willing to sign up to my mailing list.
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It was a sunny afternoon. she had been lying in the sun, drinking in the warmth. He loved to watch her as He worked with His roses. Every once in a while He looked over at His pet, so proud of her, lying there in only a thong, her body glistening in the sun. Occasionally, she would take the spray bottle and sprits herself, sending a cool shiver over her body, making her luscious nipples firm up.
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It was the second summer that I worked for our local public library but this time, I was assigned to a different branch from the one last year, which had been the branch I generally went to.
Now, before I tell you about what happened, I'll tell you something about me, after all, I do work in a library so maybe I'm not the senior all-star quarterback. And I'm not.
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My Aunt Jessie had been threatening for several weeks to call me over to her house for me to give her another massage after I'd massaged both her and Mom with baby oil in our back yard one afternoon and she finally did it. I got home from work and was showering in the mud room when, as usual, I heard Mom call out, "That you, Hut?"
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"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . ."
The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.
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Heather let herself into the house, kicking off her high-heels the second she set foot inside the door. She was taking the afternoon off; getting things ready for what she was hoping would be a night to remember. The suit jacket was next to go, tossed haphazardly across the arm of the couch. She would need it again later but for now, it'd be too warm.
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Valerie stared out the kitchen window at her neighbour across the alley. She'd met Patrick when he'd moved in, and while he had been polite, they hadn't maintained any contact more than a smile and wave if their paths crossed. But she'd been up close to him and that face had stuck in her memory. He was so pretty.
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Jefferson Sloan sat in his rocker and watched the girls walk down the street. School had just let out and they would be walking by for a while. The powerful telescopic lens brought them up close. They were as cute as they could be. They could not see him nor could anyone else. He loved to watch the little teens walk by. "Where were all the beautiful girls when I grew up." he wondered.
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Cindy checked her watch, sitting at one of the outside small tables for two. Her white chocolate latte sat steaming inside her insulated Starbuck’s cup before her as she sat back in the chair, a soft sigh emitted from moist berry-stained lips. He wasn’t coming. After all these months and time spent putting into what she thought might have a chance off-line, he was just all the sudden going to pull a no-show. Fuck him! She deserved better than this.
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